122 Bettina Kaibach
“triggering” that can result in a whole chain of consecutive triggering yet
shields the perpetrator from the consequences of his action: “Not one presser
of buttons (if such a presser is at all still needed) senses anymore that he performs an action, and since the site of the crime [Tatort] and that of suffering
no longer coincide, since cause and effect have been severed, nobody sees
what his action entails.” 65 Both the fictional pilot Joseph Connor, as depicted
by Grossman, and the real pilot Claude Eatherly, as stylized by Anders, strive
to overcome this blindness and restore individual agency, even if this means
to confront themselves with an unbearable guilt. Ironically, for both, the
metamorphosis from the proverbial cog in the machine to a human being
with an integrated sense of morality results in their being no longer considered socially acceptable.
Second: in Abel (August 6th), Grossman explores the challenge to humanity’s moral existence posed by the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima in terms
similar to those of Günther Anders. For Anders, the “‘technification’ of our
being” results in an upheaval of traditional notions of good and evil, guilt
and responsibility:
[…] the fact that to-day it is possible that unknowingly and indirectly,
like screws in a machine, we can be used in actions, the effects of which
are beyond the horizon of our eyes and imagination, and of which, could
we imagine them, we could not approve–this fact has changed the very
foundations of our moral existence. Thus, we can become ‘guiltlessly
guilty,’ a condition which had not existed in the technically less advanced
times of our fathers. 66
Like Anders, Grossman, too, diagnoses the replacement of “conscience” by
the “conscientious,” which for Anders is a trademark of a technological culture based on a division of labor and competence. Grossman’s fictional crew
members of the Enola Gay are highly specialized men with a profound sense
of responsibility, yet theirs is merely professional responsibility that confines
itself to the flawless performance of the technical task. As the philosopher
of the crew, a man who in his spare time muses about ways to improve the
world, puts it: “in this matter, technology frees us from moral responsibility”
(“tekhnika osvobozhdaet nas v ėtom dele ot moralʹnoi otvetstvennosti”). 67
None of Grossman’s crew members nurtures any hostility toward the
people they are about to kill. His men of the Enola Gay detest racism and
do not perceive the Japanese as enemies; Joseph Connor professes to never
even have seen a Japanese in uniform. On the eve of their murderous flight,
the crew goes about their hobbies and philosophizes on moral matters. In
depicting the perpetrators as decent human beings, devoid of any hatred for
their victims, Grossman illustrates what Anders will later call the “macabre
peacefulness” of nuclear warfare, where the lack of hostility toward the victim is not an expression of true kindness, but of the fact that the victim is
simply not visible. 68
“triggering” that can result in a whole chain of consecutive triggering yet
shields the perpetrator from the consequences of his action: “Not one presser
of buttons (if such a presser is at all still needed) senses anymore that he performs an action, and since the site of the crime [Tatort] and that of suffering
no longer coincide, since cause and effect have been severed, nobody sees
what his action entails.” 65 Both the fictional pilot Joseph Connor, as depicted
by Grossman, and the real pilot Claude Eatherly, as stylized by Anders, strive
to overcome this blindness and restore individual agency, even if this means
to confront themselves with an unbearable guilt. Ironically, for both, the
metamorphosis from the proverbial cog in the machine to a human being
with an integrated sense of morality results in their being no longer considered socially acceptable.
Second: in Abel (August 6th), Grossman explores the challenge to humanity’s moral existence posed by the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima in terms
similar to those of Günther Anders. For Anders, the “‘technification’ of our
being” results in an upheaval of traditional notions of good and evil, guilt
and responsibility:
[…] the fact that to-day it is possible that unknowingly and indirectly,
like screws in a machine, we can be used in actions, the effects of which
are beyond the horizon of our eyes and imagination, and of which, could
we imagine them, we could not approve–this fact has changed the very
foundations of our moral existence. Thus, we can become ‘guiltlessly
guilty,’ a condition which had not existed in the technically less advanced
times of our fathers. 66
Like Anders, Grossman, too, diagnoses the replacement of “conscience” by
the “conscientious,” which for Anders is a trademark of a technological culture based on a division of labor and competence. Grossman’s fictional crew
members of the Enola Gay are highly specialized men with a profound sense
of responsibility, yet theirs is merely professional responsibility that confines
itself to the flawless performance of the technical task. As the philosopher
of the crew, a man who in his spare time muses about ways to improve the
world, puts it: “in this matter, technology frees us from moral responsibility”
(“tekhnika osvobozhdaet nas v ėtom dele ot moralʹnoi otvetstvennosti”). 67
None of Grossman’s crew members nurtures any hostility toward the
people they are about to kill. His men of the Enola Gay detest racism and
do not perceive the Japanese as enemies; Joseph Connor professes to never
even have seen a Japanese in uniform. On the eve of their murderous flight,
the crew goes about their hobbies and philosophizes on moral matters. In
depicting the perpetrators as decent human beings, devoid of any hatred for
their victims, Grossman illustrates what Anders will later call the “macabre
peacefulness” of nuclear warfare, where the lack of hostility toward the victim is not an expression of true kindness, but of the fact that the victim is
simply not visible. 68