汉娜·阿伦特

《漢娜．鄂蘭：真理無懼》：平庸之惡還是惡之平庸？


(原載於《時代論壇》一三七○期.二○一三年十二月一日)

http://brucelaiyung.blogspot.hk/


為甚麼歷史上會出現納粹大屠殺和文化大革命等滅絕人性的災禍？即使幾個極度聰明、心裡滿懷惡念的人聯手，也無法造成規模那麼巨大的人道罪行。參與那些惡行的，包括了無數平民百姓。猶太裔哲學家漢娜鄂蘭（Hannah Arendt）經歷過二次大戰，從納粹德國的魔掌下逃亡到美國，畢生致力研究有關邪惡和極權的問題。《漢娜．鄂蘭：真理無懼》這齣傳奇片，以鄂蘭在一九六一年在以色列見證「耶路撒冷大審」前後的事跡為主幹。鄂蘭本是暴政的受害者，但她嘗試抽離而冷靜地思考邪惡根源和歷史責任的問題，結果惹來激烈的批評。

曾參與大屠殺的納粹軍官艾希曼（Adolf Eichmann）一九六○年被以色列擄走，並舉行公審。在大學任教的鄂蘭向知識份子雜誌《紐約客》自薦，願意親臨大審現場，撰寫一份歷史紀錄。艾希曼在審訊時的表現令鄂蘭感到詫異：他完全不像一個兇殘暴戾的惡魔，只是一個平凡人。甚至可以說，他不是沒有道德感的，因為他堅持自己「盡忠職守」是應份的。他推說，他不是親手殺人的兇手，他只是執行命令。艾希曼的「純真」表現使鄂蘭不得不反思「邪惡是甚麼」的問題。邪惡是有本質的嗎？抑或邪惡只是良善之缺乏？二○○八年上映的電影《讀愛》（The Reader）的女主角Hanna在二戰時也曾為納粹服務，而她只是一個文盲，幹甚麼都只是執行任務而已。結果真實的艾希曼和Hanna都被視為戰犯而判刑。

鄂蘭除了把別人眼中的惡魔描述為一個平凡人之外，也把那些曾與納粹合作的猶太社群領袖牽進來，指他們也須對大屠殺負責。她這樣的論點旋即惹來學界內外、猶太同胞與其他族裔的人、報章讀者與鄰居等各方的攻擊和恐嚇，說她背棄自己的同胞、違反人性、冷酷和高傲。連大學也想中止她的教席，她卻堅拒妥協，並在大學講堂裡辯解時提出「Banality of Evil」的名言。「Banality of Evil」多被譯作「平庸之惡」，偶爾引來誤解，認為這是從高高在上的精英姿態，詆譭平凡的普羅大眾，意味著他們本身蘊藏著一種邪惡的特質。其實「Banality of Evil」的意思應是「邪惡的平庸面向」。鄂蘭澄清，她不是說像艾希曼所做的事並非不邪惡，而他受刑也是罪有應得；她想指出的是邪惡不一定體現為滿懷惡念的魔君形式，猶如《讀愛》中目不識丁的女主角也是希特拉的化身。邪惡會以「平庸」的方式體現於世，其特徵就是停止和拒絕獨立思考，只管跟隨比個人更大的國家機器和集體意識。在巨大的邪惡之網羅籠罩之下，即使「盡責」本可稱為美德，一旦人們停止思考，彷彿把腦袋皆變為「外置硬碟」，結果仍是災難性的。「盡忠職守有甚麼問題」的反詰，令人想起無數香港人的金科玉律：「都係搵食啫！」香港人並非不會思考，只是把精力都放在「搵食」之上，公餘時間不想用腦，所以反智電視劇比國家地理頻道更吸引。他們也不是不關心社會，只是那些高官和輿論領袖的「語言偽術」功力太高，真假難辨，只能順大勢而行。

《漢娜．鄂蘭：真理無懼》穿插著鄂蘭與德國哲學家馬丁海德格（Martin Heidegger）舊日交往的回憶片段：當日已婚的大學教授海德格與學生鄂蘭發展一段不倫關係。一九三三年，海德格加入納粹黨並成為弗萊堡大學的校長，助紂為虐。戰後二人重逢，海德格已是聲名狼藉，卻跟鄂蘭解釋說當時世局艱難，作為不諳政治的學者，他只是一時糊塗，很多人的攻擊也是無理中傷云云。鄂蘭似乎被打動了。電影對於鄂蘭和海德格的關係只是蜻蜓點水，主要是跟鄂蘭和現任丈夫的恩愛甜蜜作比較，卻沒有深入地勾劃鄂蘭、海德格和艾希曼之間的微妙關係。儘管說艾希曼只是機器裡的一顆螺絲，但海德格怎能算是不會思考的平庸之輩？電影也沒有提及戰後鄂蘭如何跟海德格回復曖昧的師友關係，幫助名聲掃地的他回復學術界的地位，而他也始終沒有真正悔改。若編劇在鄂蘭和海德格的關係上著墨更深，或許會令電影沒那麼沉悶平板。其實魔掌也是孤掌難鳴的，邪惡那平凡庸俗的一面，及其狡黠兇惡的一面實是渾成一體。

Arendt & Eichmann: The New Truth
Mark Lilla
Hannah Arendt
a film by Margarethe von Trotta
Hannah Arendt: Ihr Denken veränderte die Welt [Hannah Arendt: Her Thought Changed the World]
edited by Martin Wiebel, with a foreword by Franziska Augstein
Munich: Piper, 252 pp., €9.99 (paper)
1.

In The Drowned and the Saved, Primo Levi’s final book on his experiences at Auschwitz, he makes a wise remark about the difficulty of rendering judgment on history. The historian is pulled in two directions. He is obliged to gather and take into account all relevant material and perspectives; but he is also obliged to render the mass of material into a coherent object of thought and judgment:

    Without a profound simplification the world around us would be an infinite, undefined tangle that would defy our ability to orient ourselves and decide upon our actions…. We are compelled to reduce the knowable to a schema.

lilla_1-112113-250.jpg Hannah Arendt Bluecher Literary Trust
Hannah Arendt and Mary McCarthy, Sicily, 1971

Satisfying both imperatives is difficult under any circumstances, and with certain events may seem impossible. The Holocaust is one of those. Every advance in research that adds a new complication to our understanding of what happened on the Nazi side, or on the victims’, can potentially threaten our moral clarity about why it happened, obscuring the reality and fundamental inexplicability of anti-Semitic eliminationism. This is why Holocaust studies seems to swing back and forth with steady regularity, now trying to render justice to particulars (German soldiers as “ordinary men”), now trying to restore moral coherence (Hitler’s “willing executioners”).

Among Primo Levi’s virtues as a writer on the Holocaust was his skill at finding the point of historical and moral equipoise, most remarkably in his famous chapter “The Gray Zone” in The Drowned and the Saved. It is not easy reading. Besides recounting the horrifying dilemmas and unspeakable cruelties imposed by the Nazis on their victims, he also gives an unvarnished account of the cruelties that privileged prisoners visited on weaker ones, and the compromises, large and small, some made to maintain those privileges and their lives. He describes how the struggle for prestige and recognition, inevitable in any human grouping, manifested itself even in the camps, producing “obscene or pathetic figures…whom it is indispensable to know if we want to know the human species.”

Levi tells the story of Chaim Rumkowski, the vain, dictatorial Jewish elder of the Łódź ghetto who printed stamps with his portrait on them, commissioned hymns celebrating his greatness, and surveyed his domain from a horse-drawn carriage. Stories like these that others have told and others still have wished to bury are unwelcome complications. But Levi tells them without ever letting the reader lose sight of the clear, simple moral reality in which they took place. Yes, “we are all mirrored in Rumkowski, his ambiguity is ours, it is our second nature, we hybrids molded from clay and spirit.” But “I do not know, and it does not much interest me to know, whether in my depths there lurks a murderer, but I do know that I was a guiltless victim and I was not a murderer.”

Two recent films by major European directors show just how difficult this point of equipoise is to find and maintain when dealing with the Final Solution. Margarethe von Trotta’s Hannah Arendt is a well-acted biopic on the controversy surrounding Arendt’s Eichmann in Jerusalem and its place in her intellectual and personal life. Claude Lanzmann’s The Last of the Unjust is a documentary about Benjamin Murmelstein, the last Jewish elder of the Theresienstadt concentration camp, who was considered a traitor and Nazi collaborator by many of the camp’s inmates, and was the only elder in the entire system to have survived the war. The directors have very different styles and ambitions, which they have realized with very different degrees of success. But neither has managed to replicate Levi’s achievement.
2.

Hannah Arendt’s Eichmann in Jerusalem was published fifty years ago, first as a series of articles in The New Yorker and then, a few months later, as a book. It’s hard to think of another work capable of setting off ferocious polemics a half-century after its publication. Research into the Nazi regime, its place in the history of anti-Semitism, the gestation of the Final Solution, and the functioning of the extermination machine has advanced well beyond Arendt, providing better answers to the questions she was among the first to address.

In any normal field of historical research one would expect an early seminal work to receive recognition and a fair assessment, even if it now seems misguided. Yet that is only now starting to happen within the history profession, in works like Deborah Lipstadt’s judicious, accessible survey The Eichmann Trial (2011). As the strong reactions to von Trotta’s film indicate, though, the Arendt–Eichmann psychodrama continues in the wider world. Now as then critics focus on two arguments Arendt made, and on the fact that she made them in the same book.

The first, and better known, was that although Adolf Eichmann was taken by many at the time to be the mastermind of the Final Solution, the trial revealed a weak, clueless, cliché-spewing bureaucrat who, according to Arendt, “never realized what he was doing,” an everyman caught up in an evolving bureaucratic program that began with forced emigration and only later ended with extermination as its goal. That one “cannot extract any diabolical or demonic profundity from Eichmann” did not, in her eyes, reduce his culpability. From the start Arendt defended his capture, trial, and execution, which were not universally applauded then, even by some prominent Jews and Jewish organizations.1 This her critics forget, or choose to forget. What they remember is that she portrayed Eichmann as a risible clown, not radically evil, and shifted attention from anti-Semitism to the faceless system in which he worked.

Had Arendt written a book on what she called “the strange interdependence of thoughtlessness and evil” in modern bureaucratic society, it would have been read as a supplement, and partial revision, of what she said about “radical evil” in The Origins of Totalitarianism. No one would have been offended. But in Eichmann she made the unwise choice of hanging her thesis on the logistical “genius” of the Holocaust, whose character she tried to infer from court documents and a few glimpses of him in the bullet-proof glass docket in Jerusalem.

To make matters worse, in the same book Arendt raised the sensitive issue of the part that Jewish leaders played in the humiliation and eventual extermination of their own people. These included the heads of the urban Jewish community organizations that facilitated forced emigration, expropriations, arrests, and deportations; and the heads of the Jewish councils the Nazis formed in the ghettos and camps to keep the inmate population in line. These men were understandably feared and resented even if they carried out their duties nobly, while those who abused their power, like Rumkowski, were loathed by survivors, who circulated disturbing stories about them after the war.

There was little public awareness of these figures, though, until the Kasztner affair broke in the mid-1950s. Rudolph Kasztner was at that time an Israeli official, but during the war he had worked for a group in Budapest that helped European Jews get to Hungary, which was then unoccupied, and then tried to get them out after the German invasion in 1944. As thousands of Jews were being shipped daily to the gas chambers, Kasztner and his group entered into negotiations with the Nazis to see if some could be saved. After various plans to save large numbers failed, Kasztner persuaded Eichmann to accept a cash ransom and allow 1,600 Hungarian Jews to leave for Switzerland, many of them wealthy people who paid their way and others from his hometown and family.

In 1953 a muckraking Israeli journalist claimed that Kasztner had secretly promised the Nazis not to tell other Jews about Auschwitz, trading a few lives for hundreds of thousands. Kastzner sued for libel but lost his case when it was revealed that he had written exculpatory letters to war tribunals for Nazis he had worked with in Hungary. Before his appeal could be heard Kastzner was assassinated in front of his Tel Aviv home, in circumstances that remain obscure to this day. He was posthumously acquitted.

The cooperation of Jewish leaders and organizations with the Nazi hierarchy became more widely known through the Eichmann trial and the publication in 1961 of Raoul Hilberg’s monumental study, The Destruction of the European Jews, which Arendt relied on heavily without adequate attribution. Though Hilberg’s book is widely revered today, he was just as widely attacked after its publication by Jewish organizations and publications for emphasizing the leaders’ cooperation and the rarity of active resistance, which he attributed to habits of appeasement developed over centuries of persecution, an argument Bruno Bettelheim echoed a year later in his controversial article “Freedom From Ghetto Thinking.”

So Hannah Arendt was not betraying any secrets when she discussed these issues in a scant dozen pages of her book; she was reporting on what came up at the trial and found herself in the middle of an ongoing, and very sensitive, polemic. But exercising her gift for the offending phrase, she also portrayed the Jewish leaders as self-deceived functionaries who “enjoyed their new power,” and she termed their actions “undoubtedly the darkest chapter of the whole dark story.”

Perhaps by “dark” all she meant was especially awful and a sign of “the totality of the moral collapse the Nazis caused…not only among the persecutors but also among the victims.” But pulled out of context her phrases made it appear that she was equating doomed Jewish leaders with the “thoughtless” Eichmann, or even judging them more severely. In any case, the whole discussion, a small fraction of the book, was psychologically obtuse and made her monstrous in the eyes of many.

And the response was ferocious, in Europe and the United States. Her now former friend Gershom Scholem sent Arendt a public letter complaining, rightly, about her “flippancy” and lack of moral imagination when discussing the Jewish leaders, and declared her to be lacking in “love of the Jewish people.” Siegfried Moses, a former friend and recently retired Israeli official, sent a letter “declaring war” on her and got the Council of Jews in Germany to publish a condemnation even before serialization of her book in The New Yorker was complete. (He then flew to Switzerland to try to persuade her to abandon the book project altogether.) The American Anti-Defamation League sent out a pamphlet titled Arendt Nonsense to book reviewers and rabbis across the country, urging them to condemn her and the New Yorker articles for giving succor to anti-Semites.

And in the New York intellectual circles that had become her adoptive home, she became the focus of angry attention from friends who once admired her. At the controversy’s peak Dissent magazine organized a forum to discuss the work and invited Arendt (she declined), Hilberg, and their critics. Hundreds showed up and the evening quickly descended into a series of denunciations of Arendt, who was defended briefly only by Alfred Kazin, Daniel Bell, and a few others. Only when President Kennedy was assassinated in November did she finally escape the spotlight.
3.

This messy episode is the surprising focus of Margarethe von Trotta’s much-discussed new film. As von Trotta tells it, her original intention was to trace the arc of Arendt’s life as a whole, much as she did with Rosa Luxemburg in her award-winning biopic Rosa Luxemburg (1986), but found the material too unwieldy. And so she choose to limit herself to Arendt’s life in New York. As she says in the short German book on the film edited by Martin Wiebel, what interested her was not the ins and outs of the Eichmann case but rather Hannah and her friends. This seems an odd choice for a movie but makes sense in view of von Trotta’s other work. Her specialty is didactic feminist buddy movies—in fact, one might say that she’s been making the same film throughout her career. The story usually involves two women, either friends or sisters, one of them a visionary or pillar of strength, the other a jejune admirer, and follows the evolution of their relationship against a political backdrop.

In her first solo directed work, The Second Awakening of Christa Klages (1978), a woman holds up a bank to save the child care center she works at, then gets help from a soldier’s wife who becomes her lover and goes into hiding with her. They end up in a rural Portuguese cooperative getting their consciousness raised, are expelled for lesbianism, and have other adventures before it all ends badly. Marianne and Juliane (1981) uses as its model the life of Gudrun Ensslin, a founding member of the Baader-Meinhof gang who committed suicide in her cell in 1977; the story follows the Gudrun character and her sister as their relationship develops from alienation to reconciliation, and ends in a display of sisterly solidarity that reaches beyond the grave.
lilla_2-112113.jpg Bettmann/Corbis
Adolf Eichmann with Israeli police at his trial in Jerusalem, May 1962

Von Trotta’s Vision (1991), which treats the life of the medieval mystic Hildegard von Bingen, is the most transparent example of the type. It portrays a courageous, enlightened woman prone to epiphanies who stays true to her visions and resists the church’s attempts to silence her. Along the way she develops a deep if unequal friendship with another nun, then another, provoking jealousy and misunderstanding, though it all works out in the end. She dies revered by those around her, though not by the powers that be.

And this, more or less, is the story of Hannah Arendt. The film opens with a jovial Arendt (Barbara Sukowa) in conversation with her best friend Mary McCarthy (Janet McTeer), who in the movie is reduced to a hyperactive sidekick. They discuss men, they discuss love, they have a cocktail party with Arendt’s devoted if wayward husband Heinrich Blücher (Axel Milberg) and fellow New York intellectuals. Then they get news of Eichmann’s capture and the imminent trial. More drinks, more discussion, and then Arendt is off to Jerusalem, where she witnesses the trial mainly from the press room (where she could smoke) and visits an old Zionist friend.

Von Trotta deftly intersperses clips from the actual trial into her film and shows Arendt watching them on closed-circuit television in the press room. This device allows her to stage a conversion scene. As the camera slowly zooms in on Arendt watching Eichmann testify, we see on her face the dawning realization that he was not a clever, bloodthirsty monster but an empty-headed fool caught up in an evil machine. She leaves Jerusalem, writes her articles, and all hell breaks loose in New York.

It is not true, as some reviewers have charged, that the film portrays Arendt as flawless. Throughout she hears complaints about her tone, from friends like McCarthy and her New Yorker editor William Shawn. She is also challenged repeatedly by her close friend the philosopher Hans Jonas (Ulrich Noethen), who is given some of the best lines in the movie (some drawn from Scholem’s letter). Jonas rejected the very idea of “thoughtless” murder and criticized her for lacking psychological sympathy for fellow Jews trapped in the most horrifying circumstances imaginable. Still, by and large, her critics are portrayed as irrational, defensive Jews who, unlike Arendt, refuse to think about the uncomfortable complexities of the Nazi experience, whether out of shame or omertà.

But although Arendt defends herself and the task of “thinking” deftly throughout the film, particularly in a fine public speech at the end, we don’t see her arriving at her position through thinking. Film can portray inner psychological states through speech and action and image, but lacks resources for conveying the dynamic process of weighing evidence, interpreting it, and considering alternatives. Barbara Sukowa smokes and rifles through documents and stares into space like a silent picture star, but we get no sense of the play of a mind. And so we are left with the impression that she, like Hildegard, has had a vision.

And perhaps this is how von Trotta sees Arendt. She admits in the book by Wiebel that she, like many on the German left in the 1960s and 1970s, turned their noses up at Arendt for comparing communism and Nazism as instances of totalitarianism and refused to read her books. But later she came upon Elisabeth Young-Bruehl’s biography and discovered a strong figure, a female philosopher engaged in political debate whose personal life was also rich in friends and lovers. This woman she could admire and celebrate. The problem is that von Trotta has chosen an episode in Arendt’s life where the stakes were so high, intellectually and morally, that they cannot in good taste be treated as the backdrop of a human interest story. Though the battle may be lost, it can never be emphasized enough that the Holocaust is not an acceptable occasion for sentimental journeys. But here it’s made into one, which produces weird, cringe-inducing moments for the viewer.

In one shot we are watching Eichmann testify or Arendt arguing about the nature of evil; in the next her husband is patting her behind as they cook dinner. When Blücher tries to leave one morning without kissing her, since “one should never disturb a great philosopher when they’re thinking,” she replies, “but they can’t think without kisses!” As for the short, incongruous scenes about her youthful affair with Martin Heidegger, the less said the better.

The deepest problem with the film, though, is not tastelessness. It is truth. At first glance the movie appears to be about nothing but the truth, which Arendt defends against her blinkered, mainly male adversaries. But its real subject is remaining true to yourself, not to the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. In her director’s statement on the film von Trotta says that “Arendt was a shining example of someone who remained true to her unique perspective on the world.” One can understand von Trotta’s reluctance to get into the details of the Eichmann case, let alone foreshadow what we know about it now, which would have violated the film’s integrity. But something else seems violated when a story celebrates a thinker’s courage in defending a position we now know to be utterly indefensible—as Arendt, were she alive, would have to concede.

Since the Eichmann trial, and especially over the past fifteen years, a great body of evidence has accumulated about Eichmann’s intimate involvement in and influence over the Nazis’ strategy for expelling, then herding, and then exterminating Europe’s Jews. More damning still, we now have the original tapes that a Dutch Nazi sympathizer, Willem Sassen, made with Eichmann in Argentina in the 1950s, in which Eichmann delivers rambling monologues about his experience and his commitment to the extermination project. These have recently been collated and analyzed by the German scholar Bettina Stangneth, and the passages she quotes in her new book are chilling:

    The cautious bureaucrat, yeah, that was me…. But joined to this cautious bureaucrat was a fanatical fighter for the freedom of the Blut I descend from…. What’s good for my Volk is for me a holy command and holy law…. I must honestly tell you that had we…killed 10.3 million Jews I would be satisfied and would say, good, we’ve exterminated the enemy…. We would have completed the task for our Blut and our Volk and the freedom of nations had we exterminated the most cunning people in the world…. I’m also to blame that…the idea of a real, total elimination could not be fulfilled…. I was an inadequate man put in a position where, really, I could have and should have done more.2

In the end, Hannah Arendt has little to do with the Holocaust or even with Adolf Eichmann. It is a stilted, and very German, morality play about conformism and independence. Von Trotta’s generation (she was born in 1942) suffered the shock of learning in school about the Nazi experience and confronting their evasive parents at home, and in a sense they never recovered from it. (She convincingly dramatizes one of these angry dinner table confrontations in Marianne and Juliane.) Even today this generation has trouble seeing German society in any categories other than those of potential criminals, resisters, and silent bystanders.

When left-wing radicalism was at its violent peak in the 1970s the following false syllogism became common wisdom: Nazi crimes were made possible by blind obedience to orders and social convention; therefore, anyone who still obeys rules and follows convention is complicit with Nazism, while anyone who rebels against them strikes a retrospective blow against Hitler. For the left in that period the Holocaust was not fundamentally about the Jews and hatred of Jews (in fact, anti-Semitism was common on the radical left). It was, narcissistically, about Germans’ relation to themselves and their unwillingness, in the extreme case, to think for themselves. Von Trotta’s Hannah Arendt shares that outlook.

And so, in part, did Eichmann in Jerusalem. Reading the book afresh fifty years on, one begins to notice two different impulses at work in it. One is to do justice to all the factors and elements that contributed to the Final Solution and understand how they might have affected its functionaries and victims, in surprising and disturbing ways. In this Arendt was a pioneer; and, as Bettina Stangneth notes in her contribution to Martin Wiebel’s book, many of the things she was attacked for have become the scholarly consensus.

But the other impulse, to find a schema that would render the horror comprehensible and make judgment possible, in the end led her astray. Arendt was not alone in being taken in by Eichmann and his many masks, but she was taken in. She judged him in light of her own intellectual preoccupations, inherited from Heidegger, with “authenticity,” the faceless crowd, society as a machine, and the importance of a kind of “thinking” that modern philosophy had abolished. Hers was, you might say, an overly complicated simplification. Closer to the truth was the simplification of Artur Sammler in his monologue on Hannah Arendt in Saul Bellow’s 1970 novel Mr. Sammler’s Planet:

    Politically, psychologically, the Germans had an idea of genius. The banality was only camouflage. What better way to get the curse out of murder than to make it look ordinary, boring, or trite?… There was a conspiracy against the sacredness of life. Banality is the adopted disguise of a very powerful will to abolish conscience. Is such a project trivial?

Claude Lanzmann’s recent film The Last of the Unjust leaves no doubt about the answer to that question. At the center of it is a remarkable interview he conducted in 1975 with Benjamin Murmelstein, the Jewish elder of Theresienstadt who survived the war. Murmelstein worked closely with Eichmann for seven years and saw through his camouflaging techniques; he even witnessed Eichmann helping to destroy a Viennese synagogue on Kristallnacht. Yet Murmelstein was also a master of the gray zone, a survivor among survivors whose reputation was anything but pristine. Lanzmann’s film plunges us into that zone and reveals more than perhaps even he realizes.

—This is the first of two articles.

电影不好，但“审判”引发的现象和阿伦特的观念很可以再思考。

艾希曼为自己的辩护词归根到底无非是：我是一杆无辜的枪，不应为持枪者的罪行负责。这也很好辩驳，因为人到底不应该是一杆枪，即便由于极端环境的压迫而丧失了坚持良心判断的可能。但人仍然不是枪。所以阿伦特的恶魔，再也不是那个头戴犄角在钢琴边诱惑浮士德，伴随着火焰和鲜血出场的上帝可尊敬的对手了。恶魔变成了个长着一张平庸面孔，半秃，苍白，面对众人直出冷汗，坐在起居室里和沙发融为一体，走入丛林鸟兽不惊的那类人物。

审判其实给了艾希曼一个拉回人性高度的机会，他的最后结局（绞刑）其实远远高于他为自己所设下的情境判断。影片中着重表现的仍是阿伦特对艾西曼的解读，也就是所谓“平庸的恶”。但真正的他是否被异化得如此极端，很难看出来。

影片里的阿伦特角色存在感很单薄，要么抽烟，要么沉思，要么抽着烟沉思。我总觉得最后一段激情澎湃的课堂演讲很俗套，代表邪恶方的校董们和眼神纯真的学生齐聚一堂，被英雄阿伦特的激情和公正抽离，严谨细致的学术态度所打动。坏人最后灰溜溜离去，好人在纯真的孩子们心中播下种子。这太好莱坞了，又不是死亡诗社或闻香识女人。如果说阿伦特的朋友，同事和纽约客的读者们都在“误读”她，那凭什么一场课堂演讲就会避免学生们“误读”她呢？这个价值判断在影片里显得很是简单粗暴。倒是演讲结束后她的朋友汉斯对她的一番话很真实，她难道真的不仅仅就是一个高傲的西方哲学家吗？

影片也花了很多篇幅来交待她在立场上的困境和摇摆，可一直到结束我都没找到她对自己立场坚守的认同感。处处都是矛盾和含混不清，如果她坚持用抽离和形而上的观点来对待艾西曼的审判，那早先她对海德格尔认同纳粹时“恶心”的表态岂不是很矛盾？只许你判断别人，不许别人判断你，这未免也太霸道了些。再比如，当海因里希不满地向她道出最后审判的结果的时候，她却极为淡定地说出他罪有应得。到底是导演意图不清，还是刻意为之的灰色氛围，不得而知。

查资料的时候，看到这么一条很有趣，在康德看来，愚蠢是由邪恶的心灵引起的。阿伦特却认为，平庸和愚蠢比邪恶更普遍。这比康德有道理多了。柔顺，平庸，服从，放弃思考，放弃自我心灵的对话，各方面都平板得惊人的人，往往催生最大的恶。所以记得但丁在下炼狱第一层时，便为数不清的庸人准备了大锅般的地狱，不是最坏者下地狱，而是最平庸者垫锅底。想一想罢，再看看现实，多有趣。

首先来说媚俗点

1. 抽烟。汉娜抽烟的镜头不下10个吧，即使抽烟是个文艺的，有些文人可能还为之丧了小命，但是并不是每个文艺女青年都要抽烟。即使汉娜幸好是个烟鬼，也不必在慢镜头推进的时候，再拿抽烟搞个更慢的镜头，汉娜绝对有除了抽烟之外，让大家过目不忘的其他特质，我想她老人家躺在棺材里有天听说我们后人这样埋汰她，肯定跳出来，指着我们的鼻子骂我们不懂事，要学习的！

2. 绯闻。她和海德格尔，是永久的绯闻，不灭的神话。不得不承认，没看之前，自己也期待过，电影中会有点涉及。但真的如愿以偿了，又不免失望。海德格尔潜入她房间扑上去的时候，小心无比激动, 生怕眼睁睁地看着一朵鲜花被猪给拱了。还好，导演也只是点到为止，剩下的让大家去想象了！

3.语言。电影语言主要是德语，辅助为英语，对我来说没啥，说英语的时候，因为我主要精力用来看字幕了，可我的几个朋友受不了，说口音太怪，故意为之等等喋喋不休了一路。实际上，我还没揣摩透，为啥导演会安排三个关于语言的情节，一个是同事聚会，纠正汉娜的发音，一个是纽约时报编者？和汉娜讨论语言问题，另外一个就是，编辑部的人暗暗嘲笑汉娜的语法问题。我不觉得这和主题有关，或者说这点不值得这么多镜头。

4. 有关艾希曼的被捕。那个镜头太假，以致于看完之后今天我才反应过来，是被捕。这个还不是重点，重点在于，那个镜头给人的直接感觉是，SS重现，而不是一个恶者罪有应得。更多的是一种，国家机构的强权。不过这也可能是我最近看集中营文献过多而产生的后遗症。

值得推荐的地方：

1. 艾希曼耶路撒冷原材料的应用。我觉得，这个是这个电影给我的第一个最大的冲击。艾希曼的慢条斯理，冷静，逻辑清晰，面无表情...... 和幸存者控诉时的难以自控，语无伦次，甚至崩溃离席形成了鲜明的对比，如果再长点，我估计我都承受不住。这个也在很大程度上印证了汉娜的平庸的恶的观点。

2. 汉娜的私生活。 电影中比较感人的是，她的两个朋友，一个是互相调侃却相看不厌，一个是贴心相助一路相随，看着她们一起欢笑一起飙泪，感觉汉娜很幸运，在高处不胜寒的时候，还有朋友在身边。相比之下，男性朋友，大多比较扯皮，包括海德格尔。

3. 成书过程。如果不看电影，不读传记，大多数人可能想象不到，这本书会给汉娜带来这么多的打击和困扰，我们应该还会一厢情愿地认为，当时世人和我们现在一样对这本经典教材一样顶礼膜拜呢。在最困难的时刻顶住了，坚持下去了，才会成全自己。

4. 时人对该书的反应。当校委会粗暴地决意停下汉娜的课，汉娜决定公开为自己辩解时，我既为她的勇气而鼓掌，同时也为她的无奈而气馁。当学生为她的演讲而鼓掌的时候，我也真正为之欢呼。在此，经常套以“幼稚”的年轻的学生，在此却远远把那些“渊博” 的教授们给落下了，十分值得玩味。

5. 关于形而上的问题。这个影片中提到了很多次“思考”，用海德格尔老爷爷的话就是“das Denken”。我觉得，当中插叙汉娜去质问海德格尔，为什么对世人不解释也好，还是汉娜说，艾希曼的“平庸的恶”不是在于他不能思考，而是否认了自己思考的能力，不愿思考也罢，还有第四条中校委会和学生两种不同的反应，都表明了思考的能力和意愿的问题。其实这个归结到底就是“不能”还是“不愿”的问题，进一步说也就是勇气的问题。用康德老爷爷的话说，就是要有勇气利用自己的理智，脱去蒙昧，逐步启蒙。

总体来说，在糅合了大众口味，人物传记和历史史实和哲学思考的情况下，还能把片子拍成这样，值得推荐。

PS： 今天看了本有关纳粹战犯心理分析的书，有讲到 1946年的时候，有人组织对战犯进行系统的心理分析，一共邀请了10个心理分析师，最终没人做出任何回应。后来分析，他们很清楚，公众的心理期待是什么，所以不敢把他们的结果公之于众。1974年，又重新做了一次，8个战犯8个普通人，分给15个心理分析师，匿名，要求他们说出，分析对象属于那些人群，结果没人认为在其中有战犯，甚至有人认为其中有民权维护人，有艺术家，心理学家。。。 玩味之处，这一结果其实并不支撑汉娜的观点，平庸的恶，因为他们连恶都算不上！


刚刚看了一张Adolf Eichmann的照片，问一下各位同学，在这张面孔上，能看到平庸和恶么？

http://baike.baidu.com/picview/347514/347514/0/4e0b3ea48a0b53cb9052eec2.html#albumindex=0&picindex=1

        美国政治学者汉娜•阿伦特是20世纪最重要的思想家之一。一部关于哲学家的电影怎么拍呢？要知道哲学家大部分时候就是坐着思考，本片导演玛格雷特·冯·特洛塔，也是德国新电影运动的资深导演，还真的把它拍成了一部关于思考的传记电影。
        1924年，18岁的汉娜•阿伦特成为35岁的年轻编外讲师海德格尔的学生和情人，这段地下情维持了四年，直到1928年海德格尔决定让阿伦特离去。一般学者大师的婚外恋情、政治经历，传记电影中都是一笔带过，点到为止。可她的初恋海德格尔偏是后来比她还名满天下有哲学王之称的存在主义大家，参与的那一下政治，又偏偏搅进后来万劫不复的纳粹暴政。注定她与海德格尔这段纠葛无法忽略。个人感情的痛苦成为她扩大自己存在疆界的一个源泉，在1930年之前，阿伦特的思想活动局限于哲学领域，甚至还瞧不上政治，然而她目睹了这个她深爱的才华横溢的教授卷入国家社会主义兴起的狂潮中附逆纳粹，并且天真地为这场运动提供一种存在主义的哲学解释。 再往后，阿伦特看到他回避世界，重新退缩到沉思的孤独中，对他认为混乱而败坏的公共领域投以蔑视。一个哲学家沉浸于个体性的自足，而缺乏返回公共领域的能力，阿伦特痛心海德格尔的选择，开始强调知识分子的行动性。
        影片在这样的背景下以1961年对纳粹军官艾希曼审判为切入点，以阿伦特报道此事件写出的《耶路撒冷的艾希曼——一份关于恶的平庸性的报告》发表引起巨大争论结束。
        1960年《纽约时报》上的一篇报道引起了汉娜•阿伦特和朋友们的注意：以色列间谍在阿根廷发现了纳粹时期杀害犹太人的纳粹军官艾希曼的踪迹，并于5月将其劫持到以色列，并坚持在本国审判艾希曼。臭名昭著的艾希曼官阶并不高，只是党卫队中校，但是他曾经担任过德国第三帝国保安总部第四局B-4科的科长，是犹太种族大清洗的前线指挥官，负责一车皮一车皮地组织运送整个欧洲的犹太人，在他的监督下，奥斯维辛集中营的屠杀生产线到二战结束，共有五百八十万犹太人因“最后方案”而丧生。
        于是阿伦特向《纽约客》总编提出，她愿意作为记者，去耶路撒冷报道审判的有关情况。此时的她已完成《极权主义起源》《人的条件》等大作，在学界德高望重，有这样的名人担任特派记者，总编自然乐不可支欣然接受。她在变更1961年日程推迟接受洛克菲勒基金会资助的信上写道，“您一定理解我，为什么去耶路撒冷，因为我曾错过了报道纽伦堡的审判，这次，我不能再次失去目睹对战争罪犯审判的机会了。”她原是德籍犹太人，纳粹兴起逃离德国，流亡巴黎，在法国集中营所幸戏剧性地出逃前往美国，后入美籍。作为犹太人所遭受的苦难也指引着阿伦特的思考，这些外部事件为什么会发生？她把此行视为一次历史使命。
        《耶路撒冷的艾希曼——一份关于恶的平庸性的报告》由《纽约客》5次连载。这份报告包括三部分：第一部分是对罪犯艾希曼本人的分析。她根据艾希曼在法庭上表现及对有关卷宗的阅读，发现艾希曼并不像想象中是一个本性邪恶的魔鬼，平时热爱家庭、热爱音乐、热爱自然，人格也不扭曲病态，精神病学家鉴定“他的精神状态比做完他的精神鉴定之后的我还要正常。”“不仅是个正常人而且还非常讨人喜欢。” 就像恐怖分子寻常得可能轻易成为我们的邻居或飞机上的邻座。由此，阿伦特提出了“平庸之恶”这一个观点，艾希曼之所以犯下如此罪行，完全是由于“思考的缺乏”以及由此而来的不做判断。这类通过执行国家命令，透过行政程序，从事集体屠杀政策的人，被称为“案牍谋杀者”，他们严谨干练的良好素质加上无思的顺从效忠，正是暴政与专政的天然基础。第二部分是对犹太组织的评价。她甚至批评当时犹太组织领导人，指责他们未能领导犹太人对当初的迫害进行有效的抵抗，反而一定程度上与纳粹形成了同谋。最后一部分是关于艾希曼审判的政治目的。
        文章一刊出，在美国乃至欧洲引起强烈反响。就阿伦特本身运思历程看，艾希曼审判事件的报道是非常重要的思想转折点，这个事件的争议带动阿伦特从思考实践活动意义走进探索思考与判断的哲学课题。
        导演玛格雷特·冯·特洛塔凭借此片获得了2013年德国电影奖最佳导演提名，她说“我只是拍我喜欢或者感兴趣的人。但如果说这部电影有什么理念的话，那就是你应保持自我反思和独立判断能力，不要追随某种观念或者时尚。汉娜说这是‘不用扶手的思考'。”