The Drowned and the Saved

At the start of this chapter, Levi acknowledges that his title suggests that some violence may be useful, which some readers may find “provocative or even offensive” (115). He clarifies, explaining that some violence accomplishes a goal, therefore making it useful. The useless violence of his chapter title has the “sole purpose of creating pain, occasionally having a purpose, yet always redundant, always disproportionate to the purpose itself” (116).

Levi discusses the coexistence of “logic intent on evil” (116) and “the absence of logic” (116) that characterized National Socialism. He explains that “the means foreseen” (117) to achieve the ends of Nazi hatred were “[h]ateful also, but not insane” (117). Levi describes the “gratuitous cruelty” (118) of the train journeys deportees were forced to endure to make his point. One freight car often contained over one hundred people, of varying ages and in various states of mental and physical health. Deportees were encouraged to bring as many of their personal belongings with them as possible, “a simple and ingenious ruse to bring valuables into the Reich” (120). No food, no receptacles for “bodily need” (120), no water, and no mats for sleeping were provided. Some deportees traveled for two weeks in these conditions, and some “were able to send messages hidden in the cars that returned empty” (121), advising future passengers to bring certain essentials for their journey.

Levi describes his own deportation: The head of his collection camp, a fellow deportee, knew to pack food, but he assumed water and latrines would be provided. This assumption meant that everyone, including the many elderly deportees in Levi’s train car, had to experience the traumatic humiliation of “evacuating in public” (122). Two days into the journey, Levi and others found a way to create a screen that held more symbolic value than literal; the semblance of privacy meant “we are not yet animals, we will not be animals as long as we try to resist” (123). This form of suffering was “actually a prologue” (123) to “the daily rhythm of the Lager” (123). As the suffering diminished into discomfort, and the discomfort disappeared, to be replaced by habit, “the transformation from human beings into animals was well on its way” (124). The dehumanization of prisoners may not have been an intended effect of the camps, but Levi believes it “a logical consequence of the system” (124).

Linked to “the excremental coercion” (125) was the forced nudity. The prisoners’ entire bodies were shaved every week, and the process was “offensive because of its useless redundancy” (125). The nakedness simply enhanced the sense that prisoners, worm-like, “[could] be crushed at any moment” (126). Impotence was also cultivated by “the lack of a spoon” (126), which meant that the daily soup ration could only be consumed by lapping it up, “as dogs do” (126). The prisoners who could understand German eventually learned that spoons could be bought on the black market; upon liberation, the discovery of a warehouse full of tens of thousands of spoons indicated that the lack of spoons “was not a matter of thrift, but a precise intent to humiliate” (127). The once or twice daily roll calls, “an adaptation of German military procedures” (128), were another example of coercion, especially when the weather was inclement and the bodies of those who had died in the night were stretched out on the ground amongst those who were living and standing. The process of making the beds was also arduous because prisoners had to follow strict rules that inspired “an atmosphere filled with nervous tension” (130).

Levi discusses the tattoo of prisoners’ registration numbers, “an autochthonous Auschwitzian invention” (131) that only non-Jewish German prisoners did not receive. Levi describes the operation as a trauma, which he likens to the act of branding cattle, not because of the pain but because “the tattoo is forbidden by Mosaic law” (133). He also acknowledges the self-inflicted violence of “speak[ing] of the fate of the most helpless” (133) and the choice made by the Nazi regime to ensure that “the ‘enemy’ must not only die, but must die in torment” (134).

Levi doubts that the excessive torment that characterized existence in the Lagers was entirely by design. He believes that the “obtuse brutes” (135), who were all products of a totalitarian regime, did not have to think hard or long about the extremes of suffering that their efforts caused. As a result, the work responsibilities of the prisoners “could instead at times become a defense” (136) as it became a regular productive activity that restored a feeling of dignity and provided “an escape from the thought of death” (136).

The final abomination against humanity that Levi describes is the occurrence of scientific experiments on humans, a treatment that objectified the prisoners even further. Levi also mentions the casual treatment of human remains by the SS, which became “indifferent brute matter, in the best of cases good for some industrial use” (139) to the German textile industry which used human hair for mattresses. Human ashes were used to fill swamps, as insulation for buildings, fertilizer, and even gravel.

In conclusion, Levi quotes Franz Stangl, a commandant of the Treblinka camp; while explaining “the point of the humiliations, the cruelties” (140) during an interview from his prison cell, Stangl explains that such treatment enabled the “executors of the operations” (140) to complete their tasks. Levi paraphrases: “before dying the victim must be degraded, so that the murderer will be less burdened by guilt” (140).

Levi discusses the intellectual’s experience in Auschwitz by introducing “Hans Mayer, alias Jean Améry, the philosopher who committed suicide” (141). He was born in Vienna, Austria to a family that was “mainly Jewish” (142) but he never considered himself to be Jewish. His family celebrated Christmas, but no one in the family formally converted to Christianity. For Améry, being Jewish was somehow both “impossible and obligatory” (144), and Levi states that his ambivalence led directly to his death.

Améry became a member of the Belgian Resistance in 1938 when he fled Austria, which had already been annexed by the Germans. In 1943, he “fell into the hands of the Gestapo” (144), and he was tortured for information he did not possess. After Améry recovered, he was labeled a Jew and sent to Auschwitz, where he met Levi. After the liberation, Levi and Améry stayed in touch, having read each other’s books. In this chapter, Levi seeks to summarize Améry’s essay titled The Intellectual in Auschwitz, or At the Limits of the Spirit.

In this essay, Améry explores whether or not “being an intellectual in Auschwitz was an advantage or a disadvantage” (146). He first defines what it means to be an intellectual, and Levi quotes him directly before critiquing Améry’s definition as “pointless restrictive” (147) and more a “self-description” (147) than a definition. Levi goes on to explain that though he identifies as an intellectual at the time of writing this book, he was too immature to be an intellectual while he was in Auschwitz himself. Levi suggests a definition of an intellectual that better meets his understanding of the word: a person who is “educated beyond his daily trade […] who does not react with indifference or irritation when confronted with any branch of knowledge” (147-148).

After proposing this definition of an intellectual, Levi concedes that Améry’s conclusion is correct, no matter which definition is preferred: “the cultivated man was generally much worse off than the uncultivated man” (148) who was accustomed to the “tools and training” (148) used in the camps. Levi recalls his own ineptitude with a shovel as well as the impatience of a German foreman who witnessed his lack of skill with the tool. Levi does not lament his humiliation; rather, he sees this experience as an equalizing one. The work life may have been challenging to the cultivated prisoner, but just as difficult was “barracks life” (150). The in-fighting amongst the prisoners, the pointless routines, and the forced nudity all felt like “a desolate state of infancy, bereft of teachers and love” (151).

Améry also writes about the suffering he experienced due to “the mutilation of language” (151). As a philologist whose language was German, he was “a stranger in his own country” (151). As well, Améry writes of trading blows with a “gigantic Polish common criminal” (152), an act of physicality with which Levi cannot relate. He believes that the dignity earned by this act of self-defense is costly; after all, those who engage with an aggressor in this way “are sure to be defeated” (153). Levi links this observation with a denial of the label given to him by Améry, that of “‘the forgiver’” (153), explaining that he does not forgive, but neither can he “trade punches or return the blows” (153). Levi recalls one instance when he did try to defend himself physically. During this altercation, Levi was choked until “the signs of loss of consciousness [began]” (154). Since then, Levi leaves the law to the lawmakers.

Both Améry and Levi find value in culture while imprisoned. For Levi, making an “effort to transmit Dante” (156) to a friend enabled him to maintain contact with culture and to “retrieve this or that tatter of my past world” (157). Levi was also helped by the habits he developed as a chemist, a claim that would be challenged by Améry, who felt intellectuals are “drawn exclusively from the fields of letters and philosophy” (158). Levi believes that his experience in the Lager was educational because “it taught us to look around and to measure men” (159), which also sets him apart from Améry, whose gaze “rarely lingers on the vulgar populace of the Lager” (159). Levi notes that he observed plenty of refined individuals “simplify and barbarize themselves and survive” (160), with the valuable understanding that “monsters do exist” (161). As well, Levi notes that the believers “in any belief whatsoever” (163) were better equipped to survive the Lagers. Both Améry and Levi identify themselves as non-believers, and Levi, though tempted to engage in prayer at one stage, “knew that otherwise were I to survive, I would have to be ashamed of it” (164).

Levi concludes this chapter with a final comparison between his memories and those of Améry. Levi chose not to dwell on matters of death, while Améry ruminated on death and wrote about these thoughts in his book. Levi explains he had no time to think about death; he was busy “find[ing] a bit of bread, avoid[ing] exhausting work, patch[ing] my shoes” (167).