October 14, 2016, marked the 110th anniversary of Hannah Arendt's birth, the renowned 20th-century political philosopher. To celebrate this occasion, a complete translation of her famous interview with Günter Gaus is presented below.
Hannah Arendt: The most important thing for me is understanding. For me, writing is also part of this process of understanding.
Hannah Arendt (born October 14, 1906, in Hanover – died December 4, 1975, in New York) is one of the most influential political thinkers of the 20th century. Having studied philosophy under Martin Heidegger and Karl Jaspers, she confronted the darkness and oppression of anti-Semitism, racism, and fascist dictatorship. As a courageous citizen and intellectual with a strong sense of judgment and responsibility, she devoted herself to thinking about politics and society, presenting ideas in a range of diverse works that continue to inspire and provoke debate in the field of political thought. Although she did not establish a particular school of thought, Arendt is a thinker whose works are highly connective, meaning they serve as a starting point for dialogue and invite further exploration. She often said, "I want to understand." She was astonished by the horrific events of her time—a kind of astonishment that is the foundation of philosophical inquiry. Her philosophy was critical, aimed at awakening and strengthening the power of judgment. What terrified her most was the kind of naïveté that leads to crime—a naïveté that hides behind titles, ranks, and official positions and is characterized by an inability to comprehend the suffering one inflicts on others through one's actions and judgments.
Günter Gaus’s Interview with Hannah Arendt
On October 28, 1964, the following interview between Hannah Arendt and Günter Gaus—a well-known journalist at the time who would later hold an important position in Willy Brandt’s government—was broadcast on West German television. The transcript was published a year later and soon translated into several languages.
The interview with Hannah Arendt was part of a television series titled Zur Person (To the Person), which introduced the lives and thoughts of prominent political figures and was created by Günter Gaus.
Gaus’s interview with Arendt, aside from its significance in the study of Arendt, is considered one of the classic interviews in television media. In this interview, there is no “action,” no play with camera angles or lighting; the focus is entirely on the interviewee and her words. This is an interview meant for listening and reflection, not for entertainment or for being absorbed in lighting, sound, or editing techniques.
Interview video (in German)
Günter Gaus: Ms. Hannah Arendt, you are the first woman to be introduced in this series. The first woman who, according to a common belief, works in a field that is very male-dominated: you are a philosopher. With this preliminary remark, let me proceed to the first question: despite all the admiration and respect directed toward you, do you perceive your role as something special – or, by raising this issue, are we touching upon the question of [women's] freedom, a question that, as a free woman, may never have existed for you?
Arendt: I think I need to object right here. I am not a member of the circle of philosophers. My profession, if one could speak of such a thing, is political theory. I neither feel that I am a philosopher nor do I believe, as you kindly suggested, that I am accepted within the circle of philosophers. But to answer the other question raised in your opening remarks: you mentioned that philosophy is often regarded as a male profession. But it does not have to remain a male profession! It is possible that one day we will have a woman philosopher too...
Gaus: I personally consider you a philosopher...
Arendt: Well, there’s nothing I can do about that, but I don’t think of myself as a philosopher. I believe I said goodbye to philosophy once and for all. As you know, I studied philosophy, but that doesn’t mean I’ve remained within the realm of philosophy.
Gaus: I’d like to hear more specifically from you what the difference is between political philosophy and your work as a political theorist. Where, in your view, does this difference lie? When I think of some of your work, I’m inclined to categorize you as a philosopher, unless you’d be kind enough to offer a clear definition of this distinction.
Arendt: The difference lies in the very issue at hand. The term “political philosophy,” which I avoid using, is heavily burdened by tradition. When I talk about these things, whether in an academic setting or not, I always point out the deep tension between philosophy and politics. That is, between humans as thinking beings (or philosophers) and humans as acting beings. This tension doesn’t exist, for example, in natural philosophy. The philosopher, like anyone else, can be objective and detached regarding nature, and when he speaks, he believes he is speaking for all humanity and on behalf of humankind. But he cannot be objective and detached in politics. Not since Plato!
Gaus: I understand.
Arendt: There’s a certain hostility toward all politics among most philosophers, with only a few rare exceptions. Kant is one of those exceptions. This hostility is of great importance to this issue as a whole, because it isn’t a personal matter; it’s embedded in the nature of the topic itself.
Gaus: Do you refrain from participating in this hostility because you believe it would interfere with your work?
Arendt: Exactly, I don’t want to have any part in that hostility! I want, in a sense, to look at politics through the clear lens of philosophy.
Gaus: I see. Let’s now turn to the question of women’s freedom. Has this issue been a concern for you?
Arendt: Yes, of course. The issue itself has always existed. And in this regard, I’ve always had an old-fashioned [altmodisch] mindset. I’ve always thought there are certain jobs that don’t suit women, or, if I may say, don’t become them. For example, it’s not very appealing for a woman to give orders to subordinates. If she wants to retain her femininity, she should try to avoid such a position. But I don’t know if I’m right about this. I have more or less unconsciously—or perhaps I should say, more or less consciously—lived by this rule. This issue has never been a concern for me personally. To put it simply, I’ve always done exactly what I wanted. I never worried whether a task was “masculine” or not. It simply never crossed my mind.
Gaus: Your work—which we’ll certainly go into in detail shortly—largely involves understanding the conditions under which political action takes shape. Do you hope, through this work, to have a broad impact and influence, or do you believe that such influence is no longer possible in this era, or does it not matter to you at all?
Arendt: You know, that’s not a simple question. If I’m to be completely honest...
Gaus: Please do.
Arendt: ...when I’m working, I’m not concerned with what effect my work will have on others.
Gaus: And once the work is finished?
Arendt: Yes, then it’s finished. And all these things do matter to me, but considering that no one really knows themselves, you shouldn’t analyze yourself. You shouldn’t do what I’m doing with you right now. But all things considered, I’d say the most important thing for me is understanding. For me, writing is part of that process of understanding.
Gaus: Does writing help you to understand better?
Arendt: Yes, because some things become formulated and clarified. If I had a very good memory and could retain all my thoughts, I doubt I would write anything at all—I’m aware of my own laziness. What matters most to me is the process of thinking itself. As long as I can think clearly about something, I am personally satisfied. And if I can accurately express my thought process in writing, then I am also satisfied. You asked about the effect of my work on others. If I may be ironic, that’s a very “male” question. Men always want to have a strong impact and influence, and I see this from the outside. Do I see myself as influential? No. I want to understand. And if others understand something the way I do, it gives me a sense of satisfaction, a feeling of being at home or being among kindred spirits.
Gaus: Do you write easily? Do you find it easy to formulate your ideas?
Arendt: Sometimes, yes; sometimes, no. But usually, I never begin to write until I can, in a sense, dictate it to myself.
Gaus: Until you’ve thought through all aspects of it?
Arendt: Yes. Once I know what I want to write. I usually write everything at once, and my writing process goes quickly because it really only depends on my typing speed.
Gaus: Your interest in political theory, political action, and political behavior is central to your work today. In this context, something I found particularly interesting in your correspondence with Professor Scholem stood out. There, you wrote—if I may quote from your letter—that “in your youth, you had no interest in politics or history.” Ms. Arendt, as a Jew, you emigrated from Germany in 1933. At the time, you were twenty-six years old. Was your interest in politics—the end of your indifference to politics and history—related to these events?
Arendt: Yes, of course. We could discuss this at length. Indifference was no longer possible in 1933. It wasn’t even possible before that.
Gaus: Even for you?
Arendt: Yes, certainly. I followed the newspapers closely. I had opinions and viewpoints, although I wasn’t a member of any party, nor did I feel it necessary to be. Ultimately, by 1931, I had come to a firm belief that the Nazis would come to power. And I always discussed this with others. But I didn’t have any systematic engagement with these issues until I emigrated.
■ Gauss: I have another question on this topic. If by 1931 you had come to the conclusion that the Nazis would definitely come to power, wouldn’t you have felt the need to do something to prevent it? Join a party? Or did such an action no longer hold any meaning for you?
Arendt: Personally, I didn’t think it would make any difference. But if I had thought that... well, it’s hard to say now, looking back on that time... maybe I would have done something. But I thought there was no hope left.
■ Gauss: Is there a specific event you recall that marked your turn toward political matters?
Arendt: Yes, I can say February 27, 1933. The burning of the Reichstag and the illegal arrests that followed that same night. Those so-called “protective arrests.” People were sent to Gestapo dungeons or labor camps. What began then was monstrous and horrific. But later, it was overshadowed by subsequent events. That was a direct shock for me. From that moment on, I felt a sense of responsibility. That is, I no longer believed that one could stand aside and not intervene. I tried to help in various ways. But the event that led me to decide to leave Germany, I have never spoken of—it was a rather trivial event... the event that forced me to leave Germany... although I had already planned to emigrate. I had immediately understood that Jews could no longer stay in this country. I had no intention of fleeing to corners of Germany as a second-class citizen. In any case... I also thought things would get worse and worse. In the end, I did not leave the country peacefully or quietly. In fact, this departure brought a certain satisfaction for me. I’ll tell you why. It gave me an immediate feeling of satisfaction. I thought I had done at least something. At least I wasn’t innocent! No one could say that! The Zionist organization gave me the opportunity to leave Germany. I knew some of the high-ranking members of this organization personally, and above all, the then-leader of the organization, Kurt Blumenfeld, was a close friend. But I wasn’t a Zionist. And they didn’t try to make me one. In a sense, I was somewhat influenced by them. Especially in terms of the self-criticism Zionists promoted among Jews. I was impressed and drawn to it. But politically, I had no connection to Zionism. In 1933, Blumenfeld and someone else whom you wouldn’t know came to me and said they wanted to compile a collection of anti-Semitic phrases used in everyday situations. Phrases spoken by teachers, in business organizations, various clubs, or professional journals. Things people abroad had no knowledge of. Organizing something like this meant getting involved in what the Nazis called “terror propaganda.” No Zionist could do this. If they were caught, the entire organization would be at risk. They asked me if I would be willing to do it. And I said: Of course, with pleasure. I thought the idea was brilliant. And I felt like I was doing something useful.
■ Gauss: Is that why you were arrested?
Arendt: Yes, I was identified and exposed. But I was very lucky to be released after eight days. I befriended the officer who arrested me. He was a decent man. He had been promoted from the criminal police to the political division. He had no idea what to do with me. He said himself, “Usually, when I arrest someone, I just look at their file and I know what to do. But what am I supposed to do with you?”
■ Gauss: Did this happen in Berlin?
Arendt: Yes, it was in Berlin. Unfortunately, I had to lie to him. I had to protect the organization. I wove long stories for him. He even said, “I arrested you, I’ll release you myself. Don’t get a lawyer. Jews these days don’t have a penny to spare. Save your money.” Meanwhile, the organization had arranged for a lawyer for me. But I turned down this lawyer. Because the officer who arrested me had an open and honest face. I thought it was better to trust him than a lawyer who was also afraid.
■ Gauss: Then you left Germany?
Arendt: Yes, of course. But I had to cross the border illegally. I had to leave the country covertly.
■ Gauss: In the correspondence we mentioned earlier, you dismiss Scholem’s warning as unfounded. He had said that you must always think in terms of solidarity with the Jewish people. And you responded, “Being Jewish is for me one of the self-evident, unquestionable facts of my life. I have never wanted to change any of these facts, not even in my childhood.” In other words, you didn’t feel the need to question your place. I’d like to ask you some questions about this. You were born in 1906 in Hanover to a family with a father who was an engineer, and you grew up in Königsberg. Do you remember what it meant to be a child in a Jewish family in pre-war Germany?
Arendt: I can’t give a straightforward answer on behalf of everyone. I can only speak for myself. Do you want me to speak generally or about my own childhood?
■ Gauss: First, please tell us about your own personal memories.
Arendt: In my family, I had no awareness that I was Jewish. My mother was not religious at all.
■ Gauss: Your father had also passed away when you were young?
Arendt: Yes, all of this seems very strange. My grandfather was the leader of the “Liberal Jews” association in Königsberg. I was born into one of the old families of Königsberg. In childhood, until I was still a little girl, I had never heard the word “Jew.” The first time I encountered it was through anti-Semitic remarks. Phrases not worth repeating—things kids said in the streets. That’s what clued me in.
■ Gauss: Was it shocking to you?
Arendt: No.
■ Gauss: Did it make you feel special?
Arendt: That’s a different matter. It wasn’t shocking. I just thought to myself, “Well, that’s how it is.” But did I feel special? Yes, I felt that way. But I can’t explain why I felt that way.
■ Gauss: How?
Arendt: How did I feel special? Objectively, I think this feeling was tied to being Jewish. In childhood, as I grew a little older, I realized I had a Jewish face. I looked different from others. And I was fully aware of it. But it didn’t make me feel inferior. That’s just how it was. And of course, my mother and maternal family were different from others too. There were many things that made my family special. Even compared to the families of other Jewish children. Or the families of children we were related to. For a child, it was difficult to understand the reason for this uniqueness. But it certainly played an important role in my life.
■ Gauss: Could you explain what made your home and family special? You said your mother never felt the need to explain to you that you were Jewish until you encountered it on the street. Had your mother lost her sense of being Jewish, that same feeling you claim in your letter to Scholem? Did it no longer play a role for her? Did she succeed in assimilating with non-Jews, or at least thought she had?
Arendt: My mother wasn’t a very theoretical person. I don’t think she had any particular idea about this. She was a member of the Social Democrat movement, part of the circle around the “Socialist Monthly,” just like my father. And this issue wasn’t relevant for her. Of course, she was Jewish. She never baptized me. And if she found out that I had ever denied being Jewish, she would have disowned me. That was unthinkable for her. There was simply no room for that. But naturally, in the 1920s, when I was young, this issue was far more significant than for my mother. And when my mother was young, due to external circumstances, it became much more important than it had been during her own childhood. For example, I never considered myself German in the sense of belonging to a nation as opposed to being a citizen. I remember having heated discussions on this topic several times, including with Jaspers in 1930. He’d say, “Of course, you’re German!” And I would reply, “You see that I’m not!” But it didn’t bother me. I didn’t feel inferior. That wasn’t the issue at all. Returning to what made my family unique... all Jewish children faced anti-Semitism. This anti-Semitism poisoned the spirit of many children. The difference in our family was that my mother always believed you shouldn’t let it bother you. You had to stand tall. My mother had told me that whenever one of my teachers made an anti-Semitic remark, often not directly about me but about other Jewish girls, I was to stand up immediately, leave the class in protest, go home, and report everything to her. Then my mother would write one of her famous long letters, and the matter was over for me. Another day, I’d be free from school, which was wonderful. But I wasn’t allowed to complain about my classmates’ comments. I had to learn to defend myself against other kids. These were never significant issues for me. They were simply behavioral rules through which I maintained my dignity. And at home, I was fully supported and protected by my family.
Gauss: You studied philosophy at the universities of Marburg, Heidelberg, and Freiburg under professors like Heidegger, Bultmann, and Jaspers, along with theology and Greek. Why did you choose these subjects?
Arendt: I’ve often thought about that myself. All I can say is that I always knew I would study philosophy. I knew it from the time I was 14.
Gauss: Why?
Arendt: I had read Kant. You might ask why I was reading Kant. For me, there were only two choices: to study philosophy or to end my life. But not because I didn’t love life. As I said before, I felt a need to understand. That need for understanding arose in me from an early age. And all the books were there in my family's library. I only had to pick them from the shelf and read them.
Gauss: Do you remember any other particular experiences in your reading, besides Kant?
Arendt: Yes, first and foremost, Psychology of Worldviews by Jaspers, which I believe was published in 1920. I was 14 at the time. Then I read Kierkegaard's works. And all of these came together.
Gauss: Is that how you came to theology?
Arendt: Yes, these subjects seemed to align as if they were part of one another. I had some misunderstandings about approaching this issue as a Jew. I didn’t know how to proceed. I had certain reservations that later resolved themselves naturally. But Greek was a different matter. I have always loved Greek poetry. Poetry has played a significant role in my life. That’s why I chose Greek as a secondary subject. It was the easiest choice because I was already reading Greek, right?
Gauss: Oh, yes. I’m impressed.
Arendt: Don’t exaggerate.
Gauss: Your intellectual talents were tested from a very young age. Did this ever set you apart from everyday relationships as a schoolgirl and student, perhaps in a painful way?
Arendt: Well, you know? If I had known that, it would have been just as you say. But I thought everyone was like this.
Gauss: And when did you realize you were mistaken?
Arendt: Very late. I’d rather not say how late; I’m embarrassed. I was incredibly naïve, partly due to my family’s way of upbringing. In our home, school grades were never discussed because it was considered vulgar and lowbrow. Any sort of ambition was seen as vulgar. This was never clear to me. Sometimes I experienced it as a sense of estrangement among people.
Gauss: And you thought this estrangement came from within yourself?
Arendt: Yes, absolutely. But it had nothing to do with talent. I never connected it to talent.
Gauss: Did this sense of isolation in your youth sometimes lead to a feeling of contempt or disdain for others?
Arendt: Yes, I did feel that way during my teenage years, when I was still very young. And I often suffered from having such a feeling of contempt towards others, knowing it was wrong and shouldn’t be that way.
Gauss: After leaving Germany in 1933, you went to Paris, where you started working for an organization that relocated Jewish youth to Palestine. Could you explain more about this?
Arendt: First of all, let me explain what this organization was. It was called Jugendaliyah [Youth Aliyah]. It was founded in Germany in 1932 by Recha Freier. Of course, its scope of activities expanded in 1933, and later in America, it was led by Henrietta Szold. Recha Freier in Germany... and Henrietta Szold in America and Palestine afterward... This organization brought Jewish youth between the ages of 13 and 17—and, of course, Jewish children—to Palestine. I didn’t work directly with the children... They came from East Germany and were settled in kibbutzim. That’s why I know these communities well.
Gauss: From the very beginning?
Arendt: Yes, right from the start. I had immense respect for this organization. The children there attended school and learned a profession. In France, refugee children were not allowed to learn a trade after finishing school at 14. For this reason, vocational training certificates were sent to France for refugee children. I sometimes smuggled Polish children as well. It was a way to help German refugees. I took great pleasure in this work. It was standard educational and social work. Large camps were set up outside the city to prepare children for life in Palestine. There, they had classes, learned agriculture, and gained weight. We had to provide them with new clothes and cook for them. But most importantly, we had to arrange identification papers for them, negotiate with their parents, and, most importantly, raise funds. That was largely my responsibility. I worked alongside French women. That was pretty much all we did. Would you like me to tell you what led me to this work?
Gauss: Yes, please.
Arendt: I had a completely academic background, and 1933 left a lasting impact on me, first positive, then negative—or perhaps I should say first negative, then positive. Nowadays, people often think that German Jews were shocked by Hitler’s rise to power in 1933. But as far as I and my generation are concerned, I can say that’s a strange misunderstanding. Naturally, Hitler’s rise to power was horrific and catastrophic. But it was a political, not personal, matter. Hitler didn’t have to come to power for us to understand that the Nazis were our enemies. Anyone who wasn’t extremely dense had known this for at least four years. That was obvious. We also knew that many Germans supported him. This fact couldn’t have surprised or shocked us in 1932.
Gauss: So, you mean the shock was because those events became more personal?
Arendt: Not even that. Of course, that was part of it. But, first and foremost, when someone emigrated, it became their personal fate. Secondly, some of our friends collaborated with the Nazis, or to put it better, they stood at the front. The personal issue was never the behavior of our enemies. Rather, it was the things our friends did. In the wave of collaboration and complicity, which at that time was voluntary and self-chosen, or at least not yet under the pressure of fear and terror, it seemed as though a kind of vacuum was forming around a person. I lived among a circle of intellectuals. But I also knew other people. Among intellectuals, complicity was the norm. But among the rest of the people, it was not. I will never forget this. I left Germany under the influence of this thought. Of course, my thinking was somewhat exaggerated. Never again. "I will never again get involved in intellectual work. I will never again have anything to do with intellectuals." I didn’t believe that Jewish intellectuals or German Jewish intellectuals would have behaved differently if the circumstances had been different. That wasn’t my view. I thought it was related to the profession itself. But today, I know better.
Gauss: Do you still believe that?
Arendt: Not to that extent. But I still think it is inherent in intellectuals to theorize about everything. No one has ever blamed someone for complicity because they supported their wife and children. The worst thing was that some people really believed in Hitler. Though only for a short time. Many of them believed for a very brief period. They had ideas about Hitler in their heads. Ideas that were, in some ways, quite fascinating. They wove extraordinary and bizarre thoughts about him: things beyond the ordinary, everyday level. It seemed grotesque to me. Today, I would say they became trapped by their own ideas. That’s what happened. At that time, I didn’t see the issue as clearly.
Gauss: Is that why it was so important for you to separate yourself from the dogmatic and extremist academic circles and begin social and practical work?
Arendt: Yes, that was the positive aspect of it. I understood something that I’ve expressed many times in the form of this sentence: When someone is attacked as a Jew, they must defend themselves as a Jew. Not as a German, or a citizen of the world, or a human being with human rights. But what could I do as a Jew? My clear intention was to work with an organization. For the first time. To work with the Zionists. Naturally, there was no other choice. Working with those who were also collaborators with the Nazis made no sense. I never had anything to do with them. I had already thought about the issue of Jews before. I had written my report on Walther Rathenau before leaving Germany.
Gauss: Was this report written for humanitarian organizations?
Arendt: Yes, I received financial aid from emergency relief organizations. One of those usual aids... I wrote the report with the idea that "I want to understand." There, I didn’t address my personal issues as a Jew. But belonging to Judaism had now become my own issue as well. It had become an absolutely political matter. I wanted to do practical work, just work for Jews. In this context, I was looking for work in France.
Gauss: Until 1940.
Arendt: Yes.
Gauss: Then, during World War II, you went to America. And now, you are a professor of political theory – not philosophy – at the University of Chicago, and you live in New York. Your husband, whom you married in 1940, is also a professor of philosophy in the U.S. The academic circle you joined after the 1933 disenchantment is now an international one. Do you ever miss the Europe that existed before Hitler? The Europe that no longer exists and will never exist again? How do you see today’s Europe? What is forever lost, and what remains?
Arendt: The Europe before Hitler? I have no longing for that. I can’t say I miss it. What remains? The language remains.
Gauss: And language means a lot to you?
Arendt: Yes, a lot. And I never allowed myself to lose my mother tongue. I have always kept a certain distance from the French language, which I speak fluently, and from English, which I now write in.
Gauss: That's what I wanted to ask you. Do you now write in English?
Arendt: Yes, I write in English. But I maintain a distance from it. You see, your mother tongue is very different from another language. I can put it simply. I know many German poems by heart. These poems are always in the back of my mind. I can never reach that same point in another language. There are things I say in German that I would never allow myself to say in English. Of course, sometimes I allow myself the freedom to say them in English, but generally, I’ve kept a distance from this language. The German language is the most fundamental thing that remains.
Gauss: Even in the darkest days?
Arendt: Always. So, what was I supposed to do? The German language hadn’t gone mad. There is no substitute for your mother tongue. People may forget their mother tongue; I’ve seen this happen. It’s true. There are people who speak a new language far better than I do. I still have a very strong accent in English, and I often don’t speak in a clear, idiomatic way. Others don’t make those mistakes. But in a language that is full of clichés... because the creativity and fertility one has in their mother tongue disappears when that language is forgotten.
Gauss: You mentioned cases where people forget their mother tongue. Do you think this is a result of suppression?
Arendt: Yes, in most cases, it is. I’ve seen this as a result of shock. 1933 wasn’t decisive. At least not for me. The decisive day was the day we heard about Auschwitz.
Gauss: What year was that?
Arendt: In 1943. And at first, we didn’t believe it. My husband and I would say that the Nazis could do anything. But we didn’t believe it because, militarily, it didn’t make sense. My husband was a military historian, and he was very knowledgeable about these things. He would say to me, "Don’t be naïve, don’t believe everything you hear." But six months later, we believed it. Because we had evidence. That was the real shock. You know, before that, we would say, well, everyone has enemies. It’s natural. Why shouldn’t a nation have enemies? Anything is possible. But this was different. It was as though suddenly a chasm had opened up. We thought everything else could be compensated for. In politics, there is more or less a compensation for everything. But not for this one. This should never have happened. I always say this. And I’m not just talking about the number of victims. I’m talking about the mass, industrial production of corpses, and things like that. There’s no need to go into the details. This should never have happened. Something occurred that we can never come to terms with. As for everything else that happened, I have to say, sometimes the conditions were very hard, we were very poor, we were being pursued and harassed, we had to flee. We had to find a way to survive. We were young. These things were even somewhat entertaining. I can’t deny that. But this was very different. Personally, I could accept everything else except this.
Gauss: Ms. Arendt, I would like to hear your opinion on the changes in Germany from 1945 to the present. Your important works have been published here. You’ve visited Germany many times since then.
Arendt: The first time I returned to Germany was in 1949. For a Jewish organization that worked to recover the cultural treasures of the Jews. Mainly books... I was the executive secretary of this organization. I returned to Germany with a lot of goodwill. My thinking after 1945 was this: whatever had happened in 1933, in light of the events that followed, didn’t really matter. Betrayal and the treason of friends, if I may say it very frankly...
Gauss: Something you experienced yourself?
Arendt: Of course. If someone truly became a Nazi and wrote an article on this, personally, I didn’t want them to remain loyal to me. In any case, I wouldn’t talk to them anymore, and I wouldn’t have anything to do with them. There was no need for them to maintain contact with me; as far as I was concerned, they no longer existed. Clearly. But not all of them were murderers. There were some among them who got caught in their own trap. They had no desire for the events that followed either. It seemed to me that there should have been room for connection exactly in the abyss of Auschwitz. This applied to many personal relationships as well. I would discuss this with others. I’m not very receptive or polite on this matter. I say exactly what comes to my mind. For many, things had somehow become clear. There were people who believed in the Nazis only for a few months. They were neither murderers nor traitors. They were the ones who fantasized about Hitler. But the biggest experience I had when returning to Germany, aside from the experience of recognition, which is the turning point of a Greek tragedy, and this could truly be experienced, the greatest experience was intense emotions. Of course, hearing the German language in the streets and alleys was indescribably pleasurable for me.
Gauss: Was this your reaction in 1949?
Arendt: More or less. And today, now that things have returned to normal, the distance I feel has grown even more than before, that is, more than when I was experiencing the situation with intense emotion.
■ Gauss: Because the situation here quickly returned to normal?
Arendt: Yes, and often to a normality with which I disagree. But I don't feel responsible for that anymore. Now I view it from the outside. This means I’m much less involved today than I was at that time. Perhaps it’s because of the passage of time. After all, it’s been 15 years since then.
■ Gauss: Yes, of course. But do you... if it can be expressed in words... describe it as being more indifferent than before?
Arendt: Perhaps more distant... Indifferent is a very strong word. But I do feel a distance.
■ Gauss: Mrs. Arendt, your book on the Eichmann trial in Jerusalem was published this fall in Germany. This book has caused a lot of debates and controversies in the United States, especially among Jews. You’ve said that the criticisms directed at your book are partly a result of misunderstandings, and partly influenced by an international political campaign. Critics were particularly upset that in the book you raised the question of how much responsibility the Jews themselves bore in the passive acceptance of the Holocaust or the role some Jewish organizations played in creating a sense of guilt among themselves. Your book raises questions regarding the portrayal of Hannah Arendt. If I may start here... does this criticism, that your book lacks love for the Jewish people, pain you?
Arendt: First of all, let me say very kindly that you yourself have been a victim of this campaign. I never accused the Jews of not resisting the persecution in my book. Someone else did that. Mr. Hausner from the Israeli Attorney General's office did that. I called those questions from the witnesses in Jerusalem foolish and cruel.
■ Gauss: Yes, I’ve read the book and I know this. But some of the criticisms referred to the tone in parts of your text.
Arendt: That’s a different issue. I can’t say anything about that. And I don’t want to say anything. If people think that these things can only be written in a tone of sorrow and lament... let me put it another way... I don’t want to get angry.
■ Gauss: Does this anger you?
Arendt: No, the issue is that some people overlook this. I can somewhat understand that. For example, I can still laugh. But I truly thought Eichmann was a fool. I read the transcript of his police interrogation. It was 3,600 pages in total. And I read it very carefully. And many times I burst out laughing. While reading, I would laugh out loud. These reactions upset others. And there’s nothing I can do about that... But one thing I know is that I could still laugh up to three minutes before my death. And they say this is the tone of my book. Yes, the tone is mostly sarcastic and ironic. That’s true. It’s completely correct. The tone is really a reflection of the author’s personality. But when people criticize me for accusing Jews, that’s a lie and malicious propaganda. It’s simply not true. But the tone is a criticism against me personally. I can’t do anything about that.
■ Gauss: Are you ready to endure this?
Arendt: Yes, gladly. What else can I do? I can’t say, “Oh, they misunderstood me. My heartfelt feeling was something else.” That would be ridiculous.
■ Gauss: Mrs. Arendt, I want to return to a personal remark you made. You’ve said: "I have never had any love for any ethnic or collective group. Whether German, French, or American. Not from the working class or any other group. I only love my friends. And I am incapable of any other kind of love. Furthermore, love for the Jews seems questionable to me because I am also Jewish." May I ask, in holding this belief, as firm and resolute as it may be, isn’t a politically active individual required to have a commitment to and allegiance with a group? A commitment that can sometimes be called love? Isn’t your approach politically barren?
Arendt: No, I think other political approaches are barren. We could discuss this in detail. Look, belonging to a group is a natural state. From the moment you are born, you always belong to a group. But belonging to a group in another sense, joining an organized group and being a member of it, is something entirely different. This kind of organization concerns your relationship with the world. In other words, those who organize themselves in this sense do so because of their shared interests and common purposes. They have the same interests and a shared relationship with the world. The direct and personal relationship, where love can be spoken of, often exists in real love. However, in a specific sense, this also exists in friendship. That’s where an individual is addressed directly, independent of their relationship with the world. That’s why members of opposing or contradictory organizations can still be personal friends. But if you mix these things up, if you bring love to the negotiation table, if I may speak frankly, I consider that lethal.
■ Gauss: Do you consider this non-political?
Arendt: Yes, I consider it otherworldly. And I regard it as a great catastrophe. I acknowledge that the Jewish people are a classic example of a group that has preserved itself in an otherworldly way for thousands of years.
■ Gauss: By "otherworldly," do you mean the world as the space for politics?
Arendt: Yes, the world as the space for politics and also...
Gauss: Were Jews a non-political people?
Arendt: Not absolutely. Jewish communities were political to a certain extent. Judaism is a national religion. However, the concept of the political was only perceived with very serious considerations. Jews, since they were homeless, suffered from a lack of belonging. Like all other despised peoples, this created a specific intensity among those who belonged. This intensity is something I am very familiar with. But when the State of Israel was founded, this situation changed. In fact, when the Jewish nation was established in Palestine.
Gauss: Was there something lost that you regret?
Arendt: Yes, the price of freedom is high. The Jewish humanity, with its sense of loss of homeland and homelessness, was something very fertile and productive. You are too young to remember it. It was very good. This standing outside all social bonds, the complete openness of the mind, which I experienced in my mother. She also applied it in her connection with the entire Jewish community. This had a great attraction. Freedom comes at a high price. In my speech in Lassing...
Gauss: In 1959.
Arendt: ... there I said that this humanity was never free and unburdened for more than five minutes. This, of course, happened to us as well.
Gauss: Would you have preferred it differently?
Arendt: No, freedom has a price that must be paid. But I cannot say that I would have liked to pay it myself.
Gauss: Mrs. Arendt, you have had a long and deep discussion with your former professor, Karl Jaspers, a conversation between two friends. What do you think was the greatest influence that Professor Jaspers had on you?
Arendt: Whenever Jaspers steps forward and starts to speak— I hope he hears this interview!— everything becomes clear. He has a special kind of lack of concern. A kind of unconditional confidence in his speech that I have never found in anyone else. Even when I was young, this had a profound effect on me. He has an understanding of freedom in relation to rationality that was completely unfamiliar to me before I went to Heidelberg. I knew nothing about it, even though I had read Kant. I saw this rationality in him, so to speak, in practice. I grew up as an orphan, and this was a kind of education for me. Of course, I don't want to hold him responsible for me. But if anyone could have made me sensible...
Gauss: That is, educated you?
Arendt: Yes, in that sense, it was Jaspers. This conversation today is, of course, completely different. It was the strongest experience for me after the war. That such a conversation could be possible. That one could speak like this.
Gauss: Let me ask the last question. In a tribute to Jaspers, you said that humanity is never achieved in isolation and loneliness, nor by presenting our works to the public. Rather, humanity can only be attained by those who place their life and personality in the public realm. What does this courage and risk-taking, with reference to Jaspers, mean to you?
Arendt: This is clear to me. One exposes oneself in the light of the public realm, in front of everyone, as a person. Although I believe that one should not consciously place oneself in the public realm and act, I know that in every action, a person is expressed through their deeds and speech. Speech itself is a form of action. This too is a form of risk. But another form is when we start something. We weave our threads into a net of relationships, never knowing what its consequences or results will be. We all need to be able to say: "Lord, forgive them, for they do not know what they do!" This applies to all actions. It is a simple and tangible truth because no one can know. This is what I mean by risk-taking. I say this risk-taking is only possible when there is trust in humanity. A trust that is difficult to conceptualize, but it is fundamental. Trust in what is human in all people. Otherwise, such risk-taking is impossible.
Sources:
- Full interview text in German
- English translation of the interview in the book Hannah Arendt: The Last Interview & Other Conversations, Brooklyn, NY: Melville House, 2013
- The Farsi Translation of the Interview Text