West, east, north, and south—from Hawaii to South Korea, from Finland to Australia, in most of the major cities of western Europe, in the Slovenian capital of Ljubljana, in Istanbul, Malta, and Tel Aviv, in multiple locations in North, Central, and South America—Hannah Arendt's centenary was celebrated with conferences and colloquia, art exhibitions, dramatic and musical performances, in film, on radio and television, as well as in new monographs and biographies, and in new editions of her own works. These events started before Arendt's one hundredth birthday on October 14, 2006, and have not yet concluded. Arendt herself, of course, was present at none of them. She did not hear what others—the "newcomers" whom she always welcomed—have to say about her, or read what they write about her, or perceive the images they make, intended to represent both her person and her thought. An irresistible though futile question to ask is: What would she make of all this fuss? Though no one can possibly know her answer, we can, I believe, be fairly certain that it would not be one of outright gratification. "What," one could almost hear her whispering when cleverness and erudition were displayed for their own sake, "has become of action?" On the other hand, her response surely would be one of gratitude for the poetic exhibition "Von den Dichtern erwarten wir Wahrheit," curated by Barbara Hahn and Marie Luise Knott for Literaturhaus Berlin; for the astonishing political images created by Volker März in Das Lachen der Hannah Arendt (2006) shown in a variety of venues in Berlin and elsewhere; and, one would like to think, for the papers included in this and the next issue of Social Research.

The Hannah Arendt Bluecher Literary Trust has granted permission to Social Research to publish for the first time a lecture given by Arendt in 1953, the provenance of which is her so-called Marx manuscripts. The lecture here entitled "The Great Tradition" has been divided into two parts, the first of which, subtitled "Law and Power," appears in the current issue, and the second, subtitled "Ruling and Being Ruled," will appear in the next issue. The Marx manuscripts, as they go on, have less and less to do with Karl Marx, but even when, as here, he is not named or his thought directly addressed, he remains, in one important respect, in the background. In the first part of "The Great Tradition" the relation between law and power, and in the second part the conception of government as ruling and being ruled, are analyzed by Arendt as fundamental elements in the tradition of political thought; what the reader needs to be aware of (and this is gone into in depth in earlier parts of the manuscripts), is that the lasting importance of Marx to Arendt is his having brought the tradition to its end by returning it to its beginning. The tradition began when Plato replaced action with philosophy, and ended when Marx transformed philosophy into action. In both its beginning and its end—and this is why Marx himself remains within the tradition—the pre-philosophic and perhaps antiphilosophic experience of freedom in action, Arendt's primary political concern, is missing.

The paper argues that a specific "concept of the political" can be reconstructed in Arendt by bringing together elements coming from Origins of Totalitarianism, Part II ("Arendt's Theorem": the deprivation of citizen's rights is also a destruction of human rights), from The Human Condition and On Revolution ("isonomia" or equal liberty is the necessary correlate of the "right to have rights"), and from On Disobedience (without a possibility of disobedience there is no legitimate institution of obedience). These propositions produce a singular variety of "institutionalism", which involves a "groundless" politics of Human Rights (or a politics of Human Rights without natural foundation, only a support from political action), and also helps clarifying the thesis on the "banality of evil" in Eichmann in Jerusalem: the sovereign tautology "law is law" is the root of voluntary servitude. To say that we have a choice between becoming Eichmanns or taking the risk of civil disobedience is too quick; and to suppose that a state where civil disobedience becomes recognized would be immune of the danger of totalitarian transformation is an illusion, but as an ideal type, these formulations may encapsulate what Arendt's "concept of the political" hints at.

Hannah Arendt's 1949 essay on the critique of human rights was published in English and German in the same year under two quite different titles: while in English the title asks the skeptical question: "'The Rights of Man'. What Are They?", the German title claims: "Es gibt nur ein einziges Menschenrecht " - "there is only one human right". The article shows that the English title's skepticism and the German title's assertion represent two internally connected moves of Arendt's argument. For Arendt aims at a fundamental critique of the modern natural law tradition of human rights which, at the same time, hints at a possible alternative understanding of a " right to have rights" in terms of a political anthropology - a new understanding of human dignity.

My claim is that Arendt founds the 'right to have rights' in the anarchic event of natality. Arendt is very explicit that the event of natality is an ontological event. In The Human Condition, she writes: "The miracle that saves the world, the realm of human affairs, from its normal "natural" ruin is ultimately the fact of natality, in which the faculty of action is ontologically rooted." (HC 246, emphasis mine) At the same time, she is equally insistent that this ontological event is not metaphysical; it is not the origin of anything like human nature: "To avoid misunderstanding, the human condition is not the same as human nature and the sum total of human activities and capabilities which correspond to the human condition do not constitute anything like human nature" (HC 9). Indeed, this event has the character of a "startling unexpectedness." Natality, she argues, is the condition for human existence, but it can never "…explain what we are or answer the question of who we are for the simple reason that [it] can never condition us absolutely" (HC 10). The 'who' does not possess an enduring, fixed nature, but is instead inherently marked by contingency and unpredictability. Arendt's ontology, therefore, does not describe an immutable order of essences; it does not seek enduring truths upon which to ground both thought and action; it does not posit a metaphysical notion of human nature or subjectivity in which human rights are inalienably inscribed. Instead, it is rooted in an unpredictable, anarchic event that provides the arche and principium of human action. For Arendt, the event of natality is the arche in the double etymological sense of origin and rule. In other words, natality is the unpredictable, anarchic origin that carries its rule or principle within it. As she points out in On Revolution, "What saves the act of beginning from its own arbitrariness is that it carries its own principle within itself or, to be more precise, that beginning and principle, principium and principle, are not only related to each other, but are coeval." Arendt goes on to argue: "For the Greek word for beginning is arche, and arche means both beginning and principle." By articulating this principium (which, I argue, is double: the principle of initium and the principle of givenness), Arendt does not give us an ontological politics; rather, she provides an ontological foundation for human rights.

A political philosophy that no longer wants to be a philosophy inevitably runs into contradictions. The productive transparency of Arendt's philosophical experiment becomes visible, however, if we avoid simple mappings to Aristotle, Kant and Heidegger in order to emphasize the point and counterpoint of Arendt's message. The connections she draws, unusual in the world of philosophical thinking, have an obvious and a hidden side. The hidden side can be frequently found in the nuances, and these will be pursued inasmuch as they allow an entirely new reading of Arendt's relationship to practical philosophy.

The paper is focused on Arendt's lecture course "Some Questions of Moral Philosophy," as edited and published by Jerome Kohn in 2003. The main characteristics of moral philosophy, as Arendt envisions it in this lecture, are stated. The author presents as a proposition that Arendt's observations and thoughts in moral philosophy can be linked to her political philosophy, and that there is no "conflict" between Arendt, the political philosopher, and Arendt, the moral philosopher.

This paper deals with the recently published work by Hannah Arendt, "Some Questions of Moral Philosophy" (1965), which is her most extensive discussion of moral issues. What emerges from this work is a fuller account of what genuine morality is. Writings that she published had prepared her readers for the idea that genuine morality is Socratic morality, which holds that it is better for the person to suffer wrong than to do wrong. That means, in the contexts of resistance to totalitarianism and to tyranny and despotism, that it is better to suffer wrong than to be an accomplice or passive bystander of wrong done to others when one could be safe if one did not resist. On the other hand, Arendt makes it clear that spurious morality in the form of what she calls "the morality of mores" makes people accomplices or passive bystanders. For them, morality is merely conformity to the prevailing norms, and their conformity is underlain by self-love. Thus, morality in one conventional sense sustains political evil, while morality in the real sense impels the individual's effort to resist evil. But this paper also tries to indicate that for Arendt the evil of totalitarianism is not simply the infliction of atrocious suffering and premature death on millions of people. Rather, the worst part of the evil is that atrocious suffering dehumanizes its victims. The loss of humanity is an existential loss: a deprivation of the human status. Correspondingly, the most noteworthy aspect of resistance to evil is to give testimony to the human stature: the unique human capacity to engage in free audacious activity. Status and stature constitute human dignity; and for Arendt human dignity is essentially existential in importance and only secondarily moral.

This essay investigates the tradition of interwar German-Jewish political theology associated most of all with Leo Strauss and Franz Rosenzweig. It is suggested here that the Straussian notion of an eternal conflict between politics and religions may be derived, in part, from Rosenzweig's image of the depoliticized Jewish community. Furthermore, this "concept of the apolitical" represents something like a modernist reprisal of Stoic ideals, most especially the ancient ideal of ataraxia, or "freedom from disturbance." This apoliticism is distinguished most of all by two interlocking principles; first, that politics is mere disorder if not a return to the state of unredeemed nature; and second, that religious peace must accordingly be found elsewhere than politics. This argument for the near-incommensurability of politics and religion represents the special if not altogether unique contribution of Weimar German-Jewish intellectuals to the enduring tradition of political theology. It is therefore worth posing the following question: Why does Hannah Arendt's political theory appear to bear almost no trace whatsoever of this political-theological tradition? By what logic did Arendt dissent from the political-theological principles that so captivated her German-Jewish contemporaries? And which tradition should command our allegiance today?

The political sphere Arendt strove throughout her career to defend and restore depended upon the performative abilities of its participant speakers. But Arendt's theatricality is that of the speech act, not of the stage in a literal sense, where original utterances and originary deeds are not primarily at stake. Arendt versus Zweig replays the cultural enmity of Berlin versus Vienna, giving voice and person to a Central European cultural fissure that travels far and wide into the émigré experience and remains too regularly overlooked in all of its venues by scholars of Central Europe. The distinction is especially elusive to American scholars, who often remain insufficiently sensitive both to the cultural differences between northern and southern Central Europe, and to the survival of religiously marked cultural differences. Hannah Arendt was an émigré from the northern German world and from the German language. In cultural as well as geographical terms, she was an émigré from Prussia. Born in Hanover, reared in Koenigsberg, educated in Heidelberg, she identified with Berlin and its claim to cosmopolitanism. She therefore became a cosmopolitan thinker from Berlin, a metropolis whose generosity and arrogance (much like New York's) has resided at least since the 1870s in its self perception as the center of the world. But Arendt also did battle with her fellow Berliners, especially when they seemed to abandon their Berlin-trained worldliness.

A number of Jewish women invented a singular way of entering into German culture; singular in that no tradition in Judaism or in Germany had shown them the way. Rahel Varnhagen, one of the first, is the subject of a biography by Hannah Arendt. Varnhagen never wrote a book, only letters and a diary, in which she unsystematically mixed narration and reflection, political and philosophical thoughts. Arendt's biography is true to heterogeneity of this kind: her biographical writing offers no synthesis, jumping from systematic representations to individual experiences, and then to historical events or even social context. Arendt wrote to Jaspers that she had chosen the genre of biography precisely because she could not say what she wanted to in abstracto, meaning philosophic: more precisely, within the frames of Existenzphilosophie. Two things are noteworthy here: 1) the kind of biography that Arendt wrote; and 2) the very fact that she chose—despite Heidegger's well known contempt for it—the biographical genre. In order to give an account of those two things, one has to arrive at an understanding of what it is in the frames of Existenzphilosophie that prevents expression of the predicament of Rahel's existence and makes biography the more appropriate genre in her case.

In The Origins of Totalitarianism, Hannah Arendt makes the unexpected statement that totalitarian violence "is expressed much more frighteningly in the organization of its followers than in the physical liquidation of its opponents." Of course, her intention is not to deny the radical physical violence of totalitarianism but rather to understand the distinctive features of totalitarian terror. In order to fully understand the importance of what Arendt is describing, we should compare this first moment of the analysis with another assertion that seems just as paradoxical and that is also in The Origins of Totalitarianism: noting totalitarianism's contempt for facts and reality, Arendt remarks that the propaganda of totalitarian movements is "invariably as frank as it is mendacious." Totalitarian propaganda does not just lie about the aims and real actions of totalitarian movements or regimes: it also gives itself the organization required to change the real world and make it "true" to its assertions, though they be utterly absurd and utterly monstrous. Through totalitarian organization the natural bonds of solidarity and communication are broken; they are replaced by distrust and informing. The objective is to pervert human plurality into a mass of fragmented individuals, to suppress the common world and substitute it with alienation from the world, from others, and from oneself. From then on, everything is blurred for the outside observer who would still like to distinguish between adherence to the regime out of conviction and submission through terror, organization, and indoctrination. The issue of knowing whether this enthusiasm is forced or sincere loses much of its pertinence. Let us keep this important point in mind when we pass judgment too rapidly on the "fanaticism" of Islamic crowds streaming down the streets of Teheran or any other totalitarian theocracy.

H. Arendt asserts that "in the modern world authority has disappeared almost to the vanishing point." However, she attributes some kind of authority to the words of poets, in the case discussed here, to those of her friend W. H. Auden. The precious gift of the poets to write poems that have an "unconstraining" power (Auden's word), gives that authority to their voice