カント政治哲学講義(アーレント)
Lectures on Kant's
political philosophy
解説:池田光穂
KANT'S
Political Philosophy
Judging was to have been the third and final volume of Hannah Arendt's
The
Life of the Mind. All that she actually wrote was this title page,
which, with its
tWQ epigraphs, was found in her typewriter shortly after her death.
".
i
II. Title.
JC181.K4A73 320'.01'0924 82-A817
ISBN 0-226-02594-2 AACR2
Hannah Arendt's "Postscriptum" to The Life of the Mind, volume one,
iI) 1977, 1978 by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc.,
is reprinted with the permission of the publishers,
Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc., and
Martin Seeker Be Warburg, Limited.
HANNAH ARENDT (1906-75) was educated at the universities of Marburg,
Freiburg, and Heidelberg, where she received her Ph.D. in philosophy
under
Karl Jaspers. She was professor of philosophy at the University of
Chicago from
1963 to 1967; she then returned to the New School for Social Research.
Among
her many honors were. a fellowship in the American Academy of Arts and
Sciences, the Lessing Prize, and the Sigmund Freud ~ for prose. She was
the
author of over a dozen books, including The Hwman Condition (University
of
Chicago Press, 1958), and the unfinished, posthumously published
two-volume
work The Life of the Mind (1978).
RoNALD BEINER received his D.PhlL at Oxford with a thesis on Hannah
Arendt.
He is currently a lecturer at the University of Southampton in England.
Contents
Preface, by Ronald Berner vii
PART ONE
Texts by Arendt
Postscriptum· to Thinking 3
Lectures on Kant's Political Philosophy 7
Imagination 79
PART TWO
Interpretive Essay
Hannah Arendt on Judging, by Ronald Beiner 89
Notes 157
Preface
HANNAH ARENDT never lived to write "Judging," which was to
have been the third and concluding part of her work The Life oj
the Mind. Yet students of her thought would have ample
justification for believing that, had it been written, it would have
been her crowning achievement. The purpose of the present
book is to draw together the main available tex~ by Arendt on this
important topic. Obviously, these texts can be no substitute for
the work that was not written, but I think they can offer clues to
the likely direction Hannah Arendt's thinking would have taken
in this area, especjally when they are viewed in the context of her
work as a whole. In my interpretive essay I have hoped to show
that something coherent can indeed be gleaned from these texts
and to help give the reader some sense of their importance. No
more than this is claimed for my speculative reconstruction.
The first text is Arendt'sPostscriptum to volume one of The Life
oj the Mind. This forms a prelude to "Judging," since it offers a
brief plan of the projected work and' indicates the basic themes
and overall intention. (The PostsCriptum, the last chapter of Thinking,
forms a transition between the two volumes of The Life oj the
Mind, and announces the main topics intended for treatment in
volume two.) The Lectures on . Kant's Political Philosophy, the
core of the present volume, are an exposition of Kant's aesthetic
and political writings, designed to show that the Critique oj Judgment
contains the outlines of a powerful and important political
philosophy-one that Kant himself did not develop explicitly
(and of which he was perhaps not fully conscious) but that may,
nonetheless, constitute his greatest legacy to political philosophers.
Hannah Arendt gave these Kant Lectures first at the New
School for Social Research, during the Fall semester of 1970.
She had presented an earlier version of them at the University of
Chicago in 1964, and material on judging was also inclu4ed in
viii PREFACE
lectures she gave on moral philosophy at Chicago and at the
New School during 1965 and 1966. Arendt was scheduled to
lecture again on the Critique of Judgment in the Spring semester
of 1976 at the New School, but her death came in December,
1975. The notes on Imagination are from a seminar on the
. Critique of Judgment given at the New School during the same
semester as the 1970 Kant Lectures. (Arendt commonly gave
seminars concurrendy with lectures on closely related topics in
order to explore certain ideas .in greater depth.) These seminar
notes help to elaborate the Kant Lectures by showing that the
notion of exemplary validity that emerges in the third Critique
and the doctrine of the Schematism in the first Critique are linked
by the role of imagination, which is fundamental to both, providing
schemata for cognition as well as examples for judgment.
My aim has been to provide as full a selection of texts as the
reader would need in order to glimpse' Hannah Arendt's
emerging reflections on judging. Other available lecture materials
have been left 01,lt because to have included them would
have produced either repetitiveness, where her views .had not
changed, or inconsistency, where her views had developed be-
. yond those expressed in the earlier sketches. I have, however,
made use of these other materials, where they are relevant, in
my commentary.'
The writings assembled in this volume are, in the main, lecture
notes that were never intended for publication. Although
changes have been made where the wording or punctuation
seemed ungrammatical or insufficiendy clear, the substance has
not been altered, and they retain their original form as notes for
lectures. Thus the contents of this volume should in no way be
mistaken for finished compositions. The reason for their being
made available is simply to give access to ideas of signal
importance-ideas that the author herself did not live to develop
in the way she had intended. .
Arendt's citations of sources in the lecture and seminar notes
were often rather sketchy, and some were simply inaccurate.
The responsibility for the notes accompanying Arendt's texts is,
therefore, entirely mine.
I am deeply indebted to Mary McCarthy for her constant help
and unfailing kindness, without which this volume would not
have been possible. I am obliged also to the staff of the Manuscript
Division of the Library of Congress for their helpful cooperation.
PART ONE
Texts by Arendt
Postscriptum to Thinking
From The Life of the Mind, Volume One
IN THE SECOND VOLUME of this work [The Life of the Mind] I shall
deal with willing and judging, the two other mental activities.
Looked at from the perspective of these time speculations, they
concern matters that are absent either because they are not yet
or because they are no more; but in contradistinction to the
thinking activity, which deals with the invisibles in all experience
and always tends to generalize, they always deal with particulars
and in this respect are much closer to the world of appearances.
If we wish to placate our common sense, so decisively offended
by the need of reason.to pursue its purposeless quest for meaning,
it is tempting to justify this need solely on the grounds that
thinking is an indispensable preparation for deciding what shall
be and for evaluating what is no more. Since the past, being past,
becomes subject to our judgment,judgment, in tum, would be a
mere preparation for willing. This is undeniably the perspective,
and, within limits, the legitimate perspective, of man insofar as
he is an acting being.
But this last attempt to defend the thinking activity against the
reproach of being impractical and useless does not work. The
decision the will arrives at can never be derived from the mechanics
of desire or the deliberations of the intellect that may
precede it. The will is either an organ of free spontaneity that
interrupts all causal chains of motivation that would bind it or it
is nothing but an illusion. In respect to desire, on one hand, and
to reason, on the other, the will acts like "a kind of coup d'etat," as
Bergson once said, and this implies, of course, that "free acts are
exceptional": "although we are free whenever we are willing to
get back into ourselves, it seldom happens that we are willing. "1 In
other words, it is impossible to deal with the willing activity without
touching on the problem of freedom~
3
4 PART ONE
[Three paragraphs of the original text, pertaining to the account
of willing in volume two of The Life oj the Mind, are omitted
here.-R.B.]
I shall conclude the second volume with an analysis of the
faculty of judgment, and here the chief difficulty will be the
curious scarcity of sources providing authoritative testimony.
Not till Kant's Critique oj Judgment did this faculty become a
major topic of a major thinker.
I shall show that my own main assumption in singling out
judgment as a distinct capacity of our minds has been that judgments
are not arrived at by either deduction or induction; in short,
they have nothing in common with logical operations--as when
we say: All men are mortal, Socrates is a man, hence, Socrates is
mortal. We shall be in search of the "silent sense," which-when
it was dealt with at all-has always, even in Kant, been thought of
as "taste" and therefore as belonging to the realm of aesthetics.
In practical and moral matters it was called "conscience," and
conscience did not judge; it told you, as the divine voice of either
God or reason, what to do, what not to do, and what to repent of.
Whatever the voice of conscience may be, it cannot be said to be
"silent," and its validity depends entirely upon an authority that
is above and beyond all merely human laws and rules.
In Kant judgment emerges as "a peculiar talent which can be
practiced only and cannot be taught." Judgment deals with particulars,
and when the thinking ego moving among generalities
emerges from its withdrawal and returns to the world of particular
appearances, it turns out that the mind needs a new "gift"
to deal with them. "An obtuse or narrow-minded person," Kant
believed, " ... may indeed be trained through study, even to the
extent of becoming learned. But as such people are commonly
still lacking in judgment, it is not unusual to meet learned men
who in the application of their scientific knowledge betray that
original want, which can never be made good."2 In Kant, it is
reason with its "regulative ideas" that comes to the help of judgment;
but if the faculty is separate from other faculties of the
mind, then we shall have to ascribe to it its own modus operandi, its
own way of proceeding.
And this is of some relevance to a whole set of problems by
which modern thought is haunted, especially to the problem of
theory and practice and to all attempts to arrive at a halfway
plausible theory of ethics. Since Hegel and Marx, these questions
have been treated in the perspective of History and on the as-
Postscriptum to Thinking 5
sumption that there is such a thing as Progress of the human
race. Finally we shall be left with the only alternative there is in
these matters. Either we can say with Hegel: Die Weltgeschichte ist
das Weltgericht, leaving the ultimate judgment to Success, or we
can maintain with Kant the autonomy of the minds of men and
their possible independence of things as they are or as they have
come into being.
Here we shall have to concern ourselves, not for the first time,3
with the concept of history, but we may be able to reflect on the
oldest meaning of this word, which, like so many other terms in
our political and philosophical language, is Greek in origin, derived
from historein, "to inquire in order to tell how it was"legein
ta eonta in Herodotus. But the origin of this verb is in turn
Homer (Iliad XVIII), where the noun histor ("historian," as it
were) occurs, and that Homeric historian is the judge. If judgment
is our faculty for dealing with the past, the historian is the.
inquiring man who by relating it sits in judgment over it. If that
is so, we may reclaim our human dignity, win it back, as it were,
from the pseudo-divinity named History of the modern age,
without denying history'S importance but denying its right to be
the ultimate judge. Old Cato, with whom I started these
reflections--"Never am I less alone than when I am by myself,
never am I more active than when I do nothing"-has left us a
curious phrase, which apdy sums up the political principle implied
in the enterprise of reclamation. He said: "Victrix causa deis
placuit, sed victa Catoni" ("The victorious cause pleased the gods,
but the defeated one pleases Cato").
Lectures on
Kant's Political Philosophy
Delivered at the
New School For Social Research,
Fall, 1970
First Session.
To TALK ABOUT and inquire into Kant's political philosophy has
its difficulties. Unlike so many other philosophers-Plato, Aristotle,
Augustine, Thomas, Spinoza, Hegel, and others-he never
wrote a political philosophy. The literature on Kant is enormous,
but there are very few books on his political'philosophy,
and, of these, there is only one that is worth· studying-Hans
Saner's Kants Weg vom Krieg zum Frieden. 1 In France there appeared,
very recently, a collection of essays devoted to Kant's
political philosophy,2 some of which are interesting; but even
there you will soon see that the question itself is treated as a
marginal topic as far as Kant himself was concerned. Of all the
books on Kant's philo.sophy as a whole, it is only Jaspers' treatment
that devotes at least a quarter of the space to this particular
subject. (Jaspers, the only disciple Kant ever had; Saner, the
only one Jaspers ever had.) The essays that make up On History3
or the recent collection called Kant's Political Writings4 cannot
compare in quality and depth with Kant's other writings; they
certainly do not constitute a "Fourth Critique," as one author .
called them, eager to claim for them that stature since they happened
to be hi& subject.5 Kant himself called some of them a
mere "play with ideas" or a "mere pleasure trip."8 And the ironical
tone of Perpetual Peace, by far the most important of them,
shows clearly that Kant himself did not take them too seriously.
In a letter to Kiesewetter (October 15, 1795), he calls the treatise
"reveries" (as though he thought of his early fun with Swedenborg,
his Dreams of a Ghost-Seer, Elucidated by Dreams of Metaphysics
[1766]). As far as The Doctrine of Right (or of Law) is
concerned-which you will find only in the book edited by Reiss
and which, if you read it, you will probably find rather boring
8 PART ONE
and pedantic-it is difficult not to agree with Schopenhauer,
who said about it: "It is as if it were not the work of this great
man, but the product of an ordinary common man fgewohnlicher
Erdensohn]." The concept of law is of great importance in Kant's
practical philosophy, where man is understood as a legislative
being; but if we want to study the philosophy of law in general,
we certainly shall not turn to Kant but to Pufendorff or Grotius
or Montesquieu.
Finally, if you look at the other essays-either in the Reiss
book or in the other collection (On History), you will see that
many of them are concerned with history, so that, at.first, it looks
almost as though Kant, like so many after him, had substituted a
philosophy of history for a political philosophy; but then, Kant's
concept of history, though quite important in its own right, is not
central to his philosophy, and we would turn to Vico or Hegel
and Marx if we wanted to inquire into history. In Kant, history is
part of nature; the historical subject is the human species understood
as part of the creation, though as its ·final end and creation's
crown, so to speak. What matters in history, whose
haphazard, contingent melancholy he never forgot, are not the
stories, not the historical individuals, nothing that men did of
good or evil, but the secret ruse of nature that caused the species
to progress and develop all of its potentialities in the succession
of generations. The lifespan of man as an indiVidual is too short
to develop all human qualities and possibilities; the history of the
species is therefore the process in which "all the seeds planted in
it by Nature can fully develop and in which the destiny of the
race can be fulfilled here on earth."7 This is "world history," seen
in analogy to the organic development of the individualchildhood,
adolescence, maturity. Kant is never interested in the
past; what interests him is the future of the species. Man is
driven from Paradise not because of sin and not by an avenging
God but by nature, which releases him from her womb and then
drives him from the Garden, the "safe and harmless state of
childhood."8 That is the beginning of history; its process is progress,
and the product of this process is sometimes called. culture, 9
sometimes freedom ("from the tutelage of nature to the state of
freedom");lO and only once, almost in passing, in a parenthesis,
does Kant state that it is a question of bringing about "the highest
end intended for man, namely, sociability [Geselligk~t]."ll
(We shall see later the importance of sociability.) Progress itself,
the dominant concept of the eighteenth century, is for Kant a
Kant Lectures 9
rather melancholy notion; he repeatedly stresses its obviously
sad implication for the life of the individual.
If we accept the moral-physical condition of man here in life
even on the best terms, that is to say, of a perpetual progression
and advance to the highest good which is marked out as
his destination, he still cannot ... unite contentment with the
prospect of his condition .. , enduring in an eternal state of
change. For the condition in which man now exists remains
ever an evil, .in comparison to the better condition into which
he stands ready to proceed; and the notion of an infinite
progression to the ultimate purpose is still simultaneously one
prospect in an unending series of evils which ... do not per:
rp.it contentment to prevail.12
Another way of raising objections to my choice of topic, a
somewhat indelicate but by no means entirely unjustified way, is
to point out that all of the essays that are usually chosen-and
that I too have chosen-date from Kant's last years and that the
decrease of his mental faculties, which finally led into senile
imbecility, is a matter of fact. To counteract this argument, I
have asked you to read the very ea:dy Observations on the Feeling of
the Beautiful and Sublime. 13 To anticipate my own opinion on this
matter, which I hope to justify to you in the course of this term:
if one knows Kant's work and takes its biographical circumstances
into account, it is rather tempting to turn the argument
around and to say that Kant became aware of the political as
distinguishedfrom the social, as part and parcel of man's condition
in the world, rather late in life, when he no longer had either the
strength or the time to work out his own philosophy on this
particular matter. 'By this I do not mean to say that Kant, because
of the shortness of his life, failed to write the "fourth
Critique" but rather that the third Critique, the Critique of
Judgment-which in distinction from the Critique of Practical Reason
was written spontaneously and not, like the Critique of Practical
Reason, in answer to critical observations, questions, and
provocation~actually should have become the book that
otherwise is missing in Kant's great work.
After he had finished the critical business, there were, from
his own viewpoint, two questions left, questions that had
bothered him all his life and that he had interrupted work on in
order first to clear up what he called the "scandal of reason": the
fact that "reason contradicts itself"14 or that thinking transcends
the limitations of what we can know and then gets caught in its
10 PART ONE
own antinomies. We know from Kant's own testimony that the
turning point in his life was his discovery (in 1770) of the human
mind's cognitive faculties and their limitations, a discovery that
took him more than ten years to elaborate and to publish as the
Critique oj Pure Reason. We also know from his letters what this
immense labor of so many years signified for his other plans and
ideas. He writes, of this "main subject," that it kept back and
obstructed like "a dam" all the other matters he had hoped to
finish and publish; that it was like "a stone on his way," on which
he could proceed only after its remova1.15 And when he returned
to his concerns of the precritical period, they had, of
course, changed somewhat in the light of what he now knew; but
they had not changed beyond recognition, nor could we say that
they had lost their urgency for him.
The most important change can be indicated in the following
way. Prior to the event of 1770, he had intended to write, and
soon publish, the Metaphysics oj Morals, a work that in fact he
wrote and published only thirty years later. But, at this early
date, the book was announced under the title Critique of Moral
Taste.16 When Kant finally turned to the third Critique, he still
called it, to begin with, the Critique of Taste. Thus two things
happened: behind taste, a favorite topic of the whole eighteenth
century, Kant had discovered an entirely new human faculty,
namely, judgment; but, at the same time, he withdrew moral
propositions from the competence of this new faculty. In other
words: it is now more than taste that will decide about the beautiful
and the ugly; but the question of right and wrong is to be
decided by neither taste nor judgment but by reason alone.
Second Session
IN THE FIRST LECTURE I said that for Kant, toward the end of his
life, two questions were left. The first of these could be summed
up, or rather indicated, by the "sociability" of man, that is, the
fact that no man can live alone, that men are interdependent not
merely in their needs and cares but in their highest faculty, the
human mind, which will not function outside human society.
"Company is indispensable for the thinker. "17 This concept is a
key to the first part of the Critique oj Judgment. That the Critique oj
Judgment, or of Taste, was written in response to a leftover question
from the precritical period is obvious. Like the Observations,
Kant Lectures 11
the Critique again is divided into the Beautiful and the Sublime.
And in the earlier work, which reads as though it had been
written by one of the French moralists, the question of "sociability,"
of company, was already, though not to the same extent, a
key question. Kant there reports the actual experience that lies
behind the "problem," and the experience, apart from the actual
social life of the young Kant, was a kind of thought-experiment.
The experiment goes as follows:
["Carazan's Dream":] In proportion as his riches increased,
this wealthy miser had closed off his heart from compassion
and love toward all others. Meantime, as the love of man grew
cold in him, the diligence of his prayer and his religious observances
increased. After this confession, he goes on to recount
the following: "One evening, as by my lamp I drew up
my accounts and calculated my profits, sleep overpowered
me. In this state I saw the Angel of Death come over me like a
whi~lwind. He struck me before I could plead to be spared his
ternble stroke. I was petrified, as I perceived that my destiny
throughout eternity was cast, and that to all the good I had
done nothing could be added, and from all the evil I had
committed, not a thing could be taken away. I was led before
the throne of him who dwells in the third heaven. The glory
that flamed before me spoke to me thus: 'Carazan, your service
of God is rejected. You have closed your heart to the love
of man, and have clutched your treasures with an iron grip.
You have lived only for yourself, and therefore you shall also
live the future in eternity alone and removed from all communion
with the whole of Creation.' At this instant I was
swept away by an unseen power, and driven through the
shining edifice of Creation. I soon left countless worlds behind
me. As I neared the outermost end of nature, I saw the
shadows of the boundless void sink down into the abyss before
me. A fearful kingdom of eternal silence, loneliness, and
darkness! Unutterable horror overtook me at this sight. I
gra~ually lost sight of the last star, and finally the last glimmenng
ray of light was extinguished in outer darkness! The
mortal terrors of despair increased with every moment,just as
every moment increased my distance from the last inhabited
world. I reflected with unbearable anguish that if ten
thousand times a thousand years more should have carried
me along beyond the bounds of all the universe I would still
al~ays be looking ahead into the infinite abyss of darkness,
WIthout help or hope of any return.-In this bewilderment I
thrust out my hands with such force toward the objects of
12 PART ONE
reality that I awoke. And now I have been taught to esteem
mankind; for in that terrifying solitude I would have preferred
even the least of those whom in the pride of my fortune
I had turned from my door to all the treasures of Golconda."
18
The second leftover question is central to the Critique's second
part, which is so different from the first that the book's lack of
unity has always provoked comment; Baeumler, for example,
asked if it was anything more than an "old man's whim"
(Greisenschrulle).19 This second question, raised in §67 of the
Critique oj Judgment, reads: "Why is it necessary that men should
exist at all?" This question, too, is a kind ofle~tover concern. You
all know the famous three questions whose answer, according to
Kant, constituted the proper business of philosophy: What can I
know? What ought I to do? What may I hope? To these three, he
used to add a fourth in his lecture courses: What is Man? And he
explained: "One could call them all together 'anthropology' be-·
cause the first three questions relate to [indicate] the last one."20
This question has aD obvious relationship to the other question,
asked by Leibniz, by Schelling, by Heidegger: Why should there
be anything and not rather nothing? Leibniz calls it "the first
question we have a right to raise" and adds: "For nothing is
simpler and easier than something."21 It should be obvious that,
however you phrase these why-questions, every answer that
would start with Because ... would sound, and be, only silly. For
the why actually does not ask for a cause, as, for example, How
did life develop, or How came the universe into existence (with
or without a bang); rather, it asks for what purpose did all this
happen, and "the purpose, for instance of the existence of nature,
must be sought beyond nature,"22 the purpose of life beyond
life, the purpose of the universe beyond the universe. This
purpose, like every purpose, must be more than nature, life, or
the universe, which immediately, by this question, are degraded
into means for something higher than themselves. (When
Heidegger, in his late philosophy, tries time and again to put
man and being into a kind of correspondence in which one
presupposes and conditions the other-Being calling for Man,
Man becoming the guardian or shepherd of Being, Being
needing Man for its own appearance, Man not just needing
Being in order to exist at all but being concerned with his own
Being as no other entity [Seiendes: being], no other living thing,
is,23 etc.-it is to escape this kind of mutual degradation, inher-
Kant Lectures 13
ent in these general why-questions, rather than to escape the
paradoxes of all thoughts about Nothingness.)
Kant's own answer to this perplexity, as derived from the second
part of the Critique oj Judgment, would have been: We ask
such questions as What is the purpose of nature? only because
we ourselves are purposive beings who constantly design aims
and ends and belong, as such intentional beings, to nature. In
the same vein, one could answer the question why we perplex
ourselves with such obviously unanswerable questions as Does
the world or the universe have a beginning, or is it, like God
himself, from eternity to eternity? by pointing to the fact that it is
in our very nature to be beginners and hence to constitute beginnings
throughout our lives.24
But to come back to the Critique oj Judgment: The links between
its two parts are weak, but, such as they are-i.e., as they can be
assumed to have existed in Kant's own mind-they are more
closely connected with the political than with anything in the
other Critiques. There are two important links. The first is that in
neither of the two parts does Kant speak of man as an intelligible
or a cognitive being. The word truth does not occur-except
once, in a special context. The first part speaks of men in the
plural, as they really are and live in societies; the second part
speaks of the human species. (Kant underlines this in the passage
I have just quoted by adding: the question "why it is necessary
that men should exist ... we shall not find so easy to answer
if we sometimes cast our thoughts on the New Hollanders or
[other primitive tribes].")25 The most decisive difference between
the Critique oj Practical Reason and the Critique oj Judgment
is that the moral laws of the former are valid for all intelligible
beings, whereas the rules of the latter are strictly limited in their
validity to human beings on earth. The second link lies in the
fact that the faculty of judgment deals with particulars, which "as
such, contain something contingent in respect of the universal,"
26 which normally is what thought is dealing with. These
particulars are again of two kinds; the first part of the Critique oj
Judgment deals wth objects of judgment properly speaking, such
as an object that we call "beautiful" without being able to subsume
it under a general category of Beauty as such; we have no
rule that could be applied. (If you say, "What a beautiful rosel"
you do not arrive at this judgment by first saying, "All roses are
beautiful, this flower is a rose, hence this rose is beautiful." Or,
conversely, "Beauty is roses, this flower is a rose, hence, it is
14 PART ONE
beautiful.") The other kind, dealt with in the second part of the
Critique of judgment is the impossibility of deriving any particular
product of nature from general causes: "Absolutely no human
reason (in ,fact, no finite reason like ours in quality, however
much it may surpass it in degree) can hope to understand the
production of even a blade of grass by mere mechanical
causes."27 ("Mechanical" in Kant's terminology refers to natural
causes; its opposite is "technical," by which he means "artificial,"
i.e., something fabricated with a purpose. The distinction is between
things that come into being of themselves and those that
are fabricated for a specific end or purpose.) The accent here is
on "understand": How can I understand (and not just explain)
that there is grass at all and then this particUlar blade of grass?
Kant's solution is to introduce the teleological principle, "the
principle of purposes in the products of nature," as a "heuristic
principle for investigating the particular laws of nature," which,
however, does not make "their mode of origination any more
comprehensible."28 We are not concerned here with this part of
Kant's philosophy; it does not deal with judgment of the particular,
strictly speaking, and its topic is nature, although, as we
shall see, Kant understands history also as part of nature-it is
the history of the human species insofar as it belongs to the
animal species on earth. Its intention is to find a principle of
cognition rather than a principle of judgment. But you should
see that just as you can raise the question Why is it necessary
that men should exist at all? you can continue and ask why it is
necessary that trees should exist, or blades of grass, and so on.
In other words, the topics of the Critique of judgment-the
particular, whether a fact of nature or an event in history; the
faculty of judgment as the faculty of man's mind to deal with it;
sociability of men as the condition of the functioning of this
faculty, that is, the insight that men are dependent on their
fellow men not only because of their having a body and physical
needs but precisely for their mental faculties-these topics, all of
them of eminent political significance-that is, important for the
political-were concerns of Kant long before he finally, after
finishing the critical business (das kritische Geschiift), turned to
them when he was old. And it was for their sake that he postponed
the doctrinal part, to which he had intended to proceed
"in order to profit, as far as is possible, by the more favorable
moments of my increasing years."29 This doctrinal part was supposed
to contain "the metaphysics of nature and of morals";
Kant Lectures 15
there would be no place in them, "no special section, for the .
faculty of judgment." For judgment of the particular-This is
beautiful, This is ugly; This is right, This is wrong-has no place
in Kant's moral philosophy. Judgment is not practical reason;
practical reason "reasons" and tells me what to do and what not
to do; it lays down the law and is identical with the will, and the
will utters commands; it speaks in imperatives. Judgment, on the
contrary, arises from "a merely contemplative pleasure or inactive
delight [untiitiges Wohlgejallen]."3o
This "feeling of contemplative pleasure is called taste," and
the Critique of judgment was originally called Critique of Taste.
"If practical philosophy speaks of contemplative pleasure at all,
it mentions it only in passing, and not as if the concept were
indigenous to it."31 Does that not sound plausible? How could
"contemplative pleasure and inactive delight" have anything to
do with practice? Does that not conclusively prove that Kant,
when he turned to the doctrinal business, had decided that his
concern with the particular and contingent was a thing of the
past and had been a somewhat marginal affair? And yet, we shall
see that his final position on the French Revolution, an event that
played a central role in his old age, when he waited with great
impatience every day for the newspapers, was decided by this
attitude of the mere spectator, of those "who are not engaged in
the game themselves" but only follow it with "wishful, passionate
participation," which certainly did not mean, least of all for
Kant, that they now wanted to make a revolution; their sympathy
arose from mere "contemplative pleasure and inactive delight."
There is only one element in Kant's late writings on these
subjects that we cannot trace to concerns of the precritical
period. Nowhere in the earlier period do we find him interested
in strictly constitutional and institutional questions. Yet this
interest was paramount in the last years of his life, when nearly
all of his strictly political essays were written. These were written
after 1790, when the Critique of judgment appeared, and, more
significantly, after 1789, the year of the French Revolution,
when he was sixty-five years old. From then on his interest no
longer turned exclusively about the particular, about history,
about human sociability. In its center was rather what we today
would call constitutional law-the way a body politic should be
organized and constituted, the concept of "republican," i.e.,
constitutional
government, the question of international relations,
16 PART ONE
etc. The first indication of this change is perhaps to be found in
the note to § 65 of the Critique oj Judgment, which relates to the
American Revolution, in which Kant had already been very
interested. He writes:
In a recent complete transformation of a great people into a
state the word organization for the regulation of magistracies,
etc., and even of the whole body politic, has often been fitly
used. For in such a whole every member should surely be
purpose as well as means, and, whilst all work together towards
the possibility of the whole, each should be determined
as regards place and function by means of the Idea of the
whole.
It is precisely this problem of how to organize a people into a
state, how to constitute the state, how tofound a commonwealth,
and all the legal problems connected with these questions, that
occupied him constantly during his last years. Not that the older
concerns with the ruse of nature or with the mere sociability of
men had disappeared altogether. But they undergo a certain
change or, rather, appear in new and unexpected formulations.
Thus we find the curious Article in Perpetual Peace that
establishes a Besuchsrecht, the right to visit foreign lands, the right
to hospitality, and "the right of temporary sojourn."32 And, in
the same treatise, we again find nature, that great artist, as the
eventual "guarantee of perpetual peace."33 But without this new
preoccupation, it seems rather unlikely that he would have
started his Metaphysics oj Morals with the "Doctrine of Law." Nor
is it likely that he would finally have said (in the second section of
The Strife oj the Faculties, the last section of which already shows
clear evidence of his mind's deterioration): "It is so sweet to plan
state constitutions [Es ist so sUss sich Staatsverfassungen
auszudenken]"-a "sweet dream" whose consummation is "not
only thinkable but •.. an obligation, not [however] of the citizens
but of the sovereign."34
Third Session
ONE WOULD THINK that Kant's problem at this late time in his
life-when the American and, even more, the French Revolution
had awakened him, so to speak, from his political slumber
(as Hume had awakened him in his youth from dogmatic
Kant Lectures 17
slumber, and Rousseau had roused him in his manhood from
moral slumber)-was how to reconcile the problem of the organization
of the state with his moral philosophy, that is, with the
dictate of practical reason. And the surprising fact is that he
knew that his moral philosophy could not help. here. Thus he
kept away from all moralizing and understood that the problem
was how to force man "to be a good citizen even if [he is] not a
morally good person" and that "a good constitution is not to be
expected from morality, but, conversely, a good moral condition
of a people is to be expected under a good constitution."35 This
may remind you of Aristotle's remark that a "good man can be a
good citizen only in a good state," except that Kant concludes (and
this is so surprising and goes far beyond Aristotle in separating
morality from good citizenship):
The problem of organizing a state, however hard it may seem,
can be solved even for a race of devils, if only they are intelligent.
The problem is: "Given a multitude of rational beings
requiring universal laws for their preservation, but each
of whom is secretly inclined to exempt himself from them, to
establish a constitution in such a way that, although their private
intentions conflict, they check each other, with the result
that their public conduct is the same as if they had no such
intentions."36
This passage is crucial. What Kant said is-to vary the Aristotelian
formula-that a bad man can be a good citizen in a good
state. His definition of "bad" here is in accordance with his moral
philosophy. The categorical imperative tells you: Always act in
such a way that the maxim of your acts can become a general
law, that is, "I am never to act otherwise than so that I could also
will that my maxim should become a universallaw."31 The point
of the matter is very simple. In Kant's own words: I can will a
particular lie, but I "can by no means will that lying should be the
universal law. For with such a law there would be no promises at
all. "38 Or: I can want to steal, but I cannot will stealing to be a
universallaw;
because, with such a law, there would be no property.
The bad man is, for Kant, the one who makes an exception for
himself; he is not the man who wills evil, for this, according to
Kant, is impossible. Hence the "race of devils" here are not devils
in the usual sense but those who are "secretly inclined to
exempt" themselves. The point is secretly: they could not do it
publicly because then they would obviously stand against the
common interest-be enemies of the people, even if these
18 PART ONE
people were a race of devils. And in politics, as distinguished
from morals, everything depends on ''public conduct."
Hence, it might appear that this passage could have been
written only after the Critique of Practical Reason. But this is an
error. For this, too, is a leftover thought from the precritical
period; only now it is formulated in terms of Kant's moral philosophy.
In the Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and
Sublime we read:
Among men there are but few who behave according to
principles-which is extremely good, as it can so easily happen
that one errs in these principles.. . . Those who act out of
goo.dhearted impulses are far more numerous [ than those a~ting
on the basis of principles] .... [However,] those other instmcts
that so regularly control the animal world ... perform the
great purpose of nature just as well.... [And] most
men ... have their best-loved selves fixed before their eyes as
the only point of reference for their exertions, and ... seek to
turn everything around self-interest as around the great axis.
Nothing can be more advantageous than this, for these are
the most diligent, orderly, and prudent; they give support
and solidity to the whole, while without intending to do so
they serve the common good. 39
Here it even sounds as though "a race of devils" is necessary to
"provide the necessary requirements and supply the foundations
over which finer souls can spread beauty and harmony."4o
We have here the Kantian version of the theory of enlightened
self-interest. This theory has very important shortcomings. But
the main points in Kant's position, as far as political philosophy
is concerned, are the following. First, it is clear that this scheme
can work only if one assumes a "great purpose of nature" working
behind the backs of acting men. Otherwise, the race of devils
would destroy themselves (in Kant, evil is generally selfdestructive).
Nature wants the preservation of the species, and
all it demands of its children is that they be self-preserving and
have brains. Second, there is the conviction that no moral conversion
of man, no revolution in his mentality, is needed, required,
or hoped for in order to bring about political change for the
better. And third, there is the stress on constitutions, on the one
hand, and on publicity, on the other. "Publicity" is one of the key
concepts of Kant's political thinking; in this context, it indicates
his conviction that evil thoughts are secret by definition. Thus we
read, in one of his late works, The Strife of the Faculties:
Kant Lectures 19
Why has a ruler never dared openly to declare that he
recognizes absolutely no right of the people opposed to
him ... ? The reason is that such a public declaration would
rouse all of his subjects against him; although, as docile sheep,
led by a benevolent and sensible master, well-fed and powerfully
protected, they would have nothing wanting in their
welfare for which to lament. 41
Against all of the justifications I have offered for choosing to
discuss a Kantian topic that, literally speaking, is nonexistent-
i.e., his nonwritten political philosophy-there exists one
objection that we shall never be able to overcome altogether.
Kant repeatedly formulated what he held to be the three
central questions that make men philosophize and to which
his own philosophy tried to give an answer, and none of
these questions concerns man as a zoon politikon, a political being.
Of these questiong-:What can I know? What ought I to do?
What may I hope?-two deal with the traditional topics of
metaphysics, God and immortality. It would be a serious error to
believe that the second question-What ought I to do?-and its
correlate, the idea of freedom, could in any way be relied on to
help us in our inquiry. (On the contrary, we shall see that the
way Kant phrased the question and answered it will be in our
way-and probably was in Kant's own way, too, when he tried to
reconcile his political insights with his moral philosophy-when
we try to suggest what Kant's political philosophy would have
been like had he found the time and the strength to express it
adequately~) The second question does not deal with action at all,
. and Kant nowhere takes action into account. He spelled out
man's basic "sociability" and enumerated as elements of it
communicability,
the need of men to communicate, and publicity,
the public freedom not just to think but to publish-the "freedom
of the pen"; but he does not know either a faculty or a need
for action. Thus in Kant the question What ought I to do? concerns
the conduct of the self in its independence of others-the
same self that wants to know what is knowable for human beings
and what remains unknowable but is still thinkable, the same self
that wants to know what it may reasonably hope for in matters of
immortality. The three questions are interconnected in a basically
very simple, almost primitive, way. The answer to the first
question, given in the Critique of Pure Reason, tells me what I can
and-what is more important in the last analysis-what I cannot
20 PART ONE
know. Metaphysical questions in Kant deal precisely with what I
cannot know. Still, I cannot help thinking about what I cannot
know, because it concerns what I am most interested in: the
existence of God; freedom, without which life would be undignified
for man, would be "beastly"; and the immortality of
the soul. In Kant's terminology, these are practical questions,
and it is practical reason that tells me how to think about them.
Even religion exists for men as rational beings "within the limits
of Reason alone." My main interest, what I wish to hope for, is
felicity in a future life; and for this I may hope, if I am worthy of
it-that is, if I conduct myself in the right manner. In one of his
lecture courses and also in his reflections, Kant adds a fourth
question to the three, which is meant to sum them up. This is the
question What is Man? But this last question does not appear in
the Critiques.
Moreover, since the question How do I judge?-the question
of the third Critique-is also absent, none of the basically
philosophical
questions even so much as mentions the condition of
human plurality-except, of course, for what is implicit in the
second question: that without other men there would be not
much point in conducting myself. But Kant's insistence on the
duties toward myself, his insistence that moral duties ought to be
free of all inclination and that the moral law should be valid not
only for men on this planet but for all intelligible beings in the
universe, restricts this condition of plurality to a minimum. The
notion underlying all three questions is self-interest, not interest
in the world; and while Kant wholeheartedly agreed with the old
Roman adage, Omnes homines beati esse volunt (All men desire
happiness), he felt that he would not be able to stand happiness
unless he was also convinced that he was worthy of it. In other
words-and these are words repeated many times by Kant,
though usually as asides-the greatest misfortune that can befall
a man is self-contempt. "The loss of self-approval [Selbstbilligung],"
he writes in a letter to Mendelssohn (April 8, 1766),
"would be the greatest evil that could ever happen to me," not
loss of the esteem in which he was held by any other person.
(Think of Socrates' statement "It would be better for me to be at
odds with the multitudes than, being one, out of harmony with
myself.") Hence, the highest goal of the individual in this life is
worthiness of a felicity that is unattainable on this earth.
Kant Lectures 21 |
|
Compared to this ultimate
concern, all other goals and aims that men may pursue in this
life-including, of course, the in any case dubious progress of the
species, which nature works out behind
our backs-are marginal affairs.
At this point, however, we are bound to mention at least the
curiously difficult problem of the relationship between politics
and philosophy or; rather, the attitude philosophers are likely to
have toward the whole political realm. To be sure, other philos-
. ophers did what Kant did not do: they wrote political
philosophies; but this does not mean that they therefore had a
higher opinion of it or that political concerns were more central
to their philosophy. The examples are too numerous even to
begin to quote. But Plato clearly wrote the Republic to justify the
notion that philosophers· should become kings, not because they
would enjoy politics, but because, first, this would mean that they
would not be ruled by people worse than they were themselves
and, second, it would bring about in the commonwealth that complete
quiet, that absolute peace, that certainly constitutes the best
condition for the life of the philosopher. Aristotle did not follow
Plato, but even he held that the bios politikos in the last analysis
was there for the sake of the bios theoretikos; and, as far as the
philosopher himself was concerned, he said explicitly, even in
the Politics, that only philosophy permits men di' hautlin chairein,
to enjoy themselves independently, without the help or presence
of others,42 whereby it was self-understood that such independence,
or rather self-sufficiency, was among the greatest goods.
(To be sure, according to Aristotle, only an active life can assure
happiness; but such "action" "need not be ... a life which involves
relations to others" if it consists in "thoughts and trains of
reflections" that are independent and complete in themselves.)43
Spinoza said in the very title of one of his political treatises that
his ultimate aim in it was not political but the libertas
philosophandi; and even Hobbes, who certainly was closer to
political concerns than any other author of a political philosophy
(and neither Machiavelli nor Bodin nor Montesquieu can be said
to have been concerned with philosophy), wrote his Leviathan in
order to ward off the dangers of politics and to assure as much
peace and tranquillity as was humanly possible. All of them, with
the possible exception of Hobbes, would have agreed with Plato:
Do not take this whole realm of human affairs too seriously. And
Pascal's words on these matters, written in the vein of French
moralists, hence irreverent, fresh in both meanings of the word,
and sarcastic, may have exaggerated the matter a bit but did not
miss the mark:
22 PART ONE
We can only think of Plato and Aristotle in grand academic
robes. They were honest men, like othc:rs, laughing with their
friends, and when they wanted to divert themselves, they
wrote the Laws or the Politics, to amuse themselves. That part
of their life was the least philosophic and the least serious.
The most philosophic [thing] was to live simply and quietly. If
they wrote on politics, it was as if laying down rules fo~ a
lunatic asylum; if they presented the appearance of speakmg
of great matters, it was because they knew that the madmen,
to whom they spoke, thought they were kings and emperors.
They entered into their principles in order to make their
madness as little harmful as possible.44 .
Fourth Session
I READ TO YOU a "thought" of Pascal in order to draw your attention
to the relation between philosophy and politics or, rather, to
the attitude nearly all philosophers have had toward the realm
of human affairs (ta tlin anthrDpon pragmata). Robert Cumming
recently wrote: "The subject-matter of modern political philosophy
... is not the polis or its politics, but the relation between
philosophy and politics."45 This remark actually applies to all
political philosophy and, most of all, to its beginnings in Athens;
If we ~onsider Kant's relation to politics from thi~ general
perspective-that is, not attributing to him alone what is a general
characteristic, a deformation proJessionnelle.,.-we shall find
certain agreements and certain very important divergences. The
main and most striking agreement is in the attitude toward life
and death. You will remember that Plato said that only his body
still inhabited the City and, in the Phaedo, aJ.so explained how
right ordinary people are when they say that a philosopher's life
is like dying.46 Death, being the separation of body and soul, is
welcome to him; he is somehow in love with death, because the
body, with all its demands, constantly interrupts the soul's pursuits.
47 In other words, the true philosopher does not accept the
conditions under which life has been given to man. This is not
just a whim of Plato, and not just his hostility to the body. It is
implicit in Parmenides' trip to the heavens to escape "the opinions
of mortals" and the delusions of sense experience, and it is
implicit in Heraclitus' withdrawal from his fellow citizens and in
those who, asked about their true home, pointed toward the
skies; that is, it ill implicit in the beginnings of philosophy in
Kant Lectures 23
Ionia. And if, with the Romans, we understand being alive as
synonymous with inter homines esse (and sinere inter homines esse as
being dead), then we have the first important clue to the sectarian
tendencies in philosophy since the time of Pythagoras:
withdrawal into a sect is the second-best cure for being alive at all
and having to live among men. Most surprisingly, we find a
similar position in Socrates, who, after all, brought philosophy
down from the heavens to earth; in the Apology, likening death to
a dreamless sleep, he states that even the great king of Persia
would find it difficult to· remember many days or nights he had
spent better or more pleasantly than a single night in which his
sleep was undisturbed by' dreams.48
To estimate these testimonies of Greek philosophers involves
a difficulty. They must be seen against the general Greek pessimism
that survives in Sophocles' famous line.s: "Not to be born
prevails ~ver all meaning uttered in words; by far the secondbest
thing is for life, once it has appeared, to go back as quickly
as possible whence it came" (jIA.e phunai ton hapanta nika logon,· to
d', epei phane, benai keis' hopothen per hekei polu deuteron has
tachista
[Oedipus at Colonus, 1224--26]). This feeling about life disappeared
with the Greeks; what did not disappear but, on the
contrary, had the greatest possible influence on the later tradition,
was the estimate' of what philosophy was all about.,.-no
matter whether the authors still spoke out of a specifically
Greek experience or out of the specific experience of the
philosopher. There is hardly any book that had greater influence
than Plato's Phaedo. The common Roman and lateantiquity
notion that philosophy teaches men first of all how
to die is its vulgarized version. (This is un-Greek: in Rome,
philosophy,
imported from Greece, was a concern of the old; in
Greece, on the contrary, it was for the young.) The point for us
here is that this preference for death became a general topic of
philosophers after Plato. When (in the third century) Zeno, the
founder of Stoicism, asked the Delphic Oracle what he should
do to attain the best life, the Oracle answered, "Take on the
color of the dead." This, as usual, was ambiguous; it could mean,
"Live as though you were dead" or, as Zeno himself allegedly
interpreted it, "Study the ancients." (Since the anecdote comes to
us from Diogenes Laertius [Lives oj the Philosophers 7. 21], who
lived in the third century A.D., both the words of .the Delphic
Oracle and Zeno's interpretation are uncertain.)
This outspoken suspicion of life could not survive in all its
24 PART ONE
recklessness in the Christian era, for reasons that do not concern
us here; you will find it in a characteristic transformation in the
theodicies of the modern age, that is, in the justifications of God,
behind which there lurks, of course, the suspicion that life as we
know it stands in great need of being justified. That this suspicion
of life implies a degradation of the whole realm of human
affairs, "its melancholy haphazardness" (Kant), is obvious. And
the point here is not that life on earth is not immortal but that it
is, as the Greeks would say, not "easy," like the life of the gods,
but troublesome, full of worries, cares, griefs, and sorrows, and
that the pains and displeasures always outweigh the pleasures
and gratifications.
Against this background of general pessimism, it is of some
importance to understand that the philosophers did no"t complain
about life's mortality or its shortness. Kant even mentions
this explicitly: a "greater length would merely prolong a game of
unceasing war with troubles."49 Nor would the species profit if
"men could look forward to a life of eight hundred or more
years"; for its vices, "endowed with so long a life, would reach a
degree where it would deserve no better fate than to be wiped
from the face of the earth." This, of course, is in contradiction to
the hope for progress in the species, which is constantly being
interrupted through the dying of the old members and the birth
of new ones, who must spend a very long time learning what the
old ones knew already and could have developed further had
they been granted a longer lifespan.
Hence, it is life itself whose value is at stake, and in this respect
there is hardly any postclassical philosopher who agreed with the
Greek philosophers on this point to the same extent as Kant did
(albeit without knowing it).
The value of life for us, if it is estimated by that which we enjoy
[that is, by happiness], is easy to decide. It sinks below zero;
for who would be willing to enter upon life anew under the
same conditions? Who would do so even according to a new,
self-chosen plan (yet in conformity with the course of nature),
if it were merely directed to enjoyment?50
Or, with respect to theodicies:
[If the justification of divine goodness consists] in showing
that in the destinies of men evils do not outweigh the pleasant
enjoyment of life, since everybody, no matter how badly 9ff
he is, prefers life to death, ... one can leave an answer to this
Kant Lectures 25
sophistry to the good sense of each man who has lived long
enough and reflected on the value of life; you have only to ask
him whether he would be willing to play the game oflife once
more, not under the same conditions, but under any conditions
of our earthly world and not. those of some fairyland.
51
In the same essay, Kant calls life a "time of probation" ~n
which even the best man "will fret his life away" (seines Lebens nicht
froh wird) , and he speaks in the Anthropology of the "bur~en
which seems to lie on life as such."52 And, should you thmk
that-because the stress is on enjoyment, pleasure and pain, and
happiness--this is a small matter for Kant, as a person as well as
a philosopher, he once wrote in the numerous reflections he left
behind (which have been published only in this century) that
only pleasure and displeasure (Lust and Unlust) "constitute the
absolute, because they are life itself."53 But you can also read in
the Critique oj Pure Reason that reason "finds itself constrained to
assume" a future life in which "worthiness and happiness" are
properly connected; "otherwise it .would have to regard the
moral laws as empty figments of the brain [leere Himgespinste]."54
If the answer to the question What may I hope? is Life in a
future world, the stress is less on immortality than on a better
kind of life.
We now look first into Kant's own philosophy to find out with
what thoughts he might have been able to overcome this deeprooted
melancholy disposition. For that this was his own case is
beyond doubt, and he himself knew it well. The following description
of "the man of melancholy frame of mind" is certainly
a self-portrait. This man
cares little for what others judge, what they consider good or
true [Selbstdenken] ... Truthfulness is su?lime, and ?-e ~ates
lies or dissimulation. He has a high feeling of the dlgmty. of
human nature. He values himself and regards a human bemg
as a creature who merits respect. He suffers no depraved
submissiveness, and breathes freedom in a noble breas~. All
chains, from the gilded ones worn at court ~o the ?-e~vy lrons
of galley slaves, are abominable to hi~. He IS a st~ct Judge of
himself and others, and not seldom IS weary of himself as of
the world. . .. He is in danger of becoming a visionary or a
crank.55
In our inquiry, we should not forget, however, tha~ Kant shared
his general estimate of life with philosophers With whom he
26 PART ONE
shared neither doctrines nor this specific melancholy.
Two specifically Kantian thoughts come to mind. The first
thought is contained in what the Age of Enlightenment called
progress, about which we have already spoken. Progress is the
progress of the species and is thus of litde avail to the individual.
But the thought of progress in history as a whole, and for mankind,
as a whole, implies disregard of the particular and directing
one's attention, rather, to the "universal" (as one finds it in the
very tide of the "Idea of a Universal [General] History") in whose
context the particular makes sense-to the whole for the existence
of which the particular is necessary. This escape, as it were,
from the particular, which is in itself meaningless, to the universal,
from which it derives its meaning~ is of course not peculiar to
Kant. The greatest thinker in this respect is Spinoza, with his
acquiescence in everything that is-his amor fati. But in Kant,
also, you will find repeatedly the- notion- of how necessary war,
catastrophes, and plain evil or pain are for the production of
"culture." Without them, men would sink back into the brute
state of mere animal satisfaction.
The second thought is Kant's notion of the moral dignity of
man as an individual. I mentioned earlier the Kantian question -
Why do men exist at all? This question, according to Kant, can
be asked only if one considers the human species as though it
were on the same level (and in a certain sense it is on the same
level) as other animal species. "Of man (and so of every rational
creature in the world [i.e., in the universe, not just on earth]) as a
moral being it can no longer be asked why (quem infinem,) [to what
end] he exists,"56 for he is an end in himself.
We now have three very different concepts of, or perspectives
under which we can consider, the affairs of men: we have the
human species and its progress; we have man as a moral being
and an end in himself; and we have men in the plural, who
actually are in the center of our considerations and whose true
"end" is, as I mentioned before, sociability. The distinctions
among these three perspectives are a necessary precondition for
an understanding of Kant. Whenever he speaks of man, one
must know whether he is speaking of the human species; or of
the moral being, the rational creature that may also exist in
other parts of the universe; or of men as actual inhabitants of the
earth.
To summarize: Human species = Mankind = part of nature =
subject to "history," nature's ruse = to be considered under the
Kant Lectures 27
idea of "end," teleological judgment: second part of Critique oj
Judgment.
Man = reasonable being, subject to the laws of practical reason
which he gives to himself, autonomous, an end in himself, belonging
to a Geisterreich, realm of intelligible beings = Critique oj
Practical Reason and Critique oj Pure Reason.
Men = earthbound creatures, living in communities, endowed
with common sense, sensus communis, a community sense; not
autonomous, needing each other's company even for thinking
("freedom of the pen") = first part of the Critique oj Judgment:
aesthetic judgment.
Fifth Session
I SAID THAT I would point out how Kant's attitude as a philosopher
toward the realm of human affairs coincides with and diverges
from the attitudes of other philosophers, especially Plato.
For the moment we shall restrict ourselves to this main point: the
attitude of philosophers toward life itself as it is given to men on
earth. If you think back to the Phaedo and to the motivation
given there for the philosopher's being somehow in love with
death, you will recall that, though Plato despises the pleasures of
the body, he does not complain that the displeasures outweigh
the pleasures. The point is rather that pleasures, like displeasures,
distract the mind and lead it astray, that the body is a
burden if you are after truth, which, being immaterial and beyond
sense perception, can be perceived only by the eyes of the
soul, which also is immaterial and beyond sense perception. In
other words, true cognition is possible only to a mind untroubled
by the senses.
This, of course, cannot be Kant's position, for his theoretical
philosophy holds that all cognition depends on the interplay and
cooperation of sensibility and intellect, and his Critique oj Pure
Reason has righdy been called a justification, if not a glorification,
of human sensibility. Even in his youth-when, still under the
impact of tradition, he expressed a certain Platonic hostility to
the body (he complained that it interfered with the swiftness of
thought [Humgkeit des Gedankens], thus limiting and hindering
the mind)57-he did not claim that the body and the senses were
the chief source of error and evil.
Practically speaking, this has two important consequences.
28 PART ONE
First, for Kant, the philosopher clarifies the experiences we all
have; he does not claim that the philosopher can leave the
Platonic Cave or join in Parmenides' journey to the heavens, nor
does he think that he should become a member of a sect. For
Kant, the philosopher remains a man like you and me, living
among his fellow men, not among his fellow philosophers. Second,
the task of evaluating life with respect to pleasure and
displeasure-which Plato and the others claimed for the philosopher
alone, holding that the many are quite satisfied with life as
it is-Kant claims can be expected from every ordinary man of
good sense who ever reflected on life at all.
These two consequences, in turn, are obviously but two sides
of the same coin, and the name of the coin is Equality. Let us
consider three famous passages from Kant's works. The first two
are from the Critique of Pure Reason, answering some objections:
Do you really require that a kind of knowledge which concerns
all men should transcend the common understanding,
and should only be revealed to you by philosophers? ... [In]
matters which concern all men without distinction nature is
not guilty of any partial distribution of her gifts, and ... in
regard to the essential ends of human nature the highest
philosophy cannot advance further than is possible under the
guidance which nature has bestowed even upon the most ordinary
understanding. 58
Together with this, consider the very last paragraph of the
Critique:
If the reader has had the courtesy and patience to accompany
me along this path, he may now judge for himself whether, if
he cares to lend his aid in making this path into a high-road, it
may not be possible to achieve before the end of the present
century what many centuries have not been able to accomplish;
namely, to secure for human reason complete satisfaction
in regard to that with which it has all along so eagerly
occupied itself, though hitherto in vain.59
The third passage, much quoted, is autobiographical:
By jnclination I am an inquirer. I feel a consuming thirst for
knowledge, the unrest which goes with desire to pr0lP"ess in it,
and satisfaction in every advance in it. There was a ome when
I believed this constituted the honor of humanity, and I despised
[the] people, who know nothing. Rousseau has put me
right [hat mich zurecht gebracht]. This blinding prejudice dis-
Kant Lectures 29
appeared, and I learned to honor man. I would find myself
more useless than the common laborer if I did not believe that
[what I am doing] can give worth to all others in establishing
the rights of mankind. 60
Philosophizing, or the thinking of reason, which transcends the
limitations of what can be knowl4 the boundaries of human
cognition, is for Kant a general human "need," the need of
reason as a human faculty. It does not oppose the few to the
many. (If there is a distinctive line between the few and the many
in Kant it is much rather a question of morality: the "foul spot"
in the human species is lying, interpreted as a kind of selfdeception.
The "few" are those who are honest with themselves.)
With the disappearance of this age-old distinction, however,
something curious happens. The philosopher's preoccupation
with politics disappears; he no longer has any special interest in
politics; there is no self-interest and hence no claim to either
power or to a constitution that would protect the philosopher
against the many. He agrees with Aristotle, against Plato, that
the philosophers should not rule but that rulers should be willing
to listen to the philosophers.61 But he disagrees with Aristotle's
view that the philosophical way of life is the highest and that
the political way of life, in the last analysis, exists for the sake of
the bios theOretikos. With the abandonment of this hierarchy,
. which is the abandonment of all hierarchical structures, the old
tension between politics and philosophy disappears altogether.
The result is that politics, and the necessity to write a political
philosophy to lay down the rules for an "insane asylum," ceases
to be an urgent business for the philosopher. It is, in the words
of Eric Weil, no longer "une preoccupation pour les philosophes; elle
devient, ensemble avec l'histoire, un probleme philosophique" [it is no
longer merely "a source of anxiety for the philosophers; it becomes,
together with history, a genuine philosophical problem"].
62
Moreover, when Kant speaks of the burden that seems to lie
on life itself, he alludes to the curious nature of pleasure, which
Plato, in a different context talks about too; namely, the fact that
all pleasure dispels a displeasure, that a life that contained only
pleasures would actually lack all pleasure-for man would be
unable to feel it or enjoy it-and that, therefore, an entirely pure
delight, untroubled by either the remembrance of the want that
preceded it or the fear of the loss that will certainly succeed it,
does not exist. Happiness as a solid, stable state of soul and body
30 PART ONE
is unthinkable for men on earth. The greater the want and the
greater the displeasure, .the mor~ intense will be. the pleasure.
There is only one excepuon to thIS rule, and that IS the pleasure
we feel when confronted with beauty. This pleasure Kant calls
"disinterested delight [uninteressiertes Wohlgefallen]," choosing a
different word for it on purpose. We shall later see what an
important role this notion plays in that political philosophy that
Kant never wrote. He himself alludes to it when, in one of the
posthumously published reflections, he writes: "The fact th~t
man is affected by the sheer beauty of nature proves that he IS
made for and fits into this world [Die schonen Dinge zeigen an,
dass der Mensch in die Welt passe und selbst seine Anschauung
der Dinge mit den Gesetzen seiner Anschauung stimme]."63
Let us suppose for a moment that Kant had written a theodicy,
a justification of the Creator before the Tribunal of Reaso~: ~ e
know that he did not; rather, he wrote an essay about the failure
of all philosophical attempts in theodicies," and he prove~ in
the Critique of Pure Reason the impossibility of all demonstrauons
of God's existence (he took Job's position: God's ways are
inscrutable).
Still, had he written a theodicy, the fact of beauty·of
things in the world would have played· an important part in
it-as important as the famous "moral law within me," that is,
the fact of human dignity. (Theodicies rely on the argument
that, if you look at the whole, you will see that the particula~,
about which you complain, is part and parcel of it and, as such, IS
justified in its existence. In an early essay [1759] on optimism, 64
Kant took a similar position: "The whole is the best, and everything
is good for the sake of the whole." I doubt that he would
later have been able to write, as he did there: "I call out to each
creature ... : Hail us, we are! [Heil uns, wir sind!]." But the
praise is praise of the "whole," i.e., of the world; in his youth
Kant was still willing to pay the price of life for being in the
world at all.) This is also the reason why he attacked with such
unusual vehemence the "obscurantist sages" who, in "partly
nauseous allegories," presented "our world [the. earth], the
domicile of mankind, completely contemptuously," as
an inn . .. where every man putting up there along his journey
through life must be prepared to be soon supplanted by a
successor; as a penitentiary ... for the chastisement and
purification of fallen spirits expelled from heaven ... ; as a
lunatic asylum . .. ; as a cloaca to which all refuse from other
Kant Lectures 31
worlds has been conjured ... [a kind of] privy for the whole
universe. 65
So let us retain for the moment the following ideas. The
world is beautiful and therefore a fit place for men to live in, but
individual men would never choose to live again. Man as a moral
being is an end in himself, but the hu~an spe~i~s is subject to
progress, which, of course, is someho~ m .0PPosluon to man as a
moral and rational creature, an end m hImself.
If I am right that there exists a political philosophy in .Kant b~t
that, in contrast to other philosophers, he n~v~r wrote It, th~n It
seems obvious that we should be able to find It, If we can find It at
all, in his whole work and not just in the few essays that are
usually collected under this rubric. If his main wo~ks, on the one
hand, contain no political implications at all, and If: ~:m the o~er
hand, the peripheral writings dealing with pohucal s.ubJec~s
contain merely peripheral thoughts, unconnected WIth hIS
strictly philosophical works, then our inquiry ~ould be pointl~s~,
at best of antiquarian interest. It would be agamst the very spmt
of Kant to concern ourselves with them, for the passlOn for
erudition remained alien to him. He did not intend, as he noted
in his reflections, "to make his head into a piece of parchment to
scribble down on it old half-effaced bits of information from
archives [Ich werde ja meinen Kopf nicht zu einem Pergament
machen, um alte halb-erloschene Nachrichten aus Archiven
darauf nachzukritzeln]."66
Let us start with something that today will hardly surprise
anyone but that still is worth taking into consideration. No ~ne
before Kant or after him, except Sartre, wrote a famous phdosophical
book that he entitled Critique. We know both too little and
too much why Kant chose this surprising and some~?~t derogatory
title, as though he meant no more than to ~nu~lze. all
his predecessors. To be sure, he meant more than thIS WIth the
word, but the negative connotation was never altogether a?se~t
from his mind: "The whole philosophy of true reason IS dlrected
solely toward this negative benefit"67-namely, to make
reason "pure," to assure that no experience, no sensation, would
introduce itself into reason's thinking. The word may have been
suggested to him, as he hi~self pointed out, by the "age o.f
criticism," i.e., the Age of Enlightenment, and he remarks that It
is "that merely negative attitude which constitutes enlightenment
proper."68 Enlightenment means, in this context, liberation
from prejudices, from authorities, a purifying event.
32 PART ONE
Our age is, in especial degree, the age of criticism, and to such
criticism everything must submit. Religion ... and legislation
... may seek to exempt themselves from it. But they then
awaken just suspicion, and cannot claim the sincere respect
which reason accords only to that which has been able to
sustain the test of free and open examination,89
The result of such criticism is Selbstdenkeri, to "use your own
mind." Using his own mind, Kant discovered the "scandal of
reason," that is, that it is not just tradition and authority that lead
us astray but the faculty of reason itself. Hence, "critique" means
an attempt to discover reason's "sources and limits." Kant thus
believed that his critique was a mere "propaedeutic to the system,"
and "critique" is here placed in opposition to "doctrine."
Kant believed, it seems, that what .was wrong with traditional
metaphysics was not "doctrine" itself. Thus critique means "to
lay down the complete architectonic plan ... to guarantee ... the
completeness and certainty of the structure in all its parts."70 As
such, it will make it possible to evaluate all other philosophical
systems. This, again, is connected with the spirit of the
eighteenth century, with its enormous interest in aesthetics, in
art and art criticism, the goal of which was to lay down rules for
taste, to establish standards in the arts.
The word critique, finally and most importantly, stands in a
tWofold opposition to dogmatic metaphysics on the one hand, to
skepticism on the other. The answer to both was: Critical thinking.
Succumb to neither. As such, it is a new way of thinking and
not a mere preparation for a new doctrine. Hence, it is not as
though the seemingly negative business of critique could be followed
by the seemingly positive business of system-making. This
is what indeed took place, but, from a Kantian viewpoint, this
was but another dogmatism. (Kant never was quite clear and
unequivocal on this point; could he have seen to what exercises
in sheer speculation his Critique would liberate Fichte, Schelling,
and Hegel, he might have been a bit clearer.) Philosophy itself,
according to Kant, has become critical in the age of criticism and
Enlightenment-the time when man had come of age.
It would be a great error to believe that critical thinking stands
somewhere between dogmatism and skepticism. It is actually the
way to leave these alternatives behind. (In biographical terms: it
is Kant's way of overcoming both the old: metaphysical
schools-Wolff and Leibniz-and the new skepticism of Hume,
which had roused him from dogmatic slumber.) We all start out
Kant Lectures 33
as dogmatists in one way or the other; we are either dogmatic in
philosophy or we solve all problems by believing in the dogmas
of some church, in revelation. One's first reaction against this,
triggered off by the inescapable experience of many dogmas, all
of which claim to possess the truth, is skepticism: the conclusion
that there is no such a thing as truth, that therefore I may either
arbitrarily choose some dogmatic doctrine (arbitrarily with regard
to truth: my choice may be prompted simply by various
interests and be entirely pragmatic). Or I may simply shrug my
shoulders about so profitless a business. The real skeptic, the one
who states, "There is no truth," will immediately be answered by
the dogmatist: "But you imply, by stating this, that you do believe
in truth; you claim validity for your statement that there is no
truth." It seems that he has won the argument. But no more
than the argument. The skeptic can reply, "This is sheer sophistry.
You know very well what I mean even though I cannot utter
it in words without an apparent contradiction." Whereupon the
dogmatist will say, "See? Language itself is against you." And,
since the dogmatist is usually a rather aggressive fellow, he will
proceed and say, "Since you are intelligent enough to understand
the contradiction, I must conclude that you have an interest
in destroying truth; you are a nihilist." The critical position
stands against both of these. It recommends itself by its modesty.
It would say: "Perhaps men, though they have a notion, an idea,
of truth for regulating their mental processes, are not capable, as
finite beings, of the truth. (The Socratic: 'No man is wise.')
Meanwhile, they are quite able to inquire into such human
faculties as they have been given-we do not know by whom or
how, but we have to live with them. Let us analyze what we can
know and what we cannot." This is why his book is entitled the
Critique of pure reason.
Sixth Session
WE WERE DISCUSSING the term "critique," which Kant, according
to his own understanding, had taken from the Age of Enlightenment;
and if we went beyond Kant's self-interpretation in
our presentation, we still remained within Kant's spirit. As he
himself said, posterity often "understands an author better than
he understood himself."n We said that Kant, though the negative
spirit of criticism was never absent from his mind, meant, by
34 PART ONE
critique, not a criticism of "books and systems but of the faculty
of reason as such";72 we also said that he believed that he had
found the way out of the sterile choice between dogmatism and
skepticism, which usually is resolved in "complete
indifferentism-the mother, in all sciences, of chaos and
night."73 I told you, in the dialogue between the skeptic an~ the
dogmatist, of the skeptic who exclaims, when confronted WIth so
many truths (or rather with people, each of whom pretends to
have the truth, and with the fierce batde between them), "There
is no truth" and therewith speaks the charmed words that unite
all dogmatists. Into this batde the critic enters and interrupts the
shouting match: "Both of you, dogmatists and skeptics, seem to
have the same concept of truth, namely, 'something which by
definition excludes all other truths, so that all of them become
mutually exclusive. Perhaps," he says, "there is something wrong
with your concept of truth. Perhaps," he adds, "men, finite beings,
have a notion of truth but cannot have, possess, the truth.
Let us first analyze this faculty of ours which tells us that there is
truth." No doubt, the "Critique limits speculative reason, it is
indeed negative"; but to deny that, for this reason, "the service
which the Critique renders is positive in character would be like
saying that the police are of no positive benefit, inasmuch as
their main business is merely to prevent the violence of which
citizens stand in mutual fear, in order that each may pursue his
vocation in peace and security."74 When Kant was through with
his Critique, the analysis of our cognitive faculties, Mendelssohn
called him the Alles-Zermalmer, the "all-destroyer," namely, the
destroyer of any belief that I can know in so-called metaphysical
matters and that there can be such a "science" as metaphysics,
having the same validity as other sciences. .
But Kant himself did not see the clearly destructive side of his
enterprise. He did not understand that he had actually dismantled
. the whole machinery that had lasted, though often
under attack, for many centuries, deep into the modern age; He
thought, quite in tune with the spirit of the time, that the "loss
affects only the monopoly of the Schools, but by no means the
interest of men," who will finally be rid of the "subde but ineffectual
distinctions" that in any case have never "succeeded in
reaching the public mind [lias Publikum] or in exercising the
slightest influence on its convictions."75 (I am reading to you
from the two prefaces to the Critique oj Pure Reason, which are
addressed to what Kant calls elsewhere "the reading public.")
Kant Lectures 35
And the polemical point is again against "the arrogant pretensions
of the Schools," which claim to be the sole "possessors of
truths," truths that are not only "matters of general human concern"
but also "within the reach of the great mass of men--ever
to be held in the highest esteem by US/'76 SO much for the
universities.
As far as governments are concerned, Kant adds that,
should they think it proper to interfere, it would be much wiser
"to support such critique ... than to support the ridiculous despotism
of the Schools, which raise a loud cry of public danger
when somebody destoys their cobwebs, to which the public has
never paid any attention and the loss of which it therefore can
never feel."77
I have read to you more than I originally intended, pardy to
give you an inkling of the atmosphere in which these books were
written, and pardy because the consequences--though they did
not result in an armed uprising-were, after all, a bit more serious
than Kant himself foresaw. As for the atmosphere: the
mentality of the Enlightenment, on the highest level, did not last
for long, and it may best be illustrated by contrasting it with the
attitude of the next generation, well represented by the young
Hegel: .
Philosophy by its very nature is something esoteric which is
not made for the mob nor is it capable of being prepared for
the mob; philosophy is philosophy only to the extent that it is
the very opposite of the intellect and even more the opposite
of common sense, by which we understand the local and temporary
limitations of generations; in its relation to this common
sense, the world of philosophy as such is a world turned upside
down. 78 . |
|
For
the beginning of philosophy must be a lifting oneself up
above that kind of truth given by common consciousness, the
premonition of a higher truth. 79
If we are thinking in terms of progress, this certainly is a "relapse"
into what philosophy had been since its beginning, and.
Hegel repeats the story Plato told about Thales, with a great
show of indignation at the laughing Thracian peasant girl. Kant
is not free of responsibility for the fact that his critical philosophy
was almost immediately understood as another "system"
and was then attacked as such by the next generation, when the
spirit of the Enlightenment, which had inspired it, was lost.
36 PART ONE
Still, when this "relapse" had run its course with the systems of
German idealism, the generation of Kant's sons, the generation
of what could have been his grandsons and great-grandsonsfrom
Marx to Nietzsche-decided, seemingly under the influence
of Hegel, to leave philosophy altogether. If you think in
terms of the history of ideas, you could say that the consequences
of the Critique of Reason could have been either the
establishment of critical thinking or the "insight" that reason and
philosophical thinking are good for nothing and that "critique"
means the destruction, in thought, of whatever it seizes upon, as
against Kant's notion of "critique" as limitation and purification.
There exists another book that uses the word critique in its
tide, and one I had forgotten to mentiori. Marx's Capital was
originally called The Critique ojPoliticalEconomy, and Marx's Preface
to its second edition mentions the dialectical method as
being at the same time "critical and revolutionary." Marx knew
what he was doing. He had called Kant, as many did after him
and as Hegel had done before him, "the philosopher of the French
Revolution." For Marx, but not for Kant, what joined theory to
practice was critique; it related them and, as the saying goes,
mediated between them. It was the example of the French Revolution,
an event that had been preceded by the Age of Criticism
and Enlightenment, that suggested that the theoretical dismantling
of the ancien regime had been followed by· the practice of destroying
it. This, the example seemed to say, is how "the idea seizes
the masses." The point here is not whether this is true-whether
this is the way revolutions come about; the point is rather that
Marx thought in these terms because he saw Kant's huge enterprise
as the greatest work of the Enlightenment and believed with
Kant that enlightenment and revolution belong together. (For
Kant "the middle term" that links and provides a transition from
theory to practice is judgment; he had in mind the practitionerfor
example, the doctor or lawyer, who first learns theory and
then practices medicine or law, and whose practice consists in
applying the rules he has learned to particular cases.)80
To think critically, to blaze the trail of thought through
prejudices, through unexamined opinions and beliefs, is an old
concern of philosophy, which we may date, insofar as it is a
conscious enterprise, to the Socratic midwifery in Athens. Kant
was not unaware of this connection. He said explicidy that he
wished to proceed "in Socratic fashion" and to silence all objectors
"by the clearest proof of [their] ignorance."81 Unlike Soc-
Kant Lectures 37
rates, he believed in a "future system of metaphysics," 82 but what
he finally bequeathed to posterity were critiques and no system.
Socrates' method consisted in emptying his partners of all unfounded
beliefs and "windeggs"-the mere phantasies that filled
their minds. 83 According to Plato, he did this by the art of krinein,
of sorting out and separating and distinguishing (techne
diakritike, the art of discrimination). 84 According to Plato (but not
according to Socrates), the result is "the purification of the soul
from conceits that stand in the way of knowledge"; according to
Socrates, no knowledge follows the examination, and none of his
partners was ever delivered of a child that was no windegg.
Socrates taught nothing; he never knew'the answers to the questions
he asked. He did the examining for examining's sake, not
for the sake of knowledge. Had he known what courage,justice,
piety, etc., were, he would no longer have had the urge to
examine them, i.e., to think about them. Socrates' uniqueness
lies in this concentration on thinking itself, regardless of results.
There is no ulterior motive or ulterior purpose for the whole
enterprise. An unexamined life is not worth living. That is all
there is to it. What he actually did was to make public, in discourse,
the thinking process-that dialogue that soundlessly goes on
within me, between me and myself; he peiformed in the marketplace
the way the flute-player performed at a banquet. It is
sheer performance, sheer ,activity. And just as the flute-player
has to follow certain rules in order to perform well, Socrates
discovered the only rule that holds sway over thinking-the rule
of consistency (as Kant was to call it in the Critique of Judgment)85
or, as it was later called, the axiom of noncontradiction. ~his
axiom, which for Socrates was "logical" (Do not talk or think
non-sense) as well as "ethical" (It is better to be at odds with
multitudes than, being one, to be at odds with yourself, riamely, to
contradict yourself),86 became with Aristode the first principle of
thinking, but of thinking only. However, with Kant, whose
whole moral teaching actually rests on it, it became again part of
ethics; because ethics in Kant is also based on a thought process:
Act so that the maxim of your action can be willed by you to
become a general law , that is, a law to which you yourself wo~ld
be subject. It is, again, the same general rule-Do not contradict
yourself (not your self but your thinking ego }-that determines
both thinking and acting. ' ,
The Socratic fashion was of importance to Kant for another
reason. Socrates was a member of no sect, and he founded no
38 PART ONE
school. He became the figure of the philosopher because he took
on all comers in the marketplace-was entirely unprotected,
open to all questioners, to all demands to give an account of and
to live up to what he said. The schools and sects are unenlightened
(in Kantian parlance) because they depend on the
doctrines of their founders. Ever since Plato's Academy, they
have stood in opposition to "public opinion," to society at large,
to the "they"; but that does not mean that they rely on no authority.
The model is always the school of the Pyth~goreans,
whose conflicts could be solved by appeal to the authOrity of the
founder: to the autos epha, the ipse dixit, the "he himself said so."
In other words, the unthinking dogmatism of the many is countered
by the select but equally unthinking dogmatism of the few.
If we now consider once more the relation of philosophy to
politics, it is clear that the art of critical thinking alwa~s has
political implications. And it had the gravest consequences m the
case of Socrates. Unlike dogmatic thought, which indeed may
spread new and "dangerous" beliefs but does so behind the
protective walls of a school that takes care of the arcana, the
secret, esoteric doctrine, and, again, unlike speculative thought,
which rarely bothers anyone, critical thought is in principle
antiauthoritarian.
And, as far as the authorities are concerned, the
worst thing is that you cannot catch it, cannot seize it. The
accusation
in the trial of. Socrates-that he introduced new gods
into the polis-was a trumped-up charge; Socrates taught nothing,
least of all new gods. But the other charge, that he corrupted
the young, was not without grounds. The trouble with
men of critical thought is that they "make the pillars of the
best-known truths shake wherever they let their eyes fall" (Lessing).
This certainly was Kant's case. Kant was the all-destroyer
though he never entered the marketplace and though the Critique
of Pure Reason, one of the most difficult, though certainly.
not obscure, books in philosophy, is not likely ever to become
popular, even among Kant's beloved "reading public." The
point, however, is that Kant, in distinction from almost all other
philosophers, regretted this deeply and never gave up hope that
it would be possible to popularize his thought, that the "narrow
footpath for the few would become a high-road [for all]."87 In a
curiously apologetic tone, he writes to Mendelssohn on August 16,
1783, two years after publication of the Critique of Pure Reason:
[Though the Critique is] the outcome of reflections which had
occupied me for a period of at least twelve years, I brought it
Kant Lectures 39
to completion in the greatest haste within some four or five
months ... with litde thought of ... rendering it easy of comprehension
by the reader, ... since otherwise, had I ... sought
to give it a more popular form, the work would probably
never have been completed at all. This defect can, however, be
gradually removed, now that the work exists in a rough
form. 88
Critical thinking, according to Kant and according to Socrates,
exposes itself to "the test of free and <:>~en e~a~ination," and
this means that the more people partlclpate m It, the better.
Hence, in 1781, immediately after publication of the Critique of
Pure Reason, Kant "devised a plan for popularizing" it. "F~r," he
wrote in 1783, "every philosophical work must be susceptible of
popularity; if not, it probably conceals nonsense b~ne~th a fog of
seeming sophistication."89 What Kant hoped for m hIS hope for
popularization-so strange in a philosopher, a tribe t?at usual~y
has such strong sectarian tendencies-was that the clrcl~ of hIS
examiners would gradually be enlarged. The Age of Enlightenment
is the age of "the public use of one's reason"; hence, the
most important political freedom for Kant was not, as for
Spinoza, the libertas philosophandi but the freedom to speak and
to publish. .
The word "freedom" has many meanings in Kant, as we shall
see; but political freedom is defined quite unequivocally and
consistendy throughout his work as "to make public use of one's
reason at every point. "90 And, "by the public use of. one's reason I
understand the use which a person makes of It as a scholar
before the reading public." There are restrictions on this use,
indicated by the words "as a scholar"; the scholar is not the same
as the citizen; he is a member of a very different kind of co~munity,
namely, "a society of world citizen~,"and it is. in t~IS
capacity that he addresses the public. (Kant s example. IS qll1te
clear: an officer in service has no right to refuse to obey. "But the
right to make remarks on errors in the military servi.ce and to lay
them before the public for judgment cannot eqll1tably be refused
him as a scholar," that is, as a world citizen.)91
Freedom of speech and thought, as we understand it, is the
right of an individual to express himself and his opinion in order
to be able to persuade others to share his viewpoint. This presupposes
that I am capable of making up my ~ind all b~ myself
and that the claim I have on the government IS to permit me to
propagandize whatever I have already fixed in my mind. Kant's
40 PART ONE
view of this matter is very different. He believes that the very
faculty of thinking depends on its public use; without "the test of
free and open examination," no thinking and no opinionformation
are possible. Reason is not made "to isolate itself but
to get into community with others."92
Kant's position on this matter is quite noteworthy because it is
not the position of the political man but of the philosopher or
thinker. Thinking, as Kant agreed with Plato, is the silent dialogue
of myself with myself (das Reden mit sick selbst), and that
thinking is a "solitary business" (as Hegel once remarked) is one
of the few things on which all thinkers were agreed. Also, it is of
course by no means true that you need or can even bear the
company of others when you happen to be busy thinking; yet,
unless you can somehow communicate and expose to the test of
others, either orally or in writing, whatever you may have found
out when you were alone, this faculty exerted in solitude will
disappear. In the words of Jaspers, truth is what I can communicate.
Truth in the sciences is dependent on the experiment that
can be repeated by others; it requires general validity. Philosophic
truth has no such general validity. What it must have,
what Kant demanded in the Critique if Judgment of judgments of
taste, is "general communicability."93 "For it is a natural vocation
of mankind to communicate and speak one's mind, especially in
all matters concerning man as such."
Seventh Session
WE WERE TALKING about the political implications of critical
thinking and the notion that critical thinking implies communicability.
Now communicability obviously implies a community of
men who can be addressed and who are listening and can be
listened to. To the question, Why are there men rather than
Man? Kant would have answered: In order that they may talk to
one another. For men in the plural, and hence for mankindfor
the species, as it were, that we belong to-"it is a natural
vocation ... to communicate and speak one's mind"-a remark I
have quoted before. Kant is aware that he disagrees with most
thinkers in asserting that thinking, though a solitary business,
depends on others to be possible at all:
It is said: the freedom to speak or to write can be taken away
from us by the powers-that-be, but the freedom to think can-
Kant Lectures 41
not be taken from us through them at all. However, how
much and how correctly would we think if we did not think in
community with others to whom we communicate our
thoughts and who communicate theirs to usl Hence, we may
safely state that the external power which deprives mati of the
freedom to communicate his thoughts publicly also takes away
his freedom to think, the only treasure left to us in our c.ivic
life and through which alone there may be a remedy agaInst
all evils of the present state of affairs. 94
We can look at this factor of publicity, necessary for critical
thinking, from still another viewpoint. What Socrates actually
did when he brought philosophy from the heavens down to
earth and began to examine opinions about what went on between
men was that he extracted from every statement its hidden
or latent implications; that is what his midwifery actually
amounted to. As the midwife helps the child to come to light to
be inspected, so Socrates brings to light the implications to be
inspected. (That is what Kant did when he complained abo~t
progress: he extracted the implications of thi~ concept; that ~s
what we did here when we protested agaInst the orgaruc
metaphor.) Critical thinking to a very large extent consists of this
kind of "analysis." This examination, in turn, presupposes that
everyone is willing and able to render an account of what he
thinks and says. Plato, having gone through the school of Socratic
midwifery, was the first to write philosophy in the way we
still recognize as philosophy and what later, with Aristotle, became
the treatise. He saw the difference between himself and the
"wise men" of old, the Presocratics, in the fact that they, wise
though they were, never gave an account of their thoughts.
There they were, with their great insights; but when you asked
them a question, they remained silent. Logon didonai, "to give
an account"-not to prove, but to be able to say how one came
to an opinion and for what reasons one formed it-is actually
what separates Plato from all of his prede~essors. The te~m
itself is political in origin: to render account~ IS what Atheruan
citizens asked of their politicians, not only In money matters
but in matters of politics. They could be held resp~)llsible. And
this-holding oneself and everyone else responsible and answerable
for what he thought and taught-was what transformed
into philosophy that search for knowledge and for truth
that had sprung up in Ionia. This transformation had already
come about with the Sophists, who have rightly been called the
42 PART ONE
representatives of Enlightenmen~ in Greece; it was the~
sharpened into a method of questIon and answer by Socrates
midwifery. This is the origin of critical thoug~t, whose grea~st
representative in the modem age, perhaps In all postclasslcal
ages, was Kant, who was entirely conscious o~ its implications. In
one of his most important reflections, he WrItes as follows:
Quaestio facti, the question. o~ f~ct, is ~ ~h~ch way o?e h~s fi!st
obtained a concept; quaestto .fUns, the JUrIdIcal questIon, IS WIth
what right one possesses this concept and uses it. 95
To think critically applies not only to doctrines and concepts one
receives from others, to the prejudices and traditions one inherits;
it is precis~ly by applying critical standards to one's own
thought that one learns the art of critical !hought. .. .
And this application one cannot lea~ WIthOUt pub~clty.' w~thout
the testing that arises from contact WIth other people s thinking.
In order to show how it works, I shall read to you two personal
passages from . letters Kant wrote in the 1770s to Marcus
Herz:
You know that I do not approach reasonable obj~ctio~s ~ith
the intention merely of refuting them, but that In thinking
them over I always weave them into my judgments, and afford
them the opportunity of overturning all my. ID:0st
cherished beliefs. I entertain the hope that by thus VIewIng
my judgments impartially from the standp?int ?f c;>thers some
third view that will improve upon my prevIous InsIght may be
obtainable. 96
You see that impartiality is obtained by taking the viewpoints of
others into account; impartiality is not the result of some higher
standpoint that would then actually setde the dispute by bein.g
altogether above the melee. In the second letter, Kant makes thIS
even clearer:
[The mind needs a reasonable amount of relaxations and
diversions to maintain its mobility] that it may be enabled ~o
view the object afresh from every side, and so to enlarge I~S
point of view from a micrc;>scopic to a ge.neral 0!l~ook that It
adopts in tum every conceIvable standpOInt, venfyIng the observations
of each by means of all the others.97
Here the word "impartiality" is not mentioned. In its stead, we
find the notion that one can "enlarge" one's own thought so as to
take into account the thoughts of others. The "enlargement of
Kant Lectures 43
the mind" plays a crucial role in the Critique of Judgment. It is
accomplished by "comparing our judgment with the possible
rather than the actual judgments of others, and by putting ourselves
in the place of any other man."98 The faculty that makes
this possible is called imagination. When you read the paragraphs
in the Critique of Judgment and compare them with the
letters just quoted, you will see that the former contain no more
than the conceptualization of these very personal remarks. 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.
(Compare the right to visit in Perpetual Peace.)
I must warn you here of a very common and easy misunderstanding.
The trick of critical thinking does not consist in an
enormously enlarged empathy through which one can know
what actually goes on in the mind of all others. To think, according
to Kant's understanding of enlightenment, means
Selbstdenken, to think for oneself, "which is the maxim of a
never-passive reason. To be given to such passivity is called
prejudice,"
99 and enlightenment is, first of all, liberation from prejudice.
To accept what goes on in the minds of those whose
"standpoint" (actually, the place where they stand, the conditions
they are subject to, which always differ from one individual
to the next, from one class or group as compared to another) is
not my own would mean no more than passively to accept their
thought, that is, to exchange their prejudices for the prejudices
proper to my own station. "Enlarged thought" is the result of
first "abstracting from the limitations which contingendy attach
to our own judgment," of disregarding its "subjective private
conditions ... , by which so many are limited," that is, disregarding
what we usually call self-interest, which, according to
Kant, is not enlightened or capable of enlightenment but is in
fact limiting. The greater the reach-the larger the realm in
which the enlightened individual is able to move from standpoint
to standpoint-the more "general" will be his thinking.
This generality, however, is not the generality of the conceptfor
example, the concept "house," under which one can then
44 PART ONE
subsume various kinds of individual buildings. It is, on the contrary,
closely connected with particulars, with the particular
conditions of the standpoints one has to go through in order to
arrive at one's own "general standpoint." This general stand- .
point we spoke of earlier as impartiality; it is a viewpoint from
which to look upon, to watch, to form judgments, or, as Kant
himself says, to reflect upon human affairs. It does not tell one
how to act. It does not even tell one how to apply the wisdom,
found by virtue of occupying a "general standpoint," to the particulars
of political life. (Kant had no experience of such action
whatsoever and could have had none in the Prussia of Frederick
II.) Kant does tell one how to take others into account; he does
not tell one how to combine with them in order to act.
Which brings us to this question: Is the general standpoint
merely the standpoint of the spectator? (How serious Kant was
about the enlargement of his own mentality is indicated by the
fact that he introduced and taught a course in physical geography
at the university. He was also an eager reader of all sorts of
travel reports, and he-who never left Konigsberg-knew his
way around in both London and Italy; he said he had no time to
travel precisely because he wanted to know so much about so
many countries.) In Kant's own mind it was certainly the standpoint
of the world citizen. But does this easy phrase of idealists,
"citizen of the world," make sense? To be a citizen means among
other things to have responsibilities, obligations, and rights, all
of which make sense only if they are territorially limited. Kant's
world citizen was actually a Weltbetrachter, a world-spectator.
Kant knew quite well that a world government would be the
worst tyranny imaginable.
In Kant himself, in his last years, this perplexity comes to the
fore in the seeming contradiction between his almost boundless
admiration for the French Revolution and his equally boundless
opposition to any revolutionary undertaking on the part of the
French citizens. The passages I shall read to you were all written
at about the same time. But before we proceed, let me remind
you that Marx called Kant the philosopher of the French Revolution,
as Heine had earlier. More important, perhaps, this
evaluation had a solid foundation in the self-understanding of
the Revolution itself. Sieyes, famous author of the Tiers Etat and
one of the founders of the Jacobin Club, who then became one
of the most important members of the Constituent Assembly,
the assembly commissioned to draft the French Constitution,
Kant Lectures 45
seems to have known Kant and to have been influenced to some
degree by his philosophy. At any rate, a friend of his, Theremin,
approached Kant to say that Sieyes intended to introduce Kant's
philosophy in France because "l'etude de cette philosophie par
les Franc;ais serait un complement de la Revolution [the study of
this philosophy by Frenchmen would complement the Revolution]."
loo Kant's answer is lost.
Kant's reaction to the French Revolution, at first "and even
second glance, is by no means unequivocal. To anticipate: he never
wavered in his estimation of the grandeur of what he called the
"recent event," and he hardly ever wavered in his condemnation
of all those who had prepared it. I shall start with the most
famous of his utterances in this connection; moreover, it contains,
in a sense, the key to the seeming contradiction in his attitude.
This event [the Revolution] consists neither in momentous
deeds nor misdeeds committed by men whereby what was
great among men is made small or what was small is made
great, nor in ancient splendid political structures which vanish
as if by magic while others come forth in their place as if
from the depths of the earth. No, nothing of the sort. It is
simply the mode of thinking of the spectators which reveals
itself publicly in this game of great transformations, and
manifests such a general yet disinterested sympathy for the
players on one side against those on the other, even at the risk
that this partiality could become very disadvantageous for
them if discovered. Owing to its generality, this mode of
thinking demonstrates a character of the human race at large
and all at once; owing to its disinterestedness, a moral
character of humanity, at least in its predisposition, a character
which not only permits people to hope for progress toward
the better, but is already itself progress insofar as its
capacity is sufficient for the present.
The revolution of a gifted people which we have seen unfolding
in our day may succeed or miscarry; it may be filled
with misery and atrocities to the point that a sensible man,
were he boldly to hope to execute it successfully the second
time, would never resolve to make the experiment at such
cost-this revolution, I say, nonetheless finds in the hearts of
all spectators (who are not engaged in this game themselves) a
wishful participation that borders closely on enthusiasm, the
very expression of which is fraught with danger; this sympathy,
therefore, can have no other cause than a moral predisposition
in the human race .
. . . Monetary rewards could not elevate the adversaries of
46 PART ONE
the revolution to the zeal and grandeur of soul which the
pure concept of right produced in [the revolutionaries]; and
even the concept of honor among the old martial nobility (an
analogue to enthu~iasm) v~nished before the weapons of
those who kept in VIew the nght of the people to WhICh they
belonged and of which ~ey consi~ered themselyes th~ guardians;
with what exaltation the umnvolved public looking on
sympathized then without the least intention of assisting ....
Now I claim to be able to predict to the human race-even
without prophetic insight-according to the aspects and
omens of our day, the attainment of this goal. That is, I predict
its progress toward the better which, from now on, turns
out to be no longer completely reversible. For such a
phenomenon in human history is not to be forgotten . .•.
But even if the end viewed in connection with this event
should not now be attained, even if the revolution or reform
of a national constitution should finally miscarry, or, after
some time had elapsed, everything should relapse into its
former rut (as politicians now predict), that philosophical
prophecy still would lose nothing of its force. For that event is
too important, too much interwoven with the interest of humanity,
and its influence too widely propagated in all areas of
the world to not be recalled on any favorable occasion by the
peoples which would then be roused to a repetition of new
efforts of this kind .... To him who does not consider what
happens in just one people but also has regard to the whole
scope of all the peoples on earth who will gradually come to
participate in these events, this reveals the prospect of an
immeasurable time.IOI
Eigh~h Session
IN WHAT I READ TO YOU from The Contest of the Faculties (Part II,
sections 6 and 7), Kant said explicitly that he was not concerned
with the deeds and misdeeds of men that make empires rise and
fall, make small what was formerly great and great what was
formerly small. The importance of the occurrence (Begebenheit)
is for him exclusively in the eye of the beholder, in the opinion
of the onlookers who proclaim their attitude in public. Their
reaction to the event proves the "moral character" of mankind.
Without this sympathetic participation, the "meaning" of the
occurrence would be altogether different or simply nonexistent.
For it is this sympathy that inspires hope,
Kant Lectures 47
the hope that, after many revolutions, with all their transforming
effects, the highest purpose of nature, a cosmopolitan
existence, will at last be realized within which all the original
capacities of the human race may be developed.lo2
From this, however, one should not conclude that Kant sided
in the least with the men of future revolutions. In a footnote to
the passage from The Contest of the Faculties, he makes this very
explicit: there are "rights of the people" that no ruler dares to
contest publicly for fear that the people will rise up against him;
and this they would do for the sake of freedom alone, even if
they were well fed, powerfully protected, and had "no lack of
welfare to complain of." The rights of men, implying the right of
the people to be "colegislators," are sacred. And yet:
These rights ... always remain an idea which can be fulfilled
only on condition that the means employed to do so are compatible
with morality. This limiting condition must not be
overstepped by the people, who may not therefore pursue
their rights by revolution, which is at all times unjust.IO~
If we had no more than this footnote, we might suspect that
Kant was cautious when he appended it; but the same warning is
repeated in a number of other passages. We tum to Perpetual
Peace, where his position is best explained:
If a violent revolution, engendered by a bad constitution, introduces
by illegal means a more legal constitution, to lead the
people back to the earlier constitution would not be permitted;
but, while the revolution lasted, each person who openly
or covertly shared in it would have justly incurred the
punishment due to those who rebeI,lo4
For, as he writes in the same vein in The Metaphysics of Morals,
if a revolution has succeeded and a new constitution has been
established, the unlawfulness of its origin and success cannot
free the subjects from the obligation to accommodate themselves
as good citizens to the new order of things.I05
Hence, whatever the status quo may be, good or bad, rebellion is
never legitimate. To be sure, if
The rights of the people are injured, [then] no injustice befalls
the tyrant when he is deposed. There can be no doubt on
this point. Nevertheless, it is in the highest degree illegitimate
for the subjects to seek their rights in this way. If they fail in
48 PART ONE
the struggle and are then subjected to severe punishment,
they cannot complain about injustice any more than the tyrant
could if they had succeeded.l06
What you see here clearly is the clash between the principle
according to which you should act and the principle according to
which you judge. For Kant condemns the very action whose
results he then affirms with a satisfaction bordering on enthusiasm.
This clash is not a mere matter of theory; in 1798,
Kant was once more confronted with a rebellion, one of the
many rebellions of Ireland against the then "legitimate" authority
of England. According to an acquaintance, as recorded in the
diary of Abegg, he believed the rebellion to be legitimate and
even expressed hope for a future republic of England.l07 Again,
it was a mere matter of opinion, the judgment of the spectator.
And he writes in the same vein:
I cannot admit the expression used even by intelligent men: A
certain people (engaged in elaborating civil freedom) is not
yet ripe for freedom; the bondmen of a landed proprietor are
not yet ripe for freedom; and thus also, men in general are
not yet ripe for freedom of belief. According to such a presupposition
freedom will never arrive; for we cannot ripen to
this freedom unless we are already set free-we must be free
in order to be able to use our faculties purposively in freedom
[and] we never ripen for reason except through our own efforts,
which we can make only when we are free .... [To
maintain that people who are subject to bonds] are essentially
unfit for freedom ... is to usurp the prerogatives of Divinity
itself, which created man for freedom. lOS
The reason why you should not engage in what, if successful,
you would applaud is the "transcendental principle of publicness,"
which rules all political action. Kant sets forth this principle
in Perpetual Peace (Appendix II), where he calls the conflict
between the engaged actor and the judging spectator a "conflict
of politics with morality." The overriding principle is:
All actions relating to the right of other men are unjust if
their maxim is not consistent with publicity ... [for a] maxim
which I cannot divulge publicly without defeating my own
purpose must be kept secret if it is to succeed; and, if I cannot
publicly avow it without inevitably exciting general opposition
to my project, the ... opposition which can be foreseen a
priori is due only to the injustice with which the maxim
threatens everyone. |
|
Just as the wrongness of
despotism can be demonstrated, because
"no ruler ever dared to say openly that he does not recognize
any rights of the people against himself," so the wrongness
of rebellion "is apparent from the ·fact that, if the maxim
upon which [the people] would act were publicly acknowledged, it
would defeat its own purpose. This maxim would therefore have
to be kept secret."110 The maxim of "political expediency," for
instance, would "necessarily defeat its own purpose if made
public"; on the other hand, a people engaged in the establishment
of a new government could not "publish its intention to
revolt" because "no state would be possible" on this condition,
and to establish a state "was the purpose of the people."
The two main arguments against this reasoning are
mentioned by Kant himself. First, the principle is "only negative,
i.e., it only serves for the recognition of what is not just, [and] we
cannot infer conversely that the maxims which bear publicity are
therefore just."111 In other words, opinion too, especially if it is
not the disinterested opinion of the onlooker but the partial,
uncritical opinion of interested citizens, may be wrong. Second,
the analogy between ruler and ruled is wrong: "no one who has
decidedly superior power needs to conceal his plans." He therefore
proposes an "affirmative and transcendental principle":
All maxims which stand in need of publicity in order not to fail
their end agree with politics and right combined.112
This solution of "the conflict of politics with morality" is derived
from Kant's moral philosophy, in which man as a single
individual, consulting nothing but his own reason, finds the
maxim that is not self-contradictory, from which he can then
derive an Imperative. Publicness is already the criterion of
rightness in his moral philosophy. Thus, for instance, "E;verybody
considers the moral law as something he can declare publicly,
but he considers his maxims as something which must be hidden"
("Jeder sieht das moralische Gesetz als ein solches an,
welches er offentlich deklarieren kann, aber jeder sieht seine
Maximen als solche an, die verborgen werden miissen").113 Private
maxims must be subjected to an examination by which I
find out whether I can declare them publicly. Morality here is
the coincidence of the private and the public. To insist on the
privacy of the maxim is to be evil. To be evil, therefore, is
characterized by withdrawal from the public realm. Morality
means being fit to be seen, and this not only by men but, in the
50 PART ONE
last instance, by God, the omniscient knower of the heart (der
Herzenskundige). .
Man insofar as he does anything at all, lays down the law; he IS
the legislator. But one can be this legislator only if one is oneself
free· whether the same maxim is valid for the bondsman as for
the free man is open to question. And even if you accept Kant's
solution as stated here, the precondition obviously is the "freedom
of the pen," that is, the existence of a public space f~r
opinion, at least, if not for action. For Kant, the moment to rebel IS
the moment when freedom of opinion is abolished. Not to rebel
then is to be unable to answer the old Machiavellian argument
against morality: If you do not resist evil! tJ:te evil~oers will ~o as
they please. Though it is true that, by reSisting evil, you are likely
to be. involved in evil, your care for the world takes pr~cedenc~
in politics over your care for your self-whethe~ thi~ self IS
your body or your soul. (Machiavelli's "I love my native oty mo~e
than my soul" is only a variation of: I love the world and Its
future more than my life or my self.) . ..
Actually, there are two assumptions in Kant tha.t permxt him to
extract himself thus easily from the conflict. He 18 aware of oD:e
of them in his polemics with Moses Mendelssohn, who had denied
Lessing's "progress of mankind as a whole": Mendelssohn
said, as quoted by Kant:
"Man as an individual progresses; but mankind constantly
fluctuates between fixed limits. Regarded as a whole, mankind
maintains roughly the same level of mo~ty, the sam.e
degree of religion and irreligion, of virtue and VIce, of happIness
and misery."114
Kant replies that, without the assumption of progres~, ?,othing
would make sense; progress may be interrupted, but It IS never
broken off. He appeals to an "inborn duty," the s~e argum~nt
that he uses in the Critique of Practical Reason: an mborn vOIce
says: Thou shalt, and it would be a contradiction to assume that I
cannot where my own reason tells me that I should (ultra posse
nemo obligatur: what exceeds the possible obliges ~o one).115. T~e
duty appealed to in this case is that "of influencmg postenty m
such a way that it will make constant progre.ss" (henc~ progress
must be possible), and Kant asserts that, Without this as~umption,
"the hope for better times to come," no action is pOSSible at
all; for this hope alone has inspired "right-thinking men" to "do
something for the common goOd."118 Wel.l, we know today that
Kant Lectures 51
we can date the idea of progress, and we know that men have
always acted, i.e., long before this idea appeared.
The second and even more important assumption held by
Kant concerns the nature of evil. Machiavelli assumes that evil
will spread wildly if men do not resist it even at the risk of doing
evil themselves. Kant, on the contrary, and somehow in agreement
with the tradition, believes that evil by its very nature is
self-destructive. Hence:
The end of man as an entire species ... will be brought by
providence [sometimes he says "nature"] to a successful issue,
even though the ends of men as individuals run in a diametrically
opposite direction. For the very conflict of individual
inclinations, which is the source of all evil, gives reason
a free hand to master them all; it thus gives predominance not
to evil, which destroys itself, but to good, which continues to
maintain itself once it has been established.H 7
And here again the perspective of the onlooker is decisive. Look
at history as a whole. What kind of a spectacle would that be without
the assumption of progress? The alternatives for Kant are
either regress, which would produce despair, or eternal sameness,
which would bore us to death. I quote the following passage
to underline once more the importance of the onlooker:
It is a sight fit for a god to watch a virtuous man grappling
with adversity and evil temptations and yet managing to hold
out against them, But it is a sight quite unfit ... even for the
most ordinary but honest man to see the human race advancing
over a period of time towards virtue, and then
quickly relapsing the whole way back into vice and misery. It
may perhaps be moving and instructive to watch such a
drama for a while; but the curtain must eventually descend.
For in the long run, it becomes a farce. And even if the actors
do not tire of it-for they are fools [Are all actors fools?]-the
spectator does, for any single act will be enough for him if he
can reasonably conclude from it that the never-ending play
will be of eternal sameness [Einerlei].118
Ninth Session
THE ULTIMATE GUARANTEE that all is well, at least for the spectator,
is, as you know from Perpetual Peace, nature herself, which
can also be called providence or destiny. Nature's "aim is to
52 PART ONE
produce a harmony among men, against their will and indeed
through their discord~"119 Discord, indeed, is so important a
factor in nature's design that without it no progress can be
imagined, and no final harmony could be produced without
progress.
The spectator, because he is not involved, can perceive this
design of providence or nature, which is hidden from the actor.
So we have the spectacle and the spectator on one side, the actors
and all the single events and contingent, haphazard happenings
on the other. In the context of the French Revolution, it seemed
to Kant that the spectator's view carried the ultimate meaning of
the event, although this view yielded no maxim for acting. We
shall now examine a situation where the opposite somehow
seems to be true for Kant: a situation where the single events
offer a spectacle that is "sublime," and so do the actors, and
where, moreover, the sublimity may well coincide with the hidden
design of nature; and still reason, which yields our maxims
of action, categorically forbids us to engage in this "sublime" act.
We are now dealing with Kant's position on the question of war;
and while his sympathies in the matter of revolution were clearly
with revolution, his sympathies in the matter of war are clearly
and absolutely with peace. .
We read in Perpetual Peace that "reason, from its throne of
supreme moral legislating authority, absolutely condemns war as
a legal recourse and makes a state of peace a direct duty, even
though peace cannot be established or sec1,lred except by a compact
among nations."120 There is not the slightest doubt what
our maxim for action should be in this matter. However, this is by
no means what the pure onlooker-who does not act and relies
entirely on what he sees-would conclude, and the ironical title
of the pamphlet more than hints at the possible contradiction.
For the original title, Zum ewigen Frieden, the satirical inscription
of a Dutch innkeeper, means, of course, the cemetery. That is the
place of Eternal Peace, and the innkeeper offers the beverages
that will bring you to this much-longed-for state even in this life.
How about peace? Is peace the stagnation that could also be
called death? Kant more than once stated his opinion on war,
formed as the result of his reflections on history and the course of
mankind, and nowhere does he do so more emphatically than in
the Critique of Judgment, where he discusses the topic,
characteristically
enough, in the section on the Sublime:
Kant Lectures 53
[W]hat is that which is, even to the savage, an object of the
greatest admiration? It is a man who shrinks from nothing,
who fears nothing, and therefore does not yield to danger ....
Even in the most highly civilized state this peculiar veneration
for th: sol?ier. remains ... because even [here] it is recognized
tha~ hIS mmd IS unsubdued by danger. Hence ... in the companson
of a statesman and a general, the aesthetical judgment
decides for the latter. War itself ... has something sublin;
te in it.. .. On the other hand, a long peace generally
~>rIngs about a predomin~nt commercial spirit and, along with
It, low selfishness, cowardIce, and effeminacy, and debases the
disposition of the people.121
This is the judgment of the spectator (Le., it is aesthetical).
What does not enter into the account of the onlooker, who sees
the sublime side of war-which is man's courage-is something
Kant mentions in a different context in ajoke: nations engaged
in a war are like two drunkards bludgeoning each other in a
china shop.122 The world (the china shop) is left out of account.
But this consideration is taken care of in a way when Kant raises
this question: What are wars good for with respect to "progress"
and civilization? And here, ~gain, Kant's answer is by no means
unequivocal. To be sure, nature's "final design" is a "cosmopolitan
whole, i.e., a system of all states that are in danger of acting
injuriously upon one another."123 Yet, not only can war, "an
unintended enterprise ... stirred up by men's unbridled passions,"
actually serve, because of its very meaninglessness, as a
preparation for the eventual cosmopolitan peace (eventually
sheer exhaustion will impose what neither reason nor good will
have been able to achieve), but
In spite of the dreadful afflictions with which it visits the
human race, and the perhaps greater afflictions with which
the constant preparation for it in time of peace oppresses
them, yet is it ... a motive for developing all talents serviceable
for culture to the highest possible pitch.124
In short, war "is not so incurably bad as the deadness of a universal
monarchy." And the plurality of nations, together with all
the conflicts this engenders, is the vehicle of progress.
These insights of aesthetic and reflective judgment have no
practical consequences for action. As far as action is concerned,
there is no doubt that
54 PART ONE
moral-practical reason within us pronounces the following
irresistible veto: There shall be no war . ... Thus it is no longer a
question of whether perpetual peace is really possible or not,
or whether we are not perhaps mistaken in our theoretical
judgment if we: a~sume that it is. On the contrary, we. must
simply act as If It could really come about ... even If the
fulfillment of this pacific intention were forever to remain a
pious hope ... for it is our duty to do SO.125
But these maxims for action do not nullify the aesthetic and
reflective judgment. In other words: Even though Kant would
always have acted for peace, he knew and kept in mind his
judgment. Had he acted on the knowledge he had gained as a
spectator, he would, in his own mind, have" been criminal. Had
he forgotten, because of this "moral duty," his insights as a
spectator, he would have become what so many good men, involved
and engaged in public affairs, tend to be-an idealistic
fool.
Let me sum up: In the sections I have read .to you, two very
different factors were present almost everywhere-two factors
closely interconnected in Kant's own mind but by no means
otherwise. First, there was the position of the onlooker. What he
saw counted most; he could discover a meaning in the course
taken by events, a meaning that the actors ignored; and ~e
existential ground for his insight was his disinterestedness, his
nonparticipation, his noninvolvement. The onlooker's disinterested
concern characterized the French Revolution as a
great event. Second, there was the idea of progress, the hope for
the future," where one judges the event according to the promise
it holds for the generations to come. The two perspectives coincided
in Kant's evaluation of the French Revolution, but this
meant nothing as far a~ principles of action were concerned. But
the two perspectives also somehow coincided in Kant's evaluation
of war. War brings about progress-something no one can
deny who knows how intimately the history of technology is
connected with the history of wars. And war even brings about
progress toward peace: war is so awful that, the more awful it
gets, the more likely it is that men will become reasonable and
work toward international agreements that will lead them
eventually to peace. (Fate guides the willing ones, it drags the
nonwilling along: Fata ducunt volentem, trahum nolentem.)126 But
for Kant it is not fate; it is progress, a design behind men's backs,
a ruse of nature or, later, a ruse of history.
Kant Lectures 55
The first of these notions-that only the spectator but never
the actor knows what it is all about-is as old as the hills; it is, in
fact, ~ong the oldest, most decisive, notions of philosophy. The
whole Idea of the superiority of the contemplative way of life
comes from this early insight that meaning (or truth) is revealed
only to those who restrain themselves from acting. I shall give it
to you in the simplest, least sophisticated form, in the form of a
parable ascribed to Pythagoras:
Life ... is like a festival; just as some come to the festival to
compete, some to ply their trade, but the best people come as
spectators [theatai], so in life the slavish men go hunting for
fame [doxa] or gain, the philosophers for truth.127
The data underlying this estimate are, first, that only the
spectator occupies a position that enables him to see the whole;
the actor, because he is part of the play, must enact his part-he
is partial by definition. The spectator is impartial by
definition-no part is assigned him. Hence, withdrawal from
direct involvement to a standpoint outside the game is a condition
sine qua non of all judgment. Second, what the actor is concerned
with is doxa, fame-that is, the opinion of others (the
word doxa means both "f~e" and "opinion"). Fame comes
about through the opinion of others. For the actor, the decisive
question is thus how he appears to others (dokei hois allois); the
actor is dependent on the opinion of the spectator; he is not
autonomous (in Kant's language); he does not conduct himself
according to an innate voice of reason but in accordance with
what spectators would expect of him. The standard is the spectator.
And this standard is autonomous.
Translating this into the terms ~f the philosophers, one arrives
at the supremacy of the spectator's way of life, the bios
thearetikos (from theorein, "to look at"). Here one escapes from the
cave of opinions altogether and goes hunting for truth-no
longer the truth of the games in the festival but the truth of
things that are everlasting, that cannot be different from what
they are (all human affairs can be different from what they
actually are) and therefore are necessary. To the extent that one
can actualize this withdrawal, one does what Aristotle called
athanatizein, "to immortalize" (understood as an activity), and
this one does with the divine part of one's soul. Kant's view is
different: one withdraws also to the "theoretical," the onlooking,
standpoint of the spectator, but this position is the position of
56 PART ONE
the Judge .. The whole terminology of Kant's philosophy is shot
through wIth legal metaphors: it is the Tribunal of Reason before
which the occurrences of the world appear. In either case:
absorbe? by the specta~le, I am outside it, I have given up the
standpomt that determmes my factual existence, with all its
circumstantial,
contingent conditions. Kant would have said: I have
reached a gene~al standpoint, the impartiality the Judge is supposed
to exerCIse when he lays down his verdict. The Greeks
would have said: we have given up the dokei moi, the it-seemsto-
me, and the desire to seem to others; we have given up doxa
which is both opinion and fame. '
There is j~ined to this old notion in Kant an altogether new
one, the notlon of progress, which actually provides the standard
according t~ which one judges. The Greek spectator,
whether at the festlval of life or at the sight of the things that are
everlasting, looks at and judges (finds the truth of) the cosmos of
the particular event in its own terms, without relating it to any
larger process in which it mayor may not playa part. He was
act~ally concerned with the individual event, the particular act.
(Thm~ of. the Greek column, the absence of stairs, etc.) Its
meamng dl~ not depend on either causes or consequences. The
sto~,. once It had come to an end, contained the whole meaning.
ThIS IS also true for Greek historiography, and it explains why
Homer, .Herodotus, and Thucydides can give the defeated
enemy hIS due. The story may contain rules valid for future
generations also, but it remains a single story. The last book, it
seems, that is written in this spirit is Machiavelli's Florentine
Stories, which you know under the misleading title of The History
of Florence. The point is that, for Machiavelli, History was only
the huge book that contained all the stories of men.
Progress as the standard by which to judge history somehow
~everses the <;>ld principle that the meaning of a story reveals
Itself only at ItS end (Nemo ante mortem beat:us esse dici potest [No
one can ,b~ called blessed before his death]). In Kant, the story's
or event s Importance lies precisely not at its end but in its opening
up new honzons for the future. It is the hope it contained for
future generations that made the French Revolution such an
important event. This feeling was widespread. Hegel, for whom
th~ French Revolution also was the most important turning
pomt, always describes it by metaphors like "a splendid rise of
the sun," the "dawn," etc. It is a "world-historical" event because
it contains the seeds of the future. The question here is: Who,
Kant Lectures 57
then, is the subject of the story? Not the men of the revolution;
they certainly did not have world history in mind. World history
can make sense only if
~omething else ~esults from the actions of men than what they
mtend and aC~leve, ~0I?-ething else than they know or want.
T?ey acco~phsh th.eIr I~ter~st;. but s?mething else is accomphshed
WhICh was Imphed m It, whIch was not in the consciousness
and the intentions of the actors. To give an analogy,
a man may set fire to the house of another out of revenge
.... [The] immediate action is to hold a small flame to a
small part of a beam.... [What follows had not been inte~
ded:] a vast conflawation develops .... This result was
neither part of the pnmary deed nor the intention of him
~ho co~men~ed it .... T?is example merely shows that in the
ImmedIate actlon somethmg else may be involved than is consciously
willed by the actor.128
These are Hegel's words, but they could have been written by
Kant. Yet there is a distinction between them, and it is twofold
and of great importance. In Hegel, it is Absolute Spirit that
reveals itself in the process, and it is this that the philosopher, at
the end of this revelation, can understand. In Kant, the subject
of world history is the human species itself. In Hegel, furthermore,
the revelation of Absolute Spirit must come to an end
(history has an end in Hegel; the process is not infinite, hence
there is an end to the story, only this end needs many genera?
ons and c~nturies to come about); not man but Absolute Spirit
IS finally dIsclosed, and the greatness of man is realized only
insofar as he is finally able to understand. But in Kant, progress
is perpetual; there is never an end to it. Hence, there is no end to
history. (In Hegel, as well as Marx, the notion that there is an
end to history is decisive; for it implies the inevitable question
What, if anything, is going to happen after this end has come
about?-leaving apart the rather obvious inclination of each
generation to believe that this eschatological end will come about
in its own lifetime. As Kojeve rightly put it, driving to its inherent
extreme the part of Hegel that influenced Marx: "After the
end of history, man can do nothing but perpetually rethink the
historical process which has been completed."129 In Marx himself,
on the other hand, the classless society and the realm of
freedom, based on abundance, will result in everyone's indulging
in some sort of hobby.)
To come back to Kant: The subject that corresponds to world
58 PART ONE
history is the human species. The design of nature is to develop
all of mankind's capabilities-mankind being understood as one
of nature's animal species, with this decisive difference: Species
in animals "means nothing more than the characteristics in virtue
of which all individuals must directly agree with one another."l30
It is altogether different with the human species. By it,
we understand the totality of a series of generations proceeding
into infinity (the indeterminable) .... [This] line of
descent ceaselessly approaches its concurrent destination ....
[It] is asymptotic in all its parts to this line of destiny, and on
the whole coincides with it. In other words, no single member
in all of these generations of the human race, but only the
species, fully achieves its destination.;.. The philosopher
would say that the destination of the human race in general is
perpetual progress. l3l
From this, let us draw a few conclusions. History, we would say,
is something built into the species man; the essence of man cannot
be determined; and to Kant's own question, Why do men
exist at all? the answer is: This question cannot be answered, for
the "value of [their] existence" can be revealed "only in the
whole," that is, never to any man or generation of men, since the
process itself is perpetual.
Hence: In the center of Kant's moral philosophy stands the
individual; in the center of his philosophy of history (or, rather,
his philosophy of nature) stands the perpetual progress of the
human race, or mankind. (Therefore: History from a general
viewpoint.) The general viewpoint or standpoint is occupied,
rather, by the spectator, who is a "world citizen" or, rather, a
"world spectator." It is he who decides, by having an idea of the
whole, whether, in any single, particular event, progress is being
made.
Tenth Session
WE WERE TALKING ABOUT the clash between the spectator and
the actor. The spectacle before the spectator-enacted, as it
were, for his judgment-is history as a whole, and the true hero
of this spectacle is mankind in the "series of generations proceeding"
into some "infinity." This process has no end; the "destination
of the human race is perpetual progress." In this pro-
Kant Lectures 59
cess the capabilities of the human species are actualized, developed
to "the highest pitch"-except that a high~st ~:me, .in an
absolute sense, does not exist. The ultimate desunatIOn, m the
sense of eschatology, does not exist, but the two chief aims by
which this progress is guided, though behind the backs of the
actors, is freedom-in the simple and elementary sen~e that no
one rules over his fellow men-and peace between natIOns as the
condition for the unity of the human race. Perpetual progress
toward freedom and peace, the latter guaranteeing free intercourse
between all nations on the earth: these are the ideas of
reason, without which the mere story of history would not make
sense. It is the whole that gives meaning to the particulars if they
are seen and judged by men endowed with reason. Men, though
they are natural creatures and part of nature, transcend nature
by virtue of a reason that asks: What is the purp.ose of nature?
By producing one species with a faculty for askmg such que~tions,
nature has produced its own master. The human speCIes IS
distinguished from all animal species not merely by its possession
of speech and reason but because its faculties are capable of
indeterminable development.
Up to now we have discussed the spectator in ~e singul~r, as
Kant himself often does, and with good reason. FIrst, there IS the
simple fact that one onlooker can behold many actors, who together
offer the spectacle that unfolds before his eyes. ~econd,
there is the whole weight of tradition, according to whIch the
contemplative way of life presupposes withdrawal fr~m ~e
many; it singularizes one, as it were, because contemplauon IS a
solitary business or, at least, can be carried on in solitude. Y~u
remember that, in the Parable of the Cave,t32 Plato says that Its
inhabitants, the many, who watch the shadow-play on the screen
in front of them, are "chained by the legs and also by the neck, so
that they cannot move and can see only what is in front of them,
because the chains will not let them turn their heads"; hence
also, they cannot communicate with one an?ther about ~hat
they see. It is not only the philosopher returmng from the hght
of the sky of Ideas who is a completely isolated figure. The
spectators in the cave are also isolated, one from the other. Actio.
n, on the other hand, is never ·possible in solitude or isolation;
one man alone needs, at the very least, the help of others to carry
through whatever his enterprise may be. When the distinction
between the two ways of life, the political (active) way and the
philosophical (contemplative) way, is so construed as to render
60 PART ONE
th~m mutually exclusive-as it is, for instance, in Plato's political
phdosophy--one gets an absolute distinction between the one
who knows what is best to do and the others who, following his
guidance or his commands, will carry it through. This is the gist
of Plato's Statesman: the ideal ruler (archon) does not act at all; he
is the wise man who begins and knows the intended end of an
action and therefore is the ruler. Hence, it would be entirely
superfluous and even harmful for him to make his intentions
known. We know that for Kant, on the contrary, publicness is
the "transcendental principle" that should rule all action. Whatever
act "stands in the need of publicity" in order not to defeat
its own purpose is, you will remember, an act that combines
politics and right. Kant cannot have the'same notions as Plato
about acting and mere judging or contemplating or knowing.
If you ask yourself where and who this public is that would
give publicity to the intended act to begin with, it is quite obvious
~hat in Kant's case it cannot be a public of actors or participators
In government. The public he is thinking of is, of course, the
reading public, and it is the weight of their opinion he is appealing
to, riot the weight of their votes. In the Prussia of the last
decades of the eighteenth century-that is, a country under the
rule of an absolute monarch, advised by a rather enlightened
bureaucracy of civil servants, who, like the monarch, were completely
separated from "the subjects"-there could be no truly
public realm other than this reading and writing public. What
was secret and unapproachable by definition was precisely the
realm of government and administration. And if you read the
essays from which I have quoted here, it should be clear that
Kant could conceive of action only as acts of the powers-that-be
(whatever they might happen to be)-that is, governmental acts;
any actual action from the side of the subjects could consist only
in conspiratorial activity, the acts and plots of secret societies. In
other words, the alternative to established government is, for
him, not revolution but a coup d'etat. And a coup d'etat, in
contradistinction
to a revolution, must indeed be prepared in secrecy,
whereas revolutionary groups or parties have always been eager
to make their goals public and to rally important sections of the
population to their cause. Whether or not this strategy has ever
brought about a revolution is another matter. But it is important
to understand that Kant's condemnation of revolutionary action
rests on a misunderstanding, because he conceives of it in terms
of a coup d'etat.
Kant Lectures 61
We are used to thinking about the difference between contemplation
and action in terms of the relation between theory
and practice, and though it is true that Kant wrote an essay on
this matter, "On the Common Saying: 'This May be True in
Theory, But It Does Not Apply in Practice,'" it is also true, and is
best demonstrated by that essay, that he did not understand the
issue as we understand it. Kant's notion of practice is determined
by Practical Reason; and the Critique of Practical Reason, which
deals with neither judgment nor action, tells you all about it.
Judgment, arising out of "contemplative pleasure" and "inactive
delight," has no place in it.133 In practical matters, not judgment
but will is decisive, and this will simply follows the maxim of
Reason. Even in the Critique oj Pure Reason Kant starts his discussion
of the "Pure Employment of Reason" with its practical implication,
although he then provisionally "sets aside practical
[i.e., moral] ideas to consider reason only in its speculative
... employment."134 This speculation concerns the ultimate
destination of the individual, the ultimate of "the most sublime
questions."135 Practical means moral in Kant, and it concerns the
individual qua individual. Its true opposite would be, not theory,
but speculation-the speculative use of reason. Kant's actual
theory in political affairs was the theory of perpetual progress
and a federal union of the nations in order to give the idea of
mankind a political reality. Whoever worked in this direction
was welcome. But these ideas, with whose help he reflected on
human affairs in general, are very different from the "wishful
participation bordering' on enthusiasm" that caught the spectators
of the French Revolution and "the exaltation [of] the uninvolved
public" looking on in sympathy "without the least intention
of assisting." In his opinion, it was precisely this sympathy
that made the revolution a "phenomenon ... not to be
forgotten"--or, in other words, that made it a public event of
world-historical significance. Hence: What constituted the appropriate
public realm for this particular event were not the
actors but the acclaiming spectators.
Since Kant did not write his political philosophy, the best way
to find out what he thought about this matter is to turn to his
"Critique of Aesthetic Judgment," where, in discussing the production
of art works in their relation to taste, which judges and
decides about them, he confronts an analogous problem. Wefor
reasons we need not go into-are inclined to think that in
order to judge a spectacle you must first have the spectacle-that
62 PART ONE
the spectator is secondary to the actor; we tend to forget that no
one in his right mind would ever put on a spectacle without
being sure of having spectators to watch it. Kant is convinced
that the world without. man would be a desert, and a world
without man means for him: without spectators. In his discussion
of aesthetic judgment, Kant makes a distinction between
genius and taste. Genius is required for the production of art
works, while, for judging them, for deciding whether or not they
are beautiful objects, "no more" (we would say, but not Kant) is
required than taste. "For judging of beautiful objects taste is
required ... , for their production genius is required."136 Genius,
according to Kant, is a matter of productive imagination and
originality, taste a mere matter of judgment. He raises the question,
which of the two is the "more noble" faculty-which is the
condition sine qua non "to which one has to look in the judging of
art as beautiful art?"137-assuming, of course, that most of the
judges of beauty lack the faculty of productive imagimition,
which is called genius, but that the few who are endowed with
genius do not lack the faculty of taste. And the answer is:
Abundance and originality of ideas are less necessary to
beauty than the accordance of the imagination in its freedom
with· the conformity to law of the understanding [which is
called taste]. For all the abundance of the former produces in
lawless freedom nothing but nonsense; on the other hand the
judgment is the faculty by which it is adjusted to the understanding.
~a.ste, like the judgment in general, is the discipline (or
tr~mng) of genius; it clips its wings ... , gives guidance ... ,
bnngs clearness and order [into the thoughts of genius;] it
makes the ideas susceptible of being permanently and generally
assented to, and capable of being followed by others, and
of an ever progressing culture. If, then, in the conflict of these
two properties in a product something must be sacrificed, it
should be rather on the side of genius. l38
K~nt allows. this su~ordination of genius· to taste even though
WIthout gemus nothmg for judgment to judge would exist. But
~~t says explicitly that "for beautiful art ... imagination, intellect,
sfrtnt, and taste are required," and he adds, in a note, that "the
~hree former .f~culties are united by means of the fourth," that
IS, by taste-I.e., by judgment.l39 Spirit, moreover-a special
faculty .apart from reason, intellect, and imagination--enables
the gemus to find an expression for the ideas "by means of which
Kant Lectures 63
the subjective state of mind brought about by them ... can be
communicated to others."l40 In other words, spirit-namely,
that which inspires the genius and only him and which "no sci~
nc~ can. teach and no industry can learn"---consists in expressmg
the meffable element in the state of mind [Gemiitszustand]"
that certain representations arouse in all of us but for which we
have ~o words and would therefore be unable, without the help
of gemus, to communicate to one another; it is the proper task of
genius to make this state of mind "generally communicable."141
The faculty that guides this communicability is taste, and taste or
judgment is ~ot the privilege of genius. The condition sine qu4 r:on
for the eXistence of beautiful objects is communicability; the
Judgment of the spectator creates the space without which no
such objects could appear at all. The public realm is constituted
by the critics and the spectators, not by the actors or the makers.
And this critic and spectator sits in every actor and fabricator;
without this critical, judging faculty the doer or maker would be
so. isolated from the spectator that he would not even be perceIved.
Or, to put it another way, still in Kantian terms: the very
originality of the artist (or the very novelty of the actor) depends
on his making himself understood by those who are not artists
(or actors). And while one can speak of a genius in the singular
~ca~se of his originality, one can never speak, as Pythagoras
dId, m the same way of the spectator. Spectators exist only in the
plural. The spectator is not involved in the act, but he is always
involved with fellow spectators. He does not share the faculty of
genius, originality, with the maker or the faculty of novelty with
the actor; the faculty they have in common is the faculty of
judgment.
As far as making is concerned, this insight is at)east as old as
Latin (as distinguished from Greek) antiquity. We find it expressed
for the first time in Cicero's On the Orator:
For ev~rybody discrimi.nates [dijudicare], distinguishes between
!"lght and wr~>ng m matters 'Of art and proportion by
s?me sIlent s~nse WIthout any knowledge of art and proportIon:
an? while they can do this in the case of pictures and
statu~s, m other such works, for whose understanding nature
. ~as given them less equipment, they display this discriminatIon
much .more in judging th~ rhythms and pronunciations
of words, sI~ce these are rooted [i1ifixa] in common sense, and
of such things nature has willed that no one should be
altogether unable to sense and experience them [expertus]. |
|
And he goes on to notice that it
is truly marvelous and remarkable
how little difference there is between the learned and the
ignorant in judging, while there is the greatest difference in
making. 143
Kant, quite in the same vein, remarks in his Anthropology that
insanity consists in having lost this"common sense that enables us
to judge as spectators; and the opposite of it is a sensus privatus, a
private sense, which he also calls "logical Eigensinn, "144 implying
that our logical faculty, the faculty that enables us to draw
conclusions
from premises. could indeed function without communication-
except that then, namely, if insanity has caused the
loss of common sense, it would lead to insane results precisely
because it has separated itself from the experience that can be
valid and validated only in the presence of others.
The most surprising aspect of this business is that common
sense, the faculty of judgment and of discriminating between
right and wrong, should be based on the sense of taste. Of our
five senses, three clearly give us objects of the external world and
therefore are easily communicable. Sight, hearing, and touch
deal directly and, as it were, objectively with objects; throu?h
these senses objects are identifiable and can be shared With
others-can be .expressed in words, talked about, etc. Smell and
taste give inner sensations that are entirely private and
incommunicable;
what I taste and what I smell cannot be expressed
in words at all. They seem to be private senses by definition.
Moreover, the three objective senses have this in common:
they are capable of representation, of making p~e~nt something
that is absent. I can. for example. recall a building, a melody,
the touch of velvet. This faculty-which in Kant is called
Imagination-is possessed by neither taste nor smell. On the
other hand, they are quite clearly the discriminatory senses: ~ne
can withhold judgment from what one sees and, though less"easlly,
one can withhold judgment from what one hears or touches.
But in matters of taste or smell, the it-pleases-or-displeases-me is
immediate and overwhelming. And pleasure or displeasure,
again, are entirely idiosyncratic. Why then should taste-not beginning
with Kant but ever since Gracian-be .elevated to and
become the vehicle of the mental faculty of Judgment? And
judgment, in turn-that is, not the judgment that is simply co~nitive
and resides in the senses that give us the objects we have In
Kant Lectures 65
common with all living things that have the same sensual equipment,
but judgment between right and wrong-why should this
be based on this private sense? Isn't it true that when it comes to
matters of taste we are so little able to communicate that we
cannot even dispute about them? De gustibus non disputandum est.
The solution to this riddle is: Imagination. Imagination, the
ability to make present what is absent, transforms the objects of
the objective senses into "sensed" objects, as though they were
objects of an inner sense. This happens by reflecting not on an
object but on its representation. The represented object now
arouses one's pleasure or displeasure, not direct perception of
the object. Kant calls this "the operation of reflection."145
Eleventh Session
LET ME REPEAT, to remind you of what we were talking about
before the vacation: We found that in Kant the common distinction
or antagonism between theory and practice in political
matters is the distinction between the spectator and the actor,
and to our surprise we saw that the spectator had precedence:
what counted in the French Revolution, what made -it a worldhistorical
event, a phenomenon not to be forgotten, were not the
deeds and misdeeds of the actors but the opinions, the enthusiastic
approbation, of spectators, of persons who themselves
were not involved. We also saw that these uninvolved and
nonparticipating
spectators--who, as it were, made the event at
home in the history of mankind and thus for all future actionwere
involved with one another (in contradistinction to the
Pythagorean spectator at the Olympic games or the spectators in
the Platonic cave, who could not communicate with one
another). This much we got from Kant's political writings; but in
order to understand this position we turned to the Critique oj
Judgment, and there we found that Kant was confronting a similar
or analogous situation, the relation between the artist, the
maker, or the genius and his audience. Again the question arose
for Kant: Who is the more noble, and which is the more noble
quality, to know how to make or to know how tojudge? We saw
that this was an old question, one that Cicero had already raised,
namely, that everyone seems to be able to discriminate between
right and wrong in matters of art but that very few are capable of
making them; and Cicero said that this judging was done by a
66 PART ONE
"silent sense"-meaning, probably, a sense that otherwise does
not express itself.
This kind of judgment has, ever since Gracian, been called
Taste, and we recalled that the phenomenon of taste was what
actually led Kant to produce his Critique of Judgment; in fact, as late
as 1787, he still called it a Critique of Taste. This then led us to
ask
ourselves why the mental phenomenon of Judgment w~s ~erived
from the sense of taste and not from the more objective
senses, especially the most objective of them, the sense of sight.
We mentioned that taste and smell are the most private of the
senses; that is, they sense not an object but a sensation, and this
sensation is not object-bound and cannot be recolle~ted. (Y ~u
can recognize the smell of a rose or the taste of a particular dIsh
if you sense it again, but in the absence of the rose or the food
you cannot have it present as you can any sight you have ever
seen or any melody you have ever heard, even though they are
absent; in other words, these are senses that cannot be represented.)
At the same time, we saw why taste rather than any of
the other senses became the vehicle for judgment; it was because
only taste and smell are discriminatory by their very nature and
because only these senses relate to the particular qua particular,
whereas all objects given to the objective senses share their
properties
with other objects, that is, they are not unique. Moreover,
the it-pleases-or-displeases-me is overwhelmingly present in
taste and smell. It is immediate, unmediated by any thought or
reflection. These senses are subjective because the very objectivity
of the seen or heard or touched thing is annihilated in them or at
least is not present; they are inner senses because the food we
taste is inside ourselves, and so, in a way, is the smell of the rose.
And the it-pleases-or-displeases-me is almost identical with an
it-agrees-or-disagrees-with-me. The point of the matter is: I am
directly affected. For this very reason, there can be no dIspute
about right or wrong here. De gustibus non disputandum est-there
can be no dispute about matters of taste. No argument can persuade
me to like oysters if I do not like them. In other words, the
disturbing thing about matters of taste is that they are not
communicable.
The solution to these riddles can be indicated by the names of
two other faculties: imagination and common sense.
Imagination, that is, the faculty of having present what is absent,
146 transforms an object into something I do not have to be
directly confronted with but that I have in some sense internalized,
so that I now can be affected by it as though it were
Kant Lectures 67
giv~n to me by.a nonobjective sense. Kant says: "That is beautiful
~hIch pleases m the mere act of judging it."147 That is: It is not
Impo~nt whether or not it pleases in perception; what pleases
merely m p~rception is gratifying but not beautiful. It pleases in
representation, for now the imagination has prepared it so that I
can reflect on it. This is "the operation of reflection." Only what
touches, affects, one in representation, when one can no longer
~e affected by immediate presence-when one is uninvolved,
lIke the spectator who was uninvolved in the actual doings of the
French Rev?lution-can be Judged to be right or wrong, important
or Irrelevant, beautiful or ugly, or something in between.
One then speaks of judgment and no longer of taste
because, though it still affects one like a matter of taste, one now
has, by means of representation, established the proper distance,
the remoteness or uninvolvedness or disinterestedness that is
requisit.e for· .approbation and disapprobation, for ev~luating
somet.hmg at Its proper worth. By removing the object, one has
established the conditions for impartiality.
As for common sense: Kant was very early aware that there
was something nonsubjective in what seems to be the most private
a?d subjective se?se. This awareness is expressed as follows:
there IS the fact that, m matters of taste, "the beautiful, interests
. [us] only [when ~e are] in society. '" A man abandoned by himself
on a deser~ Island would adorn neither his hut nor his person.
. . . [Man] IS not contented with an object if he cannot feel
satisfaction in it in common with others."148 Or: "We are
ashamed if our taste does not agree with others," whereas we
despise ourselves when we cheat at play but are ashamed only
when we get caught. Or: "In matters of taste we must renounce
ourselves in favor of others" or in order to please others (Wir
miissen uns gleichsam anderen zu gifallen entsagen).149 Finally, and
most radically: "In Taste egoism is overcome'" that is we are
"considerate," in the original meaning of the ~ord. We must
overcome our special subjective conditions for the sake of
others. In other words, the nonsubjective element in the nonobjective
senses is intersubjectivity. (You must be alone in order to
think; you need company to enjoy a meal.)
Judgment, and especially judgments of taste, always reflects
upon others. a~d their taste, takes their possible judgments into
account. ThIS IS necessary because I am human and cannot live
outsi?e the company of men. I judge as a member of this com~
um~y and .not as, a member of a supersensible world, perhaps
mhabited WIth bemgs endowed with reason but not with the
68 PART ONE
same sense apparatus; as such, I obey a law given to myself
regardless of what others may think of the matter. This law is
self-evident and compelling in and by itself. The basic
otherdirectedness
of judgment and taste seems to stand in the greatest
possible opposition to the very nature, the absolutely idiosyncratic
nature, of the sense itself. Hence we may be tempted to conclude
that the faculty of judgment is wrongly derived from this
sense. Kant, being very aware of all the implications of this
derivation,
remains convinced that it is a correct one. And the most
plausible thing in his favor is his observation, entirely correct,
that the true opposite of the Beautiful is not the Ugly but "that
which excites diSgust. "150 And do not forget that Kant originally
planned to write a Critique of Moral Taste, so that the
phenomenon of the beautiful is, so to speak, what is left of his
early observations about these· phenomena of judgment.
Twelfth Session
THERE ARE TWO MENT AL OPERATIONS in judgment. There is the
operation of the imagination, in which one judges objects that
are no longer present, that are removed from i~ediate sense
perception and therefore no longer affect one directly, and yet,
though the object is removed from one's outward senses, it now
becomes an object for one's inner senses. When one represents
something to oneself that is absent, one closes, as it were, those
senses by which objects in. their objectivity are given to one. The
sense of taste is a sense in which one, as it were, senses oneself; it
is an inner sense. Hence: the Critique of Judgment grows out of the
Critique of Taste. This operation of imagination prepares the
object for "the operation of reflection." And this second
operation-the operation of reflection-is the actual activity of
judging something.
This twofold operation establishes the most important condition
for all judgments, the condition of impartiality, of "disinterested
delight." By closing one's eyes one becomes an impartial,
not a directly affected, spectator of visible things. The
blind poet. Also: by making what one's external senses perceived
into an object for one's inner sense, one compresses and condenses
the manifold of the sensually given; one is in a position to
"see" by the eyes of the mind, i.e., to see the whole that giv~s
meaning to the particulars. The advantage the spectator has IS
that he sees the playas a whole, wh;ile each of the actors knows
Kant Lectures 69
on~y his part or, if he should judge from the perspective of
actmg, only the part of the whole that concerns him. The actor is
partial by definition.
The question that now arises is this: What are the standards of
the operation of reflection? The operation of imagination has
made the absent immediately present to one's inner sense, and
this inner sense is discriminatory by definition: it says it-pleases
or it-displeases. It is called taste because, like taste, it chooses.
But
this choice. is itself subject to still another choice: one can approve
or disapprove of the very fact of pleasing: this too is subject
~o "approbation or disapprobation." Kant gives examples: "The
JOY of a needy but well-meaning man at becoming the heir of an
affectio~ate but penurious father"; or, conversely, "a deep grief
may sausfy the person experiencing it (the sorrow of a widow at
the death of her excellent husband); or ... a gratification can in
addition please (as in the sciences that we pursue); or a grief (e.g.
hatred, envy, revenge) can, moreover, displease."151 All these
approbations and disapprobations are afterthoughts; at the time
you are doing scientific research you may be vaguely aware that
you are happy doing it, but only later, in reflecting on it, when you
are no longer busy doing whatever you were doing, will you be
able to have this additional "pleasure": of approving it. In this
additional pleasure it is no longer the object that pleases but that
we judge it to be pleasing. If we relate this to the whole of nature
or the world, we can say: We are pleased that the world or
nature pleases us. The very act of approbation pleases, the very
act of disapprobation displeases. Hence the question: How does
one choose between approbation and disapprobation? One
criterion is easily guessed if one considers the examples given
above; it is the criterion of communicability or publicness. One is
not overeager to express joy at the death of a father or feelings
of hatred and envy; one will, on the other hand, have no compunctions
about announcing that one enjoys doing scientific
work, and one will not hide grief at the death of an excellent
husband.
The criterion, then, is communicability, and the standard of
deciding about it is common sense.
Critique of Judgment, § 39:
"Of the Communicability of a Sensation"
It is true that the sensation of the senses is "generally communicable
because we can assume that everyone has senses like our
own. But this cannot be presupposed of any single sensation."
70 PART ONE
These sensations are private; also, no judgment is involved: we
are merely passive, we react, we are not spontaneous, as we are
when we imagine something at will or reflect on it.
At the opposite pole we find moral judgments. These, according
to Kant, are necessary; they are dictated by practical
reason. They might be communicated, but this communication
is secondary; even if they could not be communicated, they
would remain valid.
We have, third,judgments of,orpleasure in, the beautiful: "this
pleasure accompanies the ordinary apprehension [Auffasung; not
"perception"] of an object by the imagination ... by means of a
procedure of the judgment which it must also exercise on behalf
of the commonest experience." Some such judgment is in every
experience we have with the world. This judgment is based on
"that common and sound intellect [gemeiner und gesunder Verstand]
which we have to presuppose in everyone." How does this
"common sense" distinguish itself from the other senses, which
we also have in common but which nevertheless do not guarantee
agreement of sensations?
Critique oj Judg;ment, §40:
"Of Taste
as a Kind of Sensus Communis"
The term is changed. The term "common sense" meant a sense
like our other senses-the same for everyone in his very privacy.
By using the Latin term, Kant indicates that here he means
something different: an extra sense-like an extra mental capability
(German: Menschenverstand)-that fits us into a community.
The "common understanding of men ... is the very least to be
expected from anyone claiming the name of man." It is the
capability. by which men are distinguished from animals and
from gods. It is the very humanity of man that is manifest in this
sense.
The sensus communis is the specifically human sense because
communication, i.e., speech, depends on it. To make our needs
known, to express fear,joy, etc., we would not need speech. Gestures
would be enough, and sounds would be a good enough
substitute for gestures if one needed to bridge long distances.
Communication is not expression. Thus: "The only general
symptom of insanity is the loss of the sensus communis and the
logical stubbornness in insisting on one's own sense (sensus
privatus), which [in an insane person] is substituted for it" ["Das
Kant Lectures 71
einzige allgemeine Merkmal der Veriicktheit ist der Verlust des
Gemeinsinnes (sensus communis) und der dagegen eintretende
logische Eigensinn (sensus privatus)"].152 The insane person has
not lost his powers of expression to make his needs manifest and
known to others.
[U]nder the sensus communis we must include the idea of a
sense ~ommon to all, i.e., of a faculty of judgment which, in its
r.eflectlon, takes accou.nt (a priori) of the mode of representatIon
of all other men In thought, in order, as it were, to compa~
e ~ts judgment with the collective reason of humanity ....
ThIS IS done by comparing our judgment with the possible
rather th~n the actual judgments of others, and by putting
ours~lv~s I!l the pl~ce of ~y other man, by abstracting from
the hffiltatlons whIch contlngently attach to our own judgment
.... Now this operation of reflection seems perhaps too
arti?cial to be attributed to the faculty called common sense,
but It only appears so when expressed in abstract formulae. In
itself there is nothing more natural than to abstract from
charm or emotion if we are seeking a judgment that is to serve
as a universal rule. 153
After this, follow the maxims of this sensus communis: Think for
oneself (the maxim of enlightenment); Put oneself in thought in
the place of everyone else (the maxim of the enlarged
mentality); and, the maxim of consistency, Be in agreement with
oneself ("mit sich selbst Einstimmung denken").154
These are not matters of cognition; truth compels, one doesn't
need any "maxims." Maxims apply and are needed only for
matters of opinion and in judgments. Andjust as, in moral matters,
one's maxim of conduct testifies to the quality of one's will,
so the maxims of judgment· testify to one's "turn of thought"
(Den~ngsart) in the worldly matters that are ruled by the commumty
sense:
However small may. be the area or the degree to which a
man's ~atural. gifts reach, yet it indicates a man of enlarged
thought If he dIsregards the subjective private conditions of his
own judgment, by which so many others are confined, and
reflects. upon it fr?m a. general standpoint (which he can only
determIne by plaCIng himself at the standpoint of others). 155
After this we find a clear distinction between what usually is
called common sense and sensus communis. Taste is this "community
sense" (gemeinscliajtlicher Sinn), and sense means here "the
effect of a reflection upon the mind." This reflection affects me
72 PART ONE
as though it were a sensation, and precisely one of taste, the
discriminatory, choosing sense. "We could even define taste as
the faculty of judging of that which makes generally communi- .
cable, without the mediation of a concept, our feeling [like sensation]
in a given representation [not perception]."158
Taste is then the faculty of judging a priori of the communicability
of feelings that are bound up with a given representation.
. .. If we could assume that the mere general communicability
of a feeling must carry in itself an interest for us
with it ... we should be able to explain why the feeling in the
judgment of taste comes to be imputed to everyone, so to
speak, as a dUty.157
Thirteenth Session
WE NOW CONCLUDE our discussion of common sense in its very
special Kantian meaning, according to which common sense is
community sense, sensus communis, as distinguished from sensus
privatus. This sensus communis is what judgment appeals to in
everyone, and it is this possible appeal that gives judgments their
special validity. The it-pleases-or-displeases.:me, which as a feeling
seems so utterly private and noncommunicative, is actually
rooted in this community sense and is therefore open to communication
once it has been transformed by reflection, which
takes all others and their feelings into account. The validity of
these judgments never has the validity of cognitive or scientific
propositions, which are not judgments, properly speaking. (If
one says, "The sky is blue" or "Two and two are four," one is not
'~udging"; one is saying what is, compelled by the evidence
either of one's senses or one's mind.) Similarly, one can never
compel anyone to agree with one's judgments-"This is beautiful"
or "This is wrong" (Kant does not believe that moral judgments
are the product of reflection and imagination, hence they
are not judgments strictly speaking); one can only "woo" or
"court" the agreement of everyone else. And in this persuasive
activity one actually appeals to the "community sense." In other
words, when one judges, one judges as a member of a community.
It is in "the nature of judgment, whose right use is so
necessarily and so generally requisite, that by the name of 'sound
understanding' [common sense in its usual meaning] nothing
else but this faculty is meant."158
Kant Lectures 73·
Critique of Judgment, §41:
"Of the Empirical Interest in the Beautiful"
We turn now, briefly, to §41 of the Critique of Judgment. We saw
that an "enlarged mentality" is the condition sine qua non of right
judgment; one's community sense makes it possible to enlarge
one's mentality. Negatively speaking, this means that one is able
to abstract from private conditions and circumstances, which, as
far as judgment is concerned, limit and inhibit its exercise. Private
conditions condition us; imagination and reflection enable
us to liberate ourselves from them and to attain that relative
impartiality that is the specific virtue of judgment. The less
idiosyncratic one's taste is, the better it can be communicated;
communicability is again the touchstone. Impartiality in Kant is
called "disinterestedness," the disinterested delight in the Beautiful.
Disinterestedness is actually implied in the very words
beautiful and ugly, as it is not in the words right and wrong. If,
therefore, § 41 speaks of an "Interest in the Beautiful," it actually
speaks of having an "interest" in disinterestedness. Interest here
refers to usefulness. If you look at nature, there are many natural
objects in which you have an immediate interest because they
are useful for the life process. The problem, as Kant sees it, is
the superabundance of nature; there are so many things that
seem literally good for nothing except that their form is
beautiful-for instance, crystals. Because we can call something
beautiful, we have a "pleasure in its existence," and that is "wherein
all interest consists." (In one of his reflections in the Notebooks,
Kant remarks that the Beautiful teaches us to "love without
self-interest [ohne Eigennutz].") And the peculiar characteristic of
this interest is that it "interests only in society":
If we adm~t the impulse to society as natural to man, and his
fitness for it, and his propension toward it, i.e., sociability, as a
requisite for man as a being destined for society, and so as a
property belonging to being human and humaneness [Humanitat],
we cannot escape from regarding taste as a faculty for
judging everything in respect of which we can communicate
our feeling to all other men, and so as a means of furthering
that which everyone's natural inclination desires.159
In "Conjectural Beginning of Human History" Kant states that
"the highest end intended for man is sociability,"180 and this
sounds as though sociability is a goal to be pursued through the
course of civilization. We find here, on the contrary, sociability as
74 PART ONE
the very origin, not the goal, of man's humanity; that is, we find
that sociability is the very essence of men insofar as they are of
this world only. This is a radical departure from all those
theories that stress human interdependence as dependence on
our fellow men for our needs and wants. Kant stresses that at least
one of our mental faculties, the faculty of judgment, presupposes
the presence of others. And this mental faculty is not just what
we terminologically call judgment; bound up with it is the notion
that "feelings and emotions [Empfindungen] are regarded as of
. worth only insofar as they can be generally communicated"; that
is, bound up with judgment is our whole soul apparatus, so to
speak. Communicability obviously depends on the enlarged
mentality; one can communicate only if one is able to think from
the other person's standpoint; otherwise one will nev,er meet
him, never speak in such a way that he understands. By communicating
one's feelings, one's pleasures and disinterested delights,
pne tells one's choices and one chooses one's company: "I
would rather be wrong with Plato than right with the Pythagoreans."
161 Finally, the larger the scope of those to whom one can
communicate, the greater is the worth of the object:
[A]lthough the pleasure which everyone has in such an object
is inconsiderable [that is, so long as he does not share it] and
in itself without any marked interest, yet the idea of its general
communicability increases its worth in an almost infinite
degree. 162
At this point, the Critique oj Judgment joins effortlessly Kant's
deliberation about a united mankind, living in eternal peace.
What interests Kant in the abolition of war and makes him an
odd kind of pacifist is not the elimination of conflict, not even
the elimination of the cruelty, the bloodshed, the atrocities of
warfare. It is, as he sometimes even grudgingly concludes
(grudgingly, because men could become like sheep; there is
something sublime in the sacrifice of life; etc.), the necessary
condition for the greatest possible enlargement of the enlarged
mentality:
[If] everyone expects and requires from everyone else this
reference to general communication [of pleasure, of disinterested
delight, then we have reached a point where it is as
if there existed] an original compact, dictated by mankind
itself.16s
This compact, according to Kant, would be a mere idea, reg-
Kapt Lectures 75
ulating not just our reflections on these matters but actually
inspiring our actions. It is by virtue of this idea of mankind,
present in every single man, that men are human, and they can
be called civilized or humane to the extent that this idea becomes
the principle not only of their judgments but of their actions. It
is at this point that actor and spectator become united; the
maxim of the actor and the maxim, the "standard," according to
which the spectator judges the spectacle of the world, become
one. The, as it were, categorical imperative for action could read
as follows: Always act Qn the maxim through which this original
compact can be actualized into a general law. It is from this
viewpomt, and not just from love of peace, that the treatise
Perpetual Peace was written, that the "Preliminary Articles" of the
first section and the "Definitive Articles" of the second section
were spelled out. Among the former, the most important and
also the most original is the sixth:
No state shall, during war, permit such acts of hostility which
would make mutual confidence in the subsequent peace impossible.
164
Among the latter, it is the third that actually follows direcdy
from sociability and communicability:
The law of world citizenship shall be limited to conditions of
universal hospitality. 165 .
If such an original compact of mankind exists, then a "right of
temporary sojourn, a right to associate," is one of the inalienable
human rights. Men
have it by virtue of their common possession of the earth,
where, as a globe, they cannot infinitely disperse and hence
must finally tolerate the presence of each other .... [For] the
common right to the face of the earth ... belongs to human
beings generally .... [All of which can be proved negatively by
the fact] that a violation of rights in one place is felt throughout
the world, [from which Kant concluded that] the idea of a
law of world citizenship is no high-flown or exaggerated notion.
166
To come back to what we said before: One judges always as a
member of a community, guided by one's community sense,
one's sensus communis. But in the last analysis, one is a member of
a world community by the sheer fact of being human; this is
one's "cosmopolitan existence." When one judges and when one
76 PART ONE
acts in political matters, one is supposed to take one's bearings
from the idea, not the actuality, of being a world citizen and,
therefore, also a Weltbetrachter, a world spectator.
In conclusion, I shall try to clear up some of the difficulties.
The chief difficulty in judgment is that it is "the faculty of
thinking the particular";167 but to think means to generalize,
hence it is the faculty of mysteriously combining the particular
and the general. This is relatively easy if the general is given-as
a rule, a principle, a law-so that the judgment merely subsumes
the particular under it. The difficulty becomes great "if only the
particular be given for which the general has to be found."16s
For the standard cannot be borrowed from experience and cannot
be derived from outside. I cannot judge one particular by
another particular; in order to determine its worth, I need a
tertium quid or a tertium comparationis, something related to the
two particulars and yet distinct from both. In Kant we find actually
two altogether different solutions to this difficulty:
As a real tertium comparationis, two ideas appear in Kant on
which one must reflect in order to arrive at judgments. The first,
which appears in the political writings and, occasionally, in the
Critique oj Judgment, is the idea of an original compact of mankind
as a whole, and derived from this idea is the notion of
humanity, of what actually constitutes the humanness of human
beings, living and dying in this world, on this earth that is a
globe, which they inhabit in common, share in common, in the
succession of generations. In the Critique oj Judgment one also
finds the idea of purposiveness. Every object, says Kant, as a
particular, needing and containing the ground of its actuality in
itself, has a purpose. The only objects that seem purposeless are
aesthetic objects, on the one hand, and men, on the other. You
cannot ask quem adjinem?-for what purpose?-since they are
good for nothing. But we saw that the purposeless art objects, as
well as the seemingly purposeless variety of nature, have the
"purpose" of pleasing men, making them feel at home in the
world. This can never be proved; but purposiveness is an idea by
which to regulate one's reflections in one's reflective judgments.
But Kant's second, and I think by far more valuable, solution is
exemplary validity. ("Examples are the go-cart of judgments.")169
Let us see what this is. Every particular object-for instance, a
table-has a corresponding concept by which we recognize the
table as a table. This can be conceived of as a "Platonic" idea or
Kantian schema; that is, one has before the eyes of one's mind a
schematic or merely formal table shape to which every table
somehow must conform. Or one proceeds, conversely, from the
many tables one has seen in one's life, strips them of all secondary
qualities, and the remainder is a table-in-general, containing
the minimum properties common to all tables: the abstract
table. One more possibility is left, and this enters into judgments
that are not cognitions: one may encounter or think of some
table that one judges to be the best possible table and take this
table as the example of how tables actually should be: the
exemplary table ("example" comes from eximere, "to single out
some particular"). This exemplar is and remains a particular
that in its very particularity reveals the generality that otherwise
could not be defined. Courage is like Achilles. Etc.
We were talking about the partiality of the actor, who, because
he is involved, never sees the meaning of the whole. This is true
for all stories; Hegel is entirely right that philosophy, like the owl
of Minerva, spreads its wings only when the day is over, at dusk.
The same is not true for the beautiful or for any deed in itself.
The beautiful is, in Kantian terms, an end in itself because all its
possible meaning is contained within itself, without reference to
others-without linkage, as it were, to other beautiful things. In
Kant himself there is this contradiction: Infinite Progress is the
law of the human species; at the same time, man's dignity demands
that he be seen (every single one of us) in his particularity
and, as such, be seen-but without any comparison and independent
of time-as reflecting mankind in general. In other
words, the very idea of progress-if it is more than a change in
circumstances and an improvement of the world---contradicts
Kant's notion of man's dignity. It is against human dignity to
believe in progress. Progress, moreover, means that the story
never has an end. The end of the story itself is in infinity. There
is rio point at which we might stand still and look back with the
backward glance of the historian.
I magination.
Seminar on Kant's Critique oj Judgment, given at the
New School for Social Research, Fall, 1970·
[In these seminar notes Hannah Arendt elaborates the notion of
exemplary validity, introduced on pages 76-77 of the Kant Lectures,
by turning to Kant's analysis of Transcendental Imagination in the
account of the Schematism in the first edition of the Critique of Pure
Reason. Exemplary validity is of crucial importance, for it supplies
the
basis for a conception of political science centered on particulars
(stories,
historical examples), not universals (the concept of historical
process;
general laws of history). Arendt quotes Kant to the effect that what
the
schemata do for cognition, examples do for judgment (Critique of
Judgment,
§ 59). Without this important background concerning the
Schematism from the first Critique, we lack a full appreciation of the
role
of imagination in representation and, therewith, in judgment. It would
be a mistake to suppose that these pages on Imagination are on a
different
topic, of only passing relevance to judging. On the contrary, this
seminar material, with its extended account of exemplary validity,
relating
it to the function of imagination in the Schematism, supplies an
indispensable piece in the puzzle if we hope to reconstruct the full
contours of Arendt's theory of judging.-R. B.] |
|
I. Imagination, Kant says, is
the faculty of making present what
is absent, the faculty of re-presentation: "Imagination is the faculty
of representing in intuition an object that is not itself present."
l Or: "Imagination ifacultas imaginandi) is a faculty of perception
in the absence of an object."2 To give the name "imagination"
to this faculty of having present what is absent is natural
enough. If I represent what is absent, I have an image in my
mind-an image of something I have seen and now somehow
reproduce. (In the Critique oj Judgment, Kant sometimes calls this
faculty "reproductive"-I represent what I have seen-to distinguish
it from the "productive" faculty-the artistic faculty that
produces something it has never seen. But productive imagination
[genius] is never entirely productive. It produces, for instance,
the centaur out of the given: the horse and the man.)
80 PART ONE
This sounds as though we are dealing with memory. But for
Kant, imagination is the condition for memory, and a much
more comprehensive faculty. In his Anthropology Kant puts
memory, "the faculty to make present the past," together with a
"faculty of divination," which makes present the future. Both are
faculties of "association," that is, of connecting the "no longer"
and the "not yet" with the present; and "although they themselves
are not perceptions, they serve to connect the perceptions
in time."3 Imagination does not need to be led by this temporal
association; it can make present at will whatever it chooses.
What Kant calls the faculty of imagination, to make present to
the mind what is absent from sense perception, has less to do
with memory than with another faculty,· one that has been
known since the beginnings of philosophy. Parmenides (fragment
4) called it nous (that faculty "through which you look
steadfastly at things which are present though they are absent"),4
and by this he meant that Being is never present, does not present
itself to the senses. What is not present in the perception of
things is the it-is; and the it-is, absent from the senses, is
nevertheless present to the mind. Or Anaxagoras: apsis ton adeLon
ta phainomena, "A glimpse of the nonvisible are the appearances."
5 To put this differently: by looking at appearances
(given to intuition in Kant) one becomes aware of, gets a glimpse
of, something that does not appear. This something is Being as
such. Hence, metaphysics, the discipline that treats of what lies
beyond physical reality and still, in a mysterious way, is given to
the mind as the nonappearance in the appearances, becomes
ontology, the science of Being.
II. The role of imagination for our cognitive faculties is perhaps
the greatest discovery Kant made in the Critique if Pure Reason.
For our purposes it is best to turn to the "Schematism of the Pure
Concepts of Understanding."6 To anticipate: the same faculty,
imagination, which provides schemata for cognition, provides
examples for judgment.
You will recall that in Kant there are the two stems of experience
and knowledge: intuition (sensibility) and concepts (understanding).
Intuition always gives us something particular; the
concept makes this particular knoum to us. If I say: "this table," it
is as though intuition says "this" and the understanding adds:
"table." "This" relates only to this specific item; "table" identifies
it and makes the object communicable.
Imagination 81
Two questions arise. First, how do the two faculties come together?
To be sure, the concepts of understanding enable the
mind to order the manifold of the sensations. But where does
the synthesis, their working together, spring from? Second, is
thi~ concept, "table," a concept at all? Is it not perhaps also a kind
of Image? So that some sort of imagination is present in the
intellect as well? The answer is: "Synthesis of a manifold ... is
what first gives rise to knowledge .... [It] gathers the elements
for knowledge, and unites them into a certain content"; this
synthesis "is the mere result of the faculty of imagination, a blind
but indispensable function of the soul, without which we should
have no knowledge whatsoever, but of which we are scarcely ever
conscious."7 And the way imagination produces the synthesis is
by "providing an image for a concept."8 Such an image is called a
"schema."
The two extremes, namely sensibility. and understanding,
must be brought into connection with each other by
means ... of imagination, because otherwise the former,
though indeed yielding appearances, would supply no objects
of empirical knowledge, hence no experience.9
Here Kant calls upon imagination to provide the connection
between the two faculties, and in the first edition of the Critique
if Pure Reason he calls the faculty of imagination "the faculty of
synthesis in general [uberhaupt]." At other places where he·
speaks directly of the "schematism" involved in our understanding,
he calls it "an art concealed in the depths of the human
soul"10 (i.e., we have a kind of "intuition" of something that is
never present), and by this he suggests that imagination is actually
the common root of the other cognitive faculties, that is, it is
the "common, but to us unknown, root" of sensibility and understanding,
l1 of which he speaks in the Introduction to the Critique
if Pure Reason and which, in its last chapter, without naming the
faculty, he mentions again. 12
III. Schema: The point of the matter is that without a "schema"
one can never recognize anything. When one says: "this table,"
the general "image" of table is present in one's mind, and one
recognizes that the "this" is a table, something that shares its
qualities with many other such things though it is itself an
individual,
particular thing. If I recognize a house, this perceived
house also includes how a house in general looks. This is what
82 PART ONE
Plato called the eidos-the general form-of a house, which is
never given to the natural senses but only to the eyes of the
mind. Since, strictly speaking, it is not given even to "the eyes of .
the mind," it is something like an "image" or, better, a "schema."
Whenever one draws or builds a house, one draws or builds a
particular house, not the house as such. Still, one could not do it
without having this schema or eidos before the eye of one's mind.
Or, as Kant says: "No image could ever be adequate to the concept
of triangle in general. It would never attain that universality
of the concept which renders it valid of all triangles, whether
right-angled, obtuse-angled, or acute-angled; ... the schema of
the triangle can exist nowhere but in thought."13 Yet, though it
exists in thought only, it is a kind of "image"; it is not a product
of thought, nor is it given to sensibility; and least of all is it the
product of an abstraction from sensibly given data. It is something
beyond or between thought and sensibility; it belongs to
thought insofar as it is outwardly invisible, and it belongs to
sensibility insofar as it is something like an image. Kant therefore
sometimes calls imagination "one of the original sources ... of all
experience," and says that it cannot itself "be derived from any
other faculty of the mind."14
One more example: "The concept 'dog' signifies a rule according
to which my imagination can delineate the figure of a
four-footed animal in a general manner [but as soon as the
figure is delineated on paper it is again a particular animall],
without limitation to any single determinate figure such as experience,
or any possible image that I can represent in concreto,
actually presents."15 This is the "art concealed in the depths of
the human soul, whose real modes of activity nature is hardly
likely ever to allow us to discover and to have open to our
gaze."16 Kant says that the image-for instance, the George
Washington Bridge-is the product "of the empirical faculty of
reproductive imagination; the schema [bridge] ... is a product
... of pure a priori imagination ... through which images
themselves first become possible."17 In other words: if I did not
have the faculty of "schematizing," I could not have images.
IV. For us, the following points are decisive.
1. In perception of this particular table there is contained
"table" as such. Hence, no perception is possible without imagination.
Kant remarks that "psychologists have hitherto failed to
Imagination 83
realize that imagination is a necessary ingredient of perception
itself." 18
2. The schema "table" is valid for all particular tables. Without
it, we would be surrounded by a manifold of objects of which we
could say only "this" and "this" and "this." Not only would no
knowledge be possible, but communication-"Bring me a table"
(no matter which}-would be impossible.
3. Hence: Without the ability to say "table," we could never
communicate. We can describe the George Washington Bridge
because we all know: "bridge." Suppose someone comes along
who does not know "bridge," and there is no bridge to which I
could point and utter the word. I would then draw an image of
the schema of a bridge, which of course is already a particular
bridge, just to remind him of some schema known to him, such
as "transition from one side of the river to the other."
In other words: What makes particulars communicable is (a)
that in perceiving a particular we have in the back of our minds
(or in the "depths of our souls") a "schema" whose "shape" is
characteristic of many such particulars and (b) that this schematic
shape is in the back of the minds of many different people.
These schematic shapes are products of the imagination,
although "no schema can ever be brought into any image whatsoever.
"19 All s.m gI e agreements or d·I sagreements presuppose
that we are talking about the same thing-that we, who are
many, agree, come together, on something that is one and the
same for us all.
4. The Critique of Judgment deals with reflective judgments as
distinguished from determinant ones. Determinant judgments
subsume the particular under a general rule; reflective judgments,
on the contrary, "derive" the rule from the particular. In
the schema, one actually "perceives" some "universal" in the
particular. One sees, as it were, the schema "table" by recognizmg
the table as table. Kant hints at this distinction between determinant
and reflective judgments in the Critique of Pure Reason
by drawing a distinction between "subsuming under a concept"
and "bringing to a concept."20
5. Finally, our sensibility seems to need imagination not only
as an aid to knowledge but in order to recognize sameness in the
manifold. As such, it is the condition of all knowledge: ·the
"synthesis of imagination, prior to apperception, is the ground
of the possibility of all knowledge, especially of experience."21 As
:1
,
" ,
84 PART ONE
such, imagination "determines the sensibility a priori," i.e., it is
inherent in all sense perceptions. Without it, there would be
neither the objectivity of the world-that it can be known-nor
any possibility of communication-that we can talk about it.
v. The importance of the schema for our purposes is that sensibility
and understanding meet in producing it through imagination.
In the Critique of Pure Reason imagination is at the service of
the intellect; in the Critique of judgment the intellect is "at the
service of imagination."22
In the Critique of judgment we find an analogy to the "schema":
the example. 23 Kant accords to examples the same role in judgments
that the intuitions called schemata have for experience
and cognition. Examples playa role in both reflective and determinant
judgments, that is, whenever we are concerned with
particulars. In the Critique of Pure Reason-where we read that
'judgment is a peculiar talent which can be practiced only, and
cannot be taught" and that "its lack no school can make
good"24-they are called "the go-cart [Giingelband] of judgment."
25 In the Critique of judgment, i.e., in the treatment of
reflective judgments, where one does not subsume a particular
under a concept, the example helps one in the same way in
which the schema helped one to recognize the table as table. The
examples lead and guide us, and the judgment thus acquires
"exemplary validity."26
The example is the particular that contains in itself, or is supposed
to contain, a concept or a general rule. How, for instance,
is one able to judge, to evaluate, an act as courageous? When
judging, one says spontaneously, without any derivations from
general rules, "This man has courage." If one were a Greek, one
would have in "the depths of one's mind" the example of Achilles.
Imagination is again necessary: one must have Achilles pres- .
ent even though he certainly is absent. If we say of somebody
that he is good, we have in the back of our minds the example of
Saint Fra:ncis or Jesus of Nazareth. The judgment has exemplary
validity to the extent that the example is rightly chosen. Or, to
take another instance: in the context of French history I can talk
about Napoleon Bonaparte as a particular man; but the moment
I speak about Bonapartism I have made an example of him. The
validity of this example will be restricted to those who possess the
particular experience of Napoleon, either as his contemporaries
Imagination 85
or as the heirs to this particular historical tradition. Most concepts
in the historical and political sciences are of this restricted
nature; they have their origin in some particular historical incident,
and we then proceed to make it "exemplary"-to see in
the particular what is valid for more than one case.
PART TWO
Interpretive Essay
i
i
i
Hannah Arendt on Judging
Ronald Beiner
1. Judging: Resolution of an Impasse
JUDGING WAS TO HAVE SUCCEEDED Thinking and Willing as the
third and concluding part of Hannah Arendt's final work. The
Life of the Mind. But as Mary McCarthy, editor of the posthumous
work, tells us in her Postface to the two published volumes,
Arendt's sudden death came less than a week after she had
completed the draft of Willing: "After her death, a sheet of
paper was found in her typewriter, blank except for the heading
'J udging' and two epigraphs. Some time between the Saturday
of finishing 'Willing' and the Thursday of her death, she must
have sat down to confront the final section."l It can be maintained
that, without the account of judging, our picture of The
Life of the Mind is in a decisive respect incomplete. First of all, we
have the testimony of Hannah Arendt's friend J. Glenn Gray
that "she regarded judging to be her particular strength and in a
real sense a hoped-for resolution of the impasse to which the
reflections on willing seemed to lead her. As Kant's Critique of
Judgment enabled him to break through some of the antinomies
of the earlier critiques, so she hoped to resolve the perplexities
of thinking and willing by pondering the nature of our capacity
for judging."2 It is not merely that the already completed accounts
of two mental faculties were to be supplemented by a
yet-to-be-provided third but, rather, that those two accounts
themselves remain deficient without the promised synthesis in
judging. Michael Denneny, commenting on Arendt's precursory
lectures on thinking, willing, and judging, which he attended in
1966, offers a similar verdict: "The lectures on thinking (and
conscience and consciousness) were brilliandy original and
stimulating; those on the will, difficult and puzzling. And it became
increasingly clear that the heart of the matter lay in judg90
PART TWO
ment." Denneny adds that this involved a strange irony, for,
"surprisingly., the discussion of this faculty was constantly
postponed,
and, in the end, it was treated only summarily in the very
last lecture."3
Indeed, we are forced to consider The Life of the Mind, without
Judging, as a tale without an ending. For we arrive at the end of
the volume on Willing in something like a state of suspense.
Willing, we are told, drives us into a theoretical impasse. Willing,
ifit means anything, implies an "abyss of pure spontaneity." But
the established traditions of Occidental philosophy shied away
from this abyss, sought to explain away the new by understanding
it within the terms of the old. Only in Marxian utopianism
was freedom in this sense of the genuinely new not abandoned.
Arendt calls this a frustrating conclusion and says that she knows
"of only one tentative alternative to it in our entire history of
political thought": Augustine's notion of "natality," the human
capacity for beginning, rooted in the fact of human birth. But on
the last page of Willing we read thafeven the Augustinian theory
"is somehow opaque":
it seems to tell us no more than that we are doomed to be free
by virtue of being born, no matter whether we like freedom
or abhor its arbitrariness, are "pleased" with it or prefer to
escape its awesome responsibility by electing some form of
fatalism. This impasse, if such it is, cannot be opened or
solved except by an appeal to another mental faculty, no less
mysterious than the faculty of beginning, the faculty ~f
Judgment, an analysis of which at least may tell us what IS
involved in our pleasures and displeasures.4
So we arrive at the threshold of Judging still in search of solutions
to the basic problems that impelled Arendt to write The Life
of the Mind. In this situation, it seems virtually an obligation to
attempt to reconstruct her theory of judging, on the basis of
lecture notes and posthumous material available to us, so that we
can conjecture how she might have prepared her escape from
the impasse in which she found herself at the end of the published
text of The Life of the Mind.
It may seem highly speculative (not to say presumptuous) to
endeavor to reconstruct what would have been contained in
Judging had Arendt lived to complete this final chapter in her
life's work. After all, we know that all she had completed at the
time of her death was a single sheet, "blank except for the
Interpretive Essay 91
heading 'Judging' and two epigraphs." And the two epigraphs,
interesting as they are, can hardly be said to offer a transparent
guide to Arendt's intentions. The pathos of that single page
seems almost to warn against proceeding. To complicate matters
further, Arendt, in taking Kant as her guide to the faculty of
judgment, tells us that she is addressing herself to a set of ideas
that he never lived to develop propedy.5 So we are in the same
position regarding Arendt as she, herself was in relation to Kant.
The task is doubly elusive. Still, there are persuasive reasons for
thinking that the Kant lectures presented in this volume are a
tolerably reliable indication of the work that was planned. For
one thing, t.he account of judging in these lectures is entirely
consistent with the passages on judging contained in the work
that has been published, Thinking. 6 In fact, some passages from
the latter work are taken, more or less verbatim, from the
thenunpublished
Kant lectures, which must indicate that she was
reasonably satisfied with the understanding of judgment she had
already formulated in them. Even more decisive is the fact that
the outline of the theory of judgment she offered in a postscript
to the Thinking volume corresponds very closely to the actual
development of the Kant lectures (as we shall argue below).
There is thus a foundation for assuming that the lectures on
Kant's political philosophy offer a reasonable basis for reconstructing
Hannah Arendt's theory of judging.
As if our undertaking were not already hazardous enough,
there is a further difficulty to be contended with. Surveying
Arendt's work as a whole, we can see that she offers not one but
two theories of judgment. There are scattered references to the
faculty of judgment throughout Arendt's published writings of
the 1960s. However, beginning in 1970 we can detect a subtle
but important reorientation. In her writings up until the 1971
ess;;ty, "Thinking and Moral Considerations,"7 judgment is considered
from the point of view of the vita activa; in her writings
from that essay onward, judgment is considered from the point
of view of the life of the mind. The emphasis shifts from the
representative thought and enlarged mentality of political
agents to the spectatorship and retrospective judgment of historians
and storytellers. The blind poet, at a remove from the
action and therefore capable of disinterested reflection, now becomes
the emblem of judging. 8 Removed from first-order perception,
the objects of judgment are re-presented in imagination
by a mental act of second-order reflection. The blind poet judges
92 PART TWO
from a distance, which is the condition of disinterestedness.
Thus Homer prepares the way for the impartial judgments of
ancient historiography. Homer and Herodotus alike proffer
examples of human excellence for pleasurable reflection.9
As I interpret Arendt, her writings on the theme of judgment
fall into two more or less distinct phases: early and late, practical
and contemplative. I am aware that there are certain problems
involved in dividing her works into "early" and "late." It would
be unreasonable to expect any neat division into distinct periods,
and to single out a particular date as marking a clear break
between "early" and "late" will obviously appear in some respects
arbitrary; one should not be surprised to encounter an overlap,
both conceptual and chronological, between the two "phases."
The point of the division, however, is to draw attention to the
fact that in, say, the discussion of "representative thinking" in
"Truth and Politics" there is as yet no concern with judging as a
distinct mental activity (namely, as one of three articulations of
mental life); here Arendt is concerned only with judging as a
feature of political life. (In fact, it was only at a relatively late
stage in her thinking that she came to see judging as an autonomous
mental activity, distinct from thinking and willing.)lO In
what I call her "later" formulations, she is no longer concerned
with judging as a feature of political life as such. What emerges
instead is a conception of judging as one distinct articulation of
the integral whole comprising the life of the mind. In order to
challenge the conclusion that Arendt offers two distinct conceptions
of judgment (the first relating to the world of praxis,
the second to that of contemplation), one would need to give an
account of precisely why, in her last writings, judging as an activity
is placed exclusively within the life of the mind instead of
being assigned a more equivocal status. The only explanation I
myself can conceive of is that judgment had become for her a
part of a concern very different from the original one, which
had been a concern with the vita activa, the life of politics. The
more she reflected on the faculty of judgment, the more inclined
she was to regard it as the prerogative of the solitary (though
public-spirited) contemplator as opposed to the actor (whose
activity is necessarily nonsolitary). One acts with others; one
judges by oneself (even though one does so by making present in
one's imagination those who are absent). In judging, as understood
by Arendt, one weighs the possible judgments of an imagined
Other, not the actual judgments of real interlocutors.
Interpretive Essay 93
In her earlier writings (for example, in "Freedom and Politics,"
"The Crisis in Culture," and "Truth and Politics")l1 Arendt
had introduced the notion of judgment to give further grounding
to her conception of political action as a plurality of actors
acting in concert in a public space. Human beings can act
as political beings because they can enter into the potential
standpoints of others; they can share the world with others
through judging what is held in common, and the objects of
their judgments as political beings are the words and deeds that
illuminate the space of appearances. In the later formulation,
which begins to emerge in the Kant Lectures as well as in both
"Thinking and Moral Considerations" and the Thinking volume,
she approaches judging from a quite different, and much more
ambitious, point of view. Here judgment is described as the
"opening" or "solution" of an "impasse." Looking at the final
chapter of Willing, we are able to reconstruct the nature of this
impasse. The guiding concern of this last chapter, tided "The
Abyss of Freedom and the novus ordo seclorum," is the problem of
human freedom and its relationship to the faculty of willing.
The implication is that only by analyzing the faculty that corresponds
to "our pleasures and displeasures" can we find a way of
embracing human freedom and of seeing it as bearable for natal
and mortal beings like ourselves.
The Kant Lectures form an organic whole. The themes that
inform them are all of a piece: the question of what gives meaning
or worth to human life; the evaluation of life from the point
of view of pleasure and displeasure; the hostility of the contemplative
men to the world of human affairs; the unavailability
of metaphysical truths and the need for critical thinking; the
defense of common sense and of the common understanding of
men; the dignity of man; the nature of historical reflection; the
tension between Progress and the autonomy of the individual;
the relationship between the universal and the particular; and,
finally, the redemptive possibilities of human judgment. Despite
the status of this material as mere notes for lectures, these
themes are woven into a highly original meditation on whether
man's worldly existence occasions gratitude for the givenness of
being or whether, on the contrary, it is more likely to invite
unrelieved melancholy.
According to Mary McCarthy, Arendt expected Judging to be
much shorter than Thinking and Willing and to be the easiest to
handle, but "one can guess that Judging might have surprised
94 PART TWO
her" and led her in unexpected directions.I2 This may well be so.
Still, one can discern a unity and consistency in the conception of
judgment that emerges from Arendt's discussions of this topic in
"Thinking and Moral Considerations" (1971), in volume 1 of The
Life of the Mind, and in the lecture notes published here. Furthermore,
these writings, taken together, disclose an account of
judging that differs markedly from that to be found in her
writings prior to "Thinking and Moral Considerations." In
order to pinpoint what it is that gives Arendt's later theory its
coherence and sets it apart from the earlier account, it is necessary
to trace the development of her thinking about the nature
of judgment. Let us, then, retrace the steps along which the idea
of judging developed in Arendt's work in order to see how a
concern with an interesting but long-neglected capacity of political
man evolved into something far more ambitious--something
that promised affirmation of worldly affairs and the salvaging of
human freedom.
2. Understanding and Historical Judgment
THE THEMES AND CONCERNS that Arendt eventually wove into
the reflections on judging first emerged in her essay "Understanding
and Politics," published in Partisan Review in 1953.13
Understanding "is an unending activity by which ... we come to
terms with, reconcile ourselves to reality, that is, try to be at
home in the world" (p. 377). However, the activity of reconciliation
becomes radically problematical in the. century of totalitarianism,
that is to say, in the wake of deeds to which we
s~em incapable of being reconciled: "To the extent that the rise
of totalitarian governments is the central event of our world, to
understand totalitarianism is not to condone anything, but to
reconcile ourselves to a world in which these things are possible
at all" (ibid.).
"The result of understanding is meaning, which we originate
in the very process of living insofar as we try to reconcile ourselves
to what we do and what we suffer" (p. 378). But, confronted
by the unique horror of totalitarianism, we suddenly
discover "the fact that we have lost our tools of understanding.
Our quest for meaning is at the same time prompted and frustrated
by our inability to originate meaning" (p. 383). Understanding
is an activity that can be neither avoided nor concluded.
Interpretive Essay 95
But we find ourselves faced with what seems like an insuperable
problem, namely, that thinkers and political analysts, obliged to
reflect on the historical fact of totalitarianism, are confronted by
a phenomenon that appears to resist comprehension. The unprecedented
evils of totalitarianism "have clearly exploded our
categories of political thought and our standards for moral
judgment" (p. 379). The task of understanding assumes proportions
never before encountered in historical judgment.
The crisis in understanding is identical to a crisis in judgment,
for understanding is "so closely related to and interrelated with
judging that one must describe both as the subsumption" of
something particular under a universal rule (p. 383). The
trouble is that we no longer possess th€ reliable universal rules
required for this subsumption; the inherited wisdom of the past
fails us "as soon as we try to apply it honestly to the central
political experiences of our own time" (p. 379). Even "normal"
common-sense judgment no longer suffices: "we are living in a
topsy-turvy world, a world where we cannot find our way by
abiding by the rules of what once was common sense" (p. 383).
According to Arendt, the growth of meaninglessness in the
twentieth century has been accompanied by an atrophy of common
sense, the faculty we ordinarily rely on to get our bearings
in the world.
This moral and intellectual crisis of the West did not, however,
originate with totalitarianism; it had its roots deep within the
Western tradition. The demonic politics of the twentieth century
merely exposed the latent crisis for all to see. Thus, what is
frightening about the rise of totalitarianism is "that it has brought
to light the ruin of our categories of thought and standards of
judgment" (p. 388; my italics). Arendt points out that as early as
the eighteenth century it was already evident to Montesquieu
that only customs, mores, "prevented a spectacular moral and
spiritual breakdown of occidental culture" (p. 384). Given a
political body "held together only by customs and traditions," it
is hardly surprising that European civilization proved vulnerable
to the sweeping transformation wrought by the Industrial Revolution:
"the great change took place within a political
framework whose foundations were no longer secure and therefore
overtook a society which, although it was still able to understand
and to judge, could no longer give an account of its
categories of understanding and standards of judgment when
they were seriously challenged" (p. 385). By the nineteenth
96 PART TWO
century, "our great tradition" was running out of answers to "the
'moral' and political questions of our own time .... The very
sources from which such answers should have sprung had dried
up. The very framework within which understanding and
judging could arise is gone" (pp. 385-86).
Seen from the perspective of the historian, the story is at an
end; but viewed from the perspective of the actor, we have no
choice but to make a new start. Here Arendt invokes the principle
of beginning discovered by Augustine, "the one great
thinker who lived in a period which in some respects resembled
our own more than any other in recorded history, and who in
any case wrote under the full impact of a catastrophic end, which
perhaps resembles the end to which we have come" (p. 390).
Like Augustine, we live and think in the shadow of great catastrophe,
and therefore, like him, we must attend to man's capacity
for beginning; for man is the being whose essence is beginning.
In the light of these reflections, our endeavoring to understand
something which has ruined our categories of thought
and our standards of judgment appears less frightening.
Even though we have lost yardsticks by which to measure, and
rules under which to subsume the particular, a being whose
essence is beginning may have enough of origin within himself
to understand without preconceived categories and to
judge without the set of customary rules which is morality. If
the essence of all, and in particular of political, action is to
make a new beginning, then understanding becomes the
other side of action, namely that form of cognition, in distinction
from many others, by which acting men (and not men
who are engaged in contemplating some progressive or
doomed course of history) eventually can come to terms with
what irrevocably happened and be reconciled with what unavoidably
exists. [Po 391]
In other words, it is precisely when yardsticks of judgment disappear
that the faculty of judgment comes into its own.
Arendt ends the essay by relating understanding to the faculty
of imagination, which she distinguishes from mere fancy:
Imagination alone enables us to see things in their proper
perspective, to put that which is too close at a certain distance.
so that we can see and understand it without bias and prejudice,
to bridge abysses of remoteness until we can see and
understand everything that is too far away from us as though
Interpretive Essay 97
it were our own affair. This "distancing" of some things and
bridging the abysses to others is part of the dialogue of
understanding. [P.392]
Imagination allows for the proximity that makes understanding
possible, and it also establishes the distance needed for judgment.
Without this kind of imagination, which actually is understanding,
we would never be able to take our bearings in the
world. It is the only inner compass we have .... If we want to
be at home on this earth, even at the price of being at home in
this century, we must try to take part in the interminable
dialogue with its essence. [Ibid.]
3. Judging Eichmann
ACCORDING TO Hannah Arendt, "thought itself arises out of
incidents of living experience and must remain bound to them
as the only guideposts by which to take its bearings."14 If this is
so, what particular experience gave rise to her theory of judging?
Needless to say, her work on the rise of totalitarianism is
relevant: it alerted her to the complexities of human judgment
and to the threats posed to it by developments in modern society.
But there is good reason for supposing that another, more
specific, though obviously related "incident of living experience"
precipitated her efforts to theorize about the nature of judgment,
namely, her presence at the trial of Adolf Eichmann in
Jerusalem in 1961. Her report of the trial, which appeared in
1963, first in the New Yorker and then in book form, generated a
huge storm of controversy.15 We know that this experience provided
the impetus for wide-ranging reflection on her part, for
she herself informs us that her reflections on the status of truth
and on the critical function of thought were motivated by her
involvement in the Eichmann controversy.16 There is thus little
reason to doubt that what was preoccupying her when she began
to think seriously about judgment was the unavoidable need to
render judgment in the case of Adolf Eichmann, together with
the fact that Eichmann himself clearly abstained from responsible
judgment-an evil generated by his "thought-defying"
banality.
There are two main sources for assessing the impact the
Eichmann trial had on Arendt's concept of judging: a lecture
98 PART TWO
"Personal Responsibility under Dictatorship," published in The
Listener in 1964 17 and a Postscript added to the second (1965)
edition of Eich:nann in Jerusalem. The question that lies at the
heart of these two pieces is whether we are entitled. to presuppose
"an independent human fac~lty, unsupporte~ by law
and public opinion, that judges ane~ m f~ll s~ntanelty every
deed and intent whenever the occaSlOn arIses. Do we possess
such a faculty, and are we lawgivers, every single one of us,
whenever we act?18 Arendt says that this "touches upon one of
the central moral questions of all time, namely upon the nature
and function ofhumanjudgment."19 What had been demanded
in both the Eichmann and Nuremberg trials was
that human beings be capable of telling right from wrong
even when all they have to guide them is their own ju~gment,
which moreover, happens to be completely at odds Wlth what
they :nust regard as the unanimous opinion of all those
around them .... Those few who were still able to tell right
from wrong went really only by their ownjud~ents, and they
did so freely; there were no rules to be abided by, under
which the particular cases with which they were confronted
could be subsumed. They had to decide each instance as it
arose, because no rules existed for the unprecedented.20
There is a second aspect involved here, which is in some ways
equally disturbing, for it too places in question the very status of
judgment itself. In Eichmann in J e:usalem Arendt had so~ght to
do justiee to the Holocaust experIence not by representm? the
war criminals as subhuman creatures, who are beneath Judgment,
or the victims as innocents without responsibility, who
surpass judgment, but by making clear that human judgment
can function only where those judged are neither beasts nor
angels but men. However, many of Arendt's readers objected
(quite' vociferously) that if this is how human judgment must
operate, it would be better to abstain from judgment altogether.
Arendt notes that the uproar occasioned by the Eichmann book
shows "how troubled men of our time are by this question of
judgment."21 This whole issue was confronted most dir~ctly in
the fascinating exchange of letters in Encounter magazme between
Gershom Scholem and Arendt.22 AreI;l.dt's final reply is
contained in the Postscript to the revised edition of Eichmann in
Jerusalem, where she ·writes: "The argument that we cannot
judge if we were not present and involved ourselves seems to
Interpretive Essay 99
convince everyone everywhere, although it seems obvious that if
it were true, neither the administration of justice nor the writing of
history would ever be possible. "23 This point is unassailable. A
second
argument, that the person who judges cannot avoid the
reproach of self-righteousness, proves upon examination to be
no more valid than the first. Arendt responded to it by saying:
"Even the judge who condemns a murderer can still say when he
goes home: 'And there, but for the grace of God, go I.'"
Moreover, "the reflection that you yourself might have done
wrong under the same circumstances may kindle a spirit of forgiveness,"
but this in no way preempts judgment. For Arendt,
forgivenessJollows judgment, it does not displace it: "Justice, but
not mercy, is a matter of judgment."24
Arendt states that public opinion everywhere seems to be in
happy agreement that "no one has the right to judge somebody
else. What public opinion permits us to judge and even to condemn
are trends, or whole groups of people-the larger the
better-in short, something so general that distinctions can no
longer be made, names no longer named."25 Thus we find, for
instance, a flourishing of theories of the collective guilt or
collective
innocence of entire peoples. "All these cliches have in common
that they make judgment superfluous and that to utter
them is devoid of all risk."26 This goes with a "reluctance evident
everywhere to make judgments in terms of individual moral
responsibility."27 The sad irony is that this atrophy of the faculty
of judgment was precisely what had made Eichmann's monstrous
crimes possible in the first place.
The Eichmann affair brought to Arendt's full awareness judgment's
function of assimilating in a humanly intelligible way
whatever most strenuously resists such assimilation. Judgment
brings its objects of judgment within the reach of huma!!
meaningfulness. This is brought to light most strikingly in the
exchange between Arendt and Gershom Scholem over the
Eichmann question. Scholem wrote in his letter to Arendt:
"There were among [the elders of the Jews] many people in no
way different from ourselves, who were compelled to make terrible
decisions in circumstances that we cannot even begin to
reproduce or reconstruct. I do not know whether they were
right or wrong. Nor do I presume to judge. I was not there." Arendt
replied: "[The behavior of Jewish functionaries] constitutes our
part of the so-called 'unmastered past,' and although you may be
right that it is too early for a 'balanced judgment' (though I
100 PART TWO
doubt this), I do believe that we shall only come to terms with this
past
if we begin to judge and to be frank about it."28 Thus judgment
serves to help us make sense of, to render humanly intelligible,·
events that otherwise could not be made so. The faculty of
judgment is in the service of human intelligibility-the very
same service that Arendt ascribes to the telling of excellent deeds
in a story-and conferring intelligibility is the meaning of politics.
In this respect, Arendt's Eichmann in jerusalem bears comparison
with another work of similar moral dimensions, Maurice
Merleau-Ponty's Humanism and Terror. These two books are addressed
to the two most extreme (and most distressing) political
experiences of our century, Naziism and Stalinism, respectively.
What the two works share is that both place the effort to understand
at the center of their respective inquiries. When understanding
is placed in the service of judgment, it requires the free
exercise of imagination-in particular, the ability to imagine
how things look from a position that we do not in fact occupy.
Judgment may require us to make the effort to understand those
whose point of view we not only do not share but may even find
highly distasteful. Disagreement does not release us from the
responsibility to understand what we reject; if anything, it rather
heightens this responsibility. Merleau-Ponty writes: "true liberty
takes others as they are, tries to understand even those doctrines
which are its negation, and never allows itself to judge before
understanding.
We must fulfill our freedom of thought in the freedom
of understanding."29 For Merleau-Ponty too, judgment assumes
the tragic tasks of understanding and forgiving, these composing
the tragic dimensions of judgment. Arendt's efforts to come
to terms with the experience of the Holocaust convey the same
message. To judge a genuinely human situation is to partake of
the tragedy that is potential in circumstances where human
responsibility
is exercised and borne to its limit. This helps to
explain why Arendt associates the faculty of judging with the
sense of human dignity.
The relevance of the Eichmann case for the theme of judging
is twofold: first, there is the inability of Eichmann himself to
think and to judge-to tell right from wrong, beautiful from
ugly-in the critical political situation in which he was involved;
second, there is the problem of retrospective understanding, of
how to judge the meaning of Eichmann from a vantage point
temporally and spatially removed from the events in question.
Interpretive Essay 101
Arendt is concerned with both dimensions of this twofold relevance:
the first, in which Eichmann is the judging subject; the
second, in which Arendt herself and her fellow American Jews
are called upon to judge. The lesson of the first is that inability to
think has fatal implications for the faculty of judging. The lesson
of the second is that the responsibility for making judgments
cannot be shirked even when commitments and allegiances of a
familial or national kind would seem to intrude. The activity of
judging cannot be inhibited by supposedly prior relations oflove
or loyalty. Judgment must be free, and the condition of its autonomy
is the ability to think.
The second of these two dimensions of the Eichmann case--namely,
the retrospective judgment of the Jewish-American
community two decades later-poses, as we have seen, a challenge
to the very status of judgment. For the issue is whether one
ought perhaps, out of concern or the fear of committing a betrayal,
to suspend judgment altogether. Arendt's reply is uncompromising
and unconditional. Without judgments by which
to render our world intelligible, the space of appearances would
simply collapse. The right of judgment is therefore absolute and
inalienable, for it is by constantly pronouncing judgments that
we are able to make sense of the world to ourselves. If we forfeited
our faculty of judgment, through love or diffidence, we
would be sure to lose our bearings in the world.
4 . Taste and Culture
IT IS IN AN ARTICLE BY Arendt entitled "Freedom and Politics,"
published in 1961, that we first encounter the idea that Kant's
Critique of judgment contains the seeds of a political philosophy
distinct from, and indeed opposed to, the political philosophy
associated with the Critique of Practical Reason. Arendt writes that
Kant
expounds two political philosophies which differ sharply
from one another-the first being that which is generally accepted
as such in his Critique of Practical Reason and the second
that contained in his Critique of judgment. That the first part of
the latter is, in reality, a political philosophy is a fact that is
seldom mentioned in works on Kant; on the other hand, it
can, I think, be seen from all his political writings that for
Kant himself the theme of 'judgment" carries more weight
102 PART TWO
than that of "practical reason:" In the Critique of l.udgrr:ent
freedom is portrayed a~ a predIcate of the pow.er of. Im~gm~tion
and not of the wIll, and the power of Imagmatlon IS
linked most closely with that wider manner of thinking which
is political thinking par excellence, because it enables us to
"put ourselves in the minds of other men."30
The theory of judging delineated in Arendt's subsequently published
works consists simply in the endeavor to draw out and
develop this "other" (hitherto unknown or unappreciated)
political philosophy.
Among the writings published in her lifetime, Arendt's fullest
account of judgment is contained in her essay "The Crisis in
Culture: Its Social and Its Political Significance," included in
Between Past and Future. 31 The basis of Arendt's analysis in "The
Crisis in Culture" is a triadic differentiation between things
(cultural objects), values (exchange values), and consumer
goods. The rightful dignity of cultural goods inheres in their
being "things," that is, "permanent appurtenances of the world"
whose "excellence is measured by their ability to withstand the
life process" (pp. 205-6). These cultural objects were degraded
into "values" by the cultural philistinism of eighteenth- and
nineteenth-century "good society," since they were used as exchange
values for social advancement by the educated European
bourgeoisie. The subsequent rise of mass society has brought a
new development: the abandonment of culture as an exchange
value and the substitution for it of a concern with something of a
wholly different nature: entertainment. (Mass man is defined by
"his capacity for consumption, accompanied by inability to
judge, or even to distinguish," as well as a "fateful alienation
from the world") (p. 199). Entertainment is a "consumer good"
in the strict sense, an integral part of man's "metabolism with
nature," "consumed" as soon as it serves the need for which it
was intended, along with everything else produced-andconsumed
in a laboring society (the distinction between exchange
values and consumer goods obviously corresponds to
Arendt's distinction between work and labor in The Human Condition).
The consumerism of a laboring society, Arendt believes,
is in a sense a lesser threat to culture than was the philistinism of
"good society" because its preoccupation with entertainment has
nothing whatever to do with culture and therefore does not
infringe upon it the way philistinism did. On the other hand,
culture, too, is eventually absorbed into the consumer society'S
Interpretive Essay 103
need for entertainment, by virtue of an all-encompassing
functionalization:
Culture relates to objects and is a phenomenon of the world;
entertainment relates to people and is a phenomenon of life.
An object is cultural to the extent that it can endure; its durability
is the very opposite of functionality, which is the quality
which makes it disappear again from the phenomenal world
by being used and used up. The great user and consumer of
objects is life itself, the life of the individual and the life of
society as a whole. Life is indifferent to the thingness of an
object; it insists that every thing must be functional, fulfill
some needs. Culture is being threatened when all worldly
objects and things, produced by the present or the past, are
treated as mere functions for the life process of society, as
though they are there only to fulfill some need. [Po 208]
[A] consumers' society cannot possibly know how to take care
of a world and the things which belong exclusively to the space
of worldly appearances, because its central attitude toward all
objects, the attitude of consumption, spells ruin to everything
it touches. [P.211] .
What this tells us is that the cultural and the political both involve
caring for the world, that both converge upon concern for
the public world. Politics and culture are not essentially separate
spheres of human endeavor: both are concerned with how the
world looks, how it appears to those who share it, and both
attend to the quality of the worldly dwelling that envelops us and
in which we pass our mortal existence.
This is brought out very well in a striking passage from Pericles'
Funeral Oration, as rendered by Thucydides, which Arendt
translates as: "We love beauty within the limits of political
judgment, and we philosophize without the barbarian vice of
effeminacy" (p. 214). The reason "love of beauty" can be encompassed
within "political judgment" is that they share the
fundamental requirement of public appearance, they presuppose
a common world. "The common element connecting
art and politics is that they both are phenomena of the public
world":
[C]ulture indicates that the public realm, which is rendered
politically secure by men of action, offers its space of display
to those things whose essence it is to appear and to be beautiful.
In others words, culture indicates that art and politics,
their conflicts and tensions notwithstanding, are interrelated
104 PART TWO
and even mutually dependent. Seen against the background
of political experiences and of activities which, if left to
themselves,
come and go without leaving any trace in the world,
beauty is the very manifestation of imperishability. The
fleeting greatness of word and deed can endure in the world
to the extent that beauty is bestowed upon it. Without the
beauty, that is, the radiant .glory in which potential immortality
is made manifest in the human world, all human life
would be futile and no greatness could endure. [P.218]
Taste, the discriminating, discerning, judging activity of love of
beauty, is the cultura animi, the possession of "a mind so trained
and cultivated that it can be trusted to tend. and take care of a
world of appearances whose criterion is beauty" (p. 219).
Arendt introduces her discussion of judgment in connection
with "the spectator" who apprehends cultural and political appearances.
Kant's Critique oj Judgment is now appealed to, she
tells us, because in the first part, the "Critique of Aesthetic
Judgment," it offers "an analytic of the beautiful primarily from
the viewpoint of the judging spectator" (pp. 219-20). This concern
with the judging spectator is simply the extension of
Arendt's definition of politics in terms of virtuosity or performance
(p. 153). The deeds of the actor are as in need of the spectator's
judgment as those of any other performer. Arendt begins
her account of this idea of spectatorship by calling attention to
the plurality presupposed in judgment as opposed to the solitary
nature of thought. She refers to the Kantian notion of "enlarged
mentality," which she elsewhere speaks of as "representative
thinking": "thinking in the place of everybody else" (p. 241). This
involves "potential agreement with others," coming finally to
some agreement.
A further aspect of judgment is that, unlike logical reasoning,
it does not compel universal validity. Rather, it appeals to judging
persons who are "present," who are members of the public
realm where the objects of judgment appear. Arendt appeals to
the Aristotelian distinction between phronesis and sophia: the latter
strives to rise above common sense; the former is rooted in
common sense, which "discloses to us the nature of the world·
insofar as it is a common world"; it "enables man to orient himself
in the public realm, in the common world." This defense of
common sense, it should be noted, is a persistent theme in
Arendt's work. Common sense means sharing a nonsubjective
and "objective" (object-laden) world with others. "Judging is
Interpretive Essay 105
one, if not the most, important activity in which this sharingthe-
world-with-others comes to pass" (p. 221).
. Arendt credits Kant with having dislodged the prejudice that
judgments of taste, concerning merely aesthetic matters, lie
therefore outside the political realm (as well as outside the domain
of reason). She claims that the alleged subjective arbitrariness
of taste offended not Kant's aesthetic but his political sense.
It is because of his awareness of the public quality of beauty and
the public relevance of beautiful things, she maintains, that Kant
insisted that judgments of taste are open to discussion and subject
to dispute.
In aesthetic no less than in political judgments, a decision is
made, and although this decision is always determined by a
certain subjectivity, by the simple fact that each person occupies
a place of his own from which he looks upon and
judges the world, it also derives from the fact that the world
itself is an objective datum, something common to all its inhabitants.
The activity of taste decides how this world, independent
of its utility and our vital interests in it, is to look
and sound, what men will see and what they will heaF in it.
Taste judges the world in its appearance and in its worldliness;
its interest in the world is purely "disinterested," and
that means that neither the life interests of the individual nor
the moral interests of the self are involved here. For judgments
of taste, the world is the primary thing, not man,
neither man's life nor his self. [P.222]
Arendt returns to the contrast between judgment and philosophical
argument oriented toward truth. The latter, demonstrable
truth, seeks to compel agreement by a process of compelling
proof. Judgments of taste, by contrast, are, like political opinions,
persuasive; they are characterized by "the hope of coming to
an agreement with everyone else eventually."
Culture and politics ... belong together because it is not
knowledge or truth which is at stake, but rather judgment and
decision, the judicious exchange of opinion about the sphere
of public life and the common world, and the decision what
manner of action is to be taken in it, as well as to how it is to
look henceforth, what kinds of things are to appear in it.
. [P.223]
Arendt concludes her discussion of taste in "The Crisis in
Culture" with an affirmation of humanism, with specific reference
to Cicero. Taste, she points out, "decides not only how the
106 PART TWO
world is to look, but also who belongs together in it." It defines a
principle of belonging, is an expression of the company one
keeps, and, as such, like politics itself, it is a matter of
selfdisclosure.
32 Thus "taste is the political capacity that truly
humanizes the beautiful and -creates a culture" (p. 224). Arendt
interprets Cicero to be saying that "for the true humanist neither
the verities of the scientist nor the truth of the philosopher nor
the beauty of the artist can be absolutes; the humanist, beca~se
he is not a specialist, exerts a faculty of judgment and taste whIch
is beyond the coercion which each specialty imposes upon us" (p.
225). Against specialization and philistinism, Arendt counterposes
a humanism that "knows how to take care and preserve
and admire the things of the world" (ibid.). She concludes from
these reflections upon taste that a cultivated person ought to be
"one who knows how to choose his company among men, among
things, among thoughts, in the present as well as in the past"
(p. 226).33
5. Representative Thinking
THE ALL-IMPORTANT CONTRAST between persuasive judgment
and compelling truth is further developed in Arendt's essay
"Truth and Politics."34 Here she places it in the context of the
traditional conflict between the philosophical life and the life of
the citizen. The philosophers opposed to truth "mere opinion,
which was equated with illusion, and it was this degrading of
opinion that gave the conflict its political poignancy; for opinion,
and not truth, belongs among the indispensable prerequisites of
all power." This antagonism between truth and opinion is such
that
every claim in the sphere of human affairs to an absolute
truth, whose validity needs no support from the side of opinion,
strikes at the very roots of all politics and all governments.
[P.233] |
|
Arendt appeals to Madison,
Lessing, and Kant in trying to resist
the aspersions cast on opinion by philosophers, from Plato onward,
and the devaluation of the life of the citizen that these
imply. Opinion derives its own distinctive dignity from the condition
of human plurality, from the need for the citizen to address
himself to his fellows; for "debate constitutes the very
Interpretive Essay 107
essence of political life." The trouble, as Arendt sees it, is that all
truth, by peremptorily claiming to be acknowledged, precludes
debate: "The modes of thought and communication that deal
with truth, if seen from the political perspective, are necessarily
domineering; they do not take into account other people's
opinions, and taking these into account is the hallmark of all
strictly political thinking" (p. 241).
It is here that Arendt introduces her notion of the representative
character of political thought:
I form an opinion by considering a given issue from different
viewpoints, by making present to my mind the standpoints of
those who are absent; that is, I represent them. This prQcess
of representation does not blindly adopt the actual views of
those who stand somewhere else, and hence look upon the
world from a different perspective; this is a question neither
of empathy, as though I tried to be or to feel like somebody
else, nor of counting noses and joining a majority but of being
and thinking in my own identity where actually I am not. The
more people's standpoints I have present in my mind while I
am pondering a given issue, and the better I can imagine how
I would feel and think if I were in their place, the stronger
will be my capacity for representative thinking and the more
valid my final conclusions, my opinion. [Ibid.]
This capacity, according to Arendt, is the Kantian "enlarged
mentality," which is the basis for man's ability to judge (though
Kant, having discovered this capacity for impartial judgment,
"did not recognize the political and moral implications of his
discovery" [ibid.]). We try to imagine what it would be like to be
somewhere else in thought, and "the only condition for this
exertion of the imagination is disinterestedness, the liberation
from one's own private interests" (p. 242). This process of opinion
formation, determined by those in whose place somebody
thinks and uses his own mind, is such that "a particular issue is
forced into the open that it may show itself from all sides, in every
possible perspective, until it is Hooded and made transparent by
the full light of human comprehension" (ibid.).
Arendt illustrates this notion of representative thinking in an
unpublished lecture on judgment:
Suppose I look at a specific slum dwelling and I perceive in
this particular building the general notion which it does not
exhibit directly, the notion of poverty and misery. I arrive at
this notion by representing to myself how I would feel if I had
108 PART TWO
to live there, that is, I try to think in the place of the slumdweller.
The judgment I shall come up with will by no means
necessarily be the same as that of the inhabitants, \\Thom time
and hopelessness may have dulled to the outrage of their
condition, but it will become for my further judging of these
matters an outstanding example to which I refer .... Furthermore,
while I take into account others when judging, this
does not mean that I conform in my judgment to those of
others, I still speak with my own voice and I do not count
noses in order to arrive at what I think is right. But my judgment
is no longer subjective either.35
"The point of the matter," says Arendt, "is that my judgment of
a particular instance does not merely depend upon my perception,
but upon my representing to myself something which I do
not perceive."36
It is clear that judgment and opinion belong inextricably together
as the chief faculties of political reason. Arendt's intention
is fairly obvious: to concentrate attention on the faculty of
judgment is to rescue opinion from the disrepute into which it
has fallen since Plato. Both faculties, that of judging and that of
forming opinions, are thus redeemed simultaneously. This is
brought out very well in a passage from On Revolution, where
judgment and opinion are spoken of in the same breath: "opinion
and judgment, ... these two politically most important, rational
faculties, had been almost entirely neglected by the tradition
of political as well as philosophic thought."37 She notes that
the Founding Fathers of the American Revolution were made
aware of the importance of these two faculties, in spite of the fact
that they "did not try consciously to reassert the rank and dignity
of opinion in the hierarchy of human rational abilities. The same
is true with respect to judgment, where we would have to turn to
Kant's philosophy, rather than to the men of the revolutions, if
we wished to learn something about its essential character and
amazing range in the realm(of human affairs."38 The Founding
Fathers themselves were not able to transcend "the narrow and
tradition-bound framework of their general concepts" to the
extent of reconceptualizing these two rational faculties of political
life. In other words, the required reassertion is still awaited,
and to formulate it is a task that Arendt herself undertakes as
expositor of Kant.
We can now see the real import of Arendt's opposition between
philosophical truth and the judgment of the citizen. Her
Interpretive Essay 109
aim is to bolster the "rank and dignity" of opinion. It is judgment
that gives to opinion its own distinctive dignity, lending it a measure
of respectability when it is weighed against truth. It is on
account of judgment that opinion is not the disgrace that philosophers
have traditionally made it out to be. It is because we, as
plural beings, can engage in "representative thinking" that
opinion cannot be as summarily dismissed as traditional philosophy
assumed. And since opinion is the mainstay of politics, an
upgrading of the status of opinion serves at the same time to
elevate the status of the political.
Thus far, Arendt's theorizing about the nature of judgment
has followed a consistent line of development. However, when
we turn to her writings of the 1970s, we find in her reflections on
judging a discernible shift of emphasis. No longer does she stress
the representative thinking of political agents. Instead, judging
is aligned with thinking, which "has no political relevance unless
special emergencies arise."39 Instead of being conceived in
terms of the deliberations of political actors deciding on possible
courses of future action (an activity Arendt subsequently
identifies with projects of the will), judging now comes to be
defined as reflection on the past, on what is already given, and,
in common with thinking, "such reflections will inevitably arise
in political emergencies."40
6. The Wind of Thought:
Judging in Emergenc'tes
THE LATER SET OF CONCERNS, which Arendt subsequently
treated in The Life of the Mind, first emerged in print in "Thinking
and Moral Considerations: A Lecture," an article published
in 1971.41 At the end of the essay Arendt turns to the role of the
faculty of judgment. In times of historical crisis, she writes,
"thinking ceases to be a marginal affair in political matters" because
those who possess the capacity for critical thought are not
swept away unthinkingly, like everyone else:
their refusal to join is conspicuous and thereby becomes a
kind of action. The purging element in thinking, Socrates'
midwifery, that brings out the implications of unexamined
opinions and thereby destroys them-values, doctrines,
theories, and even convictions--is political by implication. For
no PART TWO
this destruction has a liberating effect on another human faculty,
the faculty of judgm~!lt, which o?e may call, .~i~ s0In:e
justification, the most politlcal of man s mental abilitles. It 1S
the faculty to judge particulars without subsuming them under
those general rules which can be taught and learne~ until
they grow into habits that can be replaced by other hab1ts and
rules. .
The faculty of judging particulars (as Kant discovered it),
the ability to say, "this is wrong," "this is beautiful," etc., is not
the same as the faculty of thinking. Thinking deals with invisibles,
with representations of things that are absent; judging
always concerns particulars and things close at hand: But
the two are interrelated in a way similar to the way conSC10USness
and conscience are interconnected. If thinking, the
two-in-one of the soundless dialogue, actualizes the difference
within our identity as given in consciousness and thereby
results in conscience as its by-product, then judging,
the by-product of the liberating effect of thinking, realizes
thinking, makes it manifest in the world of appearances,
where I am never alone and always much too busy to be able
to think. The manifestation of the wind of thought is no
knowledge; it is the ability to tell right from wrong, beautiful
from ugly. And this indeed may prevent catastrophes, at least
for myself, in the rare moments when the chips are down.42 .
For Arendt, politics is defined by phenomenality, as selfdisclosure
in a space of appearances. Political things, as Arendt
conceives them, are phenomenally manifest: "great· things are
self-evident, shine by themselves," the poet or historiographer
merely preserving the glory that is already visible to all. Among
the Greeks, "great deeds and great words were, in their greatness,
as real as a stone or a house, there to be seen and heard by
everybody present. Greatness was easily recognizable."43 Again,
it is this that connects art and politics: "both are phenomena of
the public world."44 The phenomenality of politics is therefore
analogous to the phenomenality of art:
in order to become aware of appearances we first must be free
to establish a certain distance between ourselves and the object,
and the In:0re im~ortant.the she~r appearance of ~ ~ing
is, the more d1stance 1t requ1res for 1ts proper appreclatlon.
This distance cannot arise unless we are in a position to forget
ourselves, the cares and interests and urges of our lives, so
that we will not seize what we admire but let it be as it is, in its
appearance.45
Interpretive Essay 111
This point is expressed very well by Ernst Vollrath in an excellent
article on Hannah Arendt's "method of political thinking."
Vollrath writes that impartiality (as distinct from objectivity)
implies essentially "to say what is," ... to recognize phenomena
in their facticity and to determine this facticity in
a phenomenal sense rather than to construe it from an epistemic
basis .... Hannah Arendt's kind of political thinking
regards topics within the political field not as "objects" but as
phenomena and appearances. They are what shows itself,
what appears to the eyes and senses .... Political events are
phenomena in a special sense; one might say that they are
phenomena per se.... The space in which political
phenomena occur is created by the phenomena themselves.46
Judgment discriminates· among the self-disclosive phenomena
and captures phenomenal appearance in its fullness. Accordingly,
the capacity of judgment for discerning the qualities of the
particular without prior subsumption under a universal is closely
related to the nature of politics as disclosure. Judgment, as it
were, confirms the being of that which has been disclosed. Thus
it is in a very emphatic sense that human judgment always proceeds
in a world of appearances.
The objects of our judgment are particulars that open themselves
to our purview. Naturally, we can apprehend particulars
only to the extent that we class them under some universal. A
bare (unclassed) particular is not a possible object of judgment.
But when the universals under which we subsume those judged
particulars turn into fixed habits of thought, ossified rules and
standards, "conventional, standardized codes of expression and
conduct,"47 the danger is that we will not open ourselves fully to
the phenomenal richness of the appearances that make themselves
available for our judgment. It is in this situation that the
faculty of judgment undergoes its most severe test, and the
acuteness or dullness of our judgments will have real practical
consequences. For instance, for those accustomed to the ordinary
brutality and oppression of conventional tyrannies, despotlsms,
and dictatorships, it was aifficult to recognize in
twentieth-century totalitarianism something entirely novel and
unprecedented.48 It requires a special quality of judgment to
diSCriminate. between what we are used to and what is genuinely
new and d1fferent. Those who possess taste, who are discriminating
in things beautiful and ugly, good and bad, will be
less likely to be caught off their guard in times of political crisis.
112 PART TWO
According to Arendt, thought-the critical movement of
thinking-loosens the hold of universals (e.g., entrenched moral
habits ossified into inflexible general precepts) and thus frees
judgment to operate in an open space of moral or aesthetic
discrimination and discernment. Judgment functions best when
this space has been cleared for it by critical thinking. In this way,
the universal does not domineer over the particular; rather, the
latter can be apprehended as it truly discloses itself. Thinking
itself thereby assumes a political relevance by virtue of its
relationship
to the faculty of judgment. By loosening the grip of
the universal over the particular, thinking releases the political
potency of the faculty of judgment-the potency that inheres in
its capacity to perceive things as they are, that is, as they are
phenomenally manifest.49
In her lectures on "Basic Moral Propositions," given in
Chicago in 1966, and, before that, in a lecture course, "Some
Questions of Moral Philosophy," given at the New School for
Social Research in 1965, Arendt had described how Western
morality has been rendered so vulnerable by developments in
Western politics that what formerly were regarded as basic ethical
tenets of Western civilization ("It is better to suffer wrong
than to do wrong," "Do unto others as you would have them do
unto you," etc.) have come to be devalued to the level of mere
conventions (as easily exchangeable as a set of table manners).50
It is in this context that Arendt turns to Kant, seeking an account
of moral life that recognizes the nonself-evidency of moral
propositions yet does not require that we forgo moral judgment
altogether. Kant's analysis of taste provides the concepts of
communication, intersubjective agreement, and shared judgment
that Arendt seeks for the reconstruction of moral horizons.
If we can no longer count on the presumption of moral
objectivity, perhaps we can at least hope to find a way out of pure
subjectivity by appealing to a notion of moral taste that can act as
a bridge between judging subjects brought into a company of
shared or agreed judgments. At the same time, Arendt sought
an account of evil that would allow her to come to grips with the
political evils of the twentieth century. Here again the analysis of
judgment is central, for it is here that she locates the source of
the greatest evils in the political realm, the evil of totalitarianism
epitomized in Eichmann: "In the refusal to judge: lack of imagination,
of having present before your eyes and taking into account
the others whom you must represent."51
Interpretive Essay 113
This evil implicit in the refusal to judge is addressed at the end
of the final lecture of the course on "Basic Moral Propositions":
In the last analysis ... our decisions about right and wrong
will depend upon our choice of company, with whom we wish
to spend our lives. And this company [in turn] is chosen
through thinking in examples, in examples of persons dead
or alive, and in examples of incidents, past or present. In the
unlikely case that someone should come and tell us that he
would prefer Bluebeard for company, and hence as his
example, all we could do would be to make sure that he would
never come near us. But the likelihood that someone would
come and tell us that he does not mind and that any company
will be good enough for him is, I fear, by far greater. Morally
and even politically speaking, this indifference, though common
enough, is the greatest danger. And in the same direction,
only a bit less dangerous, does this other very common
modern phenomenon lie, the widespread tendency to refuse
to judge at all. Out of the unwillingness or inability to choose
one's examples and one's company, and out of the unwillingness
or inability to relate to others through judgment, arise
the real skandala, the real stumbling-blocks which human
powers cannot remove because they were not caused by
human and humanly understandable motives. Therein lies
the horror and, at the same time, the banality of evil.52
The real danger in contemporary societies is that the bureaucratic,
technocratic, and depoliticized structures of modern life
encourage indifference and increasingly render men less discriminating,
less capable of critical thinking, and less inclined to
assume responsibility. 53
Arendt's theory of judging is thus placed within an overall
account of the present historical situation, which she interprets
as one of a general crisis of Western morals and politics: traditional
standards of judgment are no longer authoritative,54 ultimate
values have ceased to be binding, the norms of political and
moral civility have become acutely vulnerable. In this situation,
the best that we can hope for is "agreement in judgments" within
an ideal judging community. The supreme danger is abstention
from judgment, the banality of evil, the danger that, "when the
chips are down," the self will surrender to the forces of evil
rather than exercise autonomous judgment. As long as we continue
to discriminate among things good and beautiful, as long
as we continue to "choose our company" in matters of taste and
114 PART TWO
politics--that is, as long as we refuse to forgo our faculty of
judgment-all is not lost.
These same issues are raised in a very interesting way in an
exchange between Arendt and Hans Jonas that occurred at a
conference on "The Work of Hannah Arendt" held at York
University in November, 1972, the tra~script of which has recently
been published in a volume edited by Melvyn Hill, Hannah
Arendt: The Recovery if the Public World. 55
JONAS: That there is at the bottom of all our being and of our
action the desire to share the world with other men is incontestable,
but we want to share a certain world with certain
men. And if it is the task of politics to make the world a fitting
home for man, that raises the question: "What is a fitting
home for man?"
It can only be decided if we form some idea of what man is
or ought to be. And that again cannot be determined, except
arbitrarily, if we cannot make appeal to some truth about man
which can validate judgment of this kind, and the derivative
judgment of political taste that crops up in the concrete
situations--and especially if it is a question of deciding how
the future world should look-which we have to do all the
time dealing with technological enterprises that are having an
impact on the total dispensation of things.
Now it is not the case that Kant simply made appeal to
judgment. He also made appeal to the concept of the good.
There is such an idea as the supreme good however we define
it. And perhaps it escapes definition. It cannot be an entirely
empty concept and it is related to our conception of what man
is. In other words, that which has by unanimous consensus
here been declared dead and done with-namely, metaphysics--
has to be called in at some place to give us a final
directive.
Our powers of decision reach far beyond the handling of
immediate situations and of the short-term future. Our powers
of doing or acting now extend over such matters as really
involve a judgment or an insight into or a faith in-I leave
that open-some ultimates. For in ordinary politics as it has
been understood until the twentieth century we could do with
penultimates. It is not true that the condition of the commonwealth
had to be decided by the really ultimate values or
standards. When it is a matter, as it is under the conditions of
modern technology, that willy-nilly we are embarking on
courses which affect the total condition of things on earth and
Interpretive Essay 115
the total future condition of man, then I don't think we can
simply wash our hands and say Western metaphysics has got
us into an impasse and we declare it bankrupt and we appeal
now to shareable judgments--where, for God's sake, we do
not mean by shared judgments shared with a majority or
shared with any defined group. We can share judgments to
our perdition with many, but we must make an appeal beyond
that sphere!
Arendt does not really face up to this question of the ultimate
cognitive status of shared judgments; instead, she deflects the
argument to historical and sociological considerations.
ARENDT: ... Now if our future should depend on what you
say now-namely, that we will get an ultimate which from
above will decide for us (and then the question is, of course,
who is going to recognize this ultimate and which will be the
rules for recognizing this ultimate-you have really an infinite
regress here, but anyhow) I would be utterly pessimistic. If
that is the case, then we are lost. Because this actually demands
that a new god will appear ....
For instance, I am perfectly sure that this whole totalitarian
~atastr~phe would not have happened if people still had belIeved
in God, or in hell rather-that is, if there still were
ultimates. There were no ultimates. And you know as well as I
do that there were no ultimates which one could with validity
appeal to. One couldn't appeal to anybody.
And if you go through such a situation [as totalitarianism],
the first thing you know is the following: you never know how
somebody will act. You have the surprise of your lifel This
goes throughout all layers of society, and it goes throughout
various distinctions between men. And if you want to make a
generalization, then you could say that those who were still
very firmly convinced of the so-called old values were the first
to be. ready to change their old values for a new set of values, .
provlded they were given one. And I am afraid of this, because
I think that the moment you give anybody a new set of
values--or this famous "bannister"-you can immediately exchange
it. [Arendt is referring here to "thinking without a
bannister," Denken ohne Gelander, a phrase she had coined
to convey the fact that we no longer possess a secure set of
ul?mate values to guide our thought.-R. B.] And the only
thmg the guy gets used to is having a "bannister" and a set of
values, no matter. I do not believe that we can stabilize the
116 PART TWO
situation in which we have been since the seventeenth century
in any final way ....
We wouldn't have to bother about this whole business if
metaphysics and this whole value business hadn't fallen down.
We begin to question because of these events.
Rather than press his question, jonas backtracks, claiming for
judgment-as Arendt does-only a negative or limiting check
upon practice:
JONAS: I share with Hannah Arendt the position that we are
not in possession of any ultimates, either by knowledge or b.y
conviction or faith. And I also believe that we cannot have thiS
as a command performance because "we "need it so bitterly we
therefore should have it."
However, a part of wisdom is knowledge of ignorance. T~e
Socratic attitude is to know that one does not know. And thiS
realization of our ignorance can be of great practica! i~portance
in the exercise of the power of judgment, which IS
after all related to action in the political sphere, into future
action, and far-reaching action. . .
Our enterprises have an eschatolOgIcal tendency I~
them-a built-in utopianism, namely, to move toward~ ultImate
situations. Lacking the knowledge of ul~mate
values-or, of what is ultimately desirable-or, of what IS man
so that the world can be fitting for m;an, we should at least
abstain from allowing eschatological situations to come about.
This alone is a very important practical injunction t?at we ca~
draw from the insight that only with som~ con~eptIon of ultImates
are we entitled to embark on certaIn things. So that at
least as a restraining force the point of view I brought in may
be of some relevance.
To this, naturally, Arendt gives her assent. .
In the end, Arendt adopts a decidedly skeptical attItude toward
the capabilities and limits of mental life. Thinking, we are
told "does not create values; it will not find out, once and for all,
wha~ 'the good' is; it does not confirm but, rather, dissolves accepted
rules of conduct."56 Thinking is S~cratic, that is to s~y
negative; it destroys unexamined assumptIo~s rather .t?an diScovers
truths. It is enough if we can succeed In reconcIlIng ourselves
to the way things are, for which purpose judging is indispensable,
since it allows us to extract a modicum of pleasure
from the contingencies of life and the free deeds of men.
Interpretive Essay
7. The Unwritten Treatise
Life, said Pythagoras, is like a festival; just as some come to
the festival to compete, some to ply their trade, but the best
people come as spectators, so in life the slavish men go
hunting for fame or gain, the philosophers for truth.
Diogenes Laertius
117
AMONG THOSE who have closely and sympathetically followed
the progress of Hannah Arendt's thought, it is a commonly held
view that her theory of judging would have been the culmination
of her life's work and that this final chapter of her philosophy
would have provided an answer to many of the unresolved
problems of preceding chapters. j. Glenn Gray's observation,
quoted earlier, is a typical one:
For those who knew her mind with some intimacy it was evident
that she regarded judging to be her particular strength and in a
real sense a hoped-for resolution of the impasse to which the
reflections on willing seemed to lead her. As Kant's Critique of
Judgment enabled him to break through some of the antinomies
of the earlier critiques, so she hoped to resolve the
perplexities of thinking and willing by pondering the nature
of our capacity for judging.57
But what is this "impasse" to which Gray refers, and how is
judging supposed to resolve the impasse?
To answer this question, we must turn back briefly to the point
at which Arendt's explorations had arrived by the end of the
Willing volume. The problem that was central to Willing concerned
the nature of human freedom. The question Arendt asks
is: How can something as radically contingent and ephemeral as
the faculty of willing provide a sustainable basis for human freedom?
In other words, how can men affirm their worldly condition
if freedom has its source in something as private and individualizing
as the human will? Throughout her writings Arendt
had consistently characterized freedom as something essentially
worldly and public, related to the tangible world of political
action. But in her final work she traces freedom as action in a
public world to the spontaneity, contingency, and autonomy of
the will. This culminates in her invoking the Augustinian notion
of natality, "the fact that human beings, new men, again and
again appear in the world by virtue of birth." "That there be a
U8 PART TWO
beginning, man was created, before whom nobody.was."58 The
problem is that this prospect of absolute spontaneIty, abso~ut~
beginning, is not exacdy easy for men to face up to, nor IS It
something they can comfortably ~mbrace. Thus w~ commonly
find even the men of action draWIng back from theIr own revolutionary
initiatives, seeking 0';l~ precedents or histo~cal sanction
to mitigate the uncondItional novelty of theIr ~eeds.
Thus willing, even as depicted in the most favorable. light-;in
Augustine's image of the mi.raculousness of n~~hty-still
carries an implication of compulslOn rather than posItiVe attraction.
Mter all, we do not choose to be born; it is something that
befalls us, whether we like it or not. The problem remains: How
to affirm freedom? The will, with its radical contingency, offers
no compelling answer. Arendt describes this as an "impasse~"
and she turns to the faculty of judging as the only way out of thIS
impasse. The notion that we are born to freedom suggests somehow
that we are merdy fated or, worse, "doomed" to be free.
Judging, by contrast, allows us to experience a sense of positive
pleasure in the contingency of the particular. Arendt's thought
here is that human beings have commonly felt the "awesome
responsibility" of freedom to be an insupp~rtable weight, w~ich
they have sought to evade by various doctnnes, such as. fatali~m
or the idea of historical process, and that the only way In which
human freedom can actually be affirmed is by eliciting pleasure
from the free acts of men by reflecting upon and judging them;
'and this, for Arendt, comes to pass quintessentially in the telling
of stories and the writing of human history. Politics, in her view,
is ultimately justified by the stories that are told afterwards.
Human action is redeemed by retrospective judgment.
To place Arendt's problem in its proper contex~, i.t may he~p
to recall very briefly the problem of freedom as It IS posed In
Kant's three Critiques. From the perspective of the first Critique,
the phenomenal world presents nothing but causal necessities
for theoretical contemplation. Therefore, to keep freedom from
being completely submerged by the faculty of theoretical reason,
Kant houses freedom in the noumenal will of the practical subject.
The problem here, however, is that freedom seems to ~e~r
no relation to goings-on in the phenomenal world, and It IS
preserved only on condition that it disappear from the sensible
and visible world in which we dwell. Reflective judgment, as
interpreted by Arendt, offers a form of contemplation that is not
restricted to the beholding of necessities and, at the same time, is
Interpretive Essay U9
not divorced from the worldly phenomena of human action.
Reflective judgment thus provides some measure of respite from
the antinomy of freedom and nature that characterizes the first
two Critiques. |
|
Arendt's reflections on judging
took the form of a commentary
on Kant, owing to "the curious scarcity of sources providing
authoritative testimony. Not till Kant's Critique oj Judgment did
this faculty become a major topic of a major thinker."59 To open
our discussion of this material, we shall briefly survey the sources
in Kant's work that Arendt appropriates for her theory of judgment,
providing a kind of extended paraphrase of what she
seeks to draw from Kant's work.
Kant defined judging as an activity of subsuming particulars
under a universal. He calls judgment "the faculty of thinking the
particular,"60 and to think a particular means of course to bring
it under a general concept. Furthermore, Kant distinguished
between two types of judging, one in which the universal (the
rule, principle, or law) is given for the subsumption, and one in
which the universal is lacking and must somehow be produced
from the particular; the former he labeled "determinant," the
latter "reflective."61 This activity of judging occurs when we are
confronted with a particular. It is not a question of rendering a
general commentary on a given kind of object; rather, this particular
object calls for judgment. Judgment is reasoning about
particulars as opposed to reasoning about universals. In the act
of subsuming a particular rose under the universal category
"beauty," I do not judge it to.be such because I have available to
me a rule of the type "All flowers of such-and-such a species are
beautiful." Rather, the particular rose before me somehow
"generates" the predicate beauty. I can understand and apply
the universal only through experiencing the kinds of particulars
to which we attach this predicate. Aestheticjudgment, therefore,
is a matter of judging this rose, and only by extension do we
broaden it into a judgment about all roses.
Kant also held that the activity of judging (as explicated in the
"Critique of Aesthetic Judgment") is inherendy social, because
our aesthetic judgments make reference to a common or shared
world, to what appears in public to all judging subjects, and thus
not merely to the private whims or subjective preferences of
individuals. In matters of "taste" I never judge only for myself,
for the act of judging always implies a commitment to communicate
my judgment; that is, judgment is rendered with a view to
120 PART TWO
persuading others of its validity. This effort at persuasion is not
external to the judgment; rather, it supplies the very raison d:etre
of judging. This is because there is no epistemically secure procedure
for achieving correspondence to the object judged short
of consensus arrived at in the actual course of truth-seeking
communication. Judgment is the mental process by which one
projects oneself into a counterfactual situation of disinterested
reflection in order to satisfy oneself and an imagined community
of potential collocutors that a particular has been adequately
appraised.62
Yet the objection might be made that political judgments-as
well as aesthetic judgments-are merely re~ative, dependent on
"the eye of the beholder." After all, the concept of "taste," which
is the crucial one for Kant, refers in its primary signification to
the kinds of judgment involved in, say, "the preference for clam
chowder over pea SOUp."63 Why should a more exalted meaning
than this be accorded to "matters of taste" in either the aesthetic
or the political realm? Why should one person's taste be considered
better or worse than another's? And, if they are equally
good, are they not then mutually irrelevant? It was to provide a
satisfactory answer to such questions that Kant devoted his "Critique
of Aesthetic Judgment" to the argument that aesthetic
judgments (and, by extension, other kinds of judgment relating
to things we all hold in common) are not subjectively relative or
egoistic, although neither do they refer to a concept of the object
that simply determines the judgment cognitively. Rather, Kant's
account of taste implies a concept of "intersubjectivity," where
the judgment concerned is neither strictly objective nor strictly
subjective. Needless to say, Kant did not use the term
"~nte~subjectivity."
He called it "pluralism," which he defined In hiS
Anthropology as "the attitude of not being occupied with oneself
as the whole world, but regarding and conducting oneself as a
citizen of the world."64 Intersubjective judgment arises from what
is held in common among the subjects, from what is-literallybetween
them; namely, what Kant in the definition just cited calls
"the world." The "in-between" of judging subjects is the realm of
objects fit for judgInent, and we display taste in renderingjudgment
upon them. This display of taste is a social relation, for we
are always already committed to seeking acknowledgment from
our fellows, to get them to acknowledge the reasonableness or
rationality of our judgment and, thereby; to confirm our own
"good taste." Although our present concern is with aesthetics,
Interpretive Essay 121
one can extend the argument to show that this process of claiming
and winning acknowledgment for our judgments is actually
a general feature of human rationality.65 In short, as a response
to those who allege the relativity of judgments, we may aver that,
in the words of Burke, "if there were not some principles of
judgment as well as of sentiment common to all mankind, no
hold could possibly be taken either on their reason or their passions,
sufficient to maintain the ordinary correspondence of
life."66
Let us now introduce some of the fundamental concepts of the
"Critique of Aesthetic Judgment." Aesthetic taste for Kant is
disinterested; contemplative rather than practical, autonomous
rather than heteronomous, it is, in a word, free. What endows it
with these qualities of disinterestedness, autonomy, and freedom
is the ability of the aesthetic judge, critic, or spectator to rise
above everyday interests by claiming an experience of aesthetic
form to which all men can (in principle) give their assent. All
men share the faculties of understanding and imagination, the
formal interaction of which results in the ascription of beauty to
aesthetic. objects. Thus, as Kant puts it, "we are suitors for
agreement from everyone else, because we are fortified with a
ground common to all."67 Kant calls this ground of shared
judgment "common sense," which he characterizes not as a private
feeling but as "a public sense."68 Kant describes this process
of claiming universal assent as follows: "The assertion is not that
everyone will fall in with our judgment, but rather that everyone
ought to agree with it. Here I put forward my judgment of taste
as an example of the judgment of common sense, and attribute
to it on that account exemplary validity."69 I posit common sense
as an "ideal norm" that demands universal assent, "the consensus
of different judging subjects." The task that Kant sets for
himself is to inquire into the basis for this ideally posited
"consensus."
In the present context, the most important section of Kant's
work is § 40 of the Critique of Judgment, entitled "Taste as. a kind
of sensus communis." Kant writes that
by the name of sensus communis is to be understood the idea of
a public sense, i.e., a critical faculty which in its reflective act
takes account (a priori) of the mode of representation of
everyone else, in order, as it were, to weigh its judgment with
the collective reason of mankind .... This is accomplished by
weighing the judgment, not so much with actual, as rather
122 PART TWO
with the merely possible, judgments of others, and by putting
ourselves in the position of.ev~ry~)lle. els~, as the. result of a
mere abstraction from the hmltatIOns whIch contmgently affect
our own estimate.
Kant specifies three "maxims of common hu~an understanding"
which are: (1) Think for oneself; (2) Thmk from the
standpoi~t of everyone else; and (3) Always think consisten.tly. It
is the second of these, which Kant refers to as the maxlm of
enlarged thought, that concerns us here, for it is the <;me that,
according to Kant, belongs to judgmen~ (the first and thIrd apply
to understanding and reason, respecuvely). Ka~t obse~es that
we designate someone as a "man of enlarged mznd: : . If he d~taches
himself from the subjective personal condluons of hIS
judgment, which cramp the minds of s~ many other~, and :eflects
upon his own judgment from a unzversal standpoznt (wh~ch
he can only determine by shifting his ground to the standpomt
of others)." Kant concludes that we can rightf~lly r~fer ~o
aesthetic judgment and taste as a sensus communzs~ .or pubhc
sense." This particular discussion issues in the defi.mu<;>n of
~ste
as "the faculty of estimating what makes our feehng m. a .gIven
representation universally communicable without the medlauon of
a concept."
To these concepts of common sense, consensus, and ~nlarge~
mentality, let us add another, from Kant's short essay What IS
Enlightenment?"-namely, the concept of "public use.of one's
reason." In the context of Kant's argument, the pubhc use of
one's reason pertains particularly to the problem of freedom of
the press in the Age of Enlightenment. Kant's own proble~s
with the Prussian censor are well known. But what renders thIS
concept of considerably wider application is the idea t~at. th~nking
in public can be constitutive of thi~king as such. ThIS mSlght
runs counter to widespread assumpuons about the ~ature of
thinking, according to which thought can operate. pnvately.no
less well than publicly. Kant.denies such a~sump~ons, ~rgumg
that public presentation of ideas, for pubhc consI~erauon a~d
debate--in his case, the right of the scholar to put hIS thought. m
writing for the judgment of a reading public-is absolut~ly mdispensable
for the progress of enlightenment (not ~erely.m the
sense that thoughts once arrived at should then be dissemmated
as widely as possible, but in the deeper sense that exchange of
views on a universal basis itself contributes to the development of
Interpretive Essay 123
those thoughts). Kant regards restriction of the private use of
reason, as exercised in a particular civil post or office or before a
private congregation, a~ a much less serious infringement of
liberty than limitations on the scholar who addresses writings to
an enlightened public. This precedence accorded to public over
private prerogatives may appear as something of an inversion of
traditional liberal priorities on the part of one of the leading
fountainheads of liberal thought. But on this point Kant is
unequivocal:
the use of reason in addressing a domestic or private
gathering is dispensable to freedom, whereas the right to publicity,
the right freely to submit one's judgments for public testing
before "a society of world citizens," is not dispensable but is
utterly necessary for freedom, progress, and enlightenment.
The public airing of judgments thus takes precedence over the
private exchange of opinions. The predominant concern here is .
with a world, or a community of world citizens, to whom we
appeal even more urgently than we do to those immediately
around us. Judgment must be universal, and it must be
public-must address itself to all men and be concerned with
those public things that appear before and are visible to all men.
This draws us toward the next leading concept of Kant's
theory of judgment, that of "the spectator." We have already
mentioned that the paramount qualities of aesthetic judgment,
as described in Kant's work, include its being disinterested,
contemplative,
and free from all practical interest. Accordingly, in
Kant's aesthetic and political writings, the full prerogative of
judgment is granted to the spectator who stands back from the
work of art, or stands back from political action, and reflects
disinterestedly. In Kant's "pragmatic anthropology" his position
is more ambiguous, since it would seem evident that the man of
practice too, in making moral and prudential choices, exercises
reflectivejudgment and taste. However, the guiding model or
paradigm in Kant's work is that the genius first produces the
work of art, and only then is it submitted to the taste of the critic.
Judgment is retrospective and is pronounced by the bystander
or onlooker, not by the artist himself. Correspondingly, only the
political spectator, removed from the action, can render disinterested
judgment on the human significance of events unfolding
in the political world. The major political event that
unfolded in Kant's own time, was, of course, the French Revolution,
and he did not fail to apply his theory of judgment to this
particular e~perience.
124 .PART TWO
In his fascinating commentary on the French Revolution in
Part II of The Contest of the Faculties ("An Old Question Raised
Again: Is the Human Race Constandy Progressing?"), Kant
specifically emphasizes that his concern is not with the actual
deeds of the political agents but only with
the mode of thinking of the spectators which reveals itself
publicly in this game of great revolutions, and manifests such
a universal yet disinterested sympathy for the players on one
side against those on the other, even at the risk that this partiality
could become very disadvantageous for them if discovered.
Owing to its universality, this mode of thinking
demonstrates a character of the human race at large and all at
once; owing to its disinterestedness, a moral character of humanity,
at least in its predisposition.70
Kant then declares that in spite of all the atrocities that render
the French Revolution morally and practically objectionable, "this
revolution nonetheless finds in the hearts of all spectators (who
are not engaged in this game themselves) a wishful participation
that borders closely on enthusiasm, the very expression of which
is fraught with danger." Kant explains that it is enthusiasm for
the pure concept of right that accounts for the exaltation with
which "the uninvolved public looking on sympathized without
the least intention of assisting."71 It is worth noting that the two
qualities by which Kant here distinguishes political judgmentnamely,
universality and disinterestedness--are the very same
two outstanding marks of judgment ascribed by Kant to aesthetic
taste. This famous passage shows unmistakably that political
judgment, like aesthetic judgment, is reserved to the spectator.72
Other passages in the works of Kant confirm this conception
of political judgment. For instance, in an early work, Observations
on the Beautiful and Sublime, Kant remarks that ~bition, as an
attendant impulse, is most admirable (as long as it does not
subordinate
the other inclinations). "For since each one pursues
actions on the great stage according to his dominating inclinations,
he is moved at the same time by a secret impulse to
take a standpoint outside himself in thought, in order to judge
the outward propriety of his behaviour as it seems in the eyes of
the onlooker."73
Arendt affirms this concept of judgment. For her, judginglike
thinking-entails a withdrawal from the "doings" of men in
order to reflect on the meaning of what they do. Arendt argues
in support of Kant that the actors in a political drama have only a
Interpretive Essay 125
partial view (by definition, since they can enact only their own
"parts") and that therefore the "meaning of the whole" is available
only to the spectator.74 Furthermore, as she elaborates in
the Kant Lectures, there would be no point to the spectacle if the
spectator were not accorded the primary role. She writes:
We ... are inclined to think that in order to judge a spectacle
you must first have the spectacle-that the spectator is secondary
to the actor; we tend to forget that no one in his right
mind would ever put on a spectacle without being sure of
having spectators to watch it. Kant is convinced that the world
without man would be a desert, and a world without man
means for him: without spectators. 75
Kant in one plate observes that in the drama of human history
the spectator must discern a meaning, for otherwise he will tire of
the never-ending farce. But only the spectator of history. will tire
of it, not the historical actors, "for the actors are fools" (since, as
Arendt explains, they see only a part of the action, whereas the
spectator views the whole).76 "It may perhaps be moving and
instructive to watch such a drama for a while; but the curtain
must eventually descend." The spectator tires of it, "for any
single act will be enough for him if he can reasonably conclude
from it that the never-ending play will be of eternal sameness."77
This is not the only instance in which Kant portrays judgment as
a wearisome and melancholy business. In the Anthropology he
specifically contrasts judgment with wit, on the grounds that
judgment "limits our concepts and contributes more to correcting
than to enlarging them. It is serious and rigorous, and limits
our freedom in thinking. So, while we pay it all honour and
commend it, it is unpopular." Wit is like play: "Judgment's activity
is more like business.-Wit is more the bloom of youth:
judgment, the ripe fruit of age." "Wit is interested in the sauce:
judgment, in the solid food."78 This passage echoes Burke, who
likewise concludes that, compared to wit, the task of judgment is
"more severe and irksome."79 And in Kant's portraits of the
various human temperaments in his Observations, it is the melancholy
man who is distinguished chiefly by his uncompromising
judgment: "He is a strict judge of himself and others, and not
seldom is weary of himself as of the world .... He is in danger of
becoming a visionary or a crank."80 (To which Arendt adds:
"[This] is certainly a self-portrait.")81
Arendt contends that Kant's desperate search for a way to
escape the melancholy induced by the activity of judging gave
126 PART TWO
rise to a grave tension within his theory of political judgment.
One means of escape is through the idea of human progress, or
the notion that history has a meaning. According to Arendt,
however, this postulate contradicts the absolute supremacy accorded
to the disinterested spectator, who is autonomous and
therefore stands wholly independent of the actual course of
history. This view becomes especially clear when we arrive at the
closing paragraph of the Kant Lectures:
We were talking about the partiality of the actor, who, because
he is involved, never sees the meaning of the whole.
This is true for all stories; Hegel is entirely right that philosophy,
like the owl of Minerva. s}?reads its wings only wh~n the
day is over, at dusk. The same IS not true for the beautiful or
for any deed in itself. The beautiful is, in Kantian terms, an
end in itself because all its possible meaning is contained
within itself, without reference to others-without linkage, as
it were, to other beautiful things. In Kant himself there is this
contradiction: Infinite Progress is . the law of the human
species; at the same time, man's dignity demands that he be
seen (every single one of us) in his particularity and, as such,
be seen-but without any comparison and independent of
time-as reflecting mankind in general. In· other words, the
very idea of progress-if it is more than a change in circumstances
and an improvement of the world--contradicts Kant's
notion of man's dignity. It is against human dignity to believe
in progress. Progress, moreover, means that the story never
has an end. The end of the story itself is in infinity. There is
no point at which we might stand still and look back with the
backward glance of the historian.82
In the light of these concluding sentences, we can begin to make
sense of Arendt's two epigraphs, the first of which (also quoted
at the very end of the "Postscript:um" to Thinking) translates: "The
victorious cause pleased the gods, but the defeated one p~eases
Cato." The second, taken from Goethe's Faust, Part II, Act V,
lines 11404-7, may be rendered thus: "If I could remove the
magic from my path, / And utterly forget all enchanted spells, /
Nature, I would stand before you as but a man,/Then it would
be worth the effort of being a man." (The line preceding these
reads as follows: "Noch hab' ich mich ins Freie nicht
gekampft"-"I have not won my way to freedom yet." The verse
must, then, be read in accordance with the general intention
already characterized at the beginning of this section.) The im-
Interpretive Essay 127
port of Arendt's first epigraph, at least, should be visible: The
"miracles" of history give disinterested "pleasure" to the historical
spectator. One may think of those episodes of political history,
all of them ill-fated, where hope flickered briefly: the revolutionary
councils of the Paris Commune of 1871, the Russian
soviets of 1905· and 1917, the German and Bavarian Rate of
1918-19, the Hungarian uprising of 1956, each of which Arendt
is so fond of citing.83 Among these "miraculous" moments, entirely
unpredictable and free, even if doomed to failure, we may
include the Warsaw Ghetto resistance: "Not one of us will leave
here alive. We are fighting not to save our lives but for human
dignity."84 For Arendt, the judging spectator-the historian, the
poet, the storyteller-rescues these unique episodes from the
o~livion .of history, thereby salvaging a portion of human digmty,
which would otherwise be denied to the participants in
these doomed causes.
Events of this kind possess what Arendt, following Kant, calls
"ex~mplary validity." By attending to the particular qua particular,
III the form of an "example," the judging spectator is able to .
illuminate the universal without thereby reducing the particular
to universals. The example is able to take on universal meaning
while retaining its particularity, which is not the case when the
particular serves merely to indicate a historical "trend." Only in
this way can human dignity be upheld. .
In the same light, I offer an exegesis of the second, more
elusive, epigraph. What the two have in common is their concern
for human worth or dignity. It is impossible to interpret the
German verse with complete confidence, but I can perhaps render
the meaning it had for Arendt as follows: The worth or
dignity of man demands the removal of what, in The Life of the
Mind, are called "the metaphysical fallacies," the most pernicious
of which is the metaphysical idea of History. Judgment is
rendered not by the collective destiny of mankind but by the
"man alone," the judging spectator who stands before nature
unencumbered by metaphysical dreams and illusions. His judgment
is more decisive for the securing of human dignity than
even the absolute fulfillment of history, as envisioned by Hegel
or Marx, would be. Not History, but the historian, is the ultimate
judge.
Let us now see whether we can begin to fit "Judging" within the
context of the life of the mind as a whole, to give us some indication
of its significance within the overall structure of Arendt's
128 PART TWO
philosophy. Arendt's work The Human Condition is misleadingly
named, since it actually deals with only half of the human condition,
the vita activa. Indeed, Arendt herself titled this work Vita
Activa, reserving the other half of the human condition, the vita
contemplativa, for later treatment.85 When Arendt finally returns
to the half-completed project in her last work, she substitutes for
the vita contemplativa the more general term "life of the mind."
There is little of the contemplative in willing, and even thinking
and judging, since they are said to be mental activities proper to
every man, are denied the exclusive prerogative previously enjoyed
by the contemplative men of philosophy and metaphysics.
The Life qf the Mind is modeled on the three critiques of Kant, for
whom contemplation had ceased to be the ultimate standard of
human existence. Thoughtful reflection, speculation, the raising
of unanswerable questions, and the search for meaning are not
the monopoly of the contemplative man, as traditionally conceived,
but extend to the common reach of mankind, to the
extent that men exercise their properly human faculties. Thus
the question that Arendt addresses in The Life qf the Mind is this:
What are these characteristically human activities or faculties of
the mind? What are the natural abilities, capacities, and
potentialities
of the thinking, willing, and judging ego, as disclosed by
the phenomenology of mental life?
Like The Human Condition, The Life qf the Mind was conceived as
a trilogy, "Judging" constituting the third part, after Thinking
and Willing. It is therefore important to understand and appreciate
the relationship among the three parts of The Life qf the
Mind. According to Arendt, the three mental activities are autonomous,
not only with respect to each other but with respect to
other faculties of the mind as well.86
Thinking, willing, and judging are the three basic mental activities;
they cannot be derived from each other and though
they have certain common characteristics they cannot be reduced
to a common denominator.
I called these mental activities basic because they are autonomous;
each of them obeys the laws inherent in the activity
itself.
In Kant, it is reason with its "regulative ideas" that comes to
the help of judgment; but if the faculty is separate from other
faculties of the mind, then we shall have to ascribe to it its own
modus operandi, its own way of proceeding.87
Interpretive Essay 129
Arendt is especially concerned to establish the autonomy of
these activities vis-a-vis intellect, for subordination of thinking,
willing, and judgment to intellectual cognition would be to forfeit
the freedom of the thinking, willing, and judging ego. In the
Thinking volume, this autonomy is asserted by means of the distinction
between truth and meaning. In the Willing volume, it is
achieved by counterposing Duns Scotus to Aquinas and by
suggesting that the former had a deeper insight into the
phenomenology of the will than the latter. In what I surmise
would have been the account of "Judging," the same objective
would have been accomplished by affirming Kant's dichotomy
between the noncognitive operation of reflective judgment and
the cognitive operation of intellect. This would explain why
Arendt ends the section on Willing by stating that an analysis of
the faculty of Judgment "at least may tell us what is involved in
our pleasures and displeasures."88 She also points out that in
neither of the two parts of the Critique qf Judgment does Kant
speak of man as a cognitive being: "The word truth does not
occur."89 In the same vein, she writes that cognitive propositions
"are not judgments, properly speaking."90 Judgment arises from
the representation, not of what we know, but of what wefeel.
This account clearly conflicts with some of her earlier formulations.
In particular, there is a curious passage in "What is
Freedom?" where action is said to stand in the following relation
to will, judgment, and intellect:
The aim of action varies and depends upon the changing
circumstances of the world; to recognize the aim is not a matter
of freedom, but of right or wrong judgment. Will, seen as
a distinct and separate human faculty, follows judgment, i.e.,
cognition of the right aim, and then commands its execution.
The power to command, to dictate action, is not a matter of
freedom but a question of strength or weakness.
Action insofar as it is free is neither under the guidance of
the intellect nor under the dictate of the will-although it
needs both for the execution of any particular goal. 91
In this account, action, but not will, is said to be free, and
judgment is associated with the intellect (as it was for Aquinas).
In her later formulation, by contrast, will and judgment are both
seen to be free-which, for Arendt, means not subordinate to
intellect.92
"Judging" (or what we are able to reconstruct of it) is inte130
PART TWO
grally bound up with Thinking and. Willing. ~ three ar~ intensely
concerned with concepts of ume and hIStOry. Th~ ?m~concept
of Thinking is an "enduring present"; that of Wzllzng IS
future-oriented.93 The growing ascendancy of the faculty of the
will (as documented by Heidegger) occasions the modern concept
of historical progress, which in turn poses a. threat ~o the
faculty of judging, for judging depends on a genume relauon to
the past. To the extent that we embrace a notion of mankind's
progress and thereby subordinate the particular (e~ent). to the
universal (course of history), to that extent we rehnqUIsh the
dignity that comes from judging the particular. in itse~f,. apa~t
from its relation to the universal history of mankind. (It IS m thIS
context that Arendt invokes Kant's idea of exemplary validity,
where the example discloses generality without surrendering
particularity.) .
On a first reading, it is not easy to discern how the vanous
themes of the Kant Lectures hang together. Consider, once
again, the closing words of the manuscript: To believe in pro?ress
means that "there is no point at which we might stand sull
and look back with the backward glance of the historian." Why
do the lectures break off precisely here? Were Arendt's reflections
merely interrupted at this point, and would they have
been continued beyond this point when she resumed work on
"Judging"? Or can an underlying coherence "?e established, o~e
that allows us to see this as a naturalendpomt and to surmIse
that the finished version would have struck a similar note at its
close? I would maintain that, if we read the last lines of Thinking
with care, the internal structure of "Judging" will become clear
to us and will make perfect sense of the closing lines of the version
available to us.
In the Postscriptum to Thinking, Arendt writes:
Finally we shall be left with the only alternative there is in
these matters. Either we can say with Hegel: Die Weltgeschichte
ist das. Weltgericht, leaving the ultimate judgment t~ Success, or
we can maintain with Kant the autonomy of the mmds of men
and their possible independence of things as they are or as
they have come into being.
Here we shall have to concern ourselves, not for the first
time, with the concept of history .... [The] Homeric historian
is the judge. If judgment is our faculty for dealing with the
past, the historian is the inquiring man who by relating it sits
in judgment over it. If that is so, we may reclaim our human
Interpretive Essay 131
dignity, win it back, as it were, from the pseudo-divinity
named History of the modern age, without denying history'S
importance but denying its right to be the ultimate judge. Old
Cato ... has left us a curious phrase, which aptly sums up the
political principle implied in the enterprise of reclamation.
He said: "Victrix causa deis pZo,cuit, sed victa Catoni" ("The
victorious
cause pleased the gods, but the defeated one pleases
Cato").94 .
For Arendt, the ultimate alternative in deciding on a theory of
judgment is between Kant and Hegel-between autonomy and
history (with the proviso that Kant himself actually faltered between
these alternatives).95 A concept of judgment is ultimately
bound up with a concept of history. If history is progressive,
judgment is infinitely postponed. If there is an end to history,
the activity of judging is precluded. If history is neither progressive
nor has an end, judgment redounds to the individual historian,
who bestows meaning on the particular events or "stories"
of the past.
The P ostscriptum indicates that the Kant Lectures reflect the
full intended structure Qf"Judging," since it makes clear that the
ultimate destination of "Judging" would be a return to the concept
of history-and that, in fact, is where the Kant Lectures
terminate.
8. Critical Questions
THUS FAR I HAVE A TIEMPTED to make sense of the internal
structure of Arendt's thoughts on 'judging." I now wish to confront
certain problems in order to clear the way for a critical
assessment. First of all, let me summarize the essential elements
of a Kantian contribution to a theory of political judgment.
There is, to begin with, the distinction between reflective and
determinant judgment, as formulated In the Introduction to the
Critique of Judgment and defined also in Kant's Logic. Second,
there are the concepts of enlarged mentality, disinterestedness,
sensus communis, etc., as developed in the "Critique of Aesthetic
Judgment," especially §§39 and 40. Third, there is the notion of
the spectator, as it emerges in the discussion of the French Revolution
in Contest of the Faculties (Part II: "An Old Question
Raised Again"); this concept of the spectator also appears in
Kant's Obseroations on the Beautiful and Sublime and elsewhere.
132 PART TWO
Fourth, there is the rather lengthy treatment of social taste in
Kant's Anthropologyfrom a Pragmatic Point oj View, a work that also
contains a detailed analysis of the cognitive faculties of reason,
understanding, and judgment and a commentary on the distinction
between wit and judgment, borrowed from some of the
English empiricists. Fifth, there is the idea of the "public use of
reason," the clearest expression of which is to be found in the
short essay "What is Enlightenment?" Finally, there are scattered
remarks about judgment in Kant's other works, such as his essay
on "Theory and Practice" and his treatise Education. These, then,
are the sources for formulating a Kantian approach to political
judgment. But the question arises: Is Kant the only, or even the
best, source for a theory of judgment? And is judgment the
single irreducible or "autonomous" faculty that Arendt believes
it to be and for an account of which she appeals exclusively to
Kant? Or does this term take in a wide range of different
capacities, exercised in a multiplicity of ways?
Before pursuing these questions, it might help to recapitulate
the theory of judgment offered in the Critique oj Judgment. Kant's
theory is difficult and at times perplexing, but his account of
aesthetic judgment is, in very rough outline, as follows: All
human beings possess two faculties, the faculty ofimagination and
the faculty of understanding. The faculty of imagination corresponds
to the sense of freedom; the faculty of understanding corresponds
to the sense of conformity-to-rule. When we represent
to ourselves the form of an aesthetic object in what Kant calls
an act of "reflection" (as opposed to immediate apprehension
of the object), certain formal features of the representation
cause these two faculties to fall into harmony with each other,
and this in turn generates a sense of pleasure in the subject.
Thus the judgment of taste, as opposed to the judgment of
sense, is "reflective," because, while it refers to the feeling of
pleasure and displeasure evoked in the subject, this pleasure
arises from a second-order representation that is not limited to
experience of the object as immediately pleasing but, rather,
"re-flects," or turns back upon, the object of our experience. The
pleasure on which aesthetic judgment is based is a mediated or
second-order pleasure, arising out of reflection; it is not immediate
gratification. Since all human subjects possess the two
faculties whose relation of harmony gives rise to this pleasure,
we can rightly expect others to be capable of our experience of a
given aesthetic form, just as we can try to project ourselves into
their experience of it. This of course does not mean that we
Interpretive Essay 133
should expect that they will actually assent to our judgment; it
means only that they ought to, if they purged themselves of
extraneous influences and made the requisite effort to see the
object from other points of view. According to Kant, there is no
need to find actual alternative judgments, for we can reflect on
the potential alternative standpoints by exercising imagination.
We imagine how things would look from other perspectives
without actually being presented with them in fact. This appeal
to "enlarged mentality" fails when we are unable to free ourselves
from "the limitations which contingently affect our own
estimate."96 In other words, a failure of aesthetic imagination is
ascribed to an immersion in "empirical interests," in which the
judgment of taste is overwhelmed by the judgment of sense, or
mere gratification. |
|
It may be objected that this
account seems excessively formal
and appears to address only a very narrow range of aesthetic
experience (being more appropriate, for instance, to sculpture
and painting than to drama; to poetry than to other forms of
literature, such as the novel; to photography than to the
cinema), but this objection is diminished when the account is
considered in the light of the purposes a Kantian '~critique" of
judgment is intended to serve. Kant is concerned with an inquiry
into the conditions of the possible validity of aesthetic judgments.
He sets up the question by asking, Given that we sometimes
make valid aesthetic judgments, how is this possible? He answers:
"We are suitors for agreement from everyone else because we
are fortified with a ground common to all."91 The specification
of this common ground requires a highly formal inquiry into
human cognitive faculties (although taste is not regarded by
Kant as itself a cognitive faculty, since it refers not to what we
know but to what we feel). Provided that he can show some basis
for shared judgment (however formal), he will have succeeded
in securing a transcendental foundation for the possible validity
of judgments of taste. The fact that some of our judgments operate
in a quite different fashion in no way contradicts or is incompatible
with Kant's project of justifying or legitimating the
claims of taste.
In short, Kant offers a highly formalized account of what it is
to judge because he is concerned not with substantive features of
this or that judgment but, rather, with universal conditions of
the possible validity of our judgments. The idea of applying such
an account to politics is somewhat curious yet not altogether
unintelligible. Political events are public, disclose themselves to
134 PART TWO
the gaze of the apprehending spectator, and constitute a realm
of appearances suitable for reflection. Politics, construed
phenomenologically, evokes both imagination's freedom and ~e
understanding's conformity-to-rule. A theory as formal as this
may not prove sufficient for conceptualizing political judgment,
but it does certainly provide a very .interesting stimulus to
further thought. .
Now to consider some of the difficulties. First of all, we may
note the conspicuous absence from Kant's account of, on the one
hand, any attention to the kinds of knowledge involved in judgment
and, on the other hand, any specification of epistemic
capacities that render men qualified, in a greater or lesser degree,
to judge-for instance, the whole dimension of judgme~t
that we associate with the notion of prudence. Nowhere ill
Kant's discussion of judgment do we find a concern with the
qualities of experience, maturity, and sound habit~atio~ that
have traditionally been observed as the mark of practIcal wlsdom
in a man of action. Prudence was explicitly excluded by Kant
from practical reason, for reasons deeply bound up with his
moral philosophy. Although his moral philosophy and political
philosophy are in many respects in mutual tension, Kant's rej~ctioD;
of prudence is carried over into his political thought, Wlth
the consequence that he deems experience to be quite irrelevant
to political judgment on the grounds that politics is not about
empirical happiness but about self-evident and indisputable
rights.98 He conceived of prudence as a species of tec~nicalpractical
rules of art and skill-in particular, rules govermng the
skill involved in exercising an influence over men and subordinating
their will to one's own.99 Thus he classified it among
what ·he termed "hypothetical imperatives"; for example, if it is
given that I want a certain end, prudence determines the instrumental
means by which I can achieve that end. In Kant's
terms, this is a quasi-theoretical, not a genuinely practical,
capacity,
and it serves to reduce prudence to a techne, in Aristotle's
sense. Prudentia, we may recall, was the Latin term used by
Aquinas for Aristotle's phronesis (which, unlike mere techne,
comprehends
the· full dimensions of ethical deliberation and the
determination of proper human ends). Therefore, if we wished
to test the sufficiency of a Kantian theory of judgment, we would
have to go back to Book VI of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics, for
it is from there that we must trace the source of the term prudence,
orphronesis. Customarily translated as "practical wisdom,"
Interpretive Essay 135
phronesis is the centerpiece of Book VI, around which all the
other concepts discussed-episteme, techne, nous, sophia, political
episteme, deliberation, understanding, judgment, arete-gravitate
and to which they are all related, by way of both comparison and
contrast.
The confrontation of Aristotle with Kant raises the following
very serious questions. First, does the spectator possess a
monopoly of judgment, or does the political agent, too, exercise
a faculty of judging? And, if the latter, how is the burden of
judgment distributed between actor and spectator? Second, is
disinterestedness the decisive criterion of judgment, or are other
criteria, such as prudence, equally requisite? This links up with
the question of teleology (in the Aristotelian, not Kantian, sense)
and the relationship between aesthetic judgment and purposive
judgment. Kant, as we have seen, regards aesthetic judgment as
purely contemplative, divorced from any practical interest.
Accordingly,
a judgment of taste must abstract from any consideration
of ends; aesthetic judgment must make no reference to
teleology. But can political judgments abstract from practical
ends, and is a strictly nonteleological conception of political
judgment coherent? This, in turn, gives rise to further questions.
For instance, what is the status of rhetoric within political
judgment, and are the two necessarily related? Because Kant
expels teleology from judgments of taste, he condemns rhetoric,
since it corrupts aesthetics with the pursuit of ends.IOO But if the
pursuit of ends is inseparable from, and indeed constitutive of,
political as opposed to aesthetic judgment, is not rhetoric, too, in
a constitutive relation to political judgment? Some of Aristotle's
most important reflections on political judgment are contained
in his treatise on Rhetoric; again one is confronted with questions
about the sufficiency of the Kantian theory.
Kant also excludes from taste what he calls "empirical interests,"
such as social inclinations and passions. He offers the
example of "charms," which are valued for their social attraction.
IOI Charms, for Kant, are not subject to aesthetic judgment,
which must be a priori and purely formal, not a product of mere
sensation. Thus the aesthetic object must be appraised as to its
form, apart from any sentiments of love or sympathy that it may
evoke. Similarly, appealing to the judgment of one's fellows is, in
the account Kant gives of it, a purely formal appeal, having
nothing at all to do with any substantive relations of community
(hence he speaks repeatedly of judgment being exercised a
136 PART TWO
priori).102 In judging the configuration of forms offered to
mental reflection by an aesthetic object, I claim the assent of
humanity as such (regarded as a formal judging community),103
not that of any particular society. The substantive needs, purposes,
and particular ends of my own community are as stricdy
irrelevant to the judgment as those of any other. This set of
issues is posed most sharply in Hans-Georg Gadamer's critique
of Kantian aesthetics. In Part I of Truth and Method, Gad.amer
claims that Kant "de politicizes" the idea of sensus communis,
which formerly had important political and moral connotations.
According to Gadamer, Kant's formal and narrowed concept of
judgment empties the older, Roman-rooted! conception of the
very full moral-political content it once had. Kant, as it were,
strips "common sense" of the richness of its Roman meaning. As
countermodels to Kant, Gadamer cites Vico, Shaftesbury, and,
above all, Aristode. From Gadamer's Aristotelian standpoint,
Kant "intellectualizes" the sensus communis; "aestheticizes" the
faculty of taste, which had previously been understood as a
social-moral faculty; very narrowly circumscribes and delimits
the range of these concepts, including the concept of judgment;
and generally abstracts these concepts from all relationships of
community. Thus, if we wish to explore other possible sources of a
theory of political judgment, one very promising avenue of inquiry
is offered by Gadamer's philosophical hermeneutics,
which presents a theory of hermeneutical judgment that eschews
Kant and appeals to Aristode's ethics.
As we have seen, Arendt states quite categorically that judging
is not a cognitive faculty.lo4 This prompts us to investigate the
question whether reflective judgment is stricdy noncognitive, or
whether it unavoidably involves claims to truth. In contrast to a
theory of judgment derivable from Aristode, a Kantian th~?ry
of political judgment would not allow one to speak of pohtical
knowledge or political wisdom. The problem with this exclusion
of knowledge from political judgment is that it renders o~e ~ncapable
of speaking of "uninformed" judgment and of dIstinguishing
differential capacities for knowledge so that some persons
may be recognized as more qualified, and some as less
qualified, to judge. This point can be elabora~d in connection
with an objection that Jiirgen Habermas leveled against Are~dt
in his well-argued critique in "Hannah Arendt's CommunIcations
Concept of Power":
Interpretive Essay 137
Arendt sees a yawning abyss between knowledge and opinion
that cannot be-closed with arguments.
She holds fast to the classical distinction between theory and
practice; practice rests on opinions and convictions that cannot
be true or false in the strict sense .... An antiquated concept
of theoretical knowledge that is based on ultimate insights
and certainties keeps Arendt from comprehending the
process of reaching agreement about practical questions as
rational discourse.lo5
Habermas argues that Arendt, by refusing to bring practical
discourse within the ambit of rational discourse, denies it cognitive
status and thereby severs knowledge from practical judgment.
Arendt's claim is that to specify a cognitive foundation for
political beliefs (which Habermas seeks to do) would com-
. promise the integrity of opinion. However, it is not clear how we
could make sense of opinions that did not involve any cognitive
claims (and therefore, by implication, truth-claims that are
potentially
corrigible) or why we should be expected to take seriously
opinions that assert no claims to truth (or do not at least claim more
truth than is claimed by available alternative opinions). It would
seem that aU human judgments, including aesthetic (and certainly
political) judgments, incorporate a necessary cognitive dimension.
A rigid dichotomy between the cognitive and the noncognitive,
excluding any cognitive dimension from aesthetic judgment,
seems to neglect the "reflective" element that pertains
even to cognitive judgments (the elements of discretion· or
'~udgment" in a reflective sense required for problematical cognitive
judgments); it also appears to neglect the extent to which
even, say, aesthetic judgments depend on cognitive discriminations
and cognitive insights (as, for instance, when our
appreciation of a painting is enhanced by our knowing that it
belongs to a certain period). .
Kant, as we have seen, offers a highly formal account of
judging. This is acceptable insofar as what is sought is a
transcendental
deduction of the faculty of taste. But at some point
one must ask: What is it in the content of the ends and purposes
of political actors or historical agents that makes this set of
political
appearances, rather than that set, worth attending to? What
is it in the content of a given judgment that renders it an informed
judgment, a reliable judgment, a practiced judgment, as
138 PART TWO
opposed to judgments that lack these ~ttri?u~es?~06 What,
substantively,
characterizes someone as dIscnmmatmg or knowledgeable
or responsible in his judgments-apart from the formal
conditions of disinterestedness and freedom from extrane0.us
influences or heteronomous constraints? What are the substantwe
conditions that allow us to acknowledge wisdom and expe~ience
in the judging subject and appropriatenes~ an~ releva~ce m the
object of judgment? Without at some pomt mtrodu~mg .questions
like these, the attempt to transpose a theory of Judgmg. as
formal as Kant's into a theory of political judgment runs the nsk
of turning from a genuine appreciation of p~li.tic~ appeara?~es
qua appearances into an unwarranted aesthetIclZatIon of politics.
It is at this juncture that Arendt would have ~o~e well to consult
Aristotle, for he situates judgment firmly wI~m the c.ontex~ of
the substantive ends and purposes of political dehberatIon,
rhetoric, and community. .'
There are, as we have seen, various problems mvolved m
using Kant as the source of a theory ?f politi~~ judgment. However,
to judge by her later formulations, thIS IS not really what
Arendt seeks from Kant. Her objective is no longer a theory ~f
political judgment, for, as she now conceives. th~ ~~tter, th~re ~s
only one faculty of judgment, uni~ry and m~IvIslble, whIch ~s
present in various circumstances-m the verdIct ~f an a~sthetIc
critic, the verdict of a historical observer, the tragIc verdIct of a
storyteller or poet-and the variety of circumstance does not
relevantly affect the character of the faculty thus. inst~ntiat~d.
Hence there can be no distinct faculty that we mIght Identify,
characteristically, as political judgment; there is only the ordinary
capacity of judgment, now addressing itself to poli~cal ~vents (or
as Arendt would say, political appearances). ThIS dIscloses a
deep tension between Arendt's earlier reflections on J~d~~ent
(as found in "The Crisis in Culture," "Truth and POhtICS, .a?d
elsewhere) and what seemed to be emerging as her defimtive
formulation. In the earlier formulations we find discussions of
the relation of judgment to "representative thinking" and opinion,
leading one to suppose that judgment is a fac~lty. exercIsed
by actors in political deliberation and action. (T!llS, It had"
appeared,
was what originally led Arendt to call Judgment the
most political of man's mental abilities," "one of the fundamental
abilities of man as a political being," the political faculty par
excellence.) But this approach is implicitly denied in her later
Interpretive Essay 139
account. We have already mentioned that in "What is Freedom?"
Arendt aligns judgment with intellect or cognition, in stark contrast
to her eventual denial that judgment is an intellectual faculty
or is indeed cognitive at all. In unpublished lectures delivered
in 1965 and 1966, Arendt went to the opposite extreme,
defining judgment as a function of the will (identifying it with
the liberum arbitrium, the "arbitrating function" of the will). And
in one context she even went so far as to say that "whether
this faculty of judgment, one of the most mysterious faculties of
the human mind, should be said to be the will or reason, or
perhaps a third mental capacity, is at least an open question."107 So
~e s~e that it was only gradually that Arendt came to regard
Judgmg as a separate mental activity, distinct from both intellect
and wi~l; and, by the time she had settled this question in her
own mmd, she had come to reformulate the very relation between
judgment and politics-between "the life of the mind"
and "the world of appearances."
. !he q~estion is whether (and to what extent) judgment partiCIpates
m the vita activa or whether it is confined, as a mental
activity, to the vita contemplativa-a sphere of human life that
A~endt conceived to be, by definition, solitary, exercised in
WIthdrawal from the world and from other men. This fundamental
uncertainty as to where judgment fits within the overall
perspective is finally resolved by Arendt only by negating some
of her own broader insights into judgment. On the one hand,
she is temp~ed to integrate judgment into the vita activa, seeing it
as a f~nctIon ?~ the representative thinking and enlarged
mentalIty. of political actors, exchanging opinions in public while
engaged m common deliberation. On the other hand, she wants
to emphasize the contemplative and disinterested dimension of
judgment, which. operates retrospectively, like aesthetic judgment.
Judgment m the latter sense is placed exclusively within
the ambit of the life of the mind. Arendt acheives a final resolution
by abolishing this tension, opting wholly for the latter conception
of judgment. This resolution ultimately produces consistency,
but it is a strained consistency, achieved at the price of
excludmg any reference to the vita activa within the revised concept
of judgment. T~e only point at which the exercise of judgment
. ~cox:nes prac~c~y efficacious, or even practically relevant,
IS m times of cnSIS or emergency: judgment "may prevent
catastrophes, at least for myself, in the rare moments when the
140 PART TWO
chips are down." Aside from these "rare moments," judgment
pertains only to the life of the mind, the mind's communion with
itself in solitary reflection.
Judgment is thus caught in the tension between the vita activa
and the vita contemplativa (a dualism that pervades Arendt's entire
work). Arendt tries to overcome this tension by placing
judgment squarely within the life of the mind, yet it remains the
mental faculty that verges most closely upon the worldly activities
of man and (of the three powers of the mind) maintains
the closest ties to those activities. By adhering to a firm disjunction
between mental and worldly activities, Arendt was forced to
expel judging from the world of the vita activa, to which it
maintains a natural affinity. The upshot is diat her more systematic
reflection on the nature of judging resulted in a much narrower
(and perhaps less rich) concept of judgment. lOS
At this point we return to our initial question and ask again: Is
Kant our only source in these matters? Did Kant discover "an
entirely new human faculty,"lo9 previously unknown? No, unless
one construes the faculty of judgment so narrowly that only
someone with a theory of judgment identical to his would count
as having been aware of it. At times, however, Arendt herself is
willing to acknowledge that Kant did not hold an exclusive
monopoly in this field. In particular, she notes in "The Crisis in
Culture" that the recognition of judgment as a fundamental
political ability of man rests on "insights that are virtually as old
as articulated political experience. The Greeks called this ability
phronesis, or insight, and they considered it the principle virtue
or excellence of the statesman in distinction from the wisdom of
the philosopher." In note 14, accompanying this text, she then
remarks: "Aristotle, who (Nicomachean Ethics, Book VI) deliberately
set the insight of the statesman against the wisdom of
the philosopher, was probably following, as he did so often in his
political writings, the public opinion of the Athenian polis."l1O But
if Arendt herself is willing to admit that Aristotle offers an
alternative approach to a theory of judging, our question becomes
even more pressing. We must inquire why she turned
exclusively to Kant for inspiration when she sought to explore
the theme of judgment (assuming that the converse does not
hold-namely, that it was her lasting fascination with Kant that
initially led her into a concern with judgment-which is of
course quite possible).
Interpretive Essay 141
No one well acquainted with Arendt's work can fail to apprec~
ate the profound hold that Kant had on her thought. Kant provld.
ed not merely the source from which to appropriate a theory
of Judgment; for Arendt, he embodied her entire conception of
the public, and he is in that sense her only true precursor. To
gra~~ ho.w Arendt could see in Kant's writings on judgment an
antICIpatIon of her own conception of politics, we must remember
that, for Arendt, politics is a matter of judging appearances,
not purposes. It is for this reason that she can assimilate
p~litical judgment to aesthetic judgment. Thus it is hardly for~
UltOUS that Arendt turns to aesthetics for a model of political
Judgment; she had already assumed an affinity between politics
and aesthetics, for hoth concern the world of appearances. And,
as she writes: "In the work of no other philosopher has the
concept of appearance ... played so decisive and central a role as
in Kant."111 From this it follows, for Arendt, that he also possessed
a unique awareness of the essence of the political.
In an earlier version of the Kant Lectures (1964), Arendt ad~
its that, because of the old prejudices according to which politIcs
was about rule or dominion, about interest, instrumentality,
and so on, even Kant himself did not realize that the Critique of
Judgment be.lon?ed to political philosophy. But in concerning
ourselves WIth Judgment, she holds, we break free of the old
prejudices about politics: "We deal with a form of being together
[shared judgment, community of taste] where no one rules and
no one obeys. Where people persuade each other." And she
continues: "This is not to deny that interest and power and
rule ... are very important and even central political concepts
.... The question is: Are they the fundamental concepts,
or are they derived from the living-together that itself springs
from a different source? (CompanY-Action)."112
Arendt's view is that we are more likely to get at this other
source by turning to a work whose explicit theme is "appearances
qua appearances" than by concentrating on the works that
make up the established tradition of political philosophy:
!he Critique oj]u~gment is the only [one of Kant's] great writIngs
where hIS POInt of departure is the World and the senses
and capabilities which made men (in the plural) fit to be inhabitants
of it. This is perhaps not yet political philosophy,
but i~ certainly is its condition sine qua non. If it could be found
that In the capacities and regulative traffic and intercourse
142 PART TWO
between men who are bound to each other by the common
possession of a world (the earth) there ~xists aX?- a priori J?~nciple,
then it would be proved that man IS essenually a pohucal
being.113
At this point we may pause to consider a question that of~ers
perhaps the most obvious obj.ection to Are?d.t's enterp~se,
though it need not cause exceSSIve concern; thIS IS the quesuo~
whether Arendt takes undue liberties with Kant's texts. It IS
undeniable that she is very free in her handling of Kant's work,
making use of his writings in accordance with her own p~r?oses.
There is, for example, scarcely any reference to the Crztzque if
Practical Reason in lectures purporting to explicate his political
philosophy.114 In an early essay she goes so far as to say ~at it
can "be seen from all his political writings that for Kant hImself
the theme of )udgment' carried more weight than that of 'practical
reason."'115 Kant's writings on history are treated with a
similar latitude, with Arendt implying that Kant was just playing
games in his philosophy of history.116 Clc::arly, this liberty w~th
Kant's written work is to some extent dehberate, for the claIm
that he did not have a viable political philosophy serves to justify
Arendt's retonstruction of his unwritten political philosophy.
She thinks that Kant failed to develop fully the potential for a
political philosophy that is latent in the insights of the Critique if
judgment, and she accordingly pushes the doct~nes of th~t work
in the direction that is likely to fulfill thIS potenual. In
downgrading the importance of his actual political writings (in
favor of the political philosophy that he did not write), Arendt
may have underestimated the importance of the political philosophy
that Kant did write. Indeed, the Kantian version of
liberalism enjoys a growing appeal among liberal political p~ilosophers
in the present day (John Rawls and Ronald Dworkm
being the notable examples). However, in weighing this objection
we should bear in mind that Arendt herself, more concerned
with philosophical appropriation than scholarly fidelity,
is not unaware of the fact that she is interpreting Kant very
liberally.11 7 She is quite ready to admit that what concerns her is
not his actual political philosophy but the political philosophy he
could have written had certain of his ideas been developed
systematically.
11s There is nothing intrinsically objectionable about
such a procedure so long as one is clear that the enterprise is not
purely exegetical. As Heidegger, in his own work on Kant, remarks:
"In contrast to the methods of historical philology, which
Interpretive Essay 143
has its own problems, a dialogue between thinkers is bound by
other laws."119
From what I have said thus far, it should be somewhat clearer
why Arendt would immediately and most naturally turn to Kant
for counsel on the question of judgment. But another, perhaps
more subtle, reason suggests why Kant so dominated Arendt's
thinking about judgment. For this, the decisive clue is provided
by the one and only passage in The Human Condition that refers
to the faculty of judgment:
Where human pride is still intact, it is tragedy rather than
absurdity which is taken to be the hallmark of human existence.
Its greatest representative is Kant, to whom the spontaneity
of acting, and the concomitant faculties of practical
reas?~, including force of judgme.nt, remain the outstanding
quahues of man, even though hIS action falls into the determinism
of natural laws and his judgment cannot penetrate
the secret of absolute reality.120
Human judgment tends to be tragic judgment. It continually
confronts a reality it can never fully master but to which it must
nonetheless reconcile itself. Arendt finds in Kant a unique expression
of this tragic quality associated with judgment. This
helps us also to see why the image of the spectator is so vital and
why the burden of judgment is conferred wholly upon the
judging spectator. In history, as in drama, only retrospective
judgment can reconcile men to tragedy:
We m~y see, with Aristotle, in the poet's political function the
~perauon of a catharsis, a cleansing or purging of all emo~
ons that could prevent men from acting. The political funcUon
of the storyteller-historian or novelist-is to teach acceptance
of things as they are. Out of this acceptance, which
can also be called truthfulness, arises the faculty of judgment.
121
Political judgment provides men with a sense of hope by which
to sustain them in action when confronted with tragic barriers.
Only the spectator of history is in a position to proffer such
hope.122 (This is in fact the preponderant message of Kant's
explicitly political writings.) And if a concern with judgment
le~ds one ~nto an awareries~ of tragic imperatives, perhaps only a
thmker WIth a full appreCIation of those tragic realities (which
Kant d~d indeed possess) could penetrate to, and capture in
theoreucal terms, the essence of judgment.
144 PART TWO
For Arendt the act of judging represents the culmination of
the tripartite activity of the mind because, on the one hand, it
maintains the contact with "the world of appearances" that is
characteristic of "willing," and, on the other hand, it fulfills the
quest for meaning that animates "thinking." Hence Arendt
agrees with Pythagoras that in the festival of life "the best people
come as spectators."123 She departs from Pythagoras, however,
in her denial that it is the truth-seeking of the philosophers that
corresponds to this spectatorship. In her account, the contemplative
function of the judging spectator supplants the discredited
contemplative function of the philosopher or
metaphysician.124 The life of the mind reaches its ultimate
fulfillment not in the comprehensive vision of a metaphysics, as
it did for the ancients, but in the disinterested pleasure of the
judging historian, poet, or storyteller.
9. Further Thoughts: Arendt and Nietzsche
on "this gateway, Moment"
Eveningjudgment.-He who reviews his day's and life's work
when he is weary and worn out, generally arrives at a
melancholy conclusion: this, however, is not the fault of day
and life, but of weariness. In the midst of our work, and
even our pleasures, we usually find no leisure to muse over
life and existence: but should this for once actually happen,
we should no longer concede the point to him who was
waiting for the seventh day and for rest to find all things in
existence very beautiful-he had missed the right moment.
Nietzsche, The Daum of Day, no. 317
(trans. Johanna Volz)
THE SAME STRUCTURE of thinking animates both Arendt's concept
of judgment and Nietzsche's thought of eternal return; one
might say that both arise from something like the same
thoughtexperiment.
Imagine a moment completely isolated from all
others, all its possible meaning "contained within itself, without
reference to others, without linkage, as it were, "125 a moment of the
most intense existential import. How can this moment, by itself,
sustain the meaning of an entire life-existence? For Nietzsche
this ontological anchoring is achieved through an anticipation of
its infinite recurrence. For Arendt it is achieved through the
backward glance of historical judgment.
Interpretive Essay 145
Both thoughts derive furidamentally from the insight that the
problem of meaning is coterminous with the problem of time,
that the securing of a genuine sense of meaning hinges on the
possibility of somehow overcoming the tyranny of time. (This is
why the problem of the time dimensions of the mental faculties
looms so large in The Life oj the Mind.) Meaning must transcend
time; it must be sheltered against the ravages of temporal flux.
Unless the past can be recaptured (in an act of judgment), or
unless there is the promise of its eventual return, all human life
is rendered utterly meaningless and without point. Without ontological
support for the moment against the flux of time,
human life is indeed "like a leaf in the wind, a plaything of
nonsense."126
In his very first book, The Birth oj Tragedy, Nietzsche stated a
problem that was to preoccupy him throughout his philosophicallife;
his ultimate solution for it was to be the thought of the
eternal return. Arendt, also, constantly grappled with this
problem; it prompted the reflection on political action that
constitutes
her book The Human Condition, and its ultimate solution
lay, for her, in the idea of judging. The problem is how to meet
the challenge of Silenus, found in Sophocles' play Oedipus at
Colonus: "Not to be born prevails over all meaning uttered in
words; by far the second-best thing is for life, once it has appeared,
to go back as quickly as possible whence it came"-a
challenge restated at the very end of Arendt's book On Revolution
(as well as in the Kant Lectures themselves).127 Arendt's first
solution to this problem was, as we said, based on the concept of
political action. As she put it in the last sentence of On Revolution:
"it was the polis, the space of men's free deeds and living words,
which could endow life with splendor"; it was this "that enabled
ordinary men, young and old, to bear life's burden."128 In her
later works, however, another, though related, solution
emerges. The political actor on his own cannot secure meaning;
the actor needs a spectator. Hence the necessity of judgment. It
is not politics alone that supports the moment against transient
time; it is rather the act of judging on the part of a detached
spectator, who reflects back on what the actor has done, on the
"great words and deeds" of the past. It is in this light that Arendt
interprets Goethe: "Nature, I would stand before you as but a
man, / Then it would be worth the effort of being a man."
The aphorism in which Nietzsche first introduces the thought
of the eternal return is entitled "The greatest stress":
146 PART TWO
How, if some day or ni~ht a demon were to "sne~k .after you
into your loneliest lonehness and say to you, This life as you
now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more
and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing ~ew
in it, but every pain and every joy and every ~ought ~nd sigh
and everything immeasurably small or great m your life must
return to you-all in the sa~e succession and sequ~nce-even
this spider and this moonlight between the trees, an? even
this moment and I myself. The ete~na} hourglass ~f eX1stenc~
is turned over and over, and you With It, a dust gram of dust.
Would you not throw yourself down and ~ash your teeth
and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or did you once experience
a tremendous moment when you would have ~nswered
him, "You are a god, and never .have I he~rd anythin~
more godly." If this thought were to gam possession of you, It
would change you, as you are, or perhaps crush yo~. The
question in each and every thing, "Do you ~ant thiS once
more and innumerable times more?" would weigh upon your
actions as the greatest stress. Or how well disposed would you
have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more
fervently than this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal?129
For Nietzsche the decisive question is whether we are prepared
to relive our life exactly as we have lived it, and to reli~e it
innumerable times. (Kant actually poses the very same quesoon;
measured in terms of happiness, the value of life for us "is less
than nothing. For who would enter life afresh under the same
conditions?"130 Kant's answer was that consciousness of our own
dignity as bearers of the moral law ~edeems an otherwi~ intolerable
existence; needless to say, Nietzsche had a very different
answer to the question.) The thought of eternal return pos~s
this question in its starkest form-dramatizes it, as it were.
ObvI.ously,
the overall achievements of our life in no way redeem
existence from the point of view of this question; if each mom.e~t
is to be relived innumerable times, the only way to endure thiS IS
to embrace the eternity of the moment itself. If the moment is
incapable of absolutely justifying itself, there is no possibility of
wishing to relive it eternally by reference to what wtll happen at
some other point in the course of life. End, goal, telos, cease to be
relevant in the evaluation of human existence; thus the eternal
return has the effect of forcing the moment to answer for itself.
It may seem that what is at stake in Nietzsche's tho~ght ~f t~e
eternal return is not the moment but the whole of ome, all m
the same succession and sequence." But this would be a misun-
Interpretive Essay 147
derstanding, for it is by affirming the moment that we affirm all
time. What allows one to bear "the greatest stress" is the experience
of "a tremendous moment." (This distinction corresponds
to Arendt's contrast between Hegelian Weltgeschichte as
Weltgericht and Kantian autonomy of human judgment.) This becomes
even clearer in Nietzsche's account of the eternal return
in Thus Spoke Zarathustra:
Behold ... this moment! From this gateway, Moment, a long,
eternal lane leads backward: behind us lies an eternity. Must not
whatever can walk have walked on this lane before? Must not
whatever can happen have happened, have been done, have
passed by before? And if everything has been there
before--what do you think, dwarf, of this moment? Must not
this gateway too have been there before? And are not all
things knotted together so firmly that this moment draws
after it all that is to come? Therefore--itself too? For whatever
can walk~in this long lane out there too, it must walk once
more.
And this slow spider, which crawls in the moonlight, and
this moonlight itself, and I and you in the gateway, whispering
together, whispering of eternal things-must not all of us
have been there before?And return and walk in that other
lane, out there, before us, in this long dreadfullane--must we
not eternally return?131
It is true enough that Nietzsche here sees "all things knotted
together so firmly" that the moment is anything but "without
linkage, as it were," to other moments. On the other hand, however,
affirmation is possible only on the basis of the moment:
Behold this gateway, dwarf! ... It has two faces. Two paths
meet here; no one has yet followed either to its end. This long
lane stretches back for an eternity. And the long lane out
there, that is another eternity. They contradict each other,
these paths; they offend each other face to face; and it is here
at this gateway that they come together. The name of the
gateway is inscribed above: "Moment." But whoever would
follow one of them, on and on, farther and farther--do you
believe, dwarf, that these paths contradict each other eternally?
132
This passage is highly reminiscent of Kafka's parable, from
the collection of aphorisms entitled "He," upon which Arendt
lays such emphasis in Thinking. (Arendt actually quotes
Nietzsche's "The Vision and the Riddle" in the context of her
148 PART TWO
exegesis of Kafka in chapter 20 of Thinking, where she also cites
Heidegger's commentary on Nietzsche, according to which eternity
is in the moment because the two eternities are brought into
collision only by the man in the gateway, the one who himself is
the moment.133 It is not fortuitous that Arendt herself cites this
passage from Zarathustra in the last chapter of Thinking because
the problem she is struggling with in The Life oj the Mind replicates
the very problem that induces Nietzsche to formulate
the thought of eternal return.) Like the contradiction between
two eternities in Nietzsche's account, Kafka's "He" is caught in a
struggle between the past and future. To arbitrate this conflict,
"He" must leap beyond this struggle, ')umping out of the
fighting line to be promoted to the position of umpire, the spectator
and judge outside the game of life, to whom the meaning
of this time span between birth and death can be referred because
'he' is not involved in it."134 This is the position of Arendt's
judging spectator, caught in "the gap between past and future,"
as she puts it.
In this gap between past and future, we find our place in time
when we think, that is, when we are sufficiently removed from
past and future to be relied on to find out their meaning, to
assume the position of "umpire," of arbiter and judge over
the manifold, never-ending affairs of human existence in the
world ....
And what is the "position of umpire," the desire for which
prompts the dream, but the seat of Pythagoras' spectators,
who are "the best" because they do not participate in the
struggle for fame and gain, are disinterested, uncommitted,
undisturbed, intent only on the spectacle itself? It is they who
can find out its meaning and judge the performance.135
This place of judgment "between past and future" is, as Arendt
herself indicates, identical to Nietzsche's gateway inscribed with
the name "Moment."
Why is the gateway named "Moment"? Because it has no purpose
outside itself, it leads to nothing but itself. Being is circular.
Therefore, nothing outside the moment can serve to justify it; it
alone can justify itself. It is, in Kantian terms, autonomous, an
end-in-itself. Affirmation of the moment is possible only by reference
to itself, not by reference to anything outside itself, for in
the last analysis the ultimate conclusion or result of this moment
is its own recurrence. The meaninglessness of temporal succes-
Interpretive Essay 149
s~on (a.nd therefore of all Being, regarded as a temporal successl~
n) IS ~e har? truth that must be faced, according to
Nietzsche, m bearmg up under "the greatest stress." The circle is
the symbol of pointlessness and futility; therefore, if the mo~
ent is to ?e affirmed, it shall have nothing to support it but
Its~lf. T~at IS the ~eaning of the eternal return: for purposes of
eXistentIal affirmatIon, the moment stands entirely on its own; it
leads nowhere (since it leads back merely to itself), nor is it,
itself,
the culmination of a teleological sequence. How is it redeemable,
how can it be affirmed? For Nietzsche the will, the iron resolve,
to think this problem is itself its own solution. Those who can
bear to think this problem in all its starkness will be the new
creators, the redeemers of Western decadence. Arendt seeks
elsewhe~e for a s~lution to what amounts to the same problem.
For Nletzsc~e, m common with Arendt, mastery of the problem
~f mea~mg depends on the possibility of establishing a
genume relatIon to the past. The problem, as Nietzsche sees it, is
t~at failure to come to terms with the intractability of time gives
r.lse t~, revenge~· social-political ills stem from ontological
frustration:
That tIme does not run backwards, that is [the will's]
wrath; 'that which was' is the name of the stone he cannot
move .... [The will] wreaks revenge for his inability to go backwards.
This, indeed this alone, is what revenge is: the will's ill will
a~a~,nst time a~d its 'it was.'''136 To allow the will to feel a "good
WIll toward tIme would liberate man from revenge and thus
revolutionize his entire social-political existence:
To redeem those who lived in the past and to recreate all "it
was" into a "thus I willed it"-that alone should I call rede.
mption. Will-that is the name of the liberator and joybnnger;
thus I taught you, my friends. But now learn this too:
the will itself is still a prisoner. Willing liberates; but what is it
that puts even the liberator himself in fetters? "It was"-that
is the name of the will's gnashing of teeth and most secret
melancholy. Powerless against what has been done, he is an
angry spectator oj all that is past. The will cannot will backwards;
and that he cannot break time and time's covetousness that is
the will's loneliest melancholy.137 '
Arendt's concern is not with liberation of the will but with
liberation of the faculty of judgment, which, she says, takes place
through exercise of the faculty of thinking. But the problem
both she and Nietzsche confront is iQ. this crucial respect the
same: How can "an angry spectator" of the past be turned into a
150 PART TWO
satisfied spectator? How can melancholy spectators hip be converted
into happy spectatorship? Nietzsche wants t? m~e the
will contented with the past; Arendt seeks to make Judgmg the
past a source of pleasure rather than displeasure. In both cases,
"a good will" toward time is to rede~~ .the past. .
Just as it may be said that Arendt Imtlally sought a solutlon ~o
the problem of "the moment" in the nature of acting and thus m
some sense in willing (since there can be no action without the
will) but that her ultimate solution reposes in reflective judgment
or judging reflection upon the deeds of the past, so it ~s likewise
possible to say that Nietzsche initially sought a solUtlon ~o the
problem of meaning (or nihilism, the deval~ing of th~ ~ghest
values) in the will but that his ultimate solutlon, the thmkmg of
the thought of the eternal return, leads away from the will. It is
in precisely these terms that Arendt interprets Nietzsche's
thought in chapter 14 of Willing. Eternal return "is not a theory,
not a doctrine, not even a hypothesis, but a mere thoughtexperiment.
As such, since it implies an experimental return to
the ancient cyclical time concept, it seems to be in flagrant
contradiction
with any possible notion of the Will, whose projects
always assume rectilinear time and a future that is unknown and
therefore open to change."13S Thus Arendt argues that the
thought-experiment of the eternal return leads eventually to a
"repudiation of the Will":
the Will's impotence persuades men to prefer looking backward,
remembering and thinking, because, to the backward
glance, everything that is appears to be necessaT>:. :~'he
repudiation
of willing liberates man from a responSIbIlity that
would be unbearable if nothing that was done could be undone.
In any case, it was probably the Will's clash with the past
that made Nietzsche experiment with Eternal Recurrence. 139
According to Arendt, Nietzsche
embarked on a construction of the given world that would
make sense, be a fitting abode for a creature whose "strength
of will [is great enough] to do without meaning in
things, ... [who] can endure to live in a ~eaningless worl?"
"Eternal Recurrence" is the term for this final redeemmg
thought inasmuch as it proclaims the "~nnocenc~ o~ all Becoming"
(die Unschuld des Werdens) and WIth that Its m~erent
aimlessness and purposelessness, its freedom from gwlt and
responsibility .140
Interpretive Essay 151
Eternal return is the means of coping with a meaningless world,
reconciling oneself to it, redeeming it, by doing away with all
concepts of responsibility, purposiveness, causality, will.
It is by the following argument that Nietzsche arrives at "the
thought that everything that passes returns, that is, a cyclical
time construct that makes Being swing within itself":
If the motion of the world aimed at a final state, that state
would have been reached. The sole fundamental fact, however,
is that it does not aim at a final state; and every philosophy
and scientific hypothesis (e.g., mechanistic theory) which
necessitates such a final state is refuted [Nietzsche'S italics] by
this fundamental fact.
I seek a conception of the world that takes this fact into
account. Becoming must be explained without recourse to
final intentions; becoming must appear justified at every moment
(or incapable of being evaluated; which amounts to the same
thing); the present must absolutely not be justified by reference to a
future, nor the past by reference to the present. 141
As must now be evident, this Nietzschean formulation is absolutely
decisive for a proper appreciation of Arendt's statement
of the problem of the "backward glance" of judgment. There
can no longer be any mistaking her reliance on Nietzsche's way
of posing the issue. In the same aphorism, Nietzsche writes:
"Becoming-is of equivalent value every moment."142 In other
words, no moment can serve to justify any other moment, no
moment can be affirmed by reference to other moments; the
moment must be self-redeeming. Arendt concludes from the
passage just quoted that this "clearly spells a repudiation of the
Will and the willing ego," because both presuppose the obsolete
concepts of causality, intention, goal, etc.143
Nietzsche seeks for a way to eternalize the moment (" ... joy
wants eternity. Joy wants the eternity of all things, wants deep,
wants deep eternity").144 Arendt seeks for a way to immortalize the
moment by an act of retrospective judgment. In both cases the
impulse is the same: to save the moment from the fleeting onrush
of time. Judging is able to perform this function by virtue
of its essential particularism, the fact that it addresses itself to
particulars without letting the particular be in any way reduced
to, be swallowed up in, universals or generalities. The particular
has a dignity of its own, one that no universal or generality can
take from it.
152 PART TWO
Hegel is entirely right· that philosophy, li~e the owl of
Minerva, spreads its wings only when the day IS over, ~t?usk.
The same is not true for the beautiful or for any deed m Itself.
The beautiful is, in Kantian terms, an end in itself because all
its possible meaning is contained within itself, without re~erence
to others--without linkage, as it were, to other beautI~ul
things. In Kant himself there is this c.ontradiction: In~mte
Progress is the law of the human specIes; at ~e same tIme,
man's dignity demands that he be seen (every smgl~ one of us)
in his particularity and, as such, be seen-but. wIthout ~ny
comparison and independent of time-as reflectIng mankmd
in general. 145
When looked at in the Nietzschean context, it becomes clear
that, for Arendt, judging is not simply a capacity of political
beings (although that was what originally prompted her to
reflect on the faculty of judgment). It actually comes to serve an
ontological function. (This is the insight lying behind the
"break" between what I have called Arendt's early and late
theories of judgment, the former "political,". the latter
"c?ntemplative.")
That is, judgment ha~ the fu?ctIon of an~honng
man in a world that would otherwise be WIthOut meamng and
existential reality: a world unjudged would have no human import
for us.
The parallel with Nietzsche-specifically, the ~act that a
·c~nfrontation
with the problem of the will forced him to repudIate
the will in favor of an affirmative acceptance of the eternal return
a nonvolitional reconciliation with all that is, was, and will
be (~gain)-helps to shed light on the ~ast sentences. of Are~dt's
last work, Willing (which would otherwIse appear qUIte b~fflmg).
After speaking of Augustine's discovery of hu~an natalzty! "the
fact that human beings, new men, again and agam appear I? ~he
world by virtue of birth," Arendt observes that the Augustlman
version of the argument
seems to tell us no more than that we are doomed to be free by
virtue of being born, no matter whether we like freedom or
abhor its arbitrariness, are "pleased" with it or prefer to
escape its awesome resp~msibilit~ ~y electing some form of
fatalism. This impasse, If such It IS, cannot be opened or
solved except by an appeal to anothe~ m~ntal faculty, no less
mysterious than the faculty of begmmng, the faculty ~f
J udgment, an analysis of which at least may tell us what IS
m. volved m. our p Ie asures and d·I SP Ie asures. 146
Interpretive Essay 153
This passage confirms that her examination of judging was to be
not merely a theoretical account of an important human capacity
but, rather, the "solution" to an "impasse." The problem she was
seeking to solve is how to be "pleased" with human freedom,
how to bear "its awesome responsibility," how to avoid fatalism
(which was the way out chosen by Nietzsche). The whole passage
carries unmistakable echoes of (it reads like a kind of gloss on)
the story in which Nietzsche describes "the greatest stress." If
these speculations of mine have not been merely fanciful, this
convergence is not at all fortuitous, for the path of reflection that
led Arendt to consider the faculty of judging runs parallel to
that which led Nietzsche to posit the eternal return. Indeed, how
else could one explain Arendt's describing judgment as the way
out of an impasse-in particular, the impasse of the will--or as a
solution to the problem of affirming human freedom? Why
should this be the way of introducing an analysis of judging?
Why should this impasse be the one for which judging is looked
to as a possible way out? And why should one contemplate judgment
as a possible release from such an impasse? In the face of
these questions, it seems fair to ask: On what other reading
could one conceivably make sense of the final paragraph of
Arendt's final work? Judgment is what keeps one from being
crushed by the opposing forces of past and future while standing
in "this gateway, Moment."
When one bears in mind the temporal direction of each of the
three mental faculties, it is understandable why Arendt looked
to judging, which is directed to the past, as the only possible way
out of the impasse. The world we presently inhabit offers precious
little prospect for genuine action and, therefore, for freedom.
And the future, if anything, holds even less promise: "It is
quite conceivable that the modern age-which began with such
an unprecedented and promising outburst of human
activity-may end in the deadliest, most sterile passivity history
has ever known."147
Thus there is only the remotest possibility of deriving a sense
of meaning from 'action in the present. (In these
circumstances--in a world where the possibility of acting politically
is more or less foreclosed~udging almost becomes a kind
of vicarious action, a way of recouping our citizenship in default
of a genuine public realm.) Nor is there any more reason to
expect meaningfulness to be secured by willing projects or by
projecting our will into the future (hence the impasse with
154 PART TWO
respect to willing). That leaves the faculty of judgment, which can
at least locate past events that redeem human existence. (As ~or
thinking: according to Arendt it is the mental faculty by whic?
we withdraw from the world of appearances; consequently, It
cannot be a source of meaning for that world. Thinking, i~sofar
as it returns to the world of appearances to reflect on particulars
within it, becomes judging.) We can sustain oursel~es in the
present and retain hope for the future .only br refl~ctIng ~n the
miraculousness of human freedom as mstantIated m particular
moments of the past. Without the possibility of retrospective
judgment, we .might well be overcome by a sen~e of the
meaninglessness of the present and succumb t? ?espaxr over ~e
future. Judging alone makes satisfactory provIsion fo~ .meamng
and thereby allows us, potentially, to affirm our condition.
Study of the "stories" of the historical past teach us .that the~e
is always the possibility of a new beginning; thus hope IS la~en~ m
the very nature of human action. Every story has a begmmng
and an end-but never an absolute end; for the ending of one
story always marks the beginmng of another.148 If we were compelled
to pronounce an absolute verdict o~ ~story as a whol~, we
might be tempted to def~r to ~t's p.esslIDIs~ .. (It was precisely
Kant's pessimism, combmed WIth his conVlctl~n that h,;,man
history must form a single story, that forc~d him to pO~lt the
regulative idea of historical progres~, to gwde our reflection as
in teleological judgment, to make it ~ossi~le ~or us to refle~t on
history without despair.) But because Judgxng I~ always .rest?cted
to particular incidents and individuals, to stones that msplre us
and examples that become exemplary, historical refl~ctio~ will
always remain edifying for those who have not rehnqwshed
hope.
We have argued that judging provides for affirmation of our
worldly condition by allowing us to draw pleasure from reflecting
on the past. But the aim is not really to justify. th~ world b~t
something more like "confirming" our place m It; that IS,
establishing contact with the reality of our world or, perhaps,
justifying this reality by asserting our connection to it. T~s
fo~mulation
is suggested by a phrase that recurs several tImes m
Arendt's unpublished lectures; it is Augustine's "Amo: Volo ut
sis": to love is, in effect, to say "I want you to be." Because of "the
sheer arbitrariness of being," because of the fact that "we have
not made ourselves," we "stand in need of confirmation.·We are
strangers, we stand in need of being welcome." It is by judging
Interpretive Essay 155
that "we confirm the world and ourselves"; with the faculties
given us, "we make ou,rselves at home in the world."149 The
self-chosen company of shared judgment secures an otherwise
tenuous historicity.
. In these concluding speculations, I have not tried to dictate
the necessary course of Arendt's reflections on judging; my intent
has been merely to delimit the zone within which they circulate.
This region of speculation is demarcated by Augustine's
meditations on temporality in Book 11 of The Crmfessions and by
Nietzsche's vision of the eternal return. Throughout her work
Arendt is guided not only by Kant but also by Augustine and
Nietzsche; again and again it is from them that she takes her
problems. In the present context, the question they raise for her
is this: Can the world be made a fitting abode for man, and in
what sense, given that he is an essentially temporal being who
enters from an unknown past and departs again into an unknown
future?150 Combining an Augustinian appreciation of
the frailty of worldly institutions and relationships with a
Nietzschean faith in the transfiguring potental of human action,
Arendt confronts the basic question of temporality: Under what
conditions can we say yes to time?151 As posed either by Augustine
or by Nietzsche, the problem-which haunts all of
Arendt's philosophical work-is how to subdue temporality, how
to consolidate and stabilize a mortal existence, rendering it less
fleeting, ontologically less insecure. If the being of politics is
indeed appearance (which is, after all, the fundamental premise
of Arendt's political philosophy),152 a public space of judgment
is needed to render the world of appearances more durable--to
confirm its being, as it were. Judging, or the saving power of
remembrance, helps us to preserve what would otherwise be lost
to time; it lets endure what is essentially perishable.15s In other
words, the ultimate function of judgment is to reconcile time
and worldliness.
The~e speculations of mine no doubt raise more questions
than they answer. The Kant Lectures certainly offer no more
than an intimation of the possibilities I have suggested, and
perhaps I have wandered farther than was called for. My only
purpose has been to indicate the scope of Arendt's theorizing.
Something of this scope is suggested by the themes and preoccupations
we find ·in the hermeneutics of Hannah Arendt's
rrie?~ Walter Benjamin, an~ it is by reading her alongside BenJamin
s "Theses on the Philosophy of History" that we may
156 PART TWO
finally hope to measure the dimensions of her intention. For
Benjamin too sought for a .redemptive relation to the past, and
Arendt's judging spectator is the counterpart of Benjamin's
jlaneur, who strolls through the past, gathering mpments in
happy or melancholy retrospection, collecting by "re-collecting":
amidst the ruin of the present, one searches out fragments by
which to salvage one's past.154 In Benjamin himself, this involves
assuming the role of the angel of history, who, as Scholem puts
it, is "basically a melancholy figure, wrecked by the immanence
of history."155 These themes converge in Benjamin's third thesis
on the philosophy of history:
. A chronicler who recites events withou~ distinguishing between
major and minor ones acts in accordance with the following
truth: nothing that has ever happened should be
regarded as lost for history. To be sure, only a redeemed
mankind receives the fullness of its past-which is to say, only
for a redeemed mankind has its past become citable in all its
moments. Each moment it has lived becomes a citation a t' ordre
du jour-and that day is Judgment Day.156
Such a comportment toward the past is expressed even more
tellingly in Benjamin's commentary on one of Kafka's parables:
... the true measure of life is memory. Looking back, it
traverses the whole of life like lightning. As fast as one can
turn back a few pages, it has travelled from the next village to
the place where the traveller took the decision to set out.
Those for whom life has become transformed into writing
... can only read the writing backwards. That is the only
way in which they confront themselves, and only thus-by
fleeing from the present-can they understand life.157 |
|
Notes
P ostscriptum to Thinking
1. Henri Bergson, Time and Free Will, trans. F. L. Pogson (New York:
Macmillan, 1910), pp. 158, 167,240 (italics added).
2. Critique of Pure Reason, BI72-BI73, trans. N. K. Smith (New York:
St. Martin's Press, 1963).
3. [See Arendt's essay "The Concept of History: Ancient and Modem"
in Between Past and Future (New York: Viking Press, 1968}.-Ed.]
Kant Lectures
1. Hans Saner, Kants Weg vom Krieg zum Frieden, vol. 1: Widerstreit und
Einheit: Wege- zu Kants politischem Denken (Munich: R. Piper Verlag,
1967); English translation by E. B. Ashton, Kant's Political Thought: Its
Origin and Development (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1973).
2. [I presume that this refers to La Philosophie Politique de Kant, volume
4 of the Annales de Philosophie Politique (Paris: Institut International
de Philosophie Politique, 1962}.-Ed.]
3. Immanuel Kant, On History, ed. Lewis White Beck, trans. L. W.
Beck, R. E. Anchor, and E. L. Fackenheim, Library of Liberal Arts
(Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1963).
4. Kant's Political Writings, ed. Hans Reiss, trans. H. B. Nisbet (Cambridge,
Eng.: At the University Press, 1971).
5. Kurt Borries, Kant als Politiker: Zur Staats- und Gesellschaftslehre des
Kritizismus (Leipzig, 1928).
6. Kant, On History, ed. Beck, p. 75 ("The End of All Things"), and p.
54 ("Conjectural Beginning of Human History").
7. Ibid., p. 25 ("Idea for a Universal History," Ninth Thesis).
8. Ibid., p. 59 ("Conjectural Beginning of Human History").
9. Critique of Judgment, § 83. [As a rule, Arendt relies on the Norman
Kemp Smith translation for the Critique of Pure Reason (New York: St.
Martin's Press, 1963) and on the J. H. Bernard translation for the
Critique of Judgment (New York: Hafner, 1951). But in her use of these,
158 NOTES TO PAGES8-15
as well as other translations, she commonly makes small changes of her
own. In the case of other works, when translations are not specifically
attributed, it may be assumed that they are Arendt's own.-Ed.]
10. On History, ed. Beck, p. 60 ("Conjectural Beginning of Human
History").
11. Ibid., p. 54.
12. Ibid., pp. 78-79 ("The End of All Things").
13. Immanuel Kant, Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime,
trans. John T. Goldthwait (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1960).
14. Letter to Christian Garve, September 21, 1798. See Kant, Philosophical
Correspondence 1759-99, ed. and trans. Arnulf Zweig (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1967), p. 252.
15. Letters to Marcus Herz, November 24, i776, and August 20,
1777. See Philosophical Correspondence 1759-99, ed. Zweig, pp. 86, 89.
·16. See Lewis White Beck, A Commentary on Kanfs Critique of Practical
Reason (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960), p. 6. .
17. Immanuel Kant, "Reflexionen zur Anthropologie," no. 763
(italics added). Iil Karns gesammelte Schriften, Prussian Academy edition,
24 vols. (Berlin: Reimer & de Gruyter, 1910-66), 15:333.
18. Observations on the Feeling oj the Beautiful and the Sublime, trans.
Goldthwait, pp. 48-49 (note).
19. A. Baeumler, Kants Kritik der Urteilskraft: 1hre Geschichte und Systematik,
vol. 1: Das Irrationalitiitsproblem in der Aesthetik und Logik des 18.
jahrhunderts his zur Kritik der Urteilskraft (Halle: Max Niemeyer Verlag,
1923), p. 15.
20. Immanuel Kant, Logic, trans. R. Hartman and W. Schwarz, Library
of Liberal Arts (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1974), p. 29.
[Arendt refers to Kant's Vorlesungen iiber die Metaphysik.]
21. Gottfried von Leibniz, "Principes de la Nature et de la Grace,
fondes en raison" (1714), par. 7.
22. CritiqUe of judgment, §67.
23. Martin Heidegger, Being and Time, trans. John Macquarrie and
Edward Robinson (New York and Evanston: Harper & Row, 1962),
e.g., §4.
24. See Gerhard Lehmann, Kants Nachlasswerk und die Kritik der Urteilskraft
(Berlin, 1939), pp. 73-74.
25. Critique of judgment, §67.
26. Ibid., § 76.
27·. Ibid., §77.
28. Ibid., § 78.
29. Ibid., Preface.
30. Kant, Introduction to The Metaphysics of Morals, section I: "Of the
Relation of the Faculties of the Human Mind to the Moral Laws". See
Kant!s Critique of Practical Reason and Other Works on the Theory of Ethics,
Notes to Pages 15-28 159
trans. Thomas Kingsmill Abbott (London: Longmans, Green, & Co.,
1898), p. 267.
31. Ibid.
32. On History, ed. Beck, p. 102 (Perpetual Peace).
33. Ibid., p. 106.
34. Ibid., pp. 151-52, note (The Strife of the Faculties, Part II: "An Old
Question Raised Again: Is the Human Race Constantly Progressing?").
35. Ibid., pp. 112-13 (perpetual Peace).
36. Ibid., p. 112.
37. Kant, Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals, trans.
Thomas K. Abbott, Library of Liberal Arts (Indianapolis: BobbsMerrill,
1949), p. 19.
38. Ibid., pp. 20-21.
39. Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime, (end of Section
Two), trans. Goldthwait, p. 74.
40. Ibid.
41. On History, ed. Beck, p. 145, note ("An Old Question Raised
Again").
42. Aristotle, Politics 1267al0 ff.
43. Ibid., 1325b15 ff.
44. Blaise Pascal, Pensees, no. 331, trans. W. F. Trotter (New York: E.
P. Dutton, 1958).
45. Robert D. Cumming, Human Nature and History: A Study of the
Development of Liberal Political Thought (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1969), vol. 2, p. 16. .
46. Phaedo 64.
47. Ibid. 67.
48. Apology 40.
49. On History, ed. Beck, p. 67 ("Conjectural Beginning of Human
History").
50. Critique of judgment, § 83 (note).
51. Kant, "Ober das Misslingen aller philosophischen Versuche in
der Theodicee" (1791), in Gesammelte Schriften, Prussian Academy edition,
8:253-71.
52. Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View, §29, trans. Mary J.
Gregor (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1974).
53. Gesammelte Schriften, Prussian Academyed., 18:11.
54. Critique of Pure Reason, B839.
55. Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime, trans.
Goldthwait, pp. 6&--67.
56. Critique of judgment, § 84 (italics added).
57. K~t, Allgemeine Naturgeschichte und Theone des Himmels (1755),
AppendIX to Part III, Gesammelte Schriften, Prussian Academy ed.,
1:357.
58. Critique of Pure Reason, B859.
160 NOTES TO PAGES 28-39
59. Ibid., B884 (italics added).
60. "Bemerkungen zu den Beobachtungen iiber das Gefiihl des Schonen
und Erhabenen," Gesammelte Schrijten, Prussian Academy ed., 20:44.
61. AristOtle's epistle to Alexander, "Concerning Kingship," in Ernest
Barker, The Polmcs of Aristotle (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1958),
p.386.
62. Eric Weil, "Kant et Ie probleme de la politique/, in La Philosophie
PolitiquedeKant, vol. 40f Annales de Philosophie Politique (Paris, 1962), p.
32.
63. "Reflexionen zur Logik," no. 1820a, Gesammelte Schriften; Prussian
Academyed., 16:127.
64. Kant, "Versuch einiger Betrachtungen iiber den Optimismus"
(1759), in Gesammelte Schriften, Prussian Academy ed., 2:27-35.
65. On History, ed. Beck, pp. 73-74, note ("The' End of All Things").
66. "Reflexionen zur Anthropologie," no. 890, Gesammelte Schriften,
Prussian Academyed., 15:388.
67. Karljaspers,Kant, ed. H. Arendt (New York: Harcourt, Brace &
World, 1962), p. 95. Qaspers quotes Kant without furnishing a reference,
but see Critique of Pure Reason, B823.)
68. Critique of judgment, § 40 (note).
69. Critique of Pure R{!ason, Axi, note (Preface to the first edition).
70. Ibid., B27.
71. Ibid., B370.
72. Ibid., AxiL
73. Ibid., Axi.
74. Ibid., Bxxv.
75. Ibid., Bxxxii.
76. Ibid., Bxxxiii.
77. Ibid., Bxxxv.
78. G. W. F. Hegel, "Uber das Wesen der philosophischen Kritik"
(1802), inSiimtliche Werke, ed. Hermann Glockner (Stuttgart, 1958), vol.
1, p. 185 [Arendt's translation].
79. Hegel, "VerhaItniss des Skepticismus zur Philosophie" (1802),
ibid~, p. 243 [Arendt's translation].
80. See Kant's Preface to his essay "On the Common Saying: 'This
May be True in Theory, but it does not Apply in Practice,'" in Kanfs
Political Writings, ed. Reiss, p. 61.
81. Critique of Pure Reason, Bxxxi.
82. Ibid., Bxxxvi.
83. Theaetetus 148 ff.
84. Sophist 226-31.
85. Critique of judgment, §40 ..
86. See Gorgias 482c.
87. Critique of Pure Reason, B884.
88. [Arendt's italics. See Kant, Philosophical Correspondence 1759-99,
ed. Zweig, pp. 105-6.]
Notes to Pages 39-51 161
89. jaspers, Kant, p. 123. The quote is from Kant's letter to Christian
Garve, August 7, 1783.
90. On History, ed. Beck, pp. 4-5 ("What Is Enlightenment?").
91. Ibid., p. 5.
92. "Reflexionen zur Anthropologie," no. 897, Gesammelte Schriften,
Prussian Academy ed., 15:392.
93. Critique of judgment, §40.
94. "Was heisst: Sich im Denken orientieren?" (1786), in Gesammelte
Schrijten, Prussian Academy ed., 8:131-47.
95. Gesammelte Schrijten, Prussian Academy ed., 18:267 (no. 5636).
96. Letter to Marcus Herz,june 7, 1771. See Kant, Selected Pre-Critical
Writings, trans. G. B. Kerferd and D. E. Wolford (New York: Barnes &
Noble, 1968), p. 108.
97. Letter to Marcus Herz, February 21, 1772. See Kant, Philosophical
Correspondence 1759-99, ed. Zweig, p. 73.
98. Critique of judgment, §40.
99. Ibid.
100. Gesammelte Schriften, Prussian Academy ed., 12:59 (Correspondence).
101. On History, ed: Beck, pp. 143-48 ("An Old Question Raised
Again," secs. 6 and 7).
102. Kant's Political Writings, ed. Reiss, p. 51 ("Idea for a General
History from a Cosmopolitan Point of View," end of Eighth Thesis).
103. Ibid., p. 184, note (The Contest of the Faculties).
104. On History, ed. Beck, p. 120'(Perpetual Peace, Appendix I).
105. Kant's Political Writings, ed. Reiss, p. 147 (The Metaphysics of Morals,
General Remark A after § 49).
106. On History, ed. Beck, p. 130 (Perpetual Peace, Appendix II).
107. See Borries, Kant als Pol'itiker (Scientia Verlag Aalen, 1973; reprint
of 1928 Leipzig edition), p. 16.
108. See Kant, Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone, Book IV, Part
Two, §4, trans. T. M. Greene and H. H. Hudson (New York: Harper
Torchbooks, 1960), pp. 176-77 (note).
109. On History, ed. Beck, pp. 129-30 (Perpetual Peace, Appendix II).
110. Ibid., p. 130.
Ill. Ibid., p. 133.
112. Ibid., p. 134.
113. [Arendt's translation from Eine Vorlesung Kants ii.ber Ethik, ed.
Paul Menzer (Berlin: Pan Verlag Rolf Heise, 1924); see Kant, Lectures on
Ethics, trans. Louis Infield (London: Methuen, 1979), p. 43 (section on
"The Supreme Principle of Morality").]
114. Kanfs Political Writings, ed. Reiss, p. 88 ("Theory and Practice,"
Part III).
ll5. See ibid., p. 116 (!'erpetual Peace, Appendix I).
116. Ibid., p. 89 ("Theory and Practice," Part III).
117. Ibid., p. 91.
162 NOTES TO PAGES51-67
118. Ibid., p. 88.
119. On History, ed. Beck, p. 106 (Perpetual Peace, First Supplement).
120. Ibid., p. 100 (Second Definitive Article).
121. Critique oj judgment, §28. .
122. Kant's Political Writings, ed. Reiss, p. 190 [the quote IS actually
borrowed from Hume].
123. Critique oj judgment, §83.
124. Ibid.
125. Kanfs Political Writings, ed. Reiss, p. 174 (The Metaphysics oj Morals,
§ 62, Conclusion).
126. See On History, ed. Beck, p. III (the quote is from Seneca) ..
127. Diogenes Laertius, Lives oj the Philosophers 8. 8, trans. G. S. Kirk
and J. E. Raven, The Presocratic Philosophers (Cambridge, Eng.: At the
University Press, 1971), p. 228. . .
128. See Hegel, Reason inBistory, trans. Robert S. Hartman, Library
of Liberal Arts (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1953), pp. 35-36 (Hegel's
Introduction to The Philosophy oj History).
. 129. Alexandre Kojeve, "Hegel, Marx an~ Christianity," Interpretation
1 (1970): 37.
130. On History, ed. Beck, p. 51 (Third Review of Herder).
131. Ibid.
132. The Republic 514a ff.
133. Introduction to The Metaphysics of Morals, section I (see n. 30,
above).
134. Critique oj Pure Reason, B362 ff., B371 ff.
135. See ibid., B884.
. 136. Critique oj judgment, §48.
137. Ibid., §50.
138. Ibid.
139. Ibid.
140. Ibid., §49.
141. Ibid.
142. Cicero, On the Orator 3. 195.
143. Ibid. 3. 197.
144. Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point oj View, trans. Gregor, §53
(see n. 52, above).
145. Critique oj judgment,§40. .
146. Parmenides (Frag. 4) speaks of nous, which enables us to look
steadfastly at things that are present though they are absent: "Look how
strongly absent things are present to the mind [nous)" (see Kathleen
Freeman,Ancilla to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers [Oxford: Basil Blackwell,
1971], p. 42).
147. Critique oj judgment, §45.
148. Ibid., §41.
149. "Reflexionen zur Anthropologie," no. 767, in Gesammelte Schriften,
Prussian Academy ed., 15:334-35.
Notes to Pages 68-80 163
150. Critique oj judgment, §48.
151. Ibid., §54.
152. Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point oj View, trans. Gregor, § 53.
153. Critique oj judgment, §40.
154. Ibid. See also Kant'sLogic, trans. R. Hartman and W. Schwarz, p.
63 (see n .. 20, above).
155. Critique oj judgment, §40. [On the translation of Kant's term
"allgemein": it should be noted that Arendt consistently substitutes "general"
where the standard translations have "universal." One important
reason for this change is suggested in Arendt's essay "The Crisis in
Culture" (in Between Past and Future, enl. ed. [New York: Viking Press,
1968], p. 221), where she says that ''judgment is endowed with a certain
specific validity but is never universally valid. Its claims to validity can
never extend further than the others in whose place the judging person
has put himself for his considerations. Judgment, Kant says, is valid 'for
every single judging person,' but the emphasis in the sentence is on
'judging'; it is not valid for those who do not judge or for those who are
not members of the public realm where the objects of judgment appear"
(my italics). Thus Arendt's choice of terms here is of quite some
importance in relation to her reading of Kant.-Ed.]
156. Critique oj judgment, §40.
157. Ibid.
158. Ibid., Preface.
159. Ibid., §41.
160. On History, ed. Beck, p. 54 ("Conjectural Beginning of Human
History").
161. Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1. 39-40 .
162. Critique oj judgment, §41.
163. Ibid.
164. On History, ed. Beck, p. 89 (Perpetual Peace).
165. Ibid., p. 102.
166. Ibid., pp. 103, 105.
167. Critique oj judgment, Introduction, section IV.
168. Ibid.
169. Critique oj Pure Reason, B173.
Imagination
1. Kant, Critique oj Pure Reason, B151 (italics added), trans. N. K.
Smith (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1963).
2. Kant, Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point oj View, § 28 (italics
added), trans. Mary J. Gregor (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1974).
3. Ibid., § 34.
4. See Kathleen Freeman, Ancilla to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers (Oxford:
Basil Blackwell, 1971), p. 42. .
164 NOTES TO PAGES 80--91
5. Hermann Diels and Walther Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker,
5th ed. (Berlin), B21a. See Freeman, Amilia to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers,
p. 86.
6. Critique of Pure Reason, B176 ff.
7. Ibid., BI03 (italics added).
8. Ibid., B180 (italics added).
9. Ibid., A124.
10. Ibid., B180.
11. Ibid., B29.
12. Ibid., B863.
13. Ibid., B180.
14. Ibid., A94.
15. Ibid., B180.
16. Ibid., BI8~1.
17. Ibid., B181.
18. Ibid., A120 (note).
19. Ibid., B181.
20. Ibid., BI04.
21. Ibid., AIl8.
22. Critique of Judgment, General Remark to § 22, trans. J. H. Bernard
(New York: Hafner, 1951).
23. Ibid., §59.
24. Critique of Pure Reason, B172.
25. Ibid., Bi73.
26. Critique of Judgment, § 22.
Interpretive Essay
1. Hannah Arendt, The Life of the Mind, ed. Mary McCarthy (New
York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1978), vol. 1: Thinking, p. 218
(Editor's Postface by Mary McCarthy).
2. J. Glenn Gray, "The Abyss of Freedom-and Hannah Arendt," in
Hannah Arendt: The Recovery of the Public Wotld, ed. Melvyn A. Hill (New
York: St. Martin's Press, 1979), p. 225.
3. Michael Denneny, "The Privilege of Ourselves: Hannah Arendt on
Judgment," in Hannah Arendt: The Recovery of the Public World, ed. Hill,
p.245.
4. The Life of the Mind, vol. 2: Willing, p. 217.
5. Arendt, Lectures on Kant's Political Philosophy (cited hereafter as
Kant lectures), pp. 19,30-31, above. (All page references to the Kant
Lectures and to the Postscriptum to Thinking refer, unless otherwise
stated, to the present volume.)
6.Thinkin~ pp.69-70, 76,92-98,111,129-30,140,192-93,207-9,
213-16.
7. Social Research 38 (1971): 417-46.
Notes to Pages 91-99 165
8. See Kant Lectures, p. 68, above.
9. ''Postscriptum to Thinking," p. 5, above; Kant Lectures, p. 56. Cf.
"The Concept of History," in Hannah Arendt, Between Past and Future:
Eight Exercises in Political Thought, enl. ed. (New York: Viking Press,
1968), pp. 41-90, esp. pp. 51-52; see also, ibid., pp. 262-63
("Truth and Politics"). All references will be to the enlarged edition of
Between Past and Future.
10. See section 8 of this essay, pp. 138-39, below.
11. PUblished, respectively, in Freedom and Serfdom, ed. A. Hunold
(Dordrecht: D. Reidel, 1961), pp. 191-217; Between Past and Future, pp.
197-226; and ibid., pp. 227-64.
12. Mary McCarthy, Editor's Postface to Thinking, p.219.
13. Arendt, "Understanding and Politics," Partisan Review 20 (1953):
377-92. Subsequent page references in the text are to this essay.
14. Preface to Between Past and Future, p. 14.
15. Arendt, "A Reporter at Large," New Yorker, February 16, 1963,
pp. 40-113; February 23,1963, pp. 40-111; March 2,1963, pp. 40-91;
March 9, 1963, pp. 48-131; March 16, 1963, pp. 58-134. See also
A~e.ndt, Eichmann inJ erusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil (New York:
VIking Press, 1963; rev. and enl. ed., 1965) (all references below are to
the revised, enlarged edition). Although there are discussions of the
faculty of judging in Arendt's writings prior to the Eichmann trial, the
~rst ve~sion of the Kant Lectures was given in 1964, that is to say,
Immediately after the appearance of the Eichmann book.
16. See "Truth and Politics," Between Past and Future, p. 227 n.;
"Thinking and Moral Considerations," Social Research 38 (1971):
417-19; Thinking, pp. 3-6. The promise of a book on "Thinking"
emerges in 1964, in "Eichmann in Jerusalem" (Encounter, January, 1964,
p. 56); Arendt wrote: "this is not the place to go into these matters
seriously; I intend to elaborate them further in a different context.
Eichmann may very well remain the concrete model of what I have to
say."
17. The Listener, August 6, 1964, pp. 185-87, 205.
18. Ibid., p. 187.
19. Eichmann in Jerusalem, p. 294.
20. Ibid., pp. 294-95.
21. Ibid., p. 295.
22.Encounter, January, 1964, pp. 51-56. Reprinted in The Jew as
Pariah: Jewish Identity and Politics in the Modem Age, ed. Ron H. Feldman
(New York: Grove Press, 1978), pp. 240-51. This volume also contains a
small selection of material relating to the Eichmann affair.
23. Eichmann in Jerusalem, pp. 295-96; my italics.
24. Ibid., p. 296.
25. Ibid.
26. Ibid., p. 297.
27. Ibid.
166 NOTES TO PAGES 100-108
28. The Jew as Pariah, ed. Feldman, pp. 243, 248; my italics.
29. Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Humanism and Terror, trans. John O'Neill
(Boston: Beacon Press, 1969), pp. xxiv-xxv; my italics.
30. "Freedom and Politics," in Freedom and Seifdom: An Anthology of
Western Thought, ed. Hunold, p. 207. Cf. "The Crisis in Culture," Between
Past and Future, pp. 219-20 (published in the same year). .
31. Arendt, "The Crisis in Culture: Its Social and Its Political
Significance," in Between Past and Future, pp. 197-226. Subsequent references
in the text are to this work.
32. "By his manner of judging, the person discloses to an extent also
himself, what kind of person he is, and this disclosure, which is involuntary,
gains in validity to the degree that it has liberated itselffrom
merely individual idiosyncrasies" (ibid., p. 223). In other words, even
personal qualities are potentially nonsubjective, insofar as they establish
the possibility of an intersubjectively valid "company" of like-judging
persons.
33. Arendt here invokes Cicero's declaration that he would prefer to
go astray with Plato than to possess the truth with the Pythagoreans,
which she interprets as meaning that he would even accept being led
astray from the truth for the sake of "Plato's company and the company
of his thoughts" (ibid., pp. 224-25). In an unpublished lecture Arendt
adds to this a similar statement by Meister Eckhart, that he would much
rather be in Hell together with God than in Paradise without Him, and
she also quotes The Will to Power, no. 292, where Nietzsche says that it is
a denaturation of morality "to separate the act from the agent, to direct
hatred or contempt against 'sin' [the deed instead of the doer], to believe
that an action could be good or evil in itself. ... In every action, all
depends upon who does it, the same 'crime' may be in one case the
highest privilege, and in another the stigma [of evil]. Actually, it is the
self-relatedness of him who judges that interprets an action or rather its
actor with respect to ... resemblance or nonaffinity [between the agent
and this judge]" (see Nietzsche, The Will to Power, ed. Walter Kaufmann,
trans. W. Kaufmann and R.J. Hollingdale [New York: Random House,
1967], p. 165). This unpublished lecture was part of a lecture course
Arendt gave at the New School for Social Research: "Some Questions of
Moral Philosophy," Fourth Session, March 24, 1965 (Lecture notes,
Hannah Arendt Papers, Library of Congress, Container 40, pp.
024637,024651-024652); the interpolations in the Nietzsche quotation
are Arendt's. Cf. Kant Lectures, p.74, above. For further discussion of
the concept "choice of company," see section 6 of this essay, pp. 112-14,
below.
34. Arendt, "Truth and Politics," in Between Past and Future, pp.
227-64. Subsequent references in the text are to this work.
35. Lecture course at the New School: "Some Questions of Moral
Philosophy," Fourth Session, March 24, 1965; also given as the final
Notes to Pages 108-13 167
lecture of "Basic Moral Propositions" at the University of Chicago
(Hannah Arendt Papers, Library of Congress, Container 40, p.
024648).
36. Ibid.
37. Hannah Arendt, On Revolution (New York: Viking Press, 1965), p.
231.
38. Ibid., pp. 231-32.
39. Thinking, p. 192.
40. Ibid.
41. Arendt, "Thinking and Moral Considerations," Social Research 38
(1971):417-46.
42. Ibid., pp. 445-46. Cf. Thinking, pp. 192-93.
43. "The Concept of History," Between Past and Future, p. 52.
44. "The Crisis in Culture," Between Past and Future, p. 218.
45. Ibid., p. 210.
46. Ernst Vollrath, "Hannah Arendt and the Method of Political
Thinking," Social Research 44 (1977): 163-64.
47. Arendt, "Thinking and Moral Considerations," p. 418.
48. For an explicit statement of method in connection with her work
on totalitarianism, see Arendt's exchange with Eric Voegelin in "The
Origins of Totalitarianism," Review of Politics 25 (1953): 68-85.
49. See "The Concept of History," Between Past and Future, p. 64.
50. Course at the New School: "Some Questions of Moral Philosophy,"
First Session (Hannah Arendt Papers, Library of Congress, Container
40, pp. 024585, 024583). See also Arendt, "Personal Responsibility
under Dictatorship," The Listener, August 6, 1964, p. 205.
51. Course at Chicago: "Basic Moral Propositions," Seventeenth Session
(Hannah Arendt Papers, Library of Congress, Container 41, p.
024560).
52. "Some Questions of Moral Philosophy," Fourth Session (Hannah
Arendt Papers, Library of Congress, Container 40, p. 024651). See also
"Eichmann in Jerusalem: An Exchange of Letters," TheJew as Pariah, p.
251, where Arendt says that, whereas thought tries to reach some
depth, to go to the roots, "evil is never 'radical,' it is only extreme, and it
possesses neither depth nor demonic dimension. It can overgrow and
lay waste a world precisely because it spreads like a fungus on the
surface. [The moment thought concerns itself with evil, it is frustrated
because there is nothing.-R. B.] Only the good has depth and can be
radical."
53. For a convincing illustration of Arendt's banality-of-evil thesis,
see Henry T. Nash, "The Bureaucratization of Homicide," in Protest and
Survive, ed. E. P. Thompson and Dan Smith (Harmondsworth: Penguin,
1980), pp. 62-74.
54. See section 2 of this essay; see also Arendt, "Tradition and the
Modern Age," in Between Past and Future, pp. 17-40.
168 NOTES TO PAGES 114-24
55. Hannah Arendt: The Recuoery of the Public World, ed. Hill, pp.
311-15.
56. Arendt, "Thinking and Moral Considerations," p. 445; Thinking,
p.192.
57. j. Glenn Gray, "The Abyss of Freedom-and Hannah Arendt," in
Hannah Arendt: The Recuoery of the Public World, ed. Hill, p. 225.
58. Willing, p. 217. The quote from Augustine is from the City of God
12.20.
59. Postscriptum to Thinking, p. 4, above.
60. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgment, trans. jam{!s Creed
Meredith (Oxford: At the Clarendon Press, 1952), Introduction, sec.
IV. .
61. Ibid. Cf. Kant'sLogic, trans. R. Hartman and W. Schwarz, Library
of Liberal Arts (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1974), pp. 135-36, pars.
81-84.
62. Cf. the concepts of potential consensus and "ideal speech situation"
in the recent work of jiirgen Habermas. Habermas himself actually
acknowledges a considerable debt to Arendt's appropriation of
Kant's idea of judging. See his "On the German-Jewish Heritage," Telos
44 (1980): 127-31, where he describes Arendt's "rediscovery of Kant's
analysis of Urteilslrraft or judgment for a theory of rationality" as an
"achievement of fundamental importance" (p. 128). It is "a first approach
to a concept of communicative rationality which is built into
speech and action itselP' and, as such, points in the direction of "a
project of an ethics of communication which connects practical reason
to the idea of a universal discourse" (pp. 130--31).
63. Arendt, "The Concept of History," Between Past and Future, p.53.
64. Kant, Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View, trans. Mary
Gregor (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1974), p. 12.
65. Cf. Stanley Cavell's essay "Aesthetic Problems of Modern Philosophy"
in his book Must We Mean What We Say? (Cambridge, Eng.: At the
University Press, 1976), pp. 73-96.
66. Edmund Burke, "On Taste: Introductory Discourse," A Philosophical
Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautifu~ in
The Writings and Speeches of Edmund Burke, Beaconsfield edition, 12 vols.
(London: Bickers & Son, n.d.), 1 :79.
67. Critique of Judgment, § 19.
68. Ibid., §§ 20--22.
69. Ibid., § 22.
70. Kant, On History, ed. Lewis White Beck, trans. L W. Beck, R. E.
Anchor, and E. L. F~ckenheim, Library of Liberal Arts (Indianapolis:
Bobbs-Merrill, 1963), pp. 143-44 ("An Old Question Raised Again").
71. Ibid., pp. 145-46.
72. The philosophical historian draws attention to those worldhistorical
phenomena that are "not to be forgotten" and thus are capable
Notes to Pages 124-27 169
of being "recalled on any favourable occasion by the nations which
would then be roused to a repetition of new efforts of this kind" (ibid.,
p. 147)-precisely what Arendt herself does with her own historical
study of revolutions!
73. Kant, Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime, trans.
john T. Goldthwait (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1960), pp.
74-75.
74. See Thinking, p. 76, where Arendt says that judgment, "be it
aesthetic or legal or moral, presupposes a definitely 'unnatural' and
deliberate withdrawal from involvement and the partiality of immediate
interests as they are given by my position in the world and the part I
play in it." See also Thinking, chap. 11, "Thinking and Doing," pp.
92-97; and Kant Lectures, pp. 55 ff. On the conflict in Kant "between
the principle according to which you should act and the principle according
to which you judge" (Kant Lectures, p. 48), see Kant Lectures,
p. 44, where Arendt says that the general standpoint of the spectator
"does not tell one how to act," and also p. 53, where she remarks
that the "insights of aesthetic and reflective judgment have no practical
consequences for action." The comparison of thinking and judging in
chapter 11 of Thinking makes clear Arendt's own position: although
judging spectators do not share the solitude or self-sufficiency of philosophers,
judgment, like thinking, presupposes withdrawal: "It does
not leave the world of appearances but retires from active involvement
in it to a privileged position in order to contemplate the whole" (Thinking,
p. 94). The spectators are "disengaged from the particularity
characteristic of the actor" (ibid.). This passage gives no indication that
Arendt had any intention of trying to overcome the "clash .between
joint, participating action ... and reflecting, observing judgment" (ibid:,
p. 95). She would, I think, have followed Kant in seeing action and
judgment as governed by two distinct principles, which cannot be
bridged.
75. Kant Lectures, pp. 61-62.
76. Thinking, pp. 95-96.
77. "On the Common Saying: 'This May be True in Theory, but it
does not Apply in Practice,''' in Kant's Political Writings, ed. Hans Reiss
(Cambridge, Eng.: At the University Press, 1970), p. 88.
78. Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View, trans. Gregor, p. 90.
79. Burke, "On Taste," A Philosophical Enquiry, in Writings and Speeches
of Edmund Burke, Beaconsfield ed., vol. I, p. 88 ..
80. Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and the Sublime, ed.
Goldthwait, pp. 66-67.
81. Kant Lectures, p. 25, above.
82. Ibid., p. 77.
83. See On Revolution, pp. 265-66. To this list of examples, perhaps
another may now be added: the Polish workers' revolt of 1980--81.
170 NOTES TO PAGES 127-36
84. Ari Willner, Jewish Combat Group, Warsaw Ghetto, December,
1942 (quoted in an article by Leopold Unger in the International Herald
Tribune).
85. Arendt, The Human Condition (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1958), pp. 5, 324-25; Thinking, p.6.
86. For a persuasive critique of Arendt's interpretation of Ka~t on
the autonomy of judging, see Barry Clarke, "Beyond 'The Banality of
Evil,'" Britishjournal of Political Science 10 (1980): 417-39.
87. These three quotations are from Thinking, pp. 69, 70, and Postscriptum
to Thinking, p. 4, above.
88. Willing, p. 217.
89. Kant Lectures, p. 13, above. Cf. Hannah Arendt: The Recovery of the
Public World, ed. Hill, pp. 312-13.
90. Kant Lectures, p. 72; cf. p. 71. .
91. Arendt, "What is Freedom?" in Between Past and Future, p. 152.
92. See Thinking, pp. 169-71: "The autonomy of mental activities
... implies their being unconditioned .... Men, though they are
totally conditioned existentially, ... can mentally transcend all these
conditions, but only mentally, never in reality, or in cognition and knowledge,
by virtue of which they are able to explore the world's realness and
their own" (my italics).
93. See ibid., chap. 20, and Willing, Introduction and chap. 6.
94. Postscriptum to Thinking, p. 5,. above. On Weltgericht, see A. Kojeve,
"Hegel, Marx and Christianity," Interpretation 1(1970): 36. .
95. See Kant Lectures, pp. 76-77. Parenthetically, we may pOlDt out
the implicit corollary to this view: namely, that Aristotle, with his account
of practical judgment in the chapters on phronesis in Book VI of
the Nicomachean Ethics, is not a serious contender; only Hegel poses a
credible challenge to Kant.
96. Critique of judgment, §40.
97. Ibid., § 19.
98. Kan(s Political Writings, ed. Reiss, pp. 70-71, 73, 80,86, 105, 122.
99. Critique of judgment, Introduction, sec. I; Foundations of the
Metaphysics of Morals, trans. Lewis White Beck, Library of Liberal Arts
(Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1959), pp. 33 ff.
100. See Critique of judgment,§53.
101. Ibid., §§ 13-14.
102. E.g., ibid., §§ 12, 40-41. Arendt never seriously considers what
force is to be given to this "a priori," nor does she really confront the
question of the nature of the judging community to which we are supposed
to appeal (a priori). Arendt insists on translating Kant's "allgemein"
as "general" rather than "universal" (see Notes to the Kant Lectures,
note 155, p. 163, above); however, this still does not mean that we relate
our judgment to any specifiable human community, with all the particularity
that would entail.
Notes to Pages 136-43 171
103. Critique of judgment, §40: we weigh our judgment, as it were,
"with the collective reason of humanity" (die gesammte Menschenvernunft).
104. In denying cognitive status to reflective judgment, Arendt is
quite clearly following Kant, Critique of Judgment, §§ I, 38 (Remark): "the
judgment of taste is not a cognitive judgment."
105. Jiirgen Habermas, "Hannah Arendt's Communications Concept
of Power," Social Research 44 (1977): 22-23.
106. Kant does discuss such issues in his Anthropology (e.g., §§42-44).
Perhaps an attempt to apply Kant's concept of taste to politics could
derive more profit from the insights of Kant's "pragmatic anthropology,"
for there we find an account of taste considerably different from
that elaborated in the third Critique. See Anthropology from a Pragmatic
Point of View, §§ 67-71.
107. "Some Questions of Moral Philosophy," Fourth Session (Hannah
Arendt Papers, Library of Congress, Container 40, pp. 024642,
024645). The phrase I have italicized is a penciled-in addition to the
typescript of the lecture.
108. In his essay "Hannah Arendt's Communications Concept of
Power" (p. 24), Jiirgen Habermas concludes that Arendt "retreats"
from "her own concept of a praxis, which is grounded in the rationality
of practical judgment."
109. Kant Lectures, p. 10, above.
11 O. Arendt, "The Crisis in Culture," Between Past and Future, p. 221.
111. Thinking, p. 40.
112. Lecture course at Chicago on "Kant's Political Philosophy," Fall,
1964 (Hannah Arendt Papers, Library of Congress, Container 41, p.
032272).
113. Ibid., p. 032259.
114. See Thinking, pp. 236--37, n. 83: "my chief reservations about
Kant's philosophy concern precisely his moral philosophy, that is, the
Critique of Practical Reason." Arendt does not explore points of contact
between the second and third Critiques, nor does she discuss the
possibility that deficiencies in his moral philosophy are reproduced in
his aesthetics and philosophy of politics.
115. "Freedom and Politics," in Freedom and Serfdom, ed. Hunold, p.
207. .
116. Kant Lectures, p. 7, above.
117. Ibid., pp. 31, 33.
118. Ibid., pp. 9, 19.
119. Martin Heidegger, Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics, trans. J. S.
Churchill (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1962), p. xxv.
120. The Human Condition, p. 235, n. 75.
121. "Truth and Politics," Between Past and Future, p. 262. Cf. Arendt,
"Isak Dinesen 1885-1963," Men in Dark Times (London: Cape, 1970), p.
107.
172 NOTES TO PAGES 143-53
122. On hope, see Kant Lectures, pp. 46, 50, 54, 56.
123. Diogenes Laertius, The Lives of Famous Philosophers 8. 8. This
passage, used as the epigraph to section 7 of this essay, is cited in
Thinking, p. 93, and in the Kant Lectures, p. 55, above. Arendt also
refers to it in the transcript of discussions "On Hannah Arendt" in
Hannah Arendt: The Recovery of the Public World, ed. Hill, p. 304.
124. See Thinking, pp. 211-12.
125. Kant Lectures, p. 77.
126. Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morals, 3. 2S, in Basic
Writings of Nietzsche, trans. and ed. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Modern
Library, 1968), p. 59S.
127. Oedipus at COWnus, lines 1224 ff.; The Birth of Tragedy, sec. 3,Basic
Writings of Nietzsche, trans. and ed. Kaufmann, p. 42. See also Kant
~ctures, p. 23.
128. On Revolution, p. 285.
129. Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science, no. 341, in The Portable
Nietzsche, trans. and ed. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Viking Press,
1968), pp. 101-2.
130. Critique of jud~ent, §S3, note. Cf. Kant Lectures, p. 24.
131. Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Third Part: "On the Vision and the Riddle,"
The Portable Nietzsche, trans. and ed. Kaufmann, p. 270.
132. Ibid., pp. 269-70.
1,33. Thinking, p. 204.
134. Ibid., p. 207.
135. Ibid., pp. 207, 209.
136. Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Second Part: "Oli Redemption," The Portable
Nietzsche, trans. and ed. Kaufman, pp. 251-52.
137. Ibid., p. 251; my italics.
138. Willing; p. 166.
139. Ibid., p. 168.
140. Ibid., p. 170.
141. The Will to Power, no. 70S, ed. Kaufmann (see n. 33, above), p.
377 (my italics). Again, Nietzsche seems to echo a thought already present
in Kant, who said, "It will always remain bewildering ... that the
earlier generations seem to carry on their burdensome business only for
the sake of the later ... and that only the last should have the good
fortune to dwell in the [completed] building" ("Idea for a Universal
History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose," Third Thesis; quoted by Arendt
in "The Concept of History," Between Past and Future, p. 83).
142. The Wilt to Power, no. 708, ed. Kaufmann, p. 37S.
143. Willing, p. 172.
144. Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Fourth Part: "The Drunken Song," sec.
11, The Portable Nietzsche, trans. and ed. Kaufmann, p. 436.
145. Kant Lectures, p. 77, above.
146. Willing, p.217.
147. The Human Condition, p. 322.
Notes to Pages 154-56 173
148. See "Understanding and Politics," Partisan Review 20 (1953):
388-89.
149. Arendt's lecture course at Chicago, "Kant's Political Philosophy,"
Fall, 1964 (Hannah Arendt Papers, Library of Congress, Container 41,
pp. 03228S, 032295). The same phrase is also cited by her in "Basic
Moral Propositions" (Container 41, p. 024560), where it is related to
dilectores mundi: "the love of the world constitutes the world for me, fits
me into it," in the sense that it determines "to whom and to what I
belong." Cf. Willing, pp. 104, 144. See also the discussion of love in
chapters 10-12 of Willing.
150. Cf. Augustine's Confessions 11. 14: Of the three'divisions of time,
"how can two, the past and the future, be, when the past no longer is and
the future is not yet? As for the present, if it were always present and
never moved on to become the past, it would not be time but eternity.
If, therefore, the present is time only by reason of the fact that it moves
on to become the past, how can we say that even the present is, when the
reason why it is is that it is not to be? In other words, we cannot rightly say
what time is, except by reason of its impending state of not being." See
also the meditation on mortality in Confessions 4. 4 ff.
15,1. "A certain emperor always bore in mind the transitoriness of all
things so as not to take them too seriously and to live at peace among them.
To me, on the contrary, everything seems far too valuable to be so
fleeting: I seek an eternity for everything: ought one to pour the most
precious salves and wines into the sea?-My consolation is that everything
that has been is eternal: the sea will cast it up again" (Nietzsche,
The Will to Power, no. lq65, ed. Kaufmann, pp. 547-48).
152. The Human Condition, p. 199.
153. See Arendt's essay, "The Crisis in Culture," in Between Past and
Future, p. 218. The concern with "imperishability" actually goes back to
Arendt's very first book, on Saint Augustine's concept oflove, published
in 1929. Her work on judging would thus have closed a circle of reflection
dating back to the very start of her philosophical career.
154. See Walter Benjamin, "Theses on the Philosophy of History," in
Illuminations, ed. H. Arendt, trans. Harry Zohn (New York: Harcourt,
Brace & World, 1968), pp. 255-66. The idea of our fragmented relation
to the past is expressed in Benjamin'S concept of jetztzeit, which he
discusses in several of his theses. For example, in the fourteenth thesis
Benjamin describes how Robespierre brought ancient Rome to life by
blasting it out of the homogeneous continuum of history. The French
Revolution "evoked ancient Rome the way fashion evokes costumes of
the past" (p. 263). For Arendt's commentary on this aspect of Benjamin's
thought, see her Introduction to Illuminations, pp. 38-39 and
50-51.
155. Gershom Scholem, On' jews and judaism in Crisis (New York:
Schocken, 1976), pp. 234-35. For Arendt's own commentary on Benjamin's
ninth thesis on the philosophy of history, see Illuminations, ed.
174 NOTES TO PAGE 156
Arendt, pp. 12-13. It would be impossible here to explore the many
points of affinity between Arendt and Benjamin. Let us note merely
that Arendt's appeal to Cato's image of the historian who sides with the
defeated cause is in close accord with the spirit of Benjamin's seventh
thesis. See Theodor Adorno, Minima Moralia, no. 98 (London: New
Left Books, 1974), p. 151.
156. Illuminations, ed. Arendt, p. 256.
157. Walter Benjamin, "Conversations with Brecht," in Ernst Bloch et
al., Aesthetics and Politics (London: New Left Books, 1977), p. 91. The
story by Kafka, for which Benjamin offers this exegesis, is "The Next
Village." |