What results from this assertion of the primordial place of human action in history is an incredibly strong notion of human agency—stronger even than many readers already familiar with her work may realize. The difficulty understanding Arendt’s approach presents, however, is that she never explicitly formulated it, and therefore it must be gleaned from a number of disparate texts. As a result, the argument of this chapter must inevitably be somewhat long and dialectical. Pivotal will be understanding the central role her teacher and mentor Martin Heidegger played in the development of her approach, whose ideas she adopted but also heavily revised. It will therefore be necessary to discuss Heidegger’s contributions to Arendt’s ideas in some depth, before turning to her departures from him and their consequences. First, however, it will be helpful to have a sense of Arendt’s basic genealogical approach.
The Problem of Origins
A genealogy is a narrative that seeks to comprehend and explain a historic occurrence or circumstance by uncovering its origins or fundamental causes. This, of course, is an extraordinarily perplexing endeavor. How does one, after all, find these sources? What are the criteria for judging their relevance? On what authority does the genealogist make her claims? Perhaps unsurprisingly then, Arendt is often accused of contradicting herself or engaging in a mode of theorizing that was overly messy. This was to be expected: the chief goal of a genealogist is to pursue what Heidegger called aletheia, the fundamental experiences that lay at origins of history. Arendt was much more concerned with capturing those experiences adequately than she was with conceptual and logical consistency, which ultimately is more a consequence of the simplicity of our articulations of concepts than the authenticity of our explorations of lived experience.
The problem of genealogy seems to have been forced on Arendt by her analysis of the modern situation, and specifically what she felt was the complete failure of the tradition of political thought to cope with that situation. The tradition’s “moral, legal, theoretical, and practical standards,” she claimed, “together with its political institutions and forms of government, broke down spectacularly” in the first part of the twentieth century.5 As a result, we now lived in an era without a “testament,” or tradition, which “selects and names, which hands down and preserves, which indicates where the treasures are and what their worth is.”6 She believed Tocqueville captured the historical moment best when he wrote that “since the past has ceased to throw its light upon the future, the mind of man wanders in obscurity.”7 As a result, we are “confronted anew … by the elementary problems of human living-together.”8 The elemental nature of such problems must present unique difficulties for historical reflection. If tradition has failed, there is no authority to appeal to in order to establish the validity of historical claims and the significance of events. As a result, a historian in this era ultimately has nothing to guide her but her own judgment. This, to say the least, is a daunting prospect, and Arendt recognized the almost unavoidable presumptuousness in this era of the kind of historical reflections she pursued. She called this activity “thinking without a banister.”9 It was her way of indicating that the practice of genealogy was the only place genuine historical reflection could begin in our era. The historian must go back to the primordial experiences that preceded the tradition and awaken those experiences in order to make history intelligible again.
One of Arendt’s earliest discussions of her approach came in her reply to Eric Voegelin’s review of The Origins of Totalitarianism.10 Voegelin criticized her for incorporating value judgments too deeply into her analyses of totalitarianism, arguing that the “morally abhorrent and the emotionally existing will overshadow the essential.”11 Arendt rejected this criticism. She insisted that this qualitative aspect of the analysis formed “an integral part of it. This has nothing to do with sentimentality or moralizing, although, of course, either can become a pitfall for the author. If I moralized or became sentimental, I simply did not do well what I was supposed to do, namely, to describe the totalitarian phenomenon as occurring, not on the moon, but in the midst of human society.” She argued that, for instance, her use of “the image of Hell” to describe the Nazi death camps was not meant “allegorically, but literally … a description of the camps as Hell on earth is more ‘objective,’ that is, more adequate to their essence than statements of a purely sociological or psychological nature.”12 For Arendt, in other words, descriptions of historical phenomena cannot be separated from their qualitative context.13
She was significantly influenced in this approach by the “critical interpretation of the past” done by Heidegger and her close friend Walter Benjamin.14 Heidegger and Benjamin showed Arendt a mode of genealogical practice that could bring the original meaning of vital words in our language back to life through thought and imagination. They had argued that words carried behind them authentic experiences that often are lost with passage of time. These experiences could be revived and used to shed light on the past and, consequentially, also on the present world where tradition can no longer illuminate the most important aspects of lives.15 She called this mode of genealogy “pearl diving”:16
[Pearl diving] works with the “thought fragments” it can wrest from the past and gather about itself. Like a pearl diver who descends to the bottom of the sea … to pry loose the rich and the strange, the pearls and coral in the depths and to carry them to the surface, this thinking delves into the depths of the past.… What guides this thinking is the conviction that although the living is subject to the ruin of time, the process of decay is at the same time a process of crystallization … as though they waited only for the pearl diver who one day will come down to them and bring them up into the world of the living.17
For Arendt, the break in tradition meant that there was no longer an “Ariadne thread” that connected our political language to our commonsense experiences.18 Our political words were “empty shells,”19 which, because they had lost their moorings in authentic experiences, could be redefined at will so long as they served to support some “functionalized” theory.20 While pearl diving could not “retie the broken thread of tradition,” it could perhaps “discover the real origins of traditional concepts in order to distill from them anew their original spirit.”21
However, what distinguished Arendt was a determination to anchor her genealogical studies in an unprecedented assertion of the role of human agency in history. Arendt first articulated this agency-based approach in The Human Condition, arguing that historical “events,” which for her always involved the “deeds” of acting human beings, were “sui generis”22 and characterized by “absolute, objective novelty.”23 It is in the nature of events and deeds “to break through the commonly accepted and reach into the extraordinary, where whatever is true in common and everyday life no longer applies because everything that exists is unique and sui generis.”24 Arendt believed that the invention of the telescope was one such event. While many of the elements of the modern scientific outlook, such as the development of nominalist ontologies, the idea of an Archimedean thought experiment, and skepticism about the veracity of the senses preceded the telescope’s invention, it required an act of pure human natality—the uniquely human capacity to begin something new—to turn these disparate elements into a potent historical “event.” In other words, according to Arendt, there must be an act of sheer human spontaneous natality at the heart of all historical trends and processes. Such acts must appear from the viewpoint of historical causality as “miraculous.”25
Every act, seen from the perspective not of the agent but of the process in whose framework it occurs and whose automatism it interrupts, is a “miracle”—that is, something which could not be expected.… History, in contradistinction to nature, is full of events; here the miracle of accident and infinite improbability occurs so frequently that it seems strange to speak of miracles at all. But the reason for this frequency is merely that historical processes are created and constantly interrupted by human initiative, by the initium