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68 pages 2 hours read

Hannah Arendt

The Human Condition

Nonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 1958

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Symbols & Motifs

Animal Laborans and Homo Faber

Arendt uses the term animal laborans (“laboring animal”) to refer to the subject of labor, while homo faber (“human being the maker”) denotes the subject of work. This disjunction between the animal and human functions of the vita activa is an important conceptual symbol for Arendt’s argument in The Human Condition. The two terms connote a clear image: the contrast between the animal and human activities that define our existence.

Labor addresses the needs of natural or biological life that we share with other animals. Work, by contrast, refers to the specifically human capacity to make objects of use with an enduring presence that help to fabricate a world. An important component of the human condition is rooted in nature, but this does not cover the entire range of the vita activa. Homo faber is distinguished by the notion of instrumentality, the “in order to” of using some means, say tools and materials, to achieve some further end, the construction of a chair or table. Labor is tied to the private needs and sensations of the body, while work is associated with human hands and its creation of a concrete, visible object. These metaphors help to clarify Arendt’s abstract distinction between labor and work and its implications for oppositions like private/public.

Appearance and Concealment

Arendt’s contrast between appearance and concealment is both a technical conceptual distinction and an almost poetic motif that helps to explain her coordinate opposition between the public and the private spheres. This is an element of The Human Condition where the philosophical method of phenomenology—a description of the way we encounter phenomena, or the contents of experience—is most prominent.  

Arendt writes that “appearance constitutes reality” (50). To be real is to be seen and heard by others. Appearance thus entails a public, or audience, that shares some common horizon of meaning within which phenomena can intelligibly appear to all. As its etymological roots in ancient Greek suggest, phenomena “shine forth” in their appearing, that is, visible to a plurality of human beings. Speech and action are what reveal unique individuals, that is, allow us to appear to one another. The capacity for appearance is thus a central symbol for the human condition throughout Arendt’s analysis.

Like all of Arendt’s pairs of opposition in the book, appearance entails its contrary, concealment or hiddenness. If appearance connects to the public, concealment connects to the private. The private is precisely what does not appear, that is, what remains hidden from the view of all. Appearance implies light and illumination, concealment darkness or opacity. Arendt situates concealment with the household or family. This is where birth and death, and the labor that unites these termini of human existence, occur.

The public space of appearance is dependent upon the shadowy realm of the private. That which appears can only do so because it comes forth from something that is hidden. This is the reciprocity between public and private, appearance and concealment, that Arendt imputes to the ancient Greek polis. The balance between these two contrasting realms is overturned with the eruption of labor, of the private concerns of the human body, onto the public stage. This, she says, is a feature of modernity, the social, that reconfigures the relationship between the appearing of phenomena and the concealment of life.

Birth and Death, Natality and Mortality

Arendt calls birth and death, or natality and mortality, “the most general condition of human existence” (8). All three elements of the vita activa address this intractable feature of the human condition: labor sustains and continues biological life, work imposes permanence on the fleetingness of time through the construction of a world, action provides the condition for remembrance and history within a political community.

Nature, Arendt suggests, know neither natality nor mortality: it is a perpetual and recurrent cycle that has no end. Linear finitude is imposed on human beings by virtue of our individuality; we begin and end like a particular story. This narrative quality of human existence is essential for Arendt, as nature produces species, not individuals. Stories thereby exceed the parameters of labor and the survival of the species. Narratives presuppose an enduring setting, the world created by work, and an audience, the public that sees and hears its events. Though mortal, our stories can become immortal through remembrance by others, witnesses to our deeds and words. This is a key function of the power of appearance in public: mortals are remembered after they die because they were seen and heard by others who can communicate about them. Appearance thereby overcomes the eventual disappearance that is mortality.

This made all the more urgent with the association between natality and action. Action is a kind of birth or beginning that discloses something that was not there before: a unique individual. Absent this second birth through action, we risk being submerged by the relentless cycle of natural decay that defines the rest of organic life. On their own, then, neither labor nor work can bring forth the human being as a phenomenon that overcomes death. Only action visible to others can do this.

The Archimedean Point and the Telescope

Arendt’s interpretation of the proverbial Archimedean point of knowledge involves a striking visual metaphor: the outside perspective on the earth from the vantage of the cosmos or universe. Archimedes posited this notion as an ideal of complete, objective knowledge of the world. For Arendt, this ancient Greek proposition was realized in the 17th century with the invention of the telescope by Galileo. The telescope projects us into the Archimedean point where can now observe the universe.

Arendt argues that the achievement of the Archimedean involves a deep paradox. As the epigram from Kafka that opens Part 6 states, after Galileo, we used the Archimedean point against ourselves. Galileo’s discovery precipitated what Arendt calls “world alienation” (254). We are no longer entirely “of” this world by virtue of the Archimedean point. At the same time, we have not (yet) definitively transcended the conditions of our earthly existence. We are, so to speak, caught in a kind of limbo between the universe and the world. Arendt traces the consequences of this modern malaise throughout Part 6 of The Human Condition.

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