In truth, the Heidegger who Arendt eventually let back in her life, like many older men nostalgic for what they once were, was a bit of a numpty, a narcissist who called her his “wood” and mythologised their past. The slightly creepy fascination with their affair has underplayed the significance of her relationship with her second husband, the super-smart and ever-fanciable Heinrich Blücher. True, Blücher was also fanciable to other women, including her friends, but here too Arendt was a realist. Blücher picked up her dropped commas and always looked at her with a sparkle in his eye. If she forgave Heidegger in the end, it was because he needed her more than she did him. Heidegger, the cunning fox who turned out not to be so cunning after all, had set a trap for himself by his own self-absorbed thinking.

¶ 6:31 AM