Author: Olga Tokarczuk
Year: 2016 (2009)
Publisher: Wydawnictwo Literackie
Language: Polish
Polish
writer Olga Tokarczuk is one of a handful of writers that I was familiar with
before they were awarded the Nobel Prize in literature. I have also previously
shared some thoughts on her writing on my blog (see review of “Tales of the
Bizarre” from January 2020). One of her most famous titles, and for many Swedes
the entry point into her literary output, is “Prowadź swój pług przez kości
umarłych” (“Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead”). This novel presents a
narrative that intertwines themes of justice, accountability, and the nature of
existence, enveloped in a murder mystery, all through the perspective of
Janina, an eccentric and reclusive woman living in a remote village in the
Polish mountains.
At the
heart of Janina’s existence is a profound sense of alienation. She is an
outsider in the community, not just because of her eccentricities and lifestyle
but also because of her unconventional moral beliefs. Her deep empathy for
animals and her insistence on treating them as equals to humans, including
ascribing them the ability to plan and execute elaborate coordinated acts of
passion, create a worldview that sharply contrasts with the dominant
human-centric perspective of the other characters in the novel.
This
alienation can perhaps be understood as a defence mechanism in the sense that
it is a way of protecting herself from the disillusionment of a society that
has failed to acknowledge the deeper, more empathetic layers of existence. Her
past as a successful architect is only hinted at and when it is, only in the
meaning of her falling out of favour and choosing to seclude herself from
society.
Janina’s
second obsession is with astrology. At first glance, this seems to emphasise
her commitment to the idea of a unified universe or natural cohesion, but it
also suggests an unconscious desire for control in an unpredictable and
threatening world. She believes that the natural world is governed by a higher,
mystical order, one that can be understood through astrology and the signs of
nature. This belief can be interpreted as a manifestation of the need for
certainty in a disappointing and inexplicable Kosmos, as well as an attempt to
find meaning in the randomness of life and death, success and humiliation.
Through astrology, she constructs an alternate narrative in which the forces of
the universe—rather than the arbitrary and ultimately meaningless cruelty of
human beings—are in control.
Above all
of this hovers Janina’s problematic views on justice. Despite her conviction
that every action is predetermined by the stars and that people have but
limited freedom to determine who they become and what choices they make, she is
drawn to the idea of accountability, guilt, and retribution. Above all, this is
manifested by the novel’s poetic leitmotif “Songs of Innocence and of
Experience” by British 18th-century poet William Blake. These poems explore the
tension between the innocence of childhood and the corruption of adulthood, the
dualities of good and evil, and the human capacity for both creation and
destruction. Janina identifies with Blake’s vision of a world that is not
simply governed by societal conventions but is in constant conflict between the
opposing forces of innocence and corruption. The opposite of innocence is not
guilt; it is experience, society, education, and history. Corruption is thus
inevitable. Janina’s quest for justice is not grounded in human legal systems
but in her own moral code, one that aligns with Blake’s critique of
institutionalised power and the systems that fail not only to protect the
vulnerable but moreover to preserve innocence to begin with.
This is
where equality between humans and other animals ends. Janina never tries to
read the horoscope for an animal. She does not judge them for their instincts
the way she judges humans for acting upon theirs. The idea of justice echoes
throughout Janina's pursuit of a reckoning for the wrongs committed against
animals and the natural world. The divide between the human and animal kingdoms
is not based on our intellect, technology, language, culture, or society. To
Janina, the only dividing factor is mankind’s deviation from innocence.
Author: Hannah Arendt
Year: 1992 (1963)
Publisher: Daidalos
Language: Swedish (Translator Barbro & Ingemar Lundberg)
Hannah
Arendt’s “Den banala ondskan” (“Eichmann in Jerusalem”) remains one of the most
provocative and intellectually rigorous studies of totalitarianism, moral
responsibility, and the nature of evil in the twentieth century. Emerging from
Arendt’s coverage of Adolf Eichmann’s 1961 trial in Jerusalem for The New Yorker,
the book offers both a historical account of the Nazi bureaucrat’s role in the
Holocaust and a profound philosophical meditation on the mechanisms of mass
murder. With her penetrating analysis and sharp prose, Arendt delivers a work
that continues to spark debate among scholars, ethicists, and political
theorists to this day.
At the
heart of the book lies Arendt’s groundbreaking thesis of the “banality of
evil.” Rather than portraying Eichmann as a monstrous figure driven by
ideological fanaticism or sadistic cruelty, she presents him as a disturbingly
ordinary bureaucrat, a man whose mindless adherence to duty and legalistic
rationalisation enabled his participation in genocidal policies. In Arendt’s
view, Eichmann’s moral blindness and lack of critical self-examination, rather
than inherent malice, made him a key functionary in the Nazi machinery of
death. At the heart of the book lies Arendt’s groundbreaking thesis of the
“banality of evil.” Rather than portraying Eichmann as a monstrous figure
driven by ideological fanaticism or sadistic cruelty, she presents him as a
disturbingly ordinary bureaucrat, a man whose mindless adherence to duty and
legalistic rationalisation enabled his participation in genocidal policies.
Arendt’s
work is methodically structured, meticulously researched, and philosophically
astute. She provides a comprehensive account of Eichmann’s career, from his
early days as a functionary in the SS to his central role in organising the
logistics of deportation and extermination. At the same time, she does not shy
away from critiquing the legal and political dimensions of the trial itself,
particularly the use of the Israeli court to serve a broader national and
symbolic function. While she acknowledges the necessity of justice, she raises
concerns about the legal framework under which Eichmann was prosecuted,
particularly the retrospective application of laws and the potential for
political instrumentalisation.
Despite its
intellectual brilliance, “Den banala ondskan” was met with intense controversy,
particularly regarding Arendt’s perceived tone and her discussion of Jewish
leadership’s role in the Holocaust.
A more
confined but no less interesting area of critique, however, was her engagement
with Immanuel Kant’s categorical imperative. Arendt accuses Eichmann of
distorting Kant’s idea, arguing that he misapplied the principle in his defence.
A more rigorous reading of Kant, however, complicates Arendt’s conclusion,
raising the unsettling possibility that Eichmann’s actions were, at least
formally, consistent with Kantian ethics.
Arendt
asserts that Eichmann invoked Kant’s categorical imperative in bad faith,
failing to grasp its fundamental emphasis on moral autonomy. Eichmann claimed
that he acted according to duty, submitting to laws that he did not himself
create, and he saw his role as implementing the decrees of the Führer rather
than exercising independent moral judgment. Arendt dismisses this defence,
arguing that Kant’s philosophy demands self-legislation in accordance with
universal moral law, rather than blind obedience to external commands. However,
this interpretation raises a significant dilemma: Kant’s moral philosophy is
famously rigid in its emphasis on duty, and under certain conditions, it may
indeed produce the kind of mechanical compliance that Arendt condemns.
In short,
Eichmann’s compliance with the categorical imperative was not a matter of
genocide, which would hardly be possible to reconcile with Kant’s ideas, but
rather of duty and following the law. No single individual can will their own
law, but they can will whether to abide by it or not. Willing that the law is
universally obeyed seems quite compatible with the categorical imperative.
Many
notable thinkers have over the years supported Arendt’s conclusions that a
reading of Kant that provides for such heinous acts as the Holocaust is a gross
distortion. Carsten Bagge Laustsen and Rasmus Ugilt even go as far as calling
it “absurd”. Slavoj Zizek sees it as a circular argument to say that ‘your duty
is to do your duty.” Others, like Joshua Halberstam, are less dismissive. For
if the act of abiding by the law cannot be elevated to universal law, there seems
to be an inherent flaw in our understanding of what law means.
Be it as it
will, Arendt’s insights into the bureaucratic nature of modern evil remain
profoundly relevant in contemporary discussions of state violence, obedience to
authority, and moral responsibility. Her reflections on the dangers of
unthinking conformity resonate beyond the historical context of the Holocaust,
offering a crucial framework for analysing crimes against humanity in later
periods. Including our own era.
