In this paper I consider the four images from Auschwitz analyzed by Didi- Huberman in Images in Spite of All —the so-called Sonderkommando photographs— through the lens of the “historical sublime” as proposed by historian Eelco Runia. These photographs are taken as an example of a possible reconciled aesthetic experience with an “unimaginable” past that horrifies us. Moreover, I argue that aesthetic depictions are able to champion a model of historical commemoration which makes these events imaginable again. In order (...) to show this, I will first employ the concept of the “sublime historical event” which Runia proposes to interpret the Holocaust’s historical catastrophe. Runia’s “historical sublime” provides a framework to understand the process of becoming what “we are no longer” through the invention of new identities that defy our former ones and explain historical discontinuities. Secondly, I will examine the Sonderkommando photographs by applying Runia’s notion of commemoration to the viewer’s aesthetic experience of these images. I will finally suggest the possibility of a reconciliation with our former identities, those who committed sublime historical acts with which we no longer identify, thanks to this aestheticized experience of commemoration. (shrink)

Je me souviens de mon premier jour de travail au Sonderkommando. Ils nous ont sortis de la baraque et nous ont emmenés. C’était autour de 7 heures du matin. C’était toujours les mêmes horaires. Ils nous ont conduits dans un lieu que j’avais déjà vu auparavant. Ils ont ouvert le portail et nous sommes entrés dans la cour du crématoire.Il ne fallait..

Pendant des millénaires, il fut attendu des victimes confrontées à des circonstances extrêmes que leurs conduites se conforment à des codes d'honneur terriblement exigeants. A-t-il trahi les siens celui qui a survécu à la torture? A-t-elle trop facilement cédé celle qui a connu le viol? Ces survivants suspects ont-ils sacrifié leur honneur à leur survie? Questions traumatisantes, disent certains. Questions pourtant posées avec une surprenante récurrence pendant des siècles et des siècles, comme l'explique Jean-Michel Chaumont. Or, depuis quelques décennies, dans (...) les sociétés occidentales, ces codes d'honneur sont frontalement contestés, et sont même perçus comme d'intolérables blâmes adressés aux victimes. Si tout le monde s'accorde à reconnaître le progrès moral que cette critique fait advenir dans le cas du viol (la morale n'attend plus que la femme victime se justifie de son comportement), elle tend à promouvoir une éthique de la survie à n'importe quel prix dans les situations de péril extrême. Ce livre ambitieux reconstruit les critères qui ont pu départager les conduites honorables et les conduites déshonorantes, et montre, archives à l'appui, qu'il y a peu encore ces critères furent appliqués à des résistants communistes et aux victimes de la Shoah, en particulier les membres des Sonderkommandos. Il signale les évolutions considérables de nos sensibilités morales et pointe les régressions associées au risque d'un " chacun pour soi " décomplexé. Si la trahison devenait la norme implicite, si l'éthique de la survie devait passer avant celle de l'honneur, et de la fidélité aux siens, ne serait-il pas à craindre que le jour venu, face à l'extrême, nous ne perdions nos âmes? (shrink)

In this contribution, I plumb the depths of Georges Didi-Huberman’s abiding notion of the “eye of history” and, in particular, I explore to which responsible acts this notion might hold us. Does a reader of texts or viewer of an image have a right to claim a certain status as witness if the experience of being present at the crime is “merely” by the proxy of a text or an image? This is a fundamental ethical question and, consequently, a profoundly (...) political one that Didi-Huberman’s abiding exploration of the “eye of history” asks. I attempt to answer it by reading a variety of texts by the prolific author. In particular, however, I test what Didi-Huberman speculates in Images in Spite of All about what went through the mind of Alex, the Sonderkommando who took four furtive shots from an Auschwitz gas chamber, against what I’ve learned recently after having discovered the Hiroshima photographs made on 6 August 1945 by hibakusha Yoshito Matsushige. (shrink)

Nell’estate del 1944 alcuni membri del Sonderkommando di Auschwitz, il “comando speciale” composto da prigionieri costretti al più infame dei lavori, quello nelle camere a gas e nei crematori, riescono a strappare quattro fotografie a quella terribile realtà. In due delle quattro foto si vedono i cadaveri ammassati a bruciare, in un’altra, delle donne nude correre, spinte verso le camere a gas, mentre nell’ultima distinguiamo appena dei rami. Ma c’è molto altro in queste foto, dalle quali Did...

This essay, in the form of a letter written to director László Nemes in the immediate aftermath of viewing Son of Saul, is at once a critical reading of the film within a larger theoretical framework and a subjective emotional response to seeing on the screen something of the author’s own “most harrowing nightmares.” While bringing Nemes’s film into conversation with Maurice Blanchot, Theodor Adorno, Walter Benjamin, the Hassidic tale and ancient myths, Georges Didi-Huberman returns to his reflections in Images (...) in Spite of All (2008) on the four photographs taken clandestinely of the gas chambers in Auschwitz by one of the Sonderkommando. Son of Saul presents the allegory of Saul whose job as a Sonderkommando is to drag countless corpses to the crematorium where they will be reduced to ashes but who sets out on a mad, single-minded quest to give a proper burial, complete with the recitation of kaddish, to the body of one boy. According to the author, the film marks the invention of the “documentary tale” genre, combining Benjamin’s notions of montage based on the document, as manifested in the work of Marcel Proust, James Joyce, and Alfred Döblin, and that of the dying art of storytelling, intimately bound up as it is with the authority of the dying. Thus, the dead child drowning at the end of the film stands as an inversion of the story of Moses, a living child saved from drowning, just as the real historic death of the Jewish people reverses the mythical Biblical birth of the Jewish people. (shrink)