There has been much debate about how to locate Hannah Arendt within the tradition of political philosophy. This article argues for an “existentialist” reading, claiming that Karl Jaspers's categories reappear, politicized, in Arendt's own thought. Her language and arguments do not, in fact, become completely intelligible until read in the context of Jaspers's Existentz philosophy. The authors contend that the apparent obscurity and ambiguity of Arendt's writings owe to her attempt to stretch the framework of existentialism to fit the milieu of classical antiquity, to which it is fundamentally alien. Conversely, Arendt appropriated only those aspects of Aristotelian theory that suited her existentially defined concerns while ignoring the rest, a procedure that accounts for many of the tensions and contradictions found in her work.

Foundation is a crucial concept in Hannah Arendt's work. She was especially interested in modern attempts, successful and unsuccessful, to found new bodies politic. Arendt maintained, however, that totalitarian movements were hostile to the project of foundation. Far from seeking to stabilize the world, totalitarianism set the world in motion and tried to keep it moving. But when we turn to National Socialist ideology itself we discover that foundation was vital to the Nazi project; Hitler understood himself as the founder of his people. Arendt's own interpretation of Nazism is mistaken, but I believe that her general theory of foundation can help us to make sense of the National Socialist experience. This article examines the project of foundation in Hitler's Weltanschauung and redeploys Arendt's concepts to explain his unsuccessful attempt to create a new body politic.

While Plato's political dialogues give much attention to the relation of the legal and the divine, this subject receives scant notice in Aristotle's Politics. But this is not a sign that Aristotle neglects or dismisses the subject; it is in fact perfectly consistent with what the author understands to be Aristotle's view of the proper political relation of laws and gods. This view emerges indirectly, and only after reflection on the substance and manner of Aristotle's “umpiring” of a staged debate over the rule of the “best laws” versus that of the “best man” (Politics III). From the standpoint of the highest, Aristotle finds law to be both regime-derivative and somewhat prudence-impeding. At the same time, the “apolitical” character of the best man's rule necessitates the rule of law, and with it —for largely utilitarian reasons — Aristotle's public acquiescence in the apotheosis of the legal. But this teaching, and its basis, emerge fully only when the Politics' relative “silence” is interpreted in light of the open statements of a text much less palatable and thus much less accessible to statesmen and citizens (and even to political scientists): the Metaphysics. The Politics' obliqueness, argues the author, owes to the fact that Aristotle's final understanding of the relation of laws and gods cannot be fully disclosed publicly if it is to achieve its end of improving public life.

Although scholars routinely agree that a relative absence of socialism marks one way in which the United States is exceptional, they have argued over why we are distinct in this way. As representatives of an enduring comparative public policy issue, two “camps” of analysts have offered broad, competing explanations resting on cultural and structural variables, respectively. This article implements a strategy for demonstrating: (1) specific cultural and structural independent variables are applied most appropriately to explain specific aspects of policy development, and (2) cultural and structural contributions are thus complementary rather than competing. I proceed by focusing on an exception to the “laggard” character of the American welfare state, the unusual success of the social security program. Dealing with the obverse of the usual “why-America-lags” concern provides a more observable dependent variable, enabling us to highlight the actual operation of distinct cultural and structural forces. I then show how this strategy can be applied to broader questions of American exceptionalism and public policy development.

In a mental experiment that divested man of all institutions of order, Thomas Hobbes called the resulting imaginary situation “the state of nature,” and described it as “war of all against all.” In other words, he established an assumption that aggression is the original quality of human nature, an assumption he supported with correct observations. I submit that, if such a mental experiment made sense, it would be more to the point to call this imaginary nonsocial man “confused,” and I am ready to support this assumption with correct observation. I have found myself in a country whose language I could not speak, whose writing I could not read, and whose habits I did not know. The native person accompanying me as an interpreter was separated from me by crowds. Here I was, all alone. I did not know the name of my street, the look of my house, or even the direction of the compass, since the day was clouded. The confusion that befell me was general, all-encompassing, basic, and utterly frightening. While I was completely free to go in any direction I wanted, all these possibilities were the same to me, like to Buridan's ass, so that I could not move for simple lack of discernment. I can easily conceive an imaginary nonsocial man being in the same mental condition, much more easily than a warrior engaged in a big enterprise such as a “war against all.” This is the assumption underlying the following investigations on authority and alienation.