Sociology Responds to Facism CL

SOCIOLOGY RESPONDS TO FASCISM Over recent years there has been growing interest in the relations between academic inte...

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SOCIOLOGY RESPONDS TO FASCISM

Over recent years there has been growing interest in the relations between academic intellectuals and professionals and the Nazi regime—several works on Heidegger, Nazi doctors and Paul de Man have appeared. This book attempts to do for sociology what has been done for other Fields: to demythologize the prewar role of sociologists and provide a serious historical basis for reflection on it. The myth is simple: that the noble and clear-sighted Frankfurt School was expelled by Hitler and raised the consciousness of the West. The realities are considerably more complex. During and after the war, a consensus account of fascism emerged, but in the interwar years sociologists misanalysed, misunderstood or supported fascism. The book examines the historical record in Germany, Austria, Italy, Hungary, the USA and the UK to provide a rich and at times perplexing account of sociologists and fascism. Novel in its comparative framework and invigorating in its conclusions, the book will occupy the centre of debate for many years to come. It will appeal to sociologists with an interest in history, and historians with an interest in sociology. ‘Turner and Käsler have done professional social science a profoundly necessary, if painful service. A major contribution to the history of sociology as a discipline and institution. A refreshingly unsentimental exposé of the collaboration and connivance between academic sociology and fascism, it should be widely studied and debated.’ Professor Bryan S.Turner, Department of Sociology, Essex University Stephen Turner is Distinguished Research Professor at the University of South Florida, and Dirk Käsler is Professor of Sociology at Hamburg University.

SOCIOLOGY RESPONDS TO FASCISM Edited by

Stephen P.Turner and Dirk Käsler

London and New York

First published in 1992 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 1992 Selection and editorial matter, Stephen P.Turner and Dirk Käsler; individual chapters, the contributors. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication Data Turner, Stephen P., 1951– Sociology Responds to Fascism/Stephen P.Turner and Dirk Käsler. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Sociology—United States—History–20th century. 2. Sociology—Europe—History–20th century. 3. Fascism—History. 4. Sociologists— United States—History–20th century. 5 Sociologists—Europe–20th century. I. Käsler, Dirk, 1944–. II. Title. HM22.U5T873 1992 91–43900 301–dc20 CIP ISBN 0-203-16907-7 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-26443-6 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0-415-04086-8 (Print Edition)

To the memory of Theo and Sasha Suess, and the son whose mortal sacrifice enabled them to escape from German fascism.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

vii

Notes on the contributors

viii

1

SOCIOLOGY AND FASCISM IN THE INTERWAR PERIOD: THE MYTH AND ITS FRAME Stephen P.Turner

1

2

OUTSIDERS AND TRUE BELIEVERS: AUSTRIAN SOCIOLOGISTS RESPOND TO FASCISM Gerald Mozetič

15

3

AMBIGUOUS INFLUENCES: ITALIAN SOCIOLOGY AND THE FASCIST REGIME Marta Losito and Sandro Segre

43

4

ACADEMIC DISCUSSION OR POLITICAL GUIDANCE? SOCIAL-SCIENTIFIC ANALYSES OF FASCISM AND NATIONAL SOCIALISM IN GERMANY BEFORE 1933 Dirk Käsler and Thomas Steiner

87

5

SOCIAL-SCIENTIFIC EXPERTS—NO IDEOLOGUES: SOCIOLOGY AND SOCIAL RESEARCH IN THE THIRD REICH Carsten Klingemann

125

6

‘SOCIOLOGISTS’, SOCIOGRAPHERS, AND ‘LIBERALS’: HUNGARIAN INTELLECTUALS RESPOND TO FASCISM Dénes Némedi

151

7

PRINCIPLE, POLITICS, PROFESSION: AMERICAN SOCIOLOGISTS AND FASCISM, 1930–1950 Robert C.Bannister

167

8

RESPONSES TO FASCISM IN BRITAIN, 1930–1945: THE EMERGENCE OF THE CONCEPT OF TOTALITARIANISM Peter Lassman

207

Index

233

vi

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Karen Kier and Ken Wilkinson typed many revisions of the chapters and assembled the text for publication. For their patient effort I am grateful. Stephen P.Turner I would like to acknowledge the lively interest in the theme of this project from the members of the Research Committee on the History of Sociology (RCHS) of the International Sociological Association (ISA). During the TCHS conference in Munich 1984 I had proposed to organize a session on the theme of ‘Sociologists and Fascism’ at the following conference of the RCHS. Two such sessions on the theme of this book were held during the XI World Congress of Sociology in New Delhi, India, in 1986 where most of the authors of this volume had intended to give first presentations of their papers. Because of the inability of some colleagues to come to New Delhi, and on the basis of the very vivid discussions following the presentations of some of the papers, the idea of the publication of a collection of papers covering the theme of ‘Sociologists and Fascism’ in the variant national sociological traditions developed. Without the encouraging support of the scholarly community of the RCHS this project would never have been completed. I would also like to acknowledge the encouragement and support of this work from my students at the Institut für Soziologie of the University of Hamburg who participated in my seminar on ‘Sociological Analyses of Fascism and National Socialism’ during the summer semester 1989. I furthermore thank the Center for Interdisciplinary Studies in Culture and Society of the University of South Florida in St Petersburg for the invitation to spend my sabbatical semester during the months of August 1989 to January 1990 there and to continue my work on this edition. In order to make this stay possible I gratefully acknowledge the support of the Universitä t Hamburg, the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, and the German Marshall Fund of the United States. Dirk Käsler

NOTES ON THE CONTRIBUTORS

Robert C.Bannister, b. 1935, Scheuer Professor, Dept. of History, Swarthmore College, Swarthmore (USA). Publications on early twentieth-century American reform and the history of American sociology. Dirk Käsier, b. 1944, Professor, Institut für Soziologie, Universität Hamburg, Hamburg (Germany). Publications on the history of sociology, sociological theories, political sociology. Carsten Klingemann, b. 1950, Akademischer Rat, Fachbereich Sozialwissenschaften, Universitä t Osnabrück, Osnabrück (Germany). Publications on the history of sociology. Peter Lassman, b. 1943, Lecturer, Dept. of Political Science and International Studies, University of Birmingham, Birmingham (UK). Publications on political and social theory. Marta Losito, b. 1944, Researcher, Dip. di Teoria, Storia e Ricerca Sociale, Università di Trento, Trento (Italy). Publications on political sociology and history of sociological thought Gerald Mozetič, b. 1951, Professor, Institut für Soziologie, Universit t Graz, Graz (Austria). Publications on the history of sociology, methodology of the social sciences, sociology of culture. Dénes Némedi, b. 1942, Assistant Professor, Institute of Sociology, Eōtvōs University of Budapest, Budapest (Hungary). Works on modern Hungarian history, on the history of Hungarian sociology, on classical and modern sociological theory. Sandro Segre, b. 1945, Professor of Sociology, Dip. di Economia Politica, Università Commerciale Luigi Bocconi, Milano (Italy). Publications on the history of sociology and sociological theories. Thomas Steiner, b. 1961, M.A. (Sociology), Institut für Soziologie, Universität Hamburg, Hamburg (Germany). Stephen P.Turner, b. 1951, Distinguished Research Professor of Philosophy, University of South Florida, Tampa, Florida (USA). Publications on the philosophy of sciences, history of sociology, sociological theories.

1 SOCIOLOGY AND FASCISM IN THE INTERWAR PERIOD The myth and its frame Stephen P.Turner

There is a well-entrenched belief that sociology is intrinsically an ‘oppositional science’. The idea that distortions of sociological truth may aid reaction but genuine science is a handmaiden to progress has deep roots in the sociological tradition itself. One variant on this theme is the theme of betrayal: that true sociology has been suppressed by the bourgeoisie or by academic servants of power in favour of false, ‘legitimating’ sociology. Among the bases of the idea of sociology’s oppositional essence are the supposed facts that sociology was actively suppressed by the Nazi regime and that sociologists generally resisted fascist regimes through emigration or inner migration. The idea that sociology in the fascist era was nonexistent or trivial, and that consequently the period was a blank, an episode of discontinuity, is closely connected to these supposed facts.1 Fascist regimes, one is to infer, were fearful of the power of the empirical sociologist to reveal unpleasant facts about societies, facts that had been hidden for propagandists and ideological reasons, and were similarly fearful of the power of the theoretical sociologist to put the facts in a perspective that is threatening to the ideological self-conceptions of power. This fits the idea of sociology’s intrinsically oppositional character in a flattering way. In their own accounts of their experience with fascism, many of the victims of Nazism cited evidence that was consistent with these supposed facts about sociology under fascism and this way of explaining them. Many of the sociologists whose careers had not prospered under these regimes found the status of ‘Victim’ to be an appealing one, especially under the circumstances of the postwar period.2 Sociologists who had prospered sought to cover their tracks,3 and the story of discontinuity was useful for them as well. Recent historical studies have shown that analogous ‘victimization’ stories in other fields are misleading. Biology (Weingart et al. 1988), physics (Beyerchen 1977), and Eastern European studies (Burleigh 1988) found ways to accommodate the Nazi regime and thrive under it. Cooperation, or at least accommodation, was the rule, not the exception, in scholarly life. Medical researchers engaged in physical torture and abuse as well as ideological rationalization for the Nazis (Proctor 1988). This was a perversion of the ‘healing science’. To this sort of self-betrayal, sociology, or so it has been believed, was immune, if only because

2 SOCIOLOGY RESPONDS TO FASCISM

the Nazis were presumed to be so hostile to sociology that it could not have occurred. There is another aspect to this story. Fascism, as one of the great social phenomena of the century, was part of the subject matter of sociology. If sociology claims to be of value in educating the public and improving the capacity of citizens to act, fascism is a subject which tests this claim. It is widely assumed that this challenge was met. The evidence usually adduced to support this claim is part of the same general picture of discontinuity, suppression, and emigration. It is taken for granted that exiles on the left, such as Mannheim and the Frankfurt School, were clear-sighted in their response to the developments from which they had escaped. It is further assumed that they provided or at least contributed heavily to the intellectual framework within which competent sociological and public opinion in the non-fascist countries to which they escaped came to analyse and respond to fascism. The standard evidence for this is the analysis of authoritarianism by the Frankfurt School during the 1930s, which culminated in The Authoritarian Personality (Adorno et al. 1950). The impression that this represented a coherent and influential point of view during the era of fascism perhaps rests primarily on an inference that the wide availability of the writings of the critical theorists and the related works of Wilhelm Reich in the 1960s, and the retrospective coherence that could be given these works, reflects the situation of the 1930s. SELECTIVITY AND MYTH The specifically historical part of this image is false. Sociologists were not notably successful in understanding fascism in the interwar era, much less in educating the public about the subject, and sociologists served the Nazi regimes just as other scholars did. The history of their service has been shrouded in misimpressions which have gradually been dispelled. Many of the leading figures in postwar German sociology who lived through the Nazi period knew a great deal about the role of sociology under the Nazis and did nothing to correct the misimpressions. But by the late 1970s, these misimpressions were a house of cards ready to fall: the literature of victimization that had developed over the years was full of inconsistencies resulting from the variety of occasions and circumstances under which the story was told. It could not survive serious historical examination. The larger story of sociology’s response to fascism, however, cannot be disposed of so easily. The impression that sociologists in the non-fascist countries understood fascism, and edified the public, for example, rests not so much on the suppression of evidence as on its interpretation and presentation. This may be best understood considering the historiographic role of certain cases presumed to represent the truth about sociology’s relation to fascism. The Frankfurt School was opposed to fascism and was also the source of analyses of fascism, was driven from Germany and subsequently became famous in the United States for its accounts of the

SOCIOLOGY AND FASCISM IN THE INTERWAR PERIOD 3

authoritarian personality type. It apparently fits the myth perfectly. But the case is not representative, nor is it unproblematic. The Frankfurt School indeed provided part of the intellectual impetus for The Authoritarian Personality, a major study sponsored by the American Jewish Committee. Members of this school, notably Fromm, Neumann and Marcuse, became influential authors in the postwar period, where they were noted especially for their reflections on authority and freedom. But the impression produced by these facts is that the sociologists who were part of the German left understood and illuminated Nazism prior to the struggle against it, and influenced the struggle itself. This impression is not accurate. The members of the Frankfurt School scarcely discussed the topic of Nazism (or indeed Italian fascism) before their departure from Germany. They had the most limited sort of edifying impact on their non-fascist hosts prior to the war itself. The reason for this lack of impact, apart from problems of language and difficulties in establishing themselves that were shared with other emigrants, was that the framework in which they understood fascism and their conviction that Germany represented the most advanced form of the historical process was not shared by sociologists or the public in the non-fascist countries. When they arrived in the United States, the members of the Frankfurt School held to their faith in the historical inevitability of revolution and the idea that Germany represented the world-historical future. The rise of fascism was interpreted by the Frankfurt School in terms of a problem that was theoretically central to Marxism, namely the limited revolutionary capacity and inclination of the German working class on which the hope of Marxist revolution had been placed. Like other Marxists, the Frankfurt School simply added epicycles to the theory of the inevitable revolution of the proletariat to correct for its predictive failures: fascism became an additional ‘final stage’ in the development of capitalism. To be sure, the members of the Institute added many dimensions to this basic idea, and during the war some of them took positions that transcended it But a serious development of these ideas did not occur in time to affect public opinion in their host countries. The Authoritarian Personality was an extension of the idea that Germany was a harbinger of the future: the possibility of fascism was, the study claimed, latent in the American population. In the wake of the Holocaust, a ready audience in the American Jewish community was found for this thesis. Prior to the war and prior to the careful packaging of these ideas for an American audience, the problematic itself was shared, in its specific terms, only with other socialists. But socialist opinion was not an unerring guide to fascism. The practical political implications of the idea that fascism was simply an advanced form of capitalism were deeply ambiguous. Many socialists who adhered to this idea were acquiescent in the face of what they saw as an inevitable part of the historical process. Another sociologist of the left, Hendrik de Man, went beyond nonchalance to active encouragement (Pels 1987, 1991). De Man had concluded that fascism, understood in its historical role, was an instrument for doing away


with the bourgeois state and creating a centralized power apparatus that could then be used to create socialism. De Man represents an extreme case, but others on the left were also ambivalent toward fascism: hostility to ‘bourgeois parliamentarianism’ and the idea that fascism was a necessary cleansing also supported acquiescence. As the chapter by Käsler and Steiner shows, the political strategists of the socialist parties of Germany were placed in a horrendous dilemma by these affinities to fascism. They could not defend liberal institutions without abandoning the ideological premises of their parties. But they could not hope to expand their electoral power without adopting tactics, such as the promotion of nationalism, that would have made their parties more closely resemble, and thus legitimate, the fascist movements. The members of the Frankfurt School did not resolve this dilemma so much as erroneously interpret American life in terms of it. And the oppositional character of the School’s response to fascism may be seen to rest on their allegiance to socialism rather than on the oppositional character of sociology. Put differently, the case of the Frankfurt School does not test the ‘oppositional’ interpretation of the relation of sociology to fascist regimes. It is, rather, a case that may be described to fit it. Its ‘importance’ depends on the frame in which it is presented. The frame, which reads the fashions of the 1960s into the 1930s, excludes most of what passed for sociology in the interwar era. The centrality of the Frankfurt School story in the self-understanding of sociology stems from its affinity to the myth, just as the marginalization of the de Man story reflects its uncomfortable implications. It might be more precise to say that the myth depends on presenting the Frankfurt School as representative or central and ignoring the practical political ambiguities of socialist anti-fascism. But ‘representative’ and ‘central’ are deeply problematic notions in historical writing generally and in the history of sociology during the interwar years in particular. The complexities of the historical problem of the relation of sociology to fascism underscore the problems. Some of the problems are quite mundane. Simply to classify persons as sociologists requires, in many cases, largely arbitrary decisions. De Man held an academic appointment as a social psychologist. The Frankfurt School stood apart from the institutional life of sociology, and consequently to consider any members of the Frankfurt School to be ‘sociologists’ in the interwar period itself is controversial, as Klingemann observes in his chapter. So even the apparently innocuous problem of the conventions one uses to categorize a person as a sociologist turns out to shape interpretation, and to do so crucially. Conventional historiographical strategies serve to provide some protection against selectivity. Biographical studies meet standards of completeness with respect to the individual lives they consider; studies of the structure and development of theoretical ideas meet other standards of completeness. In each case there is some protection against taking particular utterances or acts out of biographical or theoretical context. Biography focuses on intentions and actions, and particularly on the evolution of an individual’s plans and aims in response to


circumstances. Analyses of theoretical positions stress the complexity and individuality of a vision of the world. But both strategies have their own limitations, limitations that have visible effects on interpretations in the case of sociology’s response to fascism. Intellectuals are in the business of providing complex intellectual rationales and distinctive personal interpretations of the significance of their actions. Biographies and theoretical analysis focus on these. But the effects of action are often more a matter of the surface than the intellectual core, and this was the case in Germany. Surface acquiescence, however qualified by arcane private reservations or by ‘inner migrations’, however deeply felt, had the effect of public consent. These effects are more easily understood when they are compared to the full range of responses to fascism. The conditions under which sociologists acted and thought are better understood when they are compared to conditions that gave rise to different responses. THE STRATEGY OF THE VOLUME Sociology Responds to Fascism has a historiographic strategy that is neither biography nor a ‘history of ideas’. It is a comparative historical study of the range and conditions of the intellectual and political response to fascism by sociologists in six nations: two anti-fascist countries, Britain and the United States; two fascist states, Germany and Italy; and two states in which fascism had an impact through annexation and absorption, Austria and Hungary. Where fascists held power, the conflicts and accommodations between fascism and sociology are part of the ‘response’; in all of these countries, fascism was a subject for ‘sociological’ discussion and interpretation. Each of these studies is itself necessarily selective with respect to the sociological thinkers it considers. The chapters follow a general design, with the exception of the two chapters on Germany. The authors attempted to identify the widest possible range of representative and significant figures in the sociologies and proto-sociologies of the interwar era of each nation and to examine their analyses of fascism and role in supporting or opposing it. In the case of nations without fully developed academic traditions, writers on sociological topics were classified as sociologists for the purposes of the study. In countries with established sociological traditions, contemporary importance was the primary basis for inclusion. In the case of Germany, the questions of the institutional involvement of sociologists in the Nazi regime were separated from the problem of the analysis of fascism during the Weimar period: for a reason intrinsic to the German situation, the sharp break produced by Hitler’s seizure of power, the two sets of problems do not overlap significantly. This ‘comparative’ approach is a strategy with its own limitations, a frame into which many things do not fit. The elaboration and complexity of individual responses captured by biographical research is necessarily lost.4 But certain broad historical questions which might well be addressed by a study of sociology’s relation to fascism are also largely excluded. For example, one contemporary opinion was that fascism arose from the same intellectual context of


anti-rationalism and nostalgia for Gemeinschaft that was central to the sociologies not only of Tōnnies but of Durkheim and many others as well (Ranulf 1939). The framework of this study does not permit one to address this thesis directly. But this and similar broad-gauge issues do not disappear entirely. One of the influential figures in the German-speaking world, Othmar Spann, discussed at length in Gerald Mozetič’s chapter on Austrian sociology, exemplifies the line of development from sociological anti-individualism to fascism. The émigrés, because they were, on the evidence, without influence in any of the national sociologies discussed, are excluded by this design, and the limited group of national sociologies considered excludes such problematic figures as de Man, a Belgian. But here again, the underlying pattern is exemplified in other ways. De Man was not the only figure on the left ambivalent about fascism. The disputes between left-wing tacticians in Germany, discussed in Käsler and Steiner’s chapter, are indicative of the ambiguous significance of fascism and the intellectual difficulties it presented to the left. Némedi’s study of Hungary, similarly, identifies preconditions for acquiescence to fascism that were widespread among European intellectuals: the ambivalence toward fascism felt by reformers of various political persuasions who saw fascism as a potential catalyst for the changes they advocated. Némedi also points to other effects of sociology that influenced responses to fascism, including cynicism toward politics and reductionistic class analyses that sustained this cynicism. THREE STAGES IN THE RELATIONSHIP The cases discussed in this volume suggest a distinction between several stages in sociology’s relation to fascism. The first is the stage of the making of climates of opinion. Spann, and much of classical sociology, had a role in this stage. The literature of the classical period was marked by overt expressions of revulsion toward bourgeois parliamentarianism and capitalism, and the search for fundamentally different alternatives. Marxists, such as Lukács and de Man, were joined by the major classical sociologists in the belief in the possibility that radical alternatives to these forms could be realized. The list of affinities between sociology and fascist ideas is long. Durkheim, whose Division of Labor in Society pronounced the existing industrial order to be ‘pathological’, in his introduction to the second edition (1933) sketched a model of a ‘normal’ corporativist society. The idea, widely shared in various forms, was to have a long history in the fascist regimes themselves, as Losito and Segre show in their chapter on Italy, and K sler and Steiner in their chapter on Weimar-era German commentary on fascism. There are many very direct connections between fascist ideas and early sociology. Weber’s enthusiasm for the leadership state presaged Michels’ embrace of Mussolini as the capo carismatico. Pareto’s and Mosca’s theories of elites reflected related dissatisfactions with the existing order. Holding these thinkers responsible for the climate of opinion that produced fascism is nevertheless difficult. If their ‘influence’ had been absent, one suspects,


little would have changed: their views were merely visible symptoms of deeper currents in opinion that they did little to alter. The difficulties in assigning responsibility are evident when we consider a second stage in the relation of sociology to fascism, the actual use of sociological ideas to legitimate and criticize the emerging fascist movements. The case of Spann, as discussed in detail by Mozetič, shows how a sociologist could position himself as an intellectual leader of a fascist or proto-fascist political force. But Spann’s experience also shows the ambiguity between ‘leading’ and anticipating the movements of the one he pretends to control. When Spann sought to guide the movement he contributed to, he was ignored. The relatively long period of fascist rule in Italy, and the relative openness of its intellectual life, made this country into a kind of laboratory for the study of intellectual influence. Critics who have argued that sociology has routinely betrayed its mission through its pro-establishment biases have generally assumed that the discipline’s capacity for ideological service to established orders, notably to capitalism, has been great, that the need and demand for legitimation has been similarly great, and thus that the capitulation of sociology to these demands has been consequential for the societies in which this has occurred. The cases of Mosca and Michels indicate the complexities of legitimation. As Losito and Segre show, Michels, by becoming a propagandist for Mussolini, lost his ‘influence’. The ideas of Mosca, which no less an authority than David Beetham has pronounced to have a ‘natural connectionto support for fascism’, were not used to legitimate the regime because of Mosca’s personal opposition to Mussolini (Beetham 1977:163). Like Spann, the German sociologists who sought to provide ideological justifications for Nazism discovered that once in power the Nazis had a strong interest in preserving the purity of their own doctrine and little or none in ‘legitimation’. Nor did either major fascist regime exhibit much fear of sociology: they regarded the subject as largely superfluous where it did not coincide with their own programmatic ideas, and not as a threat to be suppressed. A third stage was the period in which sociologists attempted to serve the regimes technically rather than ideologically. One might regard this service as opportunism, and, consistent with the belief in sociology’s progressive, oppositional essence, regard it as betrayal. But the easy absorption of sociologists and social researchers into the apparatus of the Nazi system of academic patronage, documented by Klingemann, suggests otherwise. Sociologists participated in the Nazi order in large numbers and for the same kinds of reasons as sociologists participate in schemes of subsidized scholarship today. If anything, the Nazis were modernizers of sociology: they brought the machinery of subsidized scholarship and publication in empirical sociology and substantive research significantly closer to present models of research subsidy and relations with the state.5 As Klingemann shows, there was even a great deal of continuity in personnel in the sociology of the Federal Republic. Wartime sociology itself is beyond the limits of the studies presented here, but the parallels between sociology in this third stage in Germany and the case of


American wartime sociology should be noticed. One might suppose that the conditions which led sociologists into involvement with the Nazi regime described by Klingemann were unique to Germany and the Nazi system. But in both Germany and the United States, sociologists as experts and technicians attempted to contribute to national purposes, and were so employed. The areas of work were largely the same: studies of morale, aid in the administration of occupied territory, and the training of officers. Many sociologists served in interdisciplinary survey and research units for the War Department.6 Talcott Parsons himself tried to get funds and legitimation for sociology by working in the area of national morale and received funding for the training of officers in the Far East (Buxton and Turner 1992). THE ROLE OF THE SOCIOLOGIST These symmetries are suggestive. But the questions they raise about the professional role of the sociologist or the ethics of sociology in service to the state are not answerable by facile moralizing. Were these acts of service by sociologists, which in no case had any great practical effect, immoral as such, immoral or moral because of the immorality or morality of the causes they served, or a violation of normative requirements of detachment intrinsic to the sociologist’s role? If they were violations, precisely what was the role they violated? The studies may be said to provide an answer of sorts to these questions, though it is a negative one: none of the formulae that have purported to guide sociologists in their relations to the state or political purposes proved themselves in the face of fascism to be unerring guides. As Bannister shows, the ideal of scientific objectivity as practised by certain quantitatively oriented American sociologists prevented them from contributing to the understanding of fascism. Some German sociologists made themselves into ‘objective’ technical instruments of the state; in their case, adherence to the ‘objective’ did nothing to exculpate them from moral responsibility for the consequences of their technical help. Nor did the supposed inherent progressiveness of sociological truth cause the Nazis to refuse this aid. The rain of government patronage for sociologists fell from just and unjust regimes alike. The idea of an edifying sociology, one that serves to instruct the public, fared no better in the face of fascism. The romantic notion of reweaving a social order destroyed by impersonality, shared by Tōnnies, Durkheim, and many others, such as Spann, contributed, however indirectly, to the climate of opinion in which fascism took hold. So did the elitism of Pareto and Mosca. It would be convenient to excuse these thinkers on the ground that intellectuals ought not to be held accountable for the consequences of their ideas or their use by others. But in each of these cases, and in the case of sociologists generally, this defence fails. Ranulf suggested that their efforts were the moral equivalent of Nazi propaganda. This is perhaps harsh. But the differences in intent were matters of degree, not kind: both the sociologists and the fascist propagandists sought to influence opinion and


for their opinions to have political effects. The scholarship was intended to edify: these thinkers wanted their ideas to influence action and promoted their ideas accordingly. And even those sociological purists whose idea of sociology was farthest removed from these edifying intentions were financed because it was believed by ministers of state or the public that the pursuit of sociology ultimately served some practical purpose. The ideal of an engaged sociology also fared poorly. As Weber says, to enter into politics is to contract with diabolical powers. If the engagement of sociological thinkers in ‘progressive’ political causes is to be judged on its consequences, the consequences will rarely be unproblematic. One can err in choosing which ‘party of progress’ to ally oneself with. And one may err in choosing principles. The ‘principles’ that some of the Marxists discussed by K sler and Steiner ‘preserved’ by their refusal to compromise ideological purity and the goal of revolution do not look particularly progressive from today’s perspective. Instead, these principled Marxists appear partly culpable for the weakness of the political resistance to Nazism, which was at the time of the seizure of power a minority movement made powerful by the divisions between its opponents. The Critical Theorists, who held to the same theory of historical development, seem scarcely less culpable. Intellectuals in Europe found within the sociological tradition many reasons to be acquiescent or to support fascism, and few to reject it or inform a political resistance to it. One fundamental constraint on the conduct of sociologists is underscored by the German case. Sociology and social research is a subsidized activity, state-subsidized for the most part, and is thus morally bound to its patrons and historically conditioned by the relations and forms of patronage that support it. In practice, sociologists can escape the pact diabolique only by retirement or by exile and a change of patrons. Several of the Italian sociologists discussed by Losito and Segre chose this course. But exit is not a choice without moral implications either. THE CONDITIONS OF ANALYSIS How well did sociologists do as analysts of fascism? The phenomenon of fascism produced two kinds of interpretation: analyses that presented fascism as a novel and distinctive form, and analyses that assimilated fascism to patterns that were found elsewhere in more benign forms, such as administrative centralization, or that subsumed fascism under such overarching trends as ‘anomia’, ‘materialism’, or ‘the end of economic man’.7 The motivations for these interpretations were local or specific to particular situations, and were largely ideological. The American discussion largely reflected sociologists’ attitudes toward Roosevelt and his programme of state intervention. Stalin, Mussolini, and Hitler were all construed as leaders who, like Roosevelt, had centralized state power and introduced ‘planning’. These same equivalences were made by Europeans facing their own expansions of state power. They led de Man to become a supporter of


the cause of centralization. In the United States, the effect of these analyses was to ‘normalize’ these regimes. Treating them as similar political responses to the world economic crisis, as sociologically analogous, undermined attempts to differentiate them morally, such as Charles Ellwood’s warnings of the dangers of Italian fascism. The intellectually consequential analyses of fascism were not the product of disinterested sociological reflection, but of sociology motivated by political concerns. In Britain, where ‘sociological’ commentary on fascism was in the hands of writers who were not part of a disciplinary tradition, there was a quite different response, because there was a local political motive for making distinctions. Fascism was problematic, especially for socialist writers, in a way that it was not for academic theorists, whose views typically could be elaborated or stretched to accommodate fascism as a special case of a previously understood pattern. For British socialists, the equivalences raised uncomfortable questions about their own political ideals, questions famously exploited by Orwell. Their analyses of fascism and Nazism were in part attempts to find differentia between the socialist programme of the expansion of state power and the fascist program. As Lassman shows, they found the differentiating concept they sought in ‘totalitarianism’, a term originating in the propaganda of fascism itself. The historical image of fascism cultivated by such figures as Mussolini and Carl Schmitt was that fascism represented the replacement of the liberal system of compromise between partial interests with a ‘total’ regime, with the comprehensive incorporation of partial interests under the authority of the state. Labour socialism, oriented to the mundane interests of an economic and moral constituency within a parliamentary structure, was a different species of socialism, and British socialists sought to articulate this difference. The circumstances of reception, including the Cold War, favoured the interpretation. At the same time the revelation of the dimensions of the Holocaust worked against the ‘normalizing’ analyses of Nazism which had competed with the concept of totalitarianism: the abnormality of the Holocaust demanded an abnormal cause. What was missing in academic sociologists’ discussions, even in the cases of those who understood the dangers of fascism, was an account which connected the destructive potential of fascism to sociological facts.8 The much disputed theory that Nazism was the product of the ‘new middle classes’ is an apparent exception to this. But it is an exception that proves the rule. The connection between the cause and the relevant consequences was made only by conjoining it with the Reichian idea of the degree of sexual repression unique to this class, and the special consequences for mass psychology and aggression of repressed sexuality. The idea of ‘class basis’ was itself merely the extension of a familiar explanatory pattern, the determination of politics by class-interest, which accounted for the novelty of the phenomenon by identifying a novel class to cause it. But it and the question of the class basis of fascism was in its actual effect a political sedative which misled the opponents of fascism about its potential strength and potential future course. Contempt for the class led to an


underestimation of the movement which was based on it. The reduction of politics to class interests and class-specific psychology proved largely irrelevant to fascism in power. The puzzle of fascism remains, half a century after the conclusion of the war against the fascist regimes. This study does not pretend to shed much direct light on this puzzle. But it does illuminate a little discussed and poorly understood precondition for fascism: the intellectual confusion that this ‘bolt from the blue’ engendered. Sociologists were not immune to this confusion, just as they were not immune to temptations of participation in the fascist regimes. Myths die hard. The myth of sociology’s opposition to fascism and of the wisdom of sociology in the face of fascism deserves to die. But with it some other myths ought also to be undermined. The myth of sociology as a ‘legitimator’ whose services are much in demand ought simply to be forgotten. The idea that sociologists can be freed of responsibility for the consequences of their sociology ought also to be given up. There is nothing that assures that the effects of sociology will be progressive or constructive other than the definitional equation of ‘true’ sociology with the good. No sociology of the interwar era grasped fascism fully or produced an unambiguously ‘correct’ political recipe for dealing with it. The continuing dispute over the character of fascism and the interwar ‘fascist’ regimes suggests that these are inappropriately high standards for social science. But the failure to meet them indicates that the pretensions to political wisdom of social science are inappropriate as well. NOTES 1 As Theodor Adorno once put it, Hitler was the sworn enemy of sociology (Lepenies 1988:336). 2 Lepenies speaks of the ‘strange consensus between émigré and Nazi collaborator’ on this version of events (Lepenies 1988:336). 3 E.g. Hans Freyer. Cf. Jerry Muller 1987:367. 4 Muller’s excellent study of Freyer shows how complex the intellectual and personal response of individuals might become. What is difficult to see from such studies is the larger prosographical pattern of which the life in question forms a part within a given political order. It is also of course impossible to identify the specific conditions that made these national patterns distinctive. 5 Something similar may be seen in the case of psychology. See U.Geuter 1984. 6 Indeed, sociologists were readily found who were willing to cross the Constitutional line between morale surveys and political polling in support of Roosevelt (Converse 1987:152–53). 7 Analyses which subsume fascism under some other broad pattern have enjoyed a kind of second life owing to the moral horror of the Holocaust. Today it is possible, not to say fashionable, to attack some movement of thought or tendency, such as modernity, technology, rationality, capitalism, irreligion, and the like, by associating it with Nazism.


8 The ‘new middle class’ thesis did not do so; the analysts, contempt for the class and its ‘psychology’ led to contempt for the party that presumably represented its interests and was the expression of its psychology. The exception to this rule of failing to connect the explanation of fascism to its destructive potential was Thorstein Veblen’s analysis in his eerily prophetic Imperial Germany and the Industrial Revolution of 1915, and his successor work of 1917, An Inquiry into the Nature of Peace and the Terms of its Perpetuation. Joseph Dorfman’s claim for the former, that ‘So well had Veblen caught the spirit of the Third Reich twenty years before its birth that its accredited spokesmen sound as if they are merely obeying Veblen’s logic not in broad outline but in specific detail’, no doubt grossly overstates the case. Veblen had no inkling of Hitler or the specifics of the Nazi movement. But Veblen’s analysis of what has come to be called the Deutsche Sonderweg showed in detail the destructive potential of unbalanced German development in a system of democratic states. Some of the virtues of this approach are retained in the work of Kirkpatrick discussed by Bannister in his chapter on American sociology.

REFERENCES Adorno, T.W. et al. (1950) The Authoritarian Personality. New York: Harper and Row. Beetham, David (1977) ‘From Socialism to Fascism: The Relation Between Theory and Practice in the Work of Robert Michels. Part II. The Fascist Ideologue.’ Political Studies 25:161–81. Beyerchen, Alan D. (1977) Scientists Under Hitler: Politics and the Physics Community in the Third Reich. New Haven: Yale University Press. Burleigh, Michael (1988) Germany Turns Eastwards: A Study of ‘Ostforschung’ in the Third Reich. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Buxton, William and Stephen P.Turner (1992) ‘Edification and Expertise’, in Morris Janowitz and Terry Halladay (eds) Sociology and Its Publics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Converse, Jean M. (1987) Survey Research in the United States: Roots and Emergence 1890–1960. Berkeley: University of California Press. Durkheim, Emile (1933) The Division of Labor in Society. Translated by George Simpson. New York: Macmillan. Geuter, U. (1984) Die Professionalisierung der deutschen Psychologie im Nationalisozialismus. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Lepenies, Wolf (1988) Between Literature and Science: The Rise of Sociology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Muller, Jerry Z. (1987) The Other God That Failed: Hans Freyer and the Deradicalization of German Conservatism. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Pels, Dick (1987) ‘Hendrik de Man and the Ideology of Planism’, International Review of Social History 3:206–229. ——(1991) ‘Treason of the Intellectuals: Paul de Man and Hendrik de Man’, Theory, Culture & Society 8:21–56. Proctor, Robert (1988) Racial Hygiene. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ranulf, Svend (1939) ‘Scholarly Forerunners of Fascism’, Ethics (50): 16–34.


Weingart, Peter, Jürgen Kroll, and Kurt Bayertz (1988) Rasse, Blut und Gene: Geschichte der Eugenik und Rassenhygiene in Deutschland. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp.

14

2 OUTSIDERS AND TRUE BELIEVERS Austrian sociologists respond to fascism Gerald Mozetič

The view that national socialism brutally brought sociology to a standstill and reduced it to silence, long promoted by René Kōnig and widely accepted, can no longer be taken seriously. The evidence is that National Socialism promoted certain forms of sociology, among them the efforts of those sociologists who said that 1933 marked a new beginning for sociology. These ideologically ambitious sociologists were generally disappointed in the opportunities the new order afforded them. But the demand for certain kinds of empirical sociology increased considerably, and in consequence during the Third Reich there was more sociology than before (Rammstedt 1986). The historical ambiguities of the term ‘sociology’ make this a difficult conclusion to establish. The image of the history of sociology in general depends on what is considered to be ‘sociology’. In the special case of the relationship between sociology and fascism this turns out to be crucial. The approach of this chapter will be to treat as a ‘sociologist’ whoever thought of himself or herself as a sociologist, or wrote what was then regarded as sociology. This means that some of what we might today decline to call sociology will be included. In the case of Austrian sociology, the ambiguities of the term ‘sociology’ are matched by the variety of ‘fascisms’ to which it responded. Immediately after Hitler’s seizure of power in Germany, Dollfuss’s government in Austria began to abolish democratic institutions and human rights. The suppression of the working-class movement, the prohibition of the Social Democratic Party, the free trade unions, and eventually all political parties led to a system called Austro-fascism or the authoritarian corporate state (Larsen et al 1980). Dollfuss was killed in an unsuccessful Putsch carried out by the Nazis in 1934. Austria allied itself to Italian fascism in this period, and Italian political interests kept Austria and Hitler apart. This means that, for our purposes, we must take into consideration these three distinct varieties of fascism. The common situation of the defeated countries after the First World War is part of the political and socio-economic prehistory of fascism. Revolutions of the left and revolutions of the right were regarded as everyday events, and it was widely and fervently believed that democracy promotes socialism. An anti-democratic, authoritarian policy was seen to be the only solution to the problem of social and political order. These convictions had developed over

16 AUSTRIAN SOCIOLOGISTS RESPOND TO FASCISM

decades, so one can say that the history of fascism reaches back to the nineteenth century. These ideas came into currency during the processes of industrialization and democratization in Austria. To some extent they represent a general phenomenon which occurs in all developing countries. But some of the intellectual manifestations of this kind of reaction were peculiar to Austria. Finally, the Austria that came into being in 1918 was indeed a ‘rest’, something that had remained after the dismembering of the Austro-Hungarian empire. Whether this ‘Austria’ could survive was a matter of dispute. The idea of Anschluss (annexation) thus was co-equal with the establishment of the First Republic in Austria.1 BEGINNINGS AND DEVELOPMENT OF SOCIOLOGY IN AUSTRIA At the end of the nineteenth century several Austrians proposed ‘sociologies’. They were academic outsiders, like Ludwig Gumplowicz (Mozetič 1985), or private scholars, like the military officer Gustav Ratzenhofer. Both of these thinkers were taken quite seriously in the USA and in France; but they were nearly unanimously rejected in Austria and Germany. They neither founded a school nor established sociology as a discipline at the universities. The private scholar Rudolf Goldscheid played an important role in Austrian sociology on account of his organizational talent and energy. He participated in the founding of the Soziologische Gesellschaft (sociological society) at Vienna (1907) as well as the Deutsche Gesellschaft für Soziologie (1909). Another sociological society, whose main activity was the organizing of lectures, was founded in Graz in 1908, the year in which Gumplowicz ended his academic career. After 1918 this society published a series of essays, including works of Joseph Schumpeter (1918) and Ferdinand Tönnies (1918). Published contributions to sociology at the time came from academics who worked in the field of philosophy (Wilhelm Jerusalem and Rudolf Eisler), jurisprudence (apart from Gumplowicz, Eugen Ehrlich and Karl Renner wrote on the sociology of law), and political economy (Joseph Schumpeter and Friedrich von Wieser).2 The beginning of the First Republic was inauspicious for the development of an academic sociology. There were only three universities in Austria: Vienna, Graz, Innsbruck. The academic market for Austrian scholars had become much smaller and the chances of making a career had decreased dramatically with the end of the Habsburg empire. The University of Vienna remained the intellectual centre of Austrian life. But the academic hinterland of the Empire, which had supplied Vienna with geniuses and which offered many lecturers the opportunity to obtain a professorial chair while they were still young, thus enabling them to concentrate on their scientific work in safe positions, was absent. The universities in Austria were public institutions. So the sorry financial situation of the state during the First Republic had direct effects on the universities. Under these circumstances the prospects of establishing new scientific subjects and institutes—not to mention the difficulties and prejudices sociology was

SOCIOLOGY RESPONDS TO FASCISM 17

confronted with anyway—were rather poor, and successful steps forward were few and feeble. When Hugo Spitzer in Graz established a Seminar für Philosophische Soziologie in 1921, he reported at the end of 1924 that the library of the seminar consisted of forty-five books. One can see from this how restricted the possibilities were (Matthes 1973:222). The fact that ‘Gesellschaftslehre’ was introduced into political science as an examination subject in 1926 and that it could be chosen as a dissertation subject was celebrated as a major success at the Fifth Convention of the German Sociological Society (which took place in Vienna) (Käsler 1983). Sociology was still a marginal subject. It is not easy to give a brief characterization of the sociological conceptions which could be found in Austria at the beginning of the First Republic. Neither Gumplowicz’s or Ratzenhofer’s naturalistic sociology had adherents. The spirit of positivism appeared again within the Vienna Circle. But Otto Neurath’s later attempt to develop a sociology based on behaviourism was without influence.3 The important ‘Austrian School’ in economics was responsible for some interesting sociological analyses and could have contributed to the establishment of a specific approach in sociology. But it lost ground at the university and continued only in private circles.4 Wilhelm Jerusalem’s sociology of knowledge remained only an episode, as did Max Adler’s rigorous but fruitless attempt to present Marxism in the form of a positivistic sociology (Mozetič 1978, 1987). The sociological approaches one thinks of today as the Austrian contribution to the progress of sociology in the interwar years were formulated outside the university or at best at the margin of academic life. This is true of Paul Lazarsfeld, Marie Jahoda, Hans Zeisel and also of Alfred Schutz, Felix Kaufmann, and Edgar Zilsel.5 Those sociologists who began careers in this period and contributed to the intellectual development of postwar sociology were correct in saying that they developed their innovations in opposition to the mentality dominating at the university at that time. All of them had to emigrate between 1934 and 1938. The major exception to this pattern of marginality and failure was the consequence of a decision made at the University of Vienna in 1919. Othmar Spann was chosen to fill the late Eugen von Philippovich’s professorial chair in political economy. In the previous years Spann had taught political economy at the School of Technology in Brunn. He had announced that he did not want to restrict himself to his nominal subject, but wished to teach sociology as well. The professors of the Faculty of Law and Political Science agreed. Only the dean of the faculty, Carl Grünberg— who in 1924 became the first director of the newly founded Institut für Sozialforschung in Frankfurt—expressed doubts. They were rejected by the ministry. In the summer term of 1920 Spann gave a lecture in which he roundly criticized the political basis of the young Austrian republic and presented the programme of an authoritarian state. These expositions were first published in 1921; by 1938 they had gone into a fourth edition (Spann 1921). Spann welcomed efforts to eliminate democracy in Austria and replace it with a ‘corporative’ state. This declaration against parliamentary democracy was not the private opinion of a scholar at his desk; it was a prominent expression of a


widespread aversion to or at least scepticism towards parliamentarism—a fact which makes it easy to understand that Spann could publish his work unmolested and unstigmatized. From the beginning of his work as professor in Vienna, Spann took advantage of his position to gather disciples and to spread as widely as possible his theory of ‘universalism’. In addition to his official lectures Spann established a private ‘Sunday seminar’ to which only his students and disciples were admitted. His consistency and resoluteness in establishing a following became evident through the number of Habilitation dissertations written under his supervision: Jakob Baxa in 1923, Wilhelm Andreae in 1925 (his previous attempt at the University of Berlin had failed), Johann Sauter in 1927, Erich Voegelin (who had worked as the assistant of Hans Kelsen) in 1928, Walter Heinrich in 1928, Ferdinand A. Westphalen in 1932, Hermann Roeder in 1933, and August Maria Knoll in 1934.6 Spann’s followers were quickly promoted, and not only in Vienna. Andreae became a professor at the University of Graz in 1926; in 1933 he went to Giessen in Germany where he continued to teach Spann’s universalism (a fact which was probably responsible for the loss of his professorship in 1942). Hans Riehl at the University of Graz was another follower of Spann’s universalism: his habilitation was supported by Andreae. Professor Theo Suranyi-Unger, who worked at the law school in Miskolc (Hungary), was also influenced by Spann.7 In 1923 Adolf Günther was appointed professor at the University of Innsbruck. Although he was not a member of Spann’s school he was in agreement with many of its political concepts. Ultimately, he became an admirer of National Socialism (Günther 1940). In 1940 he was appointed professor at the University of Vienna, as successor to Spann, who had been dismissed. Spann and his students succeeded in permeating the universities, making his theory the dominant one. His efforts to promote and encourage those people who had adopted his concepts were relentless; the journal Nationalwirtschaft. Blätter für organischen Wirtschaftsaufbau, of which he was the co-editor, not only included contributions from Spann’s already mentioned students but also several articles which were explicitly labelled as pieces from Professor Spann’s seminar (Brandner 1928–29; Jander 1927–28). In this journal one can also find an article by the Japanese Toyojiro Akabane, Spann’s student at the University of Vienna, who was considered Spann’s representative in Japan.8 Most of Spann’s students acquired their venia legendi in ‘Gesellschaftslehre’ (Baxa, Andreae, Sauter and Voegelin). Gesellschaftslehre was synonymous with sociology, and was not simply Spann’s special domain: the Austro-Marxist Max Adler, for example, also acquired his venia legendi in Gesellschaftslehre. It was a novelty when Voegelin was appointed Extraordinarius in political science and sociology in 1935.9 But Spann and his students meant something very special by Gesellschaftslehre. They traced the term back to the early period of romanticism in Germany; Novalis was said to have been the first to use it. Romanticism was considered to be the origin of German sociology—with Adam Müller as its most important philosopher —indicating the complete rejection of any kind of


sociology influenced by positivism or naturalism. Spann completely agreed with Georg von Below’s criticism of sociology. Below, a historian, regarded positivist sociology as an aberrant development without scientific achievements and fought against the institutionalization of sociology in Germany after the First World War. Like Spann, Below saw the roots of a truly scientific understanding of state and society in German romanticism and it was this romantic tradition, he argued, that helped the Germans to resist the superficial positivism of the French and English. OUTLINE OF OTHMAR SPANN’S SOCIOLOGY A short summary of Spann’s fundamental sociological ideas will suffice to show why Spann criticized modern capitalist-democratic society and why he placed such great hope in the fascist movements.10 Spann held that there are only two fundamental positions between which everybody who wants to study society must choose: individualism and universalism. Individualism is a product of civil society, along with the systems of rationalism and empiricism, and the philosophy of the Enlightenment. Autonomous individuals, individuals who open relationships with one another as free and equal citizens only on grounds of utilitarian motives and calculations, are the basic social units. According to Spann the most important conceptions making up individualism are the theories of natural rights, the social-contract theory, Adam Smith’s and David Ricardo’s classical political economy, as well as the theories advanced by the positivists. This set of conceptions, which dominated the recent history of ideas, is the expression of a social development which Spann considered altogether regrettable and harmful: capitalism; political individualism was associated with the advance of democracy. In the philosophy of science individualism expresses itself as a more or less strong naturalism, in which individuals are treated as entities that follow causal regularities. Why does Spann consider this approach completely inadequate? His philosophy is deeply rooted in idealism, and the idea that the essence of things may only be appreciated through inner experience. Empiricism may have proved to be successful with regard to external aspects of nature (although it does not have the last word here, either), but with respect to society, which is not a natural fact but a fact of ideas, it must fail. Idealistic philosophy, from Plato and Augustine to the scholastics, and even mystics, can give us better information about society than all of empirical and naturalistic sociology. Sociology is essentially a conceptual science: those who want to know something about society must conceive the essence of the Geist. The great achievement of German idealism and of the romantic school—Spann calls special attention to Fichte and Adam M ller—lies in the fact that they defended this fundamental stance against the doctrines of individualism, which were then becoming more and more influential. By interpreting Geist in the sense of idealism in general and of German idealism and romanticism in particular, Spann arrives at the conception he calls ‘universalism’. A presupposition of universalism is the epistemological possibility


of forming the concept of a Ganzheit (whole) that does not come into being through the mutual effects of its parts and that cannot be defined by them. When this is done it may be shown that society is such a whole. The basic concept of universalism is Gezweiung, i.e. that the human mind cannot be conceived of as isolated Geist existing on its own and developing itself according to its own principles, but always refers to spiritual community with others. This idealistic and romantic idea, best formulated poetically by Novalis, shows the inadequacy of individualism, which only knows complete, isolated people who have mutual effects on each other. Geist can only be developed if it is connected with other people’s Geist. Society is not something that comes into being because of interaction, but exists through Gezweiung.11 Typical forms of Gezweiung are friendship, love, family, and the relationship between student and teacher. Spann considers the fact that society does not consist of the sum of all isolated individuals —these individuals only exist because they are parts or members of society—a presupposition of all authentic sociological science. By saying, as Aristotle already had, that the whole is prior to the part, Spann affirmed not a temporal but a logical priority. Society as a spiritual community is not a metaphysical entity that independently lives a life of its own, any more than it would be possible for a human body to exist independently of the organs. Society depends on its parts and is expressed in its subtotalities. Spann regards this finding as strictly logical and scientific. But the esoteric philosophy and theory of categories have a political bias. Geist is something that is hierarchically stratified. No Gezweiung can be based on equality. People cannot participate in the common spiritual life to the same degree. All social differentiations and hierarchies are or should be based on this stratification of mind. That is the reason why all attempts to establish equality are doomed in principle to failure. The universalistic characterization of the mind thus already contains the principle of inequality which Spann made the norm in social and political life. The solution to the problem of social order for the universalist is to build up a stratified society according to the scale of spiritual values. Starting from these presuppositions, Spann drafts a model of a perfect state, the establishment of which would put an end to the age of individualism. Affection in the community will take the place of atomism, utilitarianism will be replaced by ethics of obligation, a sovereignty based on compulsion by the ‘whole’ will supersede the sovereignty of the people, the delusion of equality will give way to the organic relationship between leader and followers, and the time of capitalism and democracy will be over. All the abuses and faults of capitalism and democracy will be eliminated through the reconstruction of society on an estate basis. Spann distinguishes between spiritual and acting ranks: all ranks are of the same functional importance to the whole of society but they are not equivalent. Every low rank is spiritually led by the rank above it. Inferior people can only participate in the superior through adoration and devotion. The stratification of society is based on a ranking of values. These values must be protected because the destiny of society depends on the purity of values. The values can only be guaranteed


through power and the best form of government is the one in which the best come into power. Who ‘the best’ are can only be decided from the top, not determined by democracy, because the people lack spirituality and understanding. However much Spann emphasizes the fact that the ranks live lives of their own (‘vita propria’), a state is absolutely necessary. The state represents a top rank (‘Hōchststand’) to the extent that, apart from its proper tasks, it acts as the referee over all ranks. This means that in addition to the spiritual hierarchy there is, on a different level, a hierarchy of action. It is not necessary here to go into the details of the rank society envisioned by Spann. Suffice it to say that Spann was one of those who regarded a ‘conservative revolution’ as the solution to the problems of social and political order and welcomed attempts to fight democracy and socialism. Before the relations of Spann and his followers to the fascist movements are described, it will be useful to understand Spann’s position in the sociology of the time. Spann did not think much of his scientific colleagues and, when visited by the American sociologist Earle Edward Eubank in 1934, spoke nearly exclusively of himself and his works (K sler 1991:100–106). He criticized contemporary sociology on the grounds that it concentrated on individualism and naturalism. Spann considered Weber’s idea that sociology can arrive at a causal explanation by interpretive understanding of social action an incomprehensible contradiction. Weber’s concept of the ideal type was rejected because it is naturalistic and even amateurish. Spann was particularly angry about Weber’s sociology of religion. Had Weber been really serious about his method of understanding, he should have entered into the spiritual content of religion, and taken into consideration the specifically spiritual state of mind. But nothing of the kind can be found in Weber’s works. On the contrary, his analysis is always concerned with the worldly consequences of religious acting. He never tries to understand the metaphysical secret of religion. Weber is an a-metaphysical man through and through: if such a person turns to religion, then a caustic rage for devastating the Holy will appear. Spann accused Weber of atheism, scepticism, materialism, individualism and Marxism.12 The final consequence of his holistic universalism was metaphysical: God is the highest form of mind and whole. From this Spann deduced that religion should have a privileged position in the state and it must never be declared a private matter. Since empiricist, individualistic and rationalistic sociology is not able to distinguish and to acknowledge the Holy as Holy, it leads to moral relativism, which has destructive effects on society. The fight for the reconstruction of society thus does not permit relativism and pluralism in science, much less in culture. From this point of view it is only consistent that Spann was enthusiastic about the fact that certain books were thrown into bonfires by the Nazis in May 1933.13 He celebrated these events as a triumph of the German mind. He never doubted that the nation with the highest spiritual values was in the right and this nation was the German one. Equally unequivocal is Spann’s verdict that the Jews never generated a single creative talent of high degree and that their main characteristic is obduracy.


They repeatedly had the opportunity, Spann pointed out, to make themselves part of a higher culture (i.e. become Christians). But they refused to do so. Thus they refused to abandon the inferior sect for the superior faith and civilization (Spann 1934:281–284). Nearly all the ideological convictions which paved the way for National Socialism can be found in Spann’s works. In one respect, however, his ideology was different from that of the Nazis. Since Spann started from the primacy of the mind he could not agree to racism, which proceeded from the supposition of biological determination. He thought this to be too naturalistic and even though he did not deny completely the importance of racial characteristics, he considered them to be at most only of secondary importance in relation to the sphere of the mind. Spann did not completely lose his scholarly reputation when he made his political programme public. In 1926, when the Fifth Convention of the German Sociological Society took place in Vienna, he was invited to give a lecture. Naturally, his statements, in the section on methodology, all related to universalism. They were discussed and, in part, vehemently criticized by Leopold von Wiese, Max Adler, Franz Oppenheimer, Felix Kaufmann and Robert Wilbrandt. The general topic of the convention was democracy. But the participants succeeded in discussing this topic without referring explicitly to Spann, the deadly enemy of democracy.14 SPANN’S CIRCLE AND FASCISM As Spann thought he knew what the ‘true state’ was, and as the political reality in Austria after 1918 did not correspond to his model at all, it was for him a moral duty to strengthen the idea of the corporate state. In the university, his efforts were successful. But although Spann’s influence on Catholic and pan-German students was enormous, and Spann’s circle became mightier and mightier, in political terms nothing was achieved. Therefore it was important for him to follow political developments attentively and to take advantage of any opportunity to bring universalism into play as an alternative to the destructive spirit of individualism. When Italian fascism came into power in the 1920s, it was welcomed by Spann and his followers who saw a chance of giving the movement, victorious through deeds, a theoretical and ideological basis. In 1928–29 Walter Heinrich published a series of articles about the political and economic constitution of fascism. In his introduction he refers to the fact that his knowledge does not derive only from written sources but was greatly enlarged by a stay in Italy and by personal acquaintance with leading men of fascism (Heinrich 1928–29:275). Heinrich judged the development of fascism from the point of view of universalism. He acknowledged that the Duce had put Italy on the right road, but considered the political and economic constitution deficient. In particular, he thought that the fascist state interfered too much in the economy and prevented the creation of a decentralized system. Heinrich (Heinrich 1928–29:762) concluded with the hope


that the organic idea of state, born out of the German Geist, will be realized in the country of its origin. On 9 June 1933 Spann gave a lecture in Rome for the ‘Confederazione Nazionale Fascista del Commercio’. Here we again find the argument that individualism and Marxism can only be completely destroyed if they are fought with a theory of the ‘true state’. Spann offered his model of the corporate state as this spiritual weapon (Spann 1933a). But just as the Carta del Lavoro of 1927, which Heinrich had studied thoroughly, did not in the least correspond to Spann’s ideas of the order of corporations neither did the reform of the corporate system in 1934 lead to the separation of economy and state which Spann considered essential. Thus in spite of their favourable reception in fascist Italy, Spann’s ideas did not really exercise any influence and the hopes of Spann’s followers were not fulfilled. Spann’s followers became particularly active in Austria in the late 1920s. After the burning of the Justizpalast in 1927, the political atmosphere was highly charged. The anti-democratic forces in the Heimwehr, the united front consisting of middle-class, rural and aristocratic representatives, became stronger.15 In 1928, Ignaz Seipel, the leader of the Christian Socialist Party, confirmed its ‘longing for true democracy’. The term implied the abolition of party rule, widely regarded as the root of political evil. Still accepting ‘democracy’, Seipel supported those whose aim it was to destroy democracy, the Heimwehr. He knew some of Spann’s followers personally and might have encouraged them to support the Heimwehr ideologically. Walter Heinrich and Hans Riehl assumed leading positions in the Heimwehr in 1929, and organized the political training of the Heimwehr (Siegfried 1974:84). Several leaflets were written through which the members of the Heimwehr became acquainted with Spann’s theory. In a programmatic lecture on the spiritual basis of the Heimwehr movement Heinrich explained that Austria was approaching a situation of decision in which the only choice was between Bolshevism and the corporate state (Heinrich n.d.). The aspirations of the Spannians to become the ideological leaders of the Heimwehr were not fulfilled. When during the discussion about the reform of the Austrian constitution in 1929 it became evident that the Heimwehr was not strong enough to realize its ideas, the different interests of the individual factions within the Heimwehr led to internal contests for power. In the autumn of 1930 the aristocratic wing of the Heimwehr, represented by Starhemberg, was victorious; those on whom Spann’s followers had set their hopes were defeated. This put an end to Heinrich’s and Riehl’s position of influence in the Heimwehr. A fresh impetus was given to the Spannians when in 1931 the Papal Encyclical Quadragesimo anno, in which the establishment of corporate bodies was demanded, was published. The ensuing discussion among Catholics, not only in Austria, was important in disseminating Spann’s conceptions. The aims that were realized by Dollfuss’s regime after the abolition of democracy in 1933–34 were ideologically supported by Quadragesimo anno, and reflected its central ideas. The reforms did not, however, win Spann’s approval. The new constitution


proclaimed on 1 May 1934 generated the corporate state, but, in Spann’s opinion, only on paper. He protested that the constitution had made a caricature of the idea of the ranks, and was still much too characterized by the democratic spirit of 1789 to pass as ‘corporative’! Above all, the state still retained too much power, power that Spann thought should go to ranks (Spann 1933a). Thus, however much Spann’s followers were satisfied with the abolition of party democracy and the elimination of the Marxist-oriented working-class movement, they could not identify themselves with the new system of Austro-fascism. The Spannians found the Nazi movement congenial because, as they understood matters, the Nazi programme contained many of their own political aims. In Gottfried Feder’s commentary of 1927 on the programme of the NSDAP, Spann’s universalistic conception of society was called ideal. Spann in turn supported the Nationalsoziatistische Gesellschaft für deutsche Kultur, founded by Alfred Rosenberg in 1927, which was designed to propagandize for National Socialism among people with a university education. In 1929, in the Auditorium maximum of the University of Munich, Spann gave a lecture on the cultural crisis of the present, in which he complained about the enormous influence of the Jews, especially in the field of philosophy. After the performance Hitler, who was present, congratulated the lecturer (Siegfried 1974:253). At the end of 1931, when the press agency Grossdeutscher Pressedienst reported that Spann was in agreement with the newly founded German Katholisch-Soziale Nationalpartei, Spann instructed his lawyer in Munich to demand a retraction. The founder of this party had been one of his students, but Spann himself had nothing to do with the party. After some weeks his lawyer wrote Spann a letter informing him that it turned out that the Grossdeutscher Pressedienst and the National Socialist Press Agency were one and the same. Thus he was unable to continue to plead Spann’s cause and he suggested ‘an amicable settlement’.16 This farcical episode was settled, in at least this sense: Spann became a member of the NSDAP in 1933. A short time previously he published an essay presenting the plan of a corporativist reconstruction of Germany. Spann’s views were supported by the representatives of heavy industry, primarily because his model did not provide for autonomous working-class organizations. He considered that the workers should form a corporation with the employers, something that would in practice have guaranteed the predominance of the industry. This kind of arrangement was meant to compete with, and prevent the incorporation of the workers into, the Deutsche Arbeitsfront, which after the abolition of the unions was to control the workers. With the consent of Hitler, heavy industry, under Fritz Thyssen, financed an Institut für Ständewesen. In June 1933 the institute was opened in Dusseldorf, and Spann’s followers found a new outlet in the training of leading managers and leaders of the working people. The director of the institute was Spann’s student Josef Klein. The scientific director was, for a time, Walter Heinrich.


When the NSDAP was banned in Austria in July 1934, after the National Socialists’ riot (which failed but caused Chancellor Dollfuss’s death), Spann and his followers found themselves in a difficult situation. As they did not distance themselves from National Socialism, they were watched by the police. Early in 1934 Spann’s son Rafael published a daily paper which was clearly oriented towards National Socialism and to which Spann’s wife also contributed. It was banned in April 1934. Spann’s second son was arrested. When the Austrian corporate state took measures against officials who declared themselves National Socialists, and even dismissed several professors, Spann himself was placed in danger. But he took the official oath of loyalty to the new state and was not suspended. It was certainly to his advantage that he had good connections with Catholic circles and that he had always favoured a Christian state. The Spannians were soon not welcome even in National Socialist Germany. The conflict with the Deutsche Arbeitsfront became worse. Moreover, those who considered themselves the real guardians and defenders of the Nazi-Weltanschauung rejected Spann’s claim to ideological leadership. Alfred Rosenberg (Hitler’s agent for Weltanschauung) was especially hostile to the Spannians and emphasized one remarkable difference between National Socialism and universalism: Spann rejected biological racism and thus rejected a central tenet of National Socialism. The result of this conflict was unequivocal: Spann’s followers had to withdraw from the Institut für Ständewesen, which lost its importance altogether, and Spann was stigmatized as a dangerous enemy of National Socialism. As he himself lamented in 1936, the political movement which he had always supported turned against him—something he could not understand. Subsequently the attacks against him in the National Socialist press became more violent. After Austria’s annexation, Spann and some of his disciples were arrested by the Gestapo. Spann himself was set free after some months, but Heinrich spent a year and a half in a concentration camp. The Gau-Gericht of the district administration in Styria rejected Spann’s application for membership in the NSDAP in 1939, saying that Spann could not be considered a National Socialist because of his glorification of theocracy and his rejection of the Rassenlehre. So his last attempt to gain a footing in the NSDAP failed.17 After 1945 Spann and his followers presented themselves as victims of National Socialism, enabling Spann’s school to survive National Socialism and to regain some influence after 1945. This presentation was true in certain respects, but of course the victimization was of a special kind. CATHOLIC SOCIOLOGY AND FASCISM Spann’s sociology was strongly influenced by the Catholic tradition, which had resisted the rise of a capitalist and industrial economy and the liberal and democratic state. Among the Catholics in nineteenth-century Austrian social science, Adam M ller (1779–1829) and Karl von Vogelsang (1818–1890) are


probably the most prominent.18 For them the solution to the problem of the correct Christian order and of the social problem was sought beyond the institutions created by these social and economic developments. The close relationship between Catholicism and the dynasty of the Habsburgs was embodied in the Concordat of 1855, which granted the Church extraordinary privileges. This relationship was not seriously endangered by the concessions made to the spirit of liberalism in the Austrian constitution of 1867, or in subsequent legislation. When the monarchy fell, however, the Catholic Church was confronted with a completely new situation, in which its position was endangered both by political liberalization and the threat of proletarian socialism. In self-defense, the Church developed a highly aggressive counter-program, a fully political Catholicism. The resolutely anti-democratic and anti-capitalist ideas of M ller and Vogelsang, which had been pushed into the background in Austrian Catholicism after Vogelsang’s death in 1890, were reborn. These ideas had originally served to bring about a more receptive attitude to social policy within the existing state. So-called solidarism, which seemed to be confirmed by the encyclical Rerum novarum of 1891, implied that a solution to the social problem was possible without a radical reconstruction of society. Spann shared the anti-capitalist and antidemocratic attitude of Vogelsang’s successors, but he was always at variance with the representatives of solidarism, such as Heinrich Pesch, Gustav Gundlach and Oswald von Nell-Breuning.19 Moreover, the Catholics disagreed on another essential question of whether or not Austria should strive for annexation by Germany. This became an important issue in the 1930s, when conflicts arose between National Socialism and the Austrian corporate state. Most of the Catholic theorists and journalists furthered fascism in the sense that they rejected the republic established in 1918. When Ignaz Seipel stood up for the republic at its beginning, it was not an expression of a support for democracy in principle, but was motivated by the reflection that the new democratic forms should not be left to the socialists. Only a few days before the proclamation of the republic, the Christian socialists announced that they considered monarchy the best of all forms of government. Vigorous attacks against the young republic by the Catholics were an everyday occurrence. Even though Vogelsang’s supporters did not have direct political influence at the time, his representatives criticized democracy in a way that presaged the National Socialist criticisms. The leading theorist of Vogelsang’s school, Anton Orel, declared democracy to be a disease that had to be overcome. In democracy a plutocratic oligarchy reigns; under the mask of a republican constitution a ‘republic of Jews’, unbearable for a Catholic, established itself. Capitalism and Communism were both understood to be incompatible with Christianity (Diamant 1960). Catholic circles and groups in general declared themselves against democracy and the republic and for an authoritarian, Christian order. The Catholics in the First Austrian Republic did not accept the ‘liberal’ separation of society and state. Their criterion for the evaluation of political programmes was the role of the Church. Catholics agreed with anti-democratic solutions as long as the influence


of the Church was asserted. Consequently, the Church kept in the background when it would have been important to defend democracy against fascism. It is striking how often the term ‘sociology’ appears in Catholic discussion about the correct social order. From 1925 on, a Katholische Wochenschrift für Religion, Kultur, Soziologie und Volkswirtschaft was published. In it, Ernst Karl Winter examined the sociological essence of Plato’s work, a ‘scholarly group of Catholic sociologists’ elaborated a Catholic and social manifesto, and there was also a group of ‘sociologists’ in Klagenfurt. This ‘sociology’ was nothing other than Catholic social teaching. Ferdinand Frodl’s Gesettschaftslehre illustrates what such ‘sociologies’ consisted of Frodl concludes from the biblical report of Eve’s creation out of Adam’s rib that with this event society was not only founded but its nature determined (Frodl 1936). Without making fun of the religious, Leopold von Wiese (1937:661), in a review article, complained about the blending of social theory and theology which characterized many publications which were labelled as ‘sociological’ by Catholic authors of that era. Yet the most important Catholic sociologist to address fascism, Ernst Karl Winter (1895–1959), did not fit this mould. Winter, atypically, supported a strictly methodological separation of theology and sociology. Consequently he was regarded as an outsider by the Catholics. Winter’s position was closely connected with neo-Kantianism, and particularly Hans Kelsen’s dualism between law and sociology and between norm and fact. Against a crude empiricism, he asserted the primacy of concepts in sociology, though without denying the importance of experience as a corrective. Winter wanted to protect the autonomy of sociology in the face of theology, in contrast to ‘Catholic sociologists’. Although in the 1920s he was still a supporter of the monarchy, he became one of the most rigorous critics of political Catholicism, and, after the abolition of democracy in 1933–34, he became a solitary Catholic fighter for democracy and for rapprochement with socialism. Shocked at the Austrian and German developments of 1933–34, Winter occupied himself more and more with fascism. He reproached his Catholic friends —including Dollfuss, with whom he had become friends during the First World War, when they were both in the same regiment—for their aim of establishing a corporate state. For Winter, this was a metaphysical aim with heuristic function, similar to the eschatology of the classless society (Heinz 1984:76). But in practice, Winter argued, the ‘corporate state’ was merely a masked neo-capitalism, which was far from bridging the class-contrasts between bourgeoisie and proletariat and peasants. In order to stand up successfully to the mortal threat of National Socialism, he believed, a coalition between conservativism and Austro-Marxism needed to be established. His imploring appeals to establish a strong Austrian front against National Socialism were, however, without effect. But by taking this position Winter made himself a useful tool of the corporate state: as one of the vice-mayors of Vienna he was used to winning over the working class to the authoritarian regime. Winter fought futile fights everywhere. But when he dared to demand the unification of Catholics and Bolshevists in the struggle against National Socialism, he went too far, and had to give up his political role (Heinz


1984:335). Winter, who repeatedly called himself a sociologist, wanted to ally Catholicism and conservatism with the modern, scientific and democratic way of thinking (Leser 1986:114–137). But he did not succeed against the religious and political fundamentalists. The aims he had set, in this climate of spiritual indoctrination, proved unachievable. His application for Habilitation, which he had put forward in 1929, was not dealt with for years. It was finally rejected by the Faculty of Law and Political Science of the University of Vienna in 1935. Winter reported that he was asked to embrace German nationalism, but refused to do so (Preglau-H mmerle 1986:163). Spann, whose universalism was classified as pure metaphysics by Winter, was one of his opponents, as was August Maria Knoll, who was said to have vehemently criticized Winter’s attacks against the corporate state (Heinz 1984:347ff and 385). In 1938 Winter was able to emigrate just in time and found employment at the New School for Social Research in New York. After the Second World War he tried to return to Austria, hoping to become a professor at the University of Graz. From Winter’s correspondence with Kurt von Schuschnigg (the last chancellor of the corporate state), it appears that the faculty in Graz, as a result of political intervention, proposed him for a professorial chair in sociology which at that time was occupied by Hans Riehl, who was serving as a substitute. But Winter’s opponents from the time of the corporate state came together to prevent his nomination. Winter mentioned that August Maria Knoll, in addition to some politicians who were now members of the Austrian People’s Party, was among the opponents (Heinz 1984:371, 374, 384ff). Austria’s annexation by Hitler’s Germany in March 1938 ended the direct ideological relevance of the Catholic theorists. Some, who had come politically into prominence in the corporate state, emigrated. Among these were, apart from Winter, the economist Josef Dobretsberger who for a short time was minister in Schuschnigg’s government, the theologian Johannes Messner, and Johann Mokre, who like Dobretsberger returned to the University of Graz after the Second World War and taught sociology. AUSTRO-MARXISM AND FASCISM In view of the high intellectual level and large intellectual ambitions of Austro-Marxism it is not surprising that it was in the forefront at the analysis and criticism of fascism. But the Austro-Marxist who declared himself most vehemently for a Marxist sociology, Max Adler, contributed least to this effort. He was the only Austro-Marxist to teach at the university, and considered himself Spann’s opponent at the University of Vienna. But his position as a Privatdozent with the title of an Extraordinarius was marginal, and his way of thinking proved to be insensitive to social and political change and unable to bring any analytical sharpness to its discussion. Adler’s original achievements were in the field of philosophy and methodology of social science. His central idea, of the Sozialapriori, already present in his first important publication, was the theme of


his last book. Oddly, the idea is in a certain sense very similar to Spann’s basic thesis of Gezweiung. Adler’s answer to the question of how society is possible is free from empirical considerations: what is real and true is inaccessible to the isolated individual; in thinking I am with others. A transcendental socialization of the mind thus is the basis of all societies. When Max Adler announced that ‘We are going to construct modern sociology with Kant and Marx’ during the convention of the German Sociological Society in 1924, he meant that the epistemological foundation of sociology can only be established in the spirit of a transcendental philosophy, while Marxism embodies the most developed form of empirical sociology. His interpretation of the materialistic conception of history minimized the difference between economic basis and ideological superstructure by ranking both with the Geist. Society is thus a spiritual fact. If Marxism examines social regularities, it must account for them by applying the concept of psychic or social causality (Mozetič 1978:286ff). Adler did not succeed in demonstrating the fruitfulness of his approach in the concrete analysis of social processes. His few incidental remarks about fascism are not very original. The extent to which his thinking was considered esoteric is shown in the fact that Adler was arrested as a prominent socialist in February 1934, but was soon allowed to continue his teaching at the University of Vienna, with the restriction that he was not permitted to lecture on socialism or politics. In 1936 the corporate state allowed the publication of a final book in which Adler summarized his work (1936). It was published by a small publishing house in Vienna, poorly distributed and produced no effects. Austro-Marxist commentaries on the phenomenon of fascism began to appear immediately after the Italian fascists’ march on Rome in 1922. For example, Julius Braunthal, one of Otto Bauer’s closest collaborators, tried to analyse the sociological causes and the political and ideological functions of fascism. He explained that fascist forces come into being where the propertied classes, the economic power of which is unquestioned, encounter the political opposition of a strengthening working-class movement. Supported by parts of the bourgeoisie, the rentiers organize themselves in military troops to be put into action against socialism and democracy. Their anti-socialist and nationalist ideology especially appealed to the petite bourgeoisie. He surmised that if fascism came into power, it would destroy the organized working-class movement, make itself independent of the bourgeoisie, and build up a new state. But the capitalist mode of production would not be touched (Braunthal 1922). The Austrian social democrats were convinced that they would soon gain a parliamentary majority and would be able to realize their programme in a democratic way. They considered the rise of Italian fascism a warning: it indicated that if the working-class movement could not be defeated with democratic means, at least one part of the bourgeoisie and other anti-socialist classes were willing to use violence and to abolish democracy. But this was a perception which developed slowly.


Wilhelm Ellenbogen, one of the leading social democrats in Austria’s First Republic (who later was forced to emigrate and died in the United States), got to know Mussolini personally at a time when the latter was still a socialist. His comments in his numerous publications on fascism show his disappointment at Mussolini’s subsequent political career. In a 1932 publication, Ellenbogen tried to summarize the various fascist movements. His conclusion by then was that fascism was a political movement which wanted to put an end to the power that had been gained by the proletariat in the immediate postwar period by making use of military organizations. Although it was typically a middle-class movement, fascism also served the ruling classes of industry and agriculture. With the establishment of a dictatorial regime, democracy is abolished. According to these criteria there are genuine fascist movements in Germany, Italy, Austria, and Finland. Fascism is not very popular in countries with an old democratic tradition within which the smooth change of government from left to right and vice versa seems normal. The forming of a fascist mentality was promoted by the violence and devastation of the First World War, but also by the dictated peace of 1919, which caused nationalism to escalate again in the defeated countries. The supporters of fascism are drawn above all from the professional, rural and intellectual middle classes. This accounts for the anti-capitalist sloganeering of fascism which contradicts the interests of the industrial bourgeoisie. The best strategy against fascism was to defeat it before it came to power. Ellenbogen warned forcefully against the opinion that the fascists should be allowed to come into power so that their incompetence would be revealed. Once they had gained power, the fascists would stop at nothing to keep it. They would not hesitate to commit any sort of crime, carry out mass executions, kill their own supporters when they no longer fitted their plans, develop terrorism, eliminate parliament, abolish the freedom of the press and by doing so preserve their tyranny for years (Ellenbogen 1932; also Ellenbogen 1927 and 1928). This prognosis was as realistic as Ellenbogen’s notion that social democracy could effectively resist fascism was unrealistic. But at the time it was not easy for reasonable, objective observers to see the danger of fascism realistically. The Austro-Marxist Karl Renner, who sometimes was attributed the greatest powers of realistic political analysis, free of dogmatic prejudices and ideologically fixed ideas, made a quite favourable comment on the political situation in Germany, principally on the basis of two considerations: first, that the economic, social and cultural development of Germany is so advanced that the situation was completely different from the situation in Italy—1932 is not 1922!; second, that because National Socialism, although a thoroughly anti-democratic movement, had to constitute itself as a party among others, it was forced to accept democracy and submit to the rules of parliamentarism (Renner 1932). What Ellenbogen had described as a feature of fascism—that it was the first political movement to make use of democratic means in the fight against democracy—was regarded by Renner as a proof that the danger of fascism had declined.


The most comprehensive and theoretically most pretentious analyses of fascism on the part of the Austro-Marxists are those of Otto Bauer (1881– 1938). Julius Braunthal’s description of Italian fascism might have been written under Bauer’s influence. In subsequent years, and with increasing frequency and intensity in the 1930s, Bauer analysed the various types and forms of fascism (e.g. Bauer 1933a and b, 1936, 1938; Botz 1976, 1985). In his earlier writings on the subject, Bauer interpreted fascism as the consequence of a balance of class power. He tried to analyse the situation in Austria after the First World War, in which the social democrats had gained influence on the state without, however, overcoming the bourgeois capitalist society, in these terms. In 1924, Hans Kelsen had remarked that the concept of the balance of the class power was not compatible with Marx’s theory of the state. Bauer responded that there were two main forms in which a balance of class power is expressed historically: in coalitions between proletarian and middle-class parties or other forms of parliamentary cooperation, and in cases where the armed forces take advantage of the balance of power between the classes to seize executive control and establish a dictatorship independent of the parliamentary proportion of votes. Remarkably, Bauer chose, as examples of this, Italian fascism and Bolshevism, which under the pressure of economic necessity had become similar to fascism inasmuch as it had consolidated the power of an elite superior to all classes and groups. Fascism and Bolshevism may well be different in view of the objective of their politics. In view of the applied means they are very similar to each other. As for the conditions of its seizure of power, fascism is not something historically completely new. Bauer calls the Italian fascism the contemporary counterpart of the French Bonapartism of 1851.20 This interpretation of fascism was developed further only with the rise of National Socialism. Bauer came to see fascism as the result of three closely connected social processes. First, as a result of the First World War, many people were unable to return to their original civil professions, and fell into circles in which military, anti-democratic and nationalist views were dominant. The members of the fascist militia and the pan-German defence leagues were recruited from these circles. Second, many members of the petite bourgeoisie and peasants had become impoverished. They blamed the new democracy and the workers’ organizations for the economic crises, and consequently were susceptible to the anti-democratic and anti-socialist propaganda of the fascist organizations. Third, the economic crises of the postwar period had weakened the bourgeoisie economically. Fearing further losses, they sought to use the fascist associations to keep the working class down, and consequently helped to finance fascist organizations. After Bauer described the causes of the origin and the strengthening of fascism he turned to the problem of the fascist seizure of power and establishment of political control. Fascist control meant the establishment of a dictatorship to which all social classes, including the bourgeoisie, were subjected. The result was a remarkable restriction of civil rights. Economically, fascism acts on behalf of the capitalists in as much as it entirely controls the workers, thus


increasing their exploitation. Within its own ranks, fascism eliminated all the forces which pressed for fulfilment of the anti-capitalist aims which had been part of the ideological and propagandistic reservoir of fascism during its rise to power. At the end of his life, Bauer emphasized more heavily the economic aspects of fascism, and interpreted fascism as a new phase in the development of capitalism. The successes of fascism, the quick elimination of unemployment in the Third Reich and the increase in productivity were said to be due to the superiority of a command economy over the anarchy of liberal capitalism. But the successful economic measures used by fascism, once in place, cannot be used to defuse new economic crises. So in the face of new economic crises, fascism must either accept them, with incalculable consequences, or choose the imperialistic strategy of war, and build up, at great expense, a military machine. Bauer, like other Austro-Marxists, realized the Austrian model of the corporate state could only be called ‘semi-fascism’ and it never acquired the mass support of National Socialism in Germany. THE HELPLESSNESS OF SOCIOLOGISTS IN THE FACE OF FASCISM It should probably be said that the Austrian works in the interwar era that could be considered to be serious analyses of fascism were written nearly exclusively by the Austro-Marxists. Julius Deutsch published an omnibus volume by order of the ‘Internationale Kommission zur Abwehr des Faschismus’ and a series of articles was published in the theory-oriented monthly journal of the Austrian social democrats, Der Kampf (Leichter 1929, Hirsch 1929). Immediately after 1945 there was little academic discussion of fascism in Austria. Even the socialists lost interest in the subject. Many sociologists in the interwar era in addition to the supporters of fascism discussed above showed sympathetic understanding of attacks on parliamentary democracy. In 1923 the Sociological Society in Graz published a series of essays with the assistance of Joseph Schumpeter, Hugo Spitzer and Ferdinand Tōnnies, including an article by the editor of the series, Julius Bunzel. The article considered it a fact that parliamentarism had broken down generally because it was not in accordance with the nature of the state. If the state is controlled by the political parties, Bunzel claimed, there is no authority to keep aloof from particular interests and to look after the interests of the whole society and the state. Bunzel, who often quoted Nietzsche in his statements, pleaded for a reduction of the sphere of the state and a strengthening of the position of the president of the Republic (the latter was indeed realized in the constitutional revision of 1929). In order to overcome the crisis into which society and state have fallen, he held, it is necessary to make the spheres more and more autonomous, and to develop, for the sphere of society, a corporate structure (Bunzel 1923). Similarly, Adolf Menzel, from the 1880s professor at the University of Vienna, who was concerned with sociological topics, published an examination of the


fascist thinking on the state in 1935. In the preface he stressed that he was presenting a purely scientific essay which had nothing to do with propaganda or criticism. Menzel outlines the Weltanschauung of fascism and its roots in the history of ideas going back to antiquity.21 Despite his announced objectivity, Menzel suggests that he considers fascism a great innovation of the mind and politics. He concludes his study by stating contentedly that the fascist idea of the state continued much of what he had himself proposed as the ‘energetic theory of the state’ in 1912 (Menzel 1935). Those sociologists who emigrated from Austria, such as Paul Lazarsfeld, Alfred Schutz and Felix Kaufmann, did not seem to concern themselves with fascism after they emigrated. Karl Polanyi’s contributions, written in the mid-1930s in Britain, concentrated on the theme that fascism was the enemy of both socialism and Christianity (Polanyi 1935). Friedrich August von Hayek and Karl Popper wrote books in which they criticized the totalitarian trends of their time. However, they were directed primarily against Stalinism and socialist theory. The idea that fascism had come into being as a product of the capitalist society was regarded as completely absurd by the liberals. Ludwig von Mises’ view of fascism of 1927, unfortunately a prognostic disaster, is worth mentioning in this connection. Fascism, he claimed, had nothing to do with capitalism, but was rather a direct reaction to Bolshevism (an interpretation with which the Austro-Marxists concurred). However, von Mises thought, brutality and barbarism were not as developed in fascism as in Bolshevism. Mises explains this by the fact that fascism came into being in countries in which the memory of some 1,000 years of cultural development cannot be stamped out at one blow, whereas on both sides of the Ural Mountains there are barbarians who have never come into contact with civilization. Mises therefore was optimistic that the fascists, who had been carried away by their indignation at Bolshevism and had thus committed actions out of emotional disturbance, would soon return to moderate politics.22 Mises shared this opinion with Karl Renner, who also considered the advanced culture of the Germans an insuperable obstacle to fascism, and with many other contemporaries. They could not imagine the barbarities that became historical reality in the country of poets and philosophers. Mises was even of the opinion that fascism had a certain useful function.23 The survey of the Austrian sociologists’ relation to fascism given here does not warrant much optimism about the ability of sociology to resist dominant political and spiritual trends. The spectrum includes naiveté and self-deluded vanity, familiarity and opportunism, eager participation and attempts at ideological leadership. Those who were able to avoid this did so as a consequence of their political commitments and the challenges posed to them by fascism rather than through their rigorously ‘scientific’ sociological perspective.


NOTES I am indebted to my sister Lydia for her help. The ‘Alfred Schachner Ged chtnisfonds’ provided financial support for the translation of this paper. 1 For a short description of Austrian history in the twentieth century see Sweeney and Weidenholzer (1988). Of course there is a large literature on this topic. 2 The beginnings of sociology in Austria are discussed by Torrance (1976). This article must be used with care because of numerous minor errors. For a more comprehensive description see Langer (1988), and the instructive article by Müller (1989) on the Sociological Society in Graz. 3 Neurath (1931a and b). There is a large literature on the aims and history of the Vienna Circle. For a short summary with respect to the political dimension see Wartofsky (1982). 4 The most prominent was that of Ludwig Mises. Members of Mises’ private seminar were inter alia Friedrich Hayek, Oskar Morgenstern, Fritz Machlup, Gottfried Haberler, Felix Kaufmann, Alfred Schutz, and Erich Voegelin. 5 The works of Schutz (1932) and Kaufmann (1936) did not influence the development of the social sciences in the 1930s, and the same is true with respect to the articles of Zilsel (1992), and for that matter the study on the Arbeitslosen von Marienthal (Jahoda et al. 1933) cf. the autobiographical notes by Lazarsfeld (1968). 6 Walter Heinrich may have been the most important contributor to the further development and continuation of Spann’s school. In 1933 he was appointed Extraordinarius for political economy at the Hochschule (university) for World Trade. In 1938 he had to quit his professorship and was kept in a concentration camp by the Nazis for eighteen months. He was able to resume academic work at the Hochschule für Welthandel after 1945, where he served as full professor from 1949 to his retirement, gathering around him a circle of Spann’s followers. Heinrich was one of the leaders in the foundation of a Gesellschaft für Ganzheitsforschungin 1956 and the editor of the Zeitschrift für Ganzheitsforschung. Between 1963 and 1979 a complete edition of Spann’s works, comprising twenty-one volumes, was published. The attention and care with which it was treated by editors and publishers is indicative of the long-term influence of Spann’s school in Austria. That in a certain sense Spann is still alive in Austria is evident in a recently published book (Pichler 1988). 7 Suranyi-Unger (1927–28), who later emigrated to the United States where he became Professor of Economics at Syracuse University. In 1950 Suranyi-Unger contributed an article for the Spann-Festschrift (Suranyi-Unger 1950). 8 In a foreword to this article the editor states (Akabane 1927–28:586f): ‘So ist diese kleine Arbeit ein r hmliches Zeugnis daf r, dass der Siegeszug der deutschen Wissenschaft auch durch die furchtbaren Schicksalsschl ge, die das deutsche Volk im letzten Jahrzehnt über sich ergehen lassen musste, nicht gehemmt werden konnte. Besonders zeigt sie uns, dass die philosophische Behandlung der wirtschaftlichen Probleme, wie sie Othmar Spann lehrt, ferner dass sein gesellschaftstheoretischer Universalismus selbst schon im Lande der aufgehenden Sonne festen Fuss zu fassen beginnt.’ Among the contributors to the journal Nationalwirtschaft were Eugen Kogon (1927–28) and Alfred Vierkandt (1928–29a and b).


9 In this context it should be mentioned that Alfred Peters, a German who had taught journalism at the Hochschule für Welthandel in Vienna since 1931, was habilitated in sociology with special regard to the sociology of print media in 1939–40. He was appointed as a Dozent at the faculty of jurisprudence and political science. 10 For a more detailed description of Spann’s basic ideas see Landheer (1931 and 1948) which contain additional references to articles dealing with Spann’s thinking. I am aware of only one work of Spann’s in English, his History of Economic Thought, translated by Eden and Cedar Paul, which appeared in 1929. 11 See Spann, 1930, p.130: ‘Dem Universalismus ist gerade und einzig der geistige Zusammenhang der Einzelnen der Quellpunkt alles geistigen Lebens. Das wahre Wesen der Gesellschaft liegt ihm in der geistigen Kr fteschōpfung, die im Miteinander, in der geistigen Gegenseitigkeit der Menschen gegeben ist. Das Geistige jedes Menschen, der Kern und das Wesenhafte seiner Individualit t, besteht nur in und durch Gezweiung.’ 12 Cf. Spann, 1923, p.200, where you can find the following judgement with respect to Weber’s sociology of religion: ‘Es ist eine seltene Verst ndnisarmut, die sich hier an ein ihr unerschwingliches Grundgebiet des sozialen Lebens, die Religiosit t, heranwagt, es ist eine tzende Sucht, zu zersetzen und zu zerstören, die sich hier kundtut. Und was bietet sie selber?—überall nur ein atheistisches Aufkl rertum plattester Art Max Weber hat recht, es ist ein “Sein ohne Sollen”, ein Wertfreies und Wertloses, das er uns hier zum besten gibt. Vor 20 Jahren noch hatte Max Webers Atheismus, Skeptizismus, Materialismus, Individualismus, Marxismus und was dieser Art mehr ist, sein “gross’ Publikum” gefunden. Heute ist seine Zeit vorbei, heute ist seine Lehre tote Wissenschaft Max Weber war ein d monisch-ruheloser Mann, der auf andere persōnlich zu wirken vermochte, dem es aber nicht beschieden war, ein Lebenswerk zu hinterlassen, das dauern konnte.’ 13 Spann, 1933b, p.181: ‘Es ist ein Ruhmesblatt der nationalsozialistischen Umwälzung, ein Triumph des deutschen Wesens, dass man die B cher des Unholdentums ōffentlich in das Feuer warf (10 May 1933). 14 How this abstinence, strange from today’s perspective, came about is not mentioned in the printed report on the debates during the convention (Verhandlungen l927). 15 This was a ‘united front’ only in the sense of unity in the battle against the left. There were different interests and ideas in this party. The Heimwehren had come into being immediately after the end of the First World War when the borders of the new state of Austria were not determined and the government in Vienna seemed too weak to be able to stand up to claims for territory and trespass. In the 1920s the political character of these associations changed. The Heimwehren did not have a clear, concrete political programme apart from their struggle against the working class movement, which was organized in the Social Democratic Party. The establishment of an authoritarian state was a means by which the Social Democratic Party would be prevented from acquiring power through parliamentary means. The counterpart of the socialist working class was the Republikanische Schutzbund. Thus the political forces of the First Republic knew that behind them in the case of escalating conflicts were paramilitary associations. See also Pauley 1980. 16 This is based on documents in the Archiv zur Geschichte der Soziologie in Osterreich, Graz. 17 Spann-documents, Archiv zur Geschichte der Soziologie in Osterreich, Graz.


18 For Spann and his disciples Adam M ller’s work was regarded as the starting-point for modern social thinking. In a posthumously published edition of the papers of Karl von Vogelsang, the editor (Klopp 1894:6) considers these articles an important contribution to Christian sociology. 19 Ludwig von Mises also considered solidarism a threatening socialist doctrine. 20 Hans Kelsen (1924) and Otto Bauer (1924) are reprinted in G.Mozetič (ed.) Austro-Marxistische Positionen, Vienna et al., Bōhlau, 1983, pp.205–215 and 216– 231. 21 Perhaps prudently, considering the year of publication. 22 Mises, 1927, p. 43: ‘Die Taten der Fascisten waren Reflex- und Affekthandlungen, hervorgerufen durch die Empörung über die Taten der Bolschewiken und Kommunisten. Sowie der erste Zorn verraucht war, lenkte ihre Politik in gem ssigtere Bahnen ein und wird voraussichtlich immer mehr Mässigung an den Tag legen.’ 23 Mises, 1927, p. 45: ‘Es kann nicht geleugnet werden, dass der Faszismus und alle hnlichen Diktaturbestrebungen voll von den besten Absichten sind und dass ihr Eingreifen f r den Augenblick die europ ische Gesittung gerettet hat. Das Verdienst, das sich der Faszismus damit erworben hat, wird in der Geschichte ewig fortleben. Doch die Politik, die im Augenblick Rettung gebracht hat, ist nicht von der Art, dass das dauernde Festhalten an ihr Erfolg versprechen konnte. Der Faszismus war ein Notbehelf des Augenblicks; ihn als mehr anzusehen, ware ein verhängnisvoller Irrtum.’

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Lundgreen, P. (ed.) (1985) Wissenschaft im Dritten Reich, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Matthes, J. (1973) Einführung in das Studium der Soziologie, Reinbek: Rowohlt. Menzel, A. (1935) Der Staatsgedanke des Faschismus. Eine geistesgeschichtliche Untersuchung, Leipzig and Vienna: Deuticke. Mises, L. (1927) Liberalismus, Jena: Gustav Fischer. Mozetič, G. (1978) ‘Erkenntnistheorie und Soziologie. Untersuchungen zum Werk des Austromarxisten Max Adler’, Ph.D. thesis, University of Graz. ——(1985) ‘Ein unzeitgemässer Soziologie: Ludwig Gumplowicz’, Kölner Zeitschrift für Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie 37:621–647. ——(1987) Die Gesellschaftstheorie des Austromarxismus. Geistesgeschichtliche Voraussetzungen, Methodologie und soziologisches Programm, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Müller, R. (1989) ‘Vergessene Geburtshelfer. Zur Geschichte der Soziologischen Gesellschaft in Graz (1908–1935)’, Archiv zur Geschichte der Soziologie in Österreich —Newsletter, no. 3, Graz. Neurath, O. (1931a) Empirische Soziologie. Der empirische Gehalt der Geschichte und Nationalokonomie, Vienna: Springer. ——(1931b) ‘Soziologie im Physikalismus’, Erkenntnis 2:393–431. Oberkofler, G. (1983) ‘Politische Stellungnahmen der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Wien in den Jahren der NS-Herrschaft’, in H.Konrad and W. Neugebauer (eds) Arbeiterbewegung—Faschismus—Nationalbewusstsein. Festschrift zum 20jährigen Bestand des Dokumentationsarchivs des österreichischen Widerstandes und zum 60. Geburtstag von Herbert Steiner, Vienna: Europaverlag, pp. 115–126. Papcke, S. (ed.) (1986) Ordnung und Theorie. Beiträge zur Geschichte der Soziologie in Deutschland, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Pauley, B.F. (1980) ‘Nazis and Heimwehr Fascists: The Struggle for Supremacy in Austria, 1918–1938’, in St. U.Larsen et al. (1980), pp. 226–238. Pichler, J.H. (ed.) (1988) Othmar Spann oder Die Welt als Ganzes, Vienna: Böhlau. Polanyi, K. (1935) ‘The Essence of Fascism’, in K.Polanyi, J.D.Lewis, and D. Kitchin (eds) Christianity and Socialism, London (1935), pp. 359–394. Preglau-H mmerle, S. (1986) Die politische und soziale Funktion der österreichischen Universität, Innsbruck: Inn. Rammstedt, O. (1986) Deutsche Soziologie 1933–1945. Die Normalität einer Anpassung, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Rathkolb, O. (1989) ‘Die Rechts- und Staatswissenschaftliche Fakult t der Universit t Wien zwischen Antisemitismus, Deutschnationalismus und Nationalsozialismus 1938, davor und danach’, in G.Heisz et al. (eds) Willf hrige Wissenschaft. Die Universität Wien 1938–1945, Vienna: Verlag f r Gesellschaftskritik, pp. 197–232. Renner, K. (1932) ‘Versagt oder bewährt sich die Demokratie?’, Der Kampf 25, reprinted in G.Mozetic (ed.) Austromarxistische Positionen, Vienna: Böhlau (1983), pp. 266–272. Salin, E. (1931) ‘Romantic and Universalist Economics’, in E.R.A.Seligman and A. Johnson (eds) Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences, vol. 5, New York: Macmillan, pp. 385–387 . Schumpeter, J.A. (1918) Die Krise des Steuerstaats, Graz and Leipzig: Leuschner & Lubensky. Schutz, A. (1932) Der sinnhafte Aufbau der sozialen Welt. Eine Einleitung in die verstehende Soziologie, Vienna: Springer.


Siegfried, K.-J. (1974) Universalismus und Faschismus. Das Gesettschaftsbild Othmar Spanns. Zur politischen Funktion seiner Gesettschaftslehre und Standestaatskonzeption, Vienna: Europaverlag. Spann, O. (1921) Der wahre Staat. Vorlesungen über Abbruch und Neubau der Gesellschaft, 4th edn. (1938), reprinted in Othmar Spann Gesamtausgabe, vol. 5, Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt (1972). ——(1923) ‘Bemerkungen zu Max Webers Soziologie’, Zeitschrift für Volkswirtschaft und Sozialpolitik, NF 3, reprinted in Othmar Spann Gesamtausgabe, vol. 7 (Kämpfende Wissenschaft), Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt (1969), pp. 185–200. ——(1930) Gesellschaftslehre, 3rd edn. Leipzig, reprinted in Othmar Spann Gesamtausgabe, vol. 4, Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt (1969). ——(1933a) ‘Die Bedeutung des St ndischen Gedankens f r die Gegenwart’, Ständisches Leben 3, reprinted in Othmar Spann Gesamtausgabe, vol. 7, pp. 5–18. ——(1933b) ‘Ausblick auf eine ganzheitliche Erziehungslehre. Lebenskunst und Eingliederung in die Gesellschaft’, St ndisches Leben 3, reprinted in Othmar Spann Gesamtausgabe, vol. 7, pp. 153–183, ——(1934) ‘Auslaugung und Anh ufung. Eine geschichtsphilosophische Betrachtung ber richtige und unrichtige Begabungsverwendung’, Ständisches Leben 4, reprinted in Othmar Spann Gesamtausgabe, vol. 7, pp. 277–293. ——(1979) Othmar Spann. Leben und Werk. Ein Gedenkband aus Anlass der 100. Wiederkehr des Geburtstages. Herausgebracht von W.Heinrich, Othmar Spann Gesamtausgabe, vol. 21, Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt. Stadler, F. (ed.) (1988) Vertriebene Vernunft II. Emigration und Exil österreichischer Wissenschaft. Int. Symposion 19–23 Oktober 1987 in Wien, Vienna and Munich: Jugend und Volk. Suranyi-Unger, T. (1927–28) ‘Objekt und Grundbegriffe der theoretischen Nationalōkonomie’, Nationalwirtschaft 1:296–321. ——(1950) ‘Motives of Economic Planning’, in W.Heinrich (ed.) Die Ganzheit in Philosophie und Wissenschaft. Othmar Spann zum 70. Geburtstag, Vienna: Braum ller, pp. 164–186. Sweeney, J. and Weidenholzer, J. (eds) (1988) Austria: A Study in Modern Achievement, Aldershot: Avebury. Talos, E., Hanisch, E., and Neugebauer, W. (eds) (1988) NS-Herrschaft in Österreich 1938–1945, Vienna: Verlag f r Gesellschaftskritik. Talos, E., Neugebauer, W. (eds) (1988) ‘Austrofaschismus’. Beiträge über Politik, Ökonomie und Kultur 1934–1938, 4th edn. Vienna: Verlag f r Gesellschaftskritik. Tōnnies, F. (1918) Menschheit und Volk, Graz and Leipzig: Leuschner & Lubensky. Torrance, J. (1976) ‘The Emergence of Sociology in Austria 1885–1935’, Archives Européennes de Sociologie 17:185–219. Verhandlungen des Fünften Deutschen Soziohgentages vom 26. bis 29. September 1926 in Wien, T bingen: Mohr (1927). Vierkandt, A. (1928–29a) ‘Das Ende des “Laissez Faire”’, Nationalwirtschaft 2: 11–16. ——(1928–29b) ‘Macht und Verantwortung’, Nationalwirtschaft 2:621–632. Wartofsky, M.W. (1982) ‘Positivism and Politics. The Vienna Circle as a Social Movement’ , in R.Haller (ed.) Schlick und Neurath—ein Symposium (Grazer Philosophische Studien, vol. 16/17), Amsterdam, pp. 79–101. Webb, E. (1981) Eric Voegelin. Philosopher of History, Seattle and London: University of Washington Press.


Weinert, W. (1983) ‘Die Massnahmen der reichsdeutschen Hochschulverwaltung im Bereich des ōsterreichischen Hochschulwesens nach der Annexion 1938’, in H. Konrad and W.Neugebauer (eds.) (1983) Arbeiterbewegung—Faschismus— Nationalbewusstsein, Vienna: Europaverlag, pp. 127–134. Weinzierl, E. (1981) ‘Hochschulleben und Hochschulpolitik zwischen den Kriegen’, in Das geistige Leben Wiens in der Zwischenkriegszeit, Ring-Vorlesung 1980, Vienna: Österreichischer Bundesverlag, pp. 72–85. Wiese, L.von (1937) ‘Nominalismus? Zu Ferdinand Frodls Gesellschaftslehre’, Zeitschrift für Nationalokonomie 8:654–663. Zilsel, E. (1992) Wissenschaft und Weltanschauung. Aufsätze 1929–1933 (G.Mozetic, ed.), Vienna: Böhlau.

42

3 AMBIGUOUS INFLUENCES Italian sociology and the fascist regime Marta Losito and Sandro Segre

This chapter will focus on two subjects: the history of Italian sociology during fascism and the sociological analyses of fascism given by Italian social scientists in the 1920s and 1930s. The two subjects are related: some of these social scientists also produced works that were potentially relevant to the theoretical growth of the discipline, even though most of this potential could not be fully exploited in Italy under fascism. Few of these authors— perhaps only Roberto Michels and Corrado Gini—called themselves sociologists. A great deal of what was regarded as ‘sociology’ in Italy up to the 1940s would probably have been labelled differently afterwards—e.g. as social philosophy, political theory, demography. Sociology as an autonomous discipline was just being institutionalized in Italy during the 1920s and 1930s. THE INSTITUTIONAL AND THEORETICAL DEVELOPMENT OF SOCIOLOGY IN ITALY: AN OVERVIEW The development of Italian sociology occurred in three stages. From the 1870s to the early 1920s there was a remarkable and growing interest in this new social science. Academics from various quarters—philosophy, political economy and law—attended sociological congresses in Italy and abroad, published a number of works, and established scholarly reviews in the field. Extra-curricular courses of sociology were created in many Italian universities. Yet, during this first stage the discipline of sociology did not become part of the official curriculum anywhere in the Italian academic system. In the second stage, from the early 1920s to the mid 1940s, sociology gradually gained official recognition, but its theoretical growth was hampered by several obstacles which originated in part in the cultural policy of the fascist regime. The third stage, which will not be dealt with here, is characterized by the gradual consolidation and recognition of the discipline following the Second World War.

44 ITALIAN SOCIOLOGY AND THE FASCIST REGIME

Italian sociology before fascism The last years of the nineteenth century and the first years of the twentieth saw a lively debate in Italy over sociology, its scientific status, and the question of whether it should be included in the university curriculum. The discipline was taught in Italian universities as an extra-curricular subject and, although there were no official university chairs of sociology, private activity by specialized scholars made up for this institutional deficit—as the abundant sociological output of those years demonstrates. Also, the social sciences were taught in the università popolari (‘people’s universities’) which opened in various Italian cities—first in Pisa, Sassari and Turin, and then in Rome, Milan and Genoa—to provide education for the lower classes and meet the need for research relevant to social reform. At that time Gabriel Tarde was teaching sociology at the école libre des sciences politiques in Paris, Georg Simmel was at the University of Berlin, and Paul Barth at the University of Leipzig; in 1898 Emile Durkheim published the first volume of Année sociologique and Lester F.Ward taught courses in pure and applied sociology in the USA; at the same time there were numerous university lecturers, some still well-known, others forgotten, teaching sociology as well as their official university courses in Italy.1 Italian sociology was broadly similar to the sociology taught by these scholars. The first teacher of sociology as a discipline was Giuseppe Carle, professor of law and, in his own words, ‘scholar from the birth of the sociology discipline’.2 Beginning in 1874 Carle taught ‘Social Sciences‘ on a temporary appointment, and then from 1882 as a libero docente (lecturer) at Turin University (Castrilli 1941). He regarded sociology, or social science, as the study of the social organism, and used a positive method deriving from the natural and biological sciences, combined with the historical-comparative method drawn from the philosophy of history, in which the concept of evolution was integrated with that of increasing civilization and moral progress. Names worth noting in the years that followed include Pietro Siciliani, a professor of theoretical philosophy who in 1878 started a course in sociology at the University of Bologna, Errico De Marinis, libero docente of jurisprudence, who from 1898 onwards gave courses in sociology at the Law Faculty of the University of Naples, Salvatore Cognetti de Martiis, professor of political economy, who delivered a series of lectures on sociology in 1896–97 and was at the same time director of Turin University’s Department of Political Economy, which conducted research of a specifically sociological nature (De Marinis 1896, De Martiis 1897, Siciliani 1879). A significant contribution to the subject’s growth was made by Alfonso Asturaro, professor of moral philosophy, who from 1892 onwards taught courses in sociology at the University of Genoa (Asturaro 1893, 1896, 1897). Together with Enrico Morselli, Francesco Cosentini and others, he founded an association for the study of the social sciences, the Circolo di studi sociali, which was attached to the university and sought to promote the teaching of the social sciences. The Circolo organized the first conference on sociology in


Italy, held in Genoa 23–29 October 1899.3 Filippo Virgili taught an extra-curricular course in sociology at the University of Siena in 1898 (Virgili 1898). In 1900, Achille Loria, scientist of international repute and professor of economics at the University of Padua, taught a course in sociology which attracted a large audience of students from various faculties (Loria 1894, 1900). Other lecturers giving courses in sociology at Italian universities included Icilio Vanni at Perugia, Giovanni Cesca, who held a chair of theoretical philosophy at Messina, Raffaele Schiattarella at Palermo, Alessandro Groppali at Ferrara, Ferdinando Puglia at Messina, and Giuseppe Vadalà-Papale at Catania (Groppali 1902, 1937; Puglia 1900; Schiattarella 1891; Vadalà-Papale 1883; Vanni 1890). In 1905 Vincenzo Miceli, professor of constitutional law, was appointed to a lectureship in sociology at the University of Palermo, and Vilfredo Pareto was invited to deliver a series of lectures on sociology at the University of Bologna (Miceli 1890). A major event in the history of Italian sociology was the founding, in 1897, of the Rivista italiana di sociologia, edited by A.Bosco, G.Cavaglieri, S. Cognetti de Martiis, G.Sergi, V.Tangorra and E.E.Tedeschi, a journal which was to become the leading forum for debate among Italian sociologists. In 1899 the Rivista published an article by Loria, ‘La sociologia ed il suo valore nell’odierno movimento scientifico’. The editorial board described this article as the starting-point for examination of the concept of sociology in terms of its role in the progress of thought and of social reforms.4 The Rivista italiana di sociologia brought together scholars from different disciplinary backgrounds who wished to engage in discussion of the social sciences and to measure their work against the state of studies in the United States and in the rest of Europe. The journal’s reputation was built by Guido Cavaglieri, who took over as editor and dedicated all his energies to its success. As well as publishing original articles and reviews, the journal also devoted ample space to reviews of foreign publications. These it classified into more than fifteen sections, the titles of which could have served as a teaching syllabus for a faculty of social sciences. Although the Rivista italiana di sociologia was the most important publication at the time, it was not alone: journals of penal law, of collective psychology, and socialist journals such as Critica sociale also published articles on sociology (the Catholic Rivista internazionale di scienze sociali mostly concerned itself with economics) .5 The period also saw a proliferation of research in the related sciences of ethnography and cultural anthropology. In 1903 the first issue of Benedetto Croce’s neo-idealist journal La Critica was published. Because of the subsequent influence of Croce’s thought, postwar critics have generally agreed that this year also marks the beginning of the decay of positivist sociological studies in Italy. This intellectual watershed was then followed by the period of fascist dictatorship, from 1922 to 1945, during which Italian sociology went into eclipse—both as regards teaching in the universities and as regards research—until its ‘revival’ in the postwar period brought about by the impact of American social science. Today, one may argue that this


deep-rooted image of the past of Italian sociology was part of the cultural climate of an entire intellectual generation.6 In recent years, now that the cultural climate of the immediate postwar period has faded, a re-examination of this interpretation—which was also taken up across the Atlantic—has begun. There is increasing consensus that the stunted development of sociology in Italy should not be attributed exclusively to the influence of idealist and spiritualist philosophy but rather to the unequal and intermittent development of positivist social culture from the middle years of the nineteenth century onwards. Seen from this perspective, the limitations of Italian positivist thought become apparent. The controversy that followed the first Conference of Sociology at Genoa in 1899 and the principles set out by the Rivista italiana di sociologia demonstrate that, although the many Italian sociologists of the time realized that they had to give a clearly defined basis to their discipline, they attempted to do so without the help of a solid theoretical framework. The work of Auguste Comte was largely unknown in Italy, and there was considerable reliance on the theories of Charles Darwin and of Herbert Spencer—not always to the benefit of scientific progress (Barbano and Sola 1985). Careful examination of the source material shows that Italian sociology continued to develop—albeit unevenly—despite the opposition of Croce. On 17 February 1906 a circular letter signed by fifty-eight university lecturers was sent to the Minister of Education petitioning for the establishment of university chairs of sociology. The attempt was unsuccessful, and Croce, who had received the letter, took the opportunity to give a clear statement of his views—something which he never failed to do when he was in disagreement—in his journal: Sociology considered in its historical sense, that is, as the effective modern sociological movement, is nothing more than positivism; positivism which treats especially of the facts and actions of man, and deals with morality and law rather than with zoology and chemistry. As positivism, it is therefore an implicit negation of freedom for determinism, of teleology for mechanism; a more or less coherent, more or less disguised affirmation of materialism. Such is sociology, in its historical genesis (Comte) and in its living spirit; and this is why anyone of idealist conscience rejects, and must necessarily reject, the presuppositions, the methods, the conclusions, and even, I would say, the style of modern sociology. (Croce 1906) Despite Croce’s aggressive polemic and the failure to persuade the Minister of Education to include sociology in the Italian university curriculum (a failure due in part to the belief of some academics that, although valid, scientific subjects without a history behind them should not be taught, and in part to the opposition of those who feared that the teaching of sociology would spread advanced political ideas in the universities), numerous Italian scholars persisted in their studies of the subject and in their international activities (Garofalo 1906). These years saw


numerous efforts to give synthesis to the new discipline, most notably the Dizionario di sociologia by Fausto Squillace, published in Palermo in 1905 (Squillace 1911).7 The institutionalization of sociology proceeded in close relation to international developments. The Institut International de Sociologie organized a conference in London on the theme ‘Social Struggles’ for its members and associates, held 3–6 July 1906. The conference was attended by Raffaele Garofalo, one of the leading exponents of the positivist penal school, Giorgio Arcoleo and Alfredo Niceforo, professor of statistics, noted for his research into poverty and social stratification. The seventh conference of the Institut International, of which Raffaele Garofalo was chairman, was held in Berne 20–24 July 1909 on the theme ‘Solidarity’. In 1910, after a campaign by the Italian members of the International Institute, the Società italiana di sociologia was founded. The creators of the society were twenty of the most eminent sociologists at work in Italy. Raffaele Garofalo was appointed chairman, and Giorgio Arcoleo, Errico De Marinis, Enrico Ferri and Giuseppe Sergi vice-chairmen. Public confirmation of the academic respectability of sociology in Italy was given by the VIII Congress of the Institut International de Sociologie, held in Rome 7–12 October 1912. The conference was inaugurated in Campidoglio, the historic Roman city hall, with an audience that included Italian and foreign public figures. The guests to the conference were welcomed by Guido Cavaglieri, professor of administrative law at Rome University and co-director with Giuseppe Sergi, professor of anthropology, of the Rivista italiana di sociologia. In the years that followed, Italian sociology came to a standstill, but not because of the ‘predominance of Italian idealism’. The ninth conference of the Institut International de Sociologie, which was to have been held in Vienna in 1915 on the theme of ‘Authority and the Social Hierarchy’, was cancelled. The community of Italian scholars was swept up by the war.8 The death of Guido Cavaglieri in 1918 marked the beginning of the end for the Rivista italiana di sociologia. The new editorial board, composed of Sante De Sanctis, Augusto Graziani, G.M. Fiamingo, Alfredo Niceforo and Giuseppe Sergi, managed to keep the journal going until 1921—its twenty-fifth year of publication—but then it finally folded. But there were other, more promising developments. During the early 1920s, Piero Gobetti and his associates on the journal Rivoluzione liberals (1923–25) turned their attention to certain aspects of sociology. In a few years of intense activity—which ended tragically with Gobetti’s exile and death in 1926—this journal printed a debate on Italian liberalism of the highest quality, including, in 1923, an article entitled ‘La democrazia tedesca nel pensiero di Max Weber’ by Giovanni Ansaldo. Filippo Burzio, an intellectual with scientific training and an associate of Gobetti despite their divergent political positions, conducted detailed analysis of the work of Vilfredo Pareto from the end of the 1920s onwards. However, Burzio’s sociological writings were only published after the Second World War, in 1947 and 1948, and Gobetti’s journal did not survive the onset of fascism.


Sociology during fascism The disciplines of political sciences and sociology have yet to achieve detailed reconstruction of their relationship with the policies of the fascist state. The 1923 reform of the educational system—the so-called ‘Riforma Gentile’—produced consequences that had been investigated to some extent by students of the Italian social sciences. In keeping with the statutory norms enacted by this reform, some new faculties, initially simply called ‘schools’, were created, first (1924–25) in Padua, Pavia, Rome and at the Catholic University of Milan, and later (1927) in Perugia. Degrees in ‘political sciences’ (Padua, Pavia, Rome, the Catholic University of Milan, and Perugia), social sciences (Padua), economic and social sciences (Pavia) were conferred, but sociology was not taught in all these new faculties. The teaching of sociology was made compulsory in Rome (where Corrado Gini held the Chair), at Milan’s Catholic University (with Professor Francesco Vito), and in the social science courses at the University of Padua (with Professor Filippo Carli), as well as in the Private Institute Cesare Alfieri of Florence, where sociology remained compulsory until 1936. Sociology was, however, offered only as an optional course at the Faculty of Political Sciences in Padua (again, with Professor Filippo Carli), and was not included in the courses of study provided by the faculties of Pavia and Perugia. This process of limited and selective institutionalization of sociology was somewhat modified in the 1930s, when the ‘schools’ of political sciences were relabelled ‘faculties’ (1933). The Institute Cesare Alfieri became a faculty of political sciences in 1938 (with Professor Lorenzoni in charge of the optional course of sociology). Sociology was eventually introduced as an optional course in Pavia. Eleven faculties of political sciences were created as new additions to the already existing faculties of law in Bari, Cagliari, Catania, Genoa, Messina, Naples, Palermo, Pisa, Siena, Turin and Trieste. Yet in only five of these new faculties (Cagliari, Genoa, Palermo, Pisa, Trieste) was a course of sociology included in the university statutes, and then only as an optional discipline. Sociology was on the other hand made mandatory in the new ‘schools’ of statistics in Padua, Florence and Milan (both at the state university and the Catholic university), and in the recently constituted Faculty of Statistical, Demographic and Actuarial Sciences in Rome (once more, with Professor Corrado Gini). In the 1920s and 1930s, furthermore, a course in criminal sociology was temporarily taught at the law faculty of Milan’s state university. Although sociology was established as an academic discipline in a number of faculties or ‘schools’, such as political sciences, law and statistics, the institutionalization of the discipline lagged behind the institutional development of the social and political sciences in general. This latter development was indicated not only by the creation throughout the country of faculties of political sciences (by the early 1940s present in seventeen out of a total of twenty-six universities) and statistics, but also by the creation of faculties of business and economics at the Catholic University of Milan and in Perugia. Compared to the


considerable institutional development of the Italian social sciences in the interwar period, one may legitimately speak, therefore, of the relative failure of sociology. Three distinct factors, first, the widespread and deep-seated disagreement—both within and outside the fold of the students of the discipline—on the proper field of enquiry and the institutional location of sociology, second, its rejection as a matter of principle by the then prevailing idealistic orientation of Italian philosophy, especially by its most reputed and influential exponents, Benedetto Croce and Giovanni Gentile, and, finally, the competition provided by the corporatist ‘science’ of the state, which enjoyed the official support of the fascist regime, combined to bring about this failure. Those who attempted to establish sociology as a legitimate academic discipline (e.g. Govi 1942:448–454) saw difficulties which originated from unresolved epistemological and methodological problems as crucial. One epistemological problem concerned the subject area of sociology: there was on the one hand the tendency to encompass other disciplines, such as history, political sciences and cognitive and moral philosophy; on the other hand to include only sociological subfields, such as political and economic sociology and sociology of law. A second and related problem was the conceptual and substantive relationship between sociology and other disciplines, such as demography, statistics, economics, law and the political sciences. There was also the problem of the proper sociological method and, therefore, of which discipline—whether history or psychology or social psychology or biology—should provide a methodological paradigm. Finally, and as a consequence of all these epistemological and methodological problems, there was the question of the location of sociology within the existing institutions of higher learning, that is, the question of whether the teaching of sociology should be done exclusively in the faculties of political sciences and statistics, or in other faculties as well, such as philosophy, law, and history. The principled critique of sociology did not, however, originate from the specific problems affecting this discipline, but rather from the cognitive tenets of philosophical idealism, as represented by Croce and Gentile, and their numerous followers. Croce assigned to sociology only the preliminary and modest task of providing a classification of phenomena, thereby helping philosophy and history to formulate ‘pure concepts’, as opposed to the ‘pseudo concepts’ of sociology. Idealism rejected the very possibility of making general, that is, theoretical statements, on the grounds that all acts cannot be grasped and conceptualized without referring them to the individuality of the thinking actors. These cognitive critiques of sociology, accepted even by some students of the discipline, proved to be an obstacle to its recognition and institutionalization in Italy (see Ferrarotti 1974:267; Govi 1942:451; Spirito 1936a:1020). The fascist corporatist ‘science’ of the state claimed much of the domain of sociology. Corporativist ‘science’ would draw freely on the disciplines of economic theory, political science and law, without considering itself bound by what were from its point of view obsolete distinctions between them (Ornaghi 1984). In spite of its slender achievements (Ornaghi 1984: 273–292), the


corporatist doctrine became quickly institutionalized, and a number of university chairs were created, typically in the new faculties of political sciences. The model was provided by the fascist faculty of political sciences of Perugia, established in 1927, in which a university chair was instituted in 1928 for the teaching of general and corporative economy. Roberto Michels was called to hold this chair; he never had a chance to teach sociology as such in an Italian institution of higher learning. The other two leading Italian sociologists of the fascist period were Corrado Gini and Filippo Carli (Sola 1988:759). Carli combined the teaching of sociology (in Brescia, at a local school of social studies, and then at the State University of Padua) with a scholarly production that, after 1928, was no longer sociological, but rather focused on the historical and theoretical foundations of a corporative economy (see the complete bibliography of his writings in Carli 1939:261–268). Corrado Gini started teaching sociology at the University of Rome in 1927 and became, perhaps unwittingly, a spokesman of fascism. He was himself never a corporatist theoretician, as indicated by his appointment as the president of the Italian Sociological Association (Società Italiana di Sociologia) (1937), (see Castrilli 1941:277–279; Sola 1988:761; Lentini 1974:31). Still, Gini’s peculiar version of sociology, as we shall see later in greater detail, borrowed its categories from another social science, demography, and propounded an evolutionary conception of biological, demographic, cultural and social change that openly lent support to the regime. The support which the so-called corporatist ‘science’ provided to the fascist regime, and in turn received from it, made it imperative for all sociologists who, like Michels, were sympathetic to Mussolini’s rule to come to terms with corporatist doctrine, and seek to contribute to its development (Ornaghi 1984:142, 156, 174, 273–274). It is not accidental, then, that the new historiography has recently interpreted the question of the relationship between culture and fascism in terms of the existence of a fascist culture. Recent studies of fascist cultural institutions have shown that these were not limited to the management of traditional culture. They produced and circulated new ways of thinking and subjects for study which were functional to the ideology of the regime (Albertoni 1977:17–23). The most important among the cultural institutions (both for the number of its participants—including numerous anti-fascist intellectuals—and for the cultural project inspiring it) was the Italian Encyclopedia edited by Giovanni Gentile. Through it, fascism tried to construct its own historical legitimation (Albertoni 1977:20–23; Lentini 1974:37; Turi 1972:93–152). It is apparent that this attempt, and in general the attempt to establish a new fascist culture, could not help but have a major negative impact on sociology, if only because financial and intellectual resources were channelled to purposes that were more directly relevant to the regime’s cultural policies. An exception to this were the Italian faculties of political sciences. In the period following the Second World War they were unfairly considered to have been just an expression of the fascist party and regime propaganda (Leoni 1959). Yet these faculties produced some valuable contributions, for instance in the history of


political thought, from authors who were not necessarily sympathetic to the party and its ideology (Albertoni 1977:23). Similarly, they carried out interesting investigations and, together with the Catholic University, were instrumental in the postwar formation of modern management in postwar Italy (Lentini 1974:31–33). What by today’s standards might be called ‘sociology’ was, when theoretically oriented, to be found in elaborations of some of Pareto’s sociological categories, in addition to some attempts to analyse social classes from a historical or sociological viewpoint. As we shall see, when it was truly empirical, it consisted largely in investigations of the adaptation of the working class to factory work. The influence of Pareto on the economic sociology of the interwar period was perhaps most evident in some of the works of Alfonso de Pietri-Tonelli and Giuseppe Palomba, both professional economists with a strong interest in sociologically relevant assumptions on economic behaviour. Both sought to combine neoclassical economic theory with corporatist ‘theory’. De Pietri-Tonelli, a professor of political economy in Venice, had himself been a pupil of Pareto and had frequently corresponded with him in the years between 1909 and 1923 (de Pietri-Tonelli 1961:109–154). His ‘General economic, political-economic and corporatist theorem’ (1942) was an attempt to update his master’s economic and sociological teaching and make it compatible with the new economic doctrine. Giuseppe Palomba’s ‘Economic equilibrium and cyclical movements according to the data of experimental sociology’ (1935) set out to establish, in Paretian language, ‘the conditions of general economic equilibrium in a collectivity in which people act under the influence of residues and derivations and are accordingly movedby a mixture of argumentations and instincts’. The fact that some social and political forces tend to alter this equilibrium was used to justify government intervention, within the legal and economic framework of a corporatist system, to restore it (1935:139–140). Even if we disregard the special subfield of economic sociology, theoretically oriented sociological enquiry (to the very limited extent to which it was pursued in the 1920s and 1930s) was conducted with the explicit purpose, generally speaking, of supporting and legitimating the existing political and social order. Thus, Nello Quilici, a brilliant and cultivated student of social and economic history and a Pareto expert, published in 1932 an interesting study of The origin, development and inadequacy of the Italian bourgeoisie’, in which he advocated the thesis— under the clear influence of Sombart—that the capitalist development of Italy had not been the achievement of the bourgeoisie, whose ‘spirit’ was in his opinion quite inadequate to this task, but rather of the Jewish minority, inspired by a calculating, rationalistic mentality. As Quilici saw it, the final crisis and degeneration of the Italian bourgeoisie in the 1920s was fortunately more than offset by the new corporatist economy, where the conditions for a harmonious and coordinated economic development were also conducive to economic freedom (1932). In 1937, another economic historian, Antonio Fossati, published a number of short articles which he subsequently (1938) collected into a single work published in a journal (Commercio) directed by Filippo Carli. These articles


focused on the so-called ‘middle classes’, their definition, economic and social functions, their historical development in Italy, their economic predicament in the early twentieth century, and finally their deliverance from it by means of the fascist corporatist political economy. In contrast to other contributions that came out in Commercio during 1937 (such as those by G.Cesare Rossi (February 1937:3–6), Luigi Rossi (May 1937:19–21), Attilio Racheli (July 1937:25–27; November 1937:49–52), Agostino degli Espinosa (July 1937: 28–30), and Vincenzo Ameri (August-September 1937:22–23)), Fossati’s is comparatively scholarly and free from propagandistic overtones, and also exhibits a good knowledge of economic history (a field in which the author had special competence) and of economic theory, as well as a passing knowledge of the international literature on social classes, as evidenced by his quotation of A.Meusel’s entry ‘Middle Class’ in the Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences. Fossati however did not have a general theory of social classes, nor did he refer to other such theories, and therefore the cultural, economic and professional dimensions of the middle classes which he chose to emphasize are somewhat arbitrary. Moreover, like the authors mentioned earlier, he failed to distinguish clearly between sociological analysis and political legitimation, especially in the final section of his work (see, for a critical appraisal, Lentini 1974:56–58). While Fossati was better known as an economic historian than as a sociologist, Arrigo Serpieri (1877–1960) quickly established a reputation as an agricultural expert and as a rural sociologist, which he upheld even after the demise of fascism. Serpieri’s authority in this field was sanctioned by his appointment as the influential director of the National Institute of Agrarian Economy in 1928. Serpieri proposed a distinction between different rural strata according to whether they were large landowners, small independent farmers, tenants and sharecroppers, or wage-earning farm-workers with stable or unstable employment. But he also emphasized the existence of a common cultural bond connecting all the strata that (in his opinion) regarded agriculture as a way of life. Resorting to Pareto’s categories, Serpieri maintained that those who pursue this activity are permeated by the ‘persistence of aggregates’, that is, by conservative sentiments, but that their way of life is threatened by the so-called ‘speculators’ (Serpieri (1925) 1974:63–80). The combined influence of Pareto and Gini on the Italian sociology of the 1920s and 1930s, especially on the sociology of social stratification and social change, is shown in an interesting summary and evaluation of their contributions contained in a short article written in 1935 by Giorgina Levi della Vida. This article focused on Pareto’s and Gini’s explanations of social change, pointed to some similarities (both theories consider the interchange of the individuals belonging to the ranks of the ruling class as beneficial to society), but also emphasized their main substantive and methodological differences.9 The prominence enjoyed within the Italian social sciences of the late 1920s and the 1930s by Gini, even more than Pareto, was achieved at the expense of other social scientists, who could not be easily interpreted as ideological forerunners or supporters of fascism.


In other words, despite Gini’s international reputation and personal relations with a number of prominent foreign scholars, Italian sociology was affected by some parochialism, as indicated by the narrow scope of its theoretical interests and its very limited number of influential figures. Filippo Carli’s initial interest in sociological theory gave way, as mentioned, to other scholarly pursuits that were more in line with the regime’s orientation in the social sciences. No doubt this was a major loss for Italian sociology, since Carli, in two important works, published in 1925 (Carli 1925a; 1925b), had shown a thorough knowledge of the most significant authors and national sociological traditions, of which he provided a description and classification (Sola 1988:759–760). The extent of this parochialism was somewhat limited by the breadth of interests and information sources of Benedetto Croce and Luigi Einaudi (1874–1961), two scholars whose liberalism was tolerated by the authorities. Though they would have in no way considered themselves sociologists (and Croce in fact advanced an intransigent critique of sociology), the two scholars nevertheless conducted a prolonged debate on a variety of themes, some of which were sociologically relevant: their discussion of the historical (or cultural) and economic conceptions of the bourgeoisie was a major case in point (Croce 1927; Einaudi 1928). Precisely because of their suspect political orientation on the one hand, and their indifferent or even hostile attitude toward sociology on the other, Croce and Einaudi could not however counteract the limitations that characterized the scope of reference and themes of Italian sociology, despite the great number of capable social scientists of various ideological orientations. For instance, when in 1930 the Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences began publication, edited by E.R.A. Seligman and A.Johnson, advisory editors for Italy were L. Einaudi and A. Graziani, and its Italian editorial consultants were: R.Bachi, R.Benini, E.Catellani, E.Codignola, B.Croce, S.De Sanctis, G.Del Vecchio, G.Ferrero, G.Lombardo Radice, R.Michels, M.Sarfatti. Entries were contributed by fifty Italian authors writing mainly on 125 Italians of the past (Garzia and Losito 1990). These limitations were in any case not overcome, notwithstanding some attempts to this effect, by the only sociological journal published in Italy under fascism, the Rivista Italiana di Sociologia (1927–1934, 1938–1940), for only a few years after its establishment the journal moved its headquarters abroad, first to Switzerland and then to Paris. After its ephemeral re-establishment in 1938 and relocation to Milan, its founder and former director Sincero Rugarli entrusted the editorship to a self-taught sociologist and professional army officer, Vittore Marchi, whose editorial work had little positive impact on the journal, or on Italian sociology as a whole. Rugarli was certainly not affected by any taint of provincialism. During the Rivista’s first period (1927–1934), under his exclusive direction (1927–1933, 1934) or for a short time (1933) in association with the sociologist G.L.Duprat (Professor of Sociology at the University of Geneva, former director of the Archives de Sociologie, and Chief Secretary of the Institut International de Sociologie), some of the best reputed members of the international sociological community, such as P.Fauconnet, L.von Wiese, and H.Becker,


contributed in French or English. Among the Italian contributors, Rugarli himself was the most active, though he did not produce works of appreciable originality or significance. Rugarli’s book-length article on delinquency is a case in point the article (Rugarli 1939) is full of statistics and shows some grasp of the international literature, but is extremely confused in its argument, to the effect that the number of alleged ‘causes’ of crime, whether biological, psychological or social, do not add up to a clear and comprehensive account of the phenomenon. His two books (Rugarli 1944, 1945), published by a Centre for Sociological Studies in the very last years of the war and fascism, lapsed quickly into oblivion. Yet, although he was hardly an influential sociologist, Rugarli was able to secure the collaboration of authors who had both competence and genuine interest in sociological theory, as long of course as such competence and interest were not discouraged by official cultural policy and could be freely expressed. Thus, the Rivista di Sociologia published contributions on The Sociological Theory of Finance by Emanuele Morselli (1928), an expert on fiscal policy and state finances who had also published (1927) a favourable review of Gini’s ‘neo-organicist’ approach to sociology in the Rivista, and elsewhere published a sympathetic appraisal of fascist cultural policy (1927, cf. Morselli 1930). In the same years, the Rivista di Sociologia also published articles on ‘The Object and Task of History and Sociology’ by Mario Govi (1928–1929), who taught at the University of Siena and cultivated a lasting interest in the epistemology of the social sciences (Govi 1942); on criminology, in a review article by L. Serrani (1929); on Durkheim’s social realism, in a study devoid of political or ideological implications contributed by R.Campanini (1931); and finally on Political Sociology and the French Revolution by Filippo Carli (1928), possibly his last sociological work (see Govi 1942:454; Sola 1988:764–765). Besides Rugarli’s Rivista di Sociologia, some other periodicals, though not exclusively sociological in character, did publish a few studies that were sociologically relevant in one way or another. Among them were the Rivista Internationale di Filosofia del Diritto, founded in 1921 by Giorgio Del Vecchio, La Riforma Sociale, directed by Luigi Einaudi since 1908, the Rivista Internazionale di Filosofia Politica e Sociale (1935), edited by F.Gramatica and Lorenzo Caboara, Agostino Gemelli’s Rivista Internazionale di Scienze Socially and especially Corrado Gini’s Metron, in addition to the statistically and demographically oriented reviews Annali di Statistica and Genus. Neither of these reviews was essentially different from Metron, in that their sociological contributions were clearly inspired by Gini’s categories and theoretical interests, and focused accordingly on such research themes as income distribution, demographic characteristics of different economic and social strata, and the interchange of individuals between these strata (Castrilli 1941:277–278; Govi 1942:454–455). A frequent contributor to Metron was Franco Savorgnan, a demographer and economist who taught at the University of Modena. Though Savorgnan shared with Gini a scholarly interest in such themes as the demographic characteristics of the ruling classes, he had a broader background in the social


sciences, including sociology and social anthropology. His collected sociological essays (Savorgnan 1927) displayed an excellent, firsthand knowledge of the international literature on historically and sociologically oriented anthropology, and especially of the work of Gumplowicz and Ratzel. In the 1930s, however, Savorgnan chose to concentrate on demography and political economy. He thus abandoned his sociological interests, which he had cultivated since the first decade of the century, as indicated by his Sociological Fragments published in German in 1908. The hegemony exerted by Gini’s demographic-sociological school on the Italian social sciences of the 1930s is also shown by the contents of the papers produced by the Italian section of the Institut International de Sociologie at the Brussels Convention (1935). The Italian section was composed of members (including Gini himself) of the Comitato italiano per lo studio dei problemi della popolazione, an association created with the purpose of conducting research on demographic problems making use of information drawn from economic and social history, and from studies of social stratification and social mobility. The papers produced in Brussels were of course in line with the Comitato’s research purpose. When the Italian section was dissolved, possibly as a consequence of the regime’s growing nationalism and cultural provincialism, a new, wholly autonomous association was formed, the Società Italiana di Sociologia (1937), with Corrado Gini as the founder and chairman. Among its staff members there was another professional sociologist with a background in statistics, E. Casanova, the author (1941) of a brief work on the Italian contribution to sociology, in addition to experts in statistics, economics, and juridical ethnology. The Società convened a few times (1937, 1938, 1939, 1942, 1943) before disbanding (see Castrilli 1941:277–279; Lentini 1974:36). Italian sociology was virtually identified by foreign scholars, notably in the United States, with Gini’s sociological school. But another major centre for sociological studies was represented by Agostino Gemelli (1878–1959) and his associates at the Catholic University of Milan. Gemelli directed this centre until his death, and performed many other tasks: he was the editor of the Rivista Internationale di Scienze Socially also Professor of Experimental Psychology, director of a research institute operating in this field at the Catholic University, director of a Catholic Union for the Social Sciences, and president of the Vatican’s Pontifical Academy as well as of the Italian State Committee for Applied Psychology of the National Research Council. A leading exponent of neo-Thomist philosophy, Gemelli was also active, along with his collaborators, in promoting a Catholic sociology consonant with his philosophical orientation as well as a corporatist doctrine in line both with the fascist corporativism and with neo-Thomism. He also published a great number of empirical investigations into the psychology and physiology of industrial work. Gemelli was an intransigent opponent of Croce and Gentile (whose works were proscribed by the Vatican) but had good personal and scholarly relations with Gini and his school. Marcello Boldrini, a member of this school and a demographer, a professor of statistics at


the Catholic University, an important member of the Catholic Union for the Social Sciences, and a contributor to the Rivista Internazionale di Scienze Sociali, provided the link between Gemelli and Gini. Boldrini was the author of an article relating social strata to physique, an approach congenial to Gini’s peculiar version of sociology, that came out in the Rivista Internazionale (1932). A few social scientists active in the Catholic Union contributed to the Rivista Internazionale under Gemelli’s supervision. They had diverse educational backgrounds and scholarly interests, but all enlisted in an attempt to provide legitimation for the existing political order from the point of view of conservative Catholicism, whose social philosophy was allied with fascist corporatist and authoritarian ideology in a common endeavour to fight alternative ideologies such as Liberalism (see Gemelli 1933a, 1937). Among these social scientists, the young economist Giovanni de Maria and economic historian Amintore Fanfani published valuable essays on the character of modern entrepreneurship and the origins of capitalism in Italy (De Maria 1929; Fanfani 1933), thereby showing that serious, non-parochial scholarship was possible even with the given cultural and political constraints. De Maria’s study focused on the contributions by foreign students of entrepreneurship such as the American E.R.A. Seligman and the Austrian J. Schumpeter; Fanfani’s on a critical discussion of Sombart’s and Weber’s works on the rise of modern capitalism. De Maria (who became Professor of Political Economy at the Università Bocconi) sought to legitimize the functions of entrepreneurial activities in the institutional framework of the capitalist order; Fanfani (who became a leading Christian-Democratic politician in the postwar period) established a connection between counter-reformation and capitalism (Fanfani, 1934). Sociology, in any case, as an autonomous, scientific discipline, was rejected by Fanfani (see Fanfani (1939) 1974:309–314; see also Ornaghi 1984:40, 114), and in general by those exponents of Catholic sociology who, like Luigi Bellini and Agostino Gemelli, strove to find in their opposition to liberal individualism common ground between the Catholic and the fascist interpretations of the corporatist doctrine (see Bellini 1929, 1934; Gemelli 1937). From the point of view of the development of sociology in Italy, this was clearly not conducive to a broadening of the scope of its theoretical and substantive interests. The case of Luigi Bellini, a lawyer who was a close collaborator of Gemelli, is indicative. Bellini’s first sociological work, published in 1929, was a relatively value-free introduction to this subject with an emphasis on the classification of social phenomena and a discussion of the concepts of social function and equilibrium, and of social and historical causation (1929). Bellini’s subsequent work (1934), however, intertwined social-science analysis with normative prescriptions and metaphysical interpretations of social phenomena, in conformity with a corporatist view of society which was compatible both with a ‘Catholic Sociology’ and the fascist corporatist doctrine (see for example 1934:2, 116–117). Sociology could no longer therefore be distinguished from a Catholic and authoritarian social philosophy, in agreement with Fanfani’s own orientation (see Fanfani (1939) 1974:309–313).


Gemelli was not, however, only a social philosopher, but also the indefatigable organizer of much of whatever empirical research was conducted in Italy during the 1920s and 1930s (see Gemelli 1933b, 1937). Thus, the Catholic University, with its Research Center for Applied Psychology, the Rivista di Psicologia and the already mentioned Rivista Internazionale di Scienze Sociali, all of which were directed by Gemelli himself, became important reference points for the Italian social sciences. Their theoretical limitations were not offset by Gemelli’s non-theoretical empirical investigations in applied psychology, and especially, in the psychology of industrial work. As a consequence of Gemelli’s active presence in other research centres, theoretical irrelevance characterized the whole field of the applied social sciences in Italy. The numerous investigations performed by Gemelli and his colleagues served more practical purposes. On the one hand, they were instrumental in the formation of modern management in postwar Italy, on the other hand, they were subservient to the cultural policy pursued by the fascist regime. The special and dubious achievement of the Catholic University of Milan was thus to promote a version of the social sciences suitable to the Catholic hierarchy, to the political authorities and the entrepreneurial class (see Lentini 1974:29–45). As for the State Universities, the Faculty of Political Sciences in Perugia was perhaps the most distinguished among those instituted by fascism for the education of the managerial class of the regime (Albertoni 1977:13–14; Lentini 1974:36–37). FASCIST CORPORATIVISM The official doctrine of corporatist representation was formulated in the writings of economists, legal scholars and philosophers (for a general discussion, see Ornaghi 1984). Ugo Spirito, among philosophers perhaps the foremost proponent of this doctrine, maintained that only by means of corporatist representation and authoritative coordination of sectional economic interests could individual and social interests be reconciled (Spirito 1939:119–127). The attention of the jurists was focused instead on the subsequent enactments that created, between 1926 and 1934, the legal framework of Italian corporativism; but they, too, contended that ‘with the corporationthe State pursues the goal, which corresponds to a need of the greatest importance for modern society, to settle economic and social conflicts by harmonizing and consolidating the economic and social interests in conflict’ (Panunzio 1939:399). The actual distance between the officially proclaimed doctrine and its applications in legal practice was, of course, very great (see Tinti 1988:249–250). Finally, among economists, a distinction may perhaps be drawn between those who saw some way of combining corporativism with liberal economic theory, and those who strove for ‘a complete renewal of the fundamental principles of economic science’ (Arena 1943:31). The latter group eventually became predominant, as signified by the acceptance of corporatist theory by such disciples of Pareto as Amoroso and Lanzillo (cf. Amoroso 1932, 1934; Lanzillo 1936), and its direct advocacy by Giuseppe Bottai (1895–1959), the Minister of


National Education in Mussolini’s government and an exponent of this theory (see Bottai (1935) 1974). Filippo Carli, who had previously been a competent and articulate sociologist, from the late 1930s onwards became a leading representative of corporativism within the economists’ fold, besides having an important position in the traders’ corporation and a personal connection with Bottai himself (Bottai 1939). Carli may therefore be considered as an official spokesman for the corporatist doctrine.10 Carli distinguished between functional and ‘organic,’ or structural, corporatist representation (Carli 1939:5–11). Corporations may be grouped by occupational positions such as employers and employees, or alternatively by sectorial categories such as those of specific agricultural, manufacturing, commercial or service sectors. But Carli, as well as the other ‘experts’ on, and proponents of, fascist corporativism, failed to raise, let alone discuss, the complex problem of the representation of interests, which is nonetheless crucial for the formulation of any corporatist or neo-corporatist model (for an overview of this problem, see Cotta 1986). In the case of functional representation, many occupational positions— for example, managerial positions—may be represented according to a variety of different and incompatible criteria, while in the latter case, a great number of enterprises cannot be unambiguously classified in one economic sector or another: conflicting interests and differences in economic power persist within sectorial corporations, and political interests inevitably interfere with the processes of the selection of issues and decision-making (see Kelsen (1929) 1984:88–93; Weber (1917) 1971: 255–258). It may therefore be argued that the fascist doctrines of corporatist representation effectively prevented the analysis and debate of themes —such as the power distribution among different occupational categories and economic sectors, the relations between economic and political elites, and alternative procedures of economic and political elites, and alternative procedures of economic and political representation—that were, and still are, highly relevant to sociology and the social sciences in general. This conclusion is in no way modified by the excellent sociological background of some corporatist theoreticians such as Carli and Spirito, nor by the existence of tensions and strains between such leading exponents of this doctrine as Spirito and Gemelli (see Gemelli 1933a:124). THE DEMOGRAPHIC SOCIOLOGY OF CORRADO GINI Corrado Gini (1884–1964), a prominent demographer and statistician, played a role in the history of the Italian social sciences during the 1920s and 1930s, especially in his capacity as the influential president of Italy’s Central Institute of Statistics. Gini’s reputation as a student of demography was consolidated by his regular attendance at international conventions, his numerous publications in Italian and English, and his personal acquaintance with foreign scholars, in


particular with faculty members of the University of Chicago. As an eclectic social scientist, Gini combined, in a unitary conception of social and political change, categories and propositions derived from demography and rudimentary versions of elite theory and social darwinism. ‘The first cause of the evolution of the nations,’ he wrote, ‘must be sought in biological factors. A greater or smaller proportion of the more advanced family lines in the evolutionary parabolic curve should by and large characterize the successive stages of the nations’ (Gini 1930a:27). More immediate causes of the nations’ evolutionary change are, according to Gini, ‘demographic and economic differentiationand the ensuing social replacement’. Most probably, all such causes ‘basically are common manifestations of deeper biological factors’ (Gini 1930a:25), since the core of the ruling classes is constituted by biologically more advanced families. Their demographic senescence produces, therefore, the ageing of ruling classes and the decline of nations, unless the ranks of these classes are kept open to a steady inflow of individuals originating from the lower strata of society or from different, less civilized nations. Such individuals are not only younger and more prolific, but also often better prepared by biological selection to endure the struggle for life, and may accordingly account for the biological and cultural rejuvenation of a nation (Gini 1930a:24–30, 47–49, 80, 84–87), provided that favourable political, economic, cultural and social conditions remain (Gini 1930a:106–112). The demographic crisis of Western, Northern and Central Europe, which started in the late nineteenth century and has become ever stronger, may in the long run cause the decline of white civilization, unless it is offset by counterbalancing demographic trends in southern and Eastern Europe and/or by adequate demographic policies (Gini 1930a:50–62; 1930b: 723–729). In particular, Gini maintained, the demographic policy pursued in Italy by Mussolini’s government should be appraised favourably, for it promotes the anthropological unification of the country, and opposes the population decline caused by urbanization (Gini 1930a:88; 1930b:723). Views similar to Gini’s were expressed by other Italian demographers and statisticians who shared his conception of, and interest in, sociology. Boldrini, Casanova, Livi and Savorgnan were among the most prominent of these (see Boldrini 1932; Casanova 1941; Livi 1937; Savorgnan 1927). What was peculiar to Gini’s sociology, however, was his ‘organicist’ approach. Society was equated to an organism, one whose life is characterized by a condition of unstable equilibrium which is periodically altered by the recurrent perturbations produced by the demographic, political and economic cycles. As an organism, society is held together by a central regulatory power, by inborn or acquired tendencies in its individual members, and by adaptation mechanisms mediating between society and the economic or social environment. The prosperity and decline of societies and nations depends on the ability to check the downward phase of a cycle: of all the types of cycles, however, demographic cycles are the most important for Gini (see Gini 1927).


MICHELS AS A STUDENT OF FASCISM Roberto Michels, German by birth but an Italian citizen from 1920, was an attentive scholar of the rise of fascism, to which he was sympathetic from the moment of its inception (Michels 1924).11 Michels’ peculiar intellectual biography showed a development from Syndicalist Socialism to fascism, but some of his areas of interest—such as in the conditions for the rise of a capable political class, in greater political participation and in an effective political democracy in the state and party organizations—remained central to the whole of his scholarly production. As a political scientist and sociologist, Michels distinguished himself by his great knowledge of the international literature on the various themes he explored, and yet this advantage was offset by his lack of conceptual rigour and the persistent inadequacy of his methodology (Linz 1966:XXVI; Sola 1972:II; Weber 1910?). Moreover, in the 1920s and 1930s Michels’ contributions to political sociology, though ostensibly value-free, were ambiguous enough to provide both an explanation and a legitimation of some central features of the fascist political system. Michels’ definition of authority was derived from Weber’s concept of authority (Herrschaft). Although Weber made it perfectly clear that obedience to authority may originate from a variety of motives, including personal advantage (Weber 1956:122–123), for Michels authority implied a relation of moral leadership and voluntary submission (Michels 1931b, 1932b:340–341). By the same token, the Weberian concept of charisma, originally defined in ‘non-ideological’ terms (Weber 1956:140–141), was interpreted by Michels with the purpose of legitimating Mussolini’s dictatorship. Mussolini was made the ideal type of charismatic authority and indeed of authority in general (Michels 1920:355–361; 1932b:340; 1934b; cf. Bazzanella 1986:214; Portinaro 1977:135–137). Michels’ theme, finally, of the political class, or governing elite, was borrowed from the writings of Pareto and Mosca, but conveniently reformulated in order to provide ideological support to the fascist elite (Beetham 1977:167–178; Portinaro 1984:280–282). Accordingly, the governing minority was characterized by its members’ allegedly superior qualities. Such qualities— Michels claimed—exist as a consequence of the co-opting of qualified members into the political class: these exchange and mobility processes ensure the existence of an ‘ideal elite’. Michels’ last works of political sociology hardly served the theoretical purpose for which they had been ostensibly formulated. The rise to, and persistence in, top government positions by Mussolini and his associates was simplistically explained as the result of personal qualities which allegedly made them the most qualified politicians and accounted for their charismatic appeal. Democratic political elites were therefore invidiously compared with the fascist elite (Portinaro 1977:134). Charismatic authority was the only type of authority Michels discussed in his late writings, which evidence but a faint trace of the ingenuity he had displayed in his early (1911) work on the sociology of the political party (Michels 1911).


In fact, Michels’ close association with the fascist regime, for which he performed the role of official ideologist, made it imperative for him to confer a new meaning to, or insert into extraneous context, some analytical categories formulated by other social scientists. Legitimation of the given political system, rather than the explanation of its resources of strength and authority, seems to have been Michels’ main concern. The relations between those who avail themselves of such resources and those who cannot do so—a theme that inspired some important theoretical contributions from Gramsci, Mosca, Pareto and the younger Michels himself-were tackled by Michels in the 1920s and 1930s as a scholar of the regime, rather than as a social scientist striving for verifiable explanations. Accordingly, he drew freely on diverse intellectual sources, combining Gentile’s idealism with Einaudi’s liberalism and Max Weber’s political sociology (Michels 1936a; Bazzanella 1986:214–215), and wrote on whatever subject was recommended and made fashionable: demographic policy, the creation of a corporatist economy, the ethical qualities promoted by fascist education, the advantages accruing from the fascist state’s intervention in the nation’s economic and cultural life, and so forth (Michels 1924:71; 1927:40; 1929:551; 1931a:131– 134; 1932a:993; 1934a; 1936b:5). Michels’ writings met the need of Mussolini’s regime for cultural legitimation, and provided its managerial and political classes with some education in the social sciences. Michels made use of sociological categories derived to a large extent from Weber, Mosca and Pareto and from his own political sociology and sociology of organization, such as authority, charisma, political organization and ruling elite. These categories provided the appropriate theoretical instruments for the legitimation of fascism and of its leader’s rule, as much as, or even more than, for the purpose of a value-free analysis of fascism. THE CONSTRAINED VOICES OF THE OPPOSITION The sociological studies conducted by Italian social scientists during the 1920s and 1930s were characterized by a number of constraints.12 The few social scientists who chose to remain in Italy despite their principled opposition to Mussolini’s regime either drastically restrained their scholarly production, as did Gaetano Mosca (1858–1941) and Rodolfo Mondolfo (1877–1976) or else, like Luigi Einaudi (1874–1961) and Norberto Bobbio (1909–), refrained from conducting studies that could be considered subversive by the authorities. Uncompromising adversaries who were not jailed, as Gramsci was, were forced to live in exile, as were Salvemini, Sturzo, Gobetti (who however died immediately upon his arrival in Paris), as were most intellectuals with liberal, socialist or communist ideological orientations. The efforts of the exiles, as a rule, were directed toward the goals of establishing ideological programmes and conducting political activities against the fascist regime, but not toward the goal of constructing sociological theory. Gaetano Salvemini, for instance, provided a remarkable intellectual leadership of, and a major ideological role in, the


opposition movement to fascism. But as an émigré he could not carry on his scholarly activity as a historian and student of the social and economic problems of Southern Italy with his previous pace and productivity. An exception to this rule might be Guglielmo Ferrero (1871–1942), the author of historical works on ancient Rome and the French Revolution, and of an important study on the sources of legitimate power (1942). Ferrero, as a professor of history at the University of Geneva, had the time and the opportunity to engage in scholarly pursuits, in spite of his relentless and uncompromising opposition to Mussolini’s regime. But Ferrero chose to keep scholarship and partisanship separate, so that his writings on political theory were conceived at an abstract and general level of analysis (on Ferrero, see Baldi 1986). Luigi Sturzo (1871–1959) would be another case in point. Sturzo is known today mainly as the founder, in 1918, of the Partito Popolare Italiano, which rallied the votes of the Catholic electorate. Sturzo, ordained in 1894, sought in his early works to reconcile his Catholicism with a lively interest in the so-called ‘social question’ and the problems of Southern Italy. A progressive thinker and sympathetic observer of the working class’s emancipatory struggles, Sturzo also became in subsequent years an attentive student of Sorel, Mosca, Pareto, Weber and Durkheim. One of Italy’s foremost politicians, and an intransigent opponent of Mussolini in the years following the First World War, Sturzo’s political writings were printed by Gobetti’s publishing house (see Sturzo 1924). He concentrated almost exclusively on sociological theory, although he conducted some empirical research on social structure during his lengthy period of political exile, first in London (1922–1940) and then in New York (1940–1946). After his return to Italy in 1946, he resumed his political activities with the Christian Democratic Party, without neglecting his commitment to a liberal-Catholic sociology. He inspired a Luigi Sturzo Foundation for Sociological Studies in New York (1944) and an Istituto di Sociologia Luigi Sturzo in Rome (1952). He was author of a number of works on sociological epistemology and theory published in England, the United States, and Italy (see Sturzo 1926, 1935, 1949, 1970). Though Sturzo was a prominent and versatile intellectual figure, he was better known in Italy as a political thinker (see Campanini and Antonetti 1979) than as a sociologist (see, however, Morra 1979). The opposite holds true in the United States (see especially Timasheff 1962; cf. also Honigsheim 1945; Mueller 1945; Osterle 1945). Nonetheless, his attempt to reconcile undogmatic Catholicism with sociology led to the discipline’s acceptance by some of the Vatican’s own institutions of higher learning, such as the Gregorian University, which introduced the subject into its curriculum (see Gini 1957:6). The sociology of Luigi Sturzo was oriented by a philosophy of history which emphasized a transcendent principle and goal, but at the same time the active participation of ‘associative tendencies’, which exist in every individual consciousness, in the constantly recurring process of the constitution of society. The transcendent principle and goal permeate this process with a rationality which is however immanent to it. The family-related, political and religious forms of


association produce social evolution or stagnation, according to their interaction patterns and their overall correspondence to the collective consciousness. Sturzo’s rejection of the totalitarian state, and implicitly of Mussolini’s regime, stemmed from consideration of its negative impact on the development of associative forms and on the general evolution of society (for a concise introduction to Sturzo as a sociologist and political thinker, see Battaglia 1985; for the publication of his collected works, see De Rosa 1949–1984, vols I-XII). It is apparent, however, that his implicit criticism of the fascist state was part and parcel of his general political and sociological theory, which was essentially developed after and to a large extent independently from Sturzo’s confrontation with Mussolini (1919–1922). Accordingly, the contribution of Sturzo to sociology should be properly discussed not within the over-narrow context of his political relationship, and intellectual reaction, to fascism, but rather within the much broader context of the international debate on questions of ethics, sociology, and the epistemology of the social sciences.13 Sturzo’s lengthy exile, which was a direct consequence of his ideological and political opposition to Mussolini, had the unforeseen effect of providing him with the necessary leisure to pursue his scholarly research. It is hardly accidental that Sturzo’s sociological writings were composed during his exile, or immediately thereafter, for—much as Ferrero—Sturzo too was torn between scholarship and partisanship. Constraints on political liberties, in other words, proved to be a boon to sociology. Yet this conclusion, while likely to hold true for Sturzo and Ferrero, should not be generalized to other authors. As previously emphasized, the condition of being jailed or exiled set a number of constraints on the majority of those Italian scientists who refused to compromise with fascism. Leaving aside the practical difficulties of making a living in a foreign country, any intellectual or social scientist who was not only interested in abstract theory, but also in subjects directly concerning Italy in one way or the other, faced severe limitations in the investigation of primary and secondary sources. These limitations would have become even more serious if their observations had directly concerned the power structure of the regime, in terms of the social recruitment of the political elite, and its relations on the one hand with the economic elites of the manufacturers and the agrarians, and with the higher layers of the civil service and the military on the other. In fact, observations of this kind were practically impossible, even for the ideologically aligned sociologists living in Italy (see Lentini 1974:38). Michels confined his interest to abstract questions of the recruitment of the political authority and its relations with other elites. Empirical research was also, and a fortiori, impossible for the uncompromising authors with an interest in social analysis who were living in exile. Those among them who did not concentrate on theory construction or historical investigations, such as Sturzo and Ferrero, could freely pursue empirical research only in foreign countries (like Renato Treves, as we shall see presently). The few analyses of Italian social situations and political developments by a small circle of Communist émigrés in Paris, and their secret correspondents in Italy, bear witness to the constraints under which these analyses


were produced. Thus, the anonymous ‘letter from Rome’ (1936) contains a number of remarks on the political attitudes of the bourgeoisie, the petty bourgeoisie and the intellectuals (see ‘Borghesia’ (1936) 1976:95–105), but even a sympathetic student of the Communist Parisian Group calls into question the empirical bases of these remarks (see Lentini 1974:56). By the same token, even brilliant and articulate analyses of the class structure and class relations in Italian cities—such as Sereni’s study of the Neapolitan working class—had to rely exclusively on official statistical data (to the extent that they were available in Paris). These data were however absolutely inadequate as a basis for general conclusions, for example, on the impact of political repression on working class militancy (cf. Sereni (1938) 1974:121–132). Moreover, the members of the Parisian circle pursued a social and political goal—the achievement of proletarian revolution in Italy under the guidance and leadership of the Communist Party—and were therefore not interested in sociological research as such (see, for example, Grieco (1928) 1974:231–244). Sociology was typically understood by them in terms of Bukharin’s conception of the discipline, and for this very reason rejected (see Gramsci (1935) 1974:337–343; Curiel (1935) 1974:345–354). As mentioned, Renato Treves (1907)—who is a prominent philosopher and sociologist of law—represents a rare and perhaps unique instance of an Italian sociologist who conducted, in the early 1940s, firsthand empirical research (using a variety of research methods) on strictly sociological questions, such as the social life in an urban slum area of an Argentinian city. The research was meant to be an example of empirical investigation, the history of which Treves had written on (Treves 1942). It is worth noting, however, that Treves’ interest in empirical research was the accidental consequence of his appointment as professor of sociology at the Argentinian University of Tucuman. Treves’ educational and professional background in Italy was in no way conducive to this interest (see Lentini 1974:46–47), and sociological investigations such as those that he conducted in Argentina would have in any case been considered quite objectionable by the authorities. Treves left Italy in 1938, after the enactment of anti-Semitic laws. Living in exile was apparently a precondition for his empirical research, since the interest and the opportunity for unconstrained research was hardly available in Italy. Since the construction of sociological theory, insofar as it bore on fascism— namely, its institutions, elites and supporting social strata—was severely limited in its cognitive sources and freedom of expression, all the politically non-aligned, in-depth analyses of fascism were produced before the consolidation of Mussolini’s dictatorial power, in the mid 1920s. We shall accordingly focus on a restricted number of well-known Italian social scientists and politically active intellectuals who wrote extensively and significantly on the fascist movement and party in the early 1920s. In an attempt to give a comprehensive review of political and ideological orientations, we shall start with Gramsci’s Marxist standpoint, then consider Gobetti’s and his associates’ left-liberalism and Mosca’s conservative liberalism, and finally focus on Pareto’s somewhat ambiguous


mixture of liberal and authoritarian viewpoints. All these authors developed their analyses of fascism as part of more general theoretical and ideological frameworks, which will also be discussed, together with the question of their reception by fascist and non-fascist intellectuals. Michels’ contribution to an analysis of fascism will be reassessed in the light of its ambivalence toward (bordering on downright rejection of) all sociological enquiries, including his own, that were not deemed politically and ideologically reliable. Gramsci as a student of fascism Antonio Gramsci (1891–1937) was born in Ales, near Cagliari, on Sardinia. His father, a civil servant, could not secure a comfortable standard of living for his family. As a student, Gramsci attended the humanistic gymnasium in Sardinia, and then (1911) enrolled at the University of Turin to study literature and philosophy. He was forced, however, to discontinue his studies in 1915, because of frail health. His political activities as a supporter of (and journalist working on behalf of) the Italian Socialist Party started in 1914, but became more intense after 1917. In 1919 he was the editorial director of, and an important contributor to, the new radical magazine L’Ordine Nuovo, which became a daily newspaper in 1921. In the same year Gramsci joined the recently constituted Communist Party of Italy, of which he was selected to be the official representative at the Executive Committee of the Third International (1922). As a prominent and fierce opponent of Mussolini’s fascist party, Gramsci was arrested in 1926, and subsequently (1928) sentenced to an imprisonment term of twenty years. While in prison, despite his rapidly deteriorating health, Gramsci was able to write his Notebooks, his most important theoretical work. Hospitalized in 1935, he died two years later of tuberculosis. Gramsci’s analysis of fascism has struck many commentators as perceptive and brilliant (Lentini 1974:26–27; Santarelli 1973:15–17; Spriano 1977:154). The analysis is relevant for sociologists and political scientists to the extent that it outlines the sociological conditions of the rise of fascism, and some of the reasons for its consolidation in the Italian political system. It is important to note, however, that Gramsci’s writings on this and on most other subjects served above all the practical purpose of establishing a revolutionary ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’— as the Marxist-Leninist expression would put it—rather than setting itself the goal of constructing pure theory (Gramsci 1973a:287). Gramsci was, accordingly, less interested in theory than in practice, to the effect that sociological and political-science theory was instrumental to the pursuit of revolutionary ends. What he achieved, though, is an interesting account of the ascent and strengthening of Mussolini’s dictatorial power. To be sure, the fundamental thesis is Marxist enough: ‘Fascism is a reactionary armed movement that intends to disaggregate and disorganize, and consequently to immobilize, the working class’ (Gramsci 1973a:279). Fascism is then ‘an armed dictatorshipdirectly operating on behalf of the capitalist plutocracy and the agrarians’ (Gramsci 1973b:240; 1966:243).


Gramsci’s analysis articulated and buttressed this conception by bringing into it the themes of the political mobilization of, and the existence of conflicting tendencies within, the bourgeoisie itself (cf. Salvadori 1973:335). Gramsci suggested a variety of distinctive criteria in this connection. Social and political forces were distinguished according to their control of the means of production, in keeping with the orthodox Marxist criterion, but also according to their contribution to economic production, to their historical and cultural traditions, and to the sources and quantity of their income. In Italy, the driving forces of the revolution were provided not only by the industrial and rural proletariat, but also by the peasantry (Gramsci 1966:299; 1973a:133, 283–286). Proletarians and peasants together formed the majority of the population, represented by the Communist Party. Of all these classes, the industrial and the rural working class, and ‘the industrial-agrarian ruling classes’ (Gramsci 1973a:281) were clearly identified both as sociological categories and in terms of their political allegiances by their relation to the means of production. The peasantry, however, derived its political orientation from its cultural-historical heritage and contingent economic conditions: relations of production as such were therefore not all-important. Accordingly, the cause of the struggle against fascism was likely to be promoted by the Southern rather than by the Northern farmers, through an alliance with, and under the direction of, the industrial working class (Gramsci 1966:529; 1973a:71, 257, 259–260, 282, 284). As for the petite bourgeoisie, this class seemed to be defined by a number of different criteria, such as income (Gramsci 1966:222; 1973a:281; 1973b:257); professional origins (Gramsci 1966:299; 1973a:257, 280–281); their obsolete function in economic production (Gramsci 1966:9–10, 222; 1973a:54–55, 201– 202), and, finally, their deep-seated conservatism (Gramsci 1966:12; 1973a:258). What seemed to provide unity to this stratum, otherwise defined by so many and not fully compatible criteria, was their common political tendencies. The members of the petite bourgeoisie were not only subservient to capitalists and large landowners but were also agents of the counter-revolution, and active supporters of the fascist party (Gramsci 1966:9, 12, 222; 1973a:54, 201–202). But its loyalty to the fascist party could not be taken for granted. An economic crisis may induce this class to break away from the bourgeoisagrarian-fascist coalition, and join forces with the workers and the peasants (Gramsci 1973a: 12– 13, 201–202, 280–282). It was therefore apparent that in Gramsci’s opinion the ambiguous sociological position of the petite bourgeoisie made it a potential ally of either coalition of social forces, depending on its present prosperity and vision of the future. At any rate, Gramsci’s distrust in the revolutionary potential of this heterogeneous stratum is testified by his stress on the organizational purity of the Communist Party, as any inclusion of petit bourgeois elements into the party organization would undermine its working-class and revolutionary character (Gramsci 1973a:292–293). The ascent of fascism is thus accounted for as the consequence of its ability to constitute a united bourgeois front in a period of political and social crisis (Gramsci 1973a: 279). Giolitti, along with the political


system he represented and directed, had mediated among the conflicting interests of the various segments of the bourgeoisie, while exerting political corruption over the ‘most advanced’ segments of the working class. The way was thus paved for the dictatorship of the capitalist and agrarian ruling classes over the industrial and rural proletariat (Gramsci 1973a:43, 276–277). The weakness of the bourgeois coalition, whose cohesion was severely strained by factional interests, was compounded in the postwar period by the increased militancy and improved organization of the working class. A new, authoritarian government was therefore necessary to bolster the bourgeoisie’s economic predominance and to reorganize its political dictatorship. Fascism would not have been successful, however, had it not been for the failure of the working class to give adequate guidance, leadership and political organization to the other oppressed classes (Gramsci 1973a:278–279). The victory of the reactionary front was nevertheless short-lived, since the unchecked violence promoted by the fascist government no longer served the interests of the bourgeoisie, and actually undermined the legitimacy of its rule (Gramsci 1973b:264–265). Gramsci, in keeping with his Marxist perspective, discounted the possibility of having the interests of both the conservative and the revolutionary power blocs represented in one political system, whether democratic or not. Mosca and Pareto concurred with Gramsci in that they, too, considered Mussolini’s regime to be a consequence of the crisis of democratic parliamentary institutions. They, too, thought that this crisis was produced by the inability of some or all of the privileged strata to promote by the agency of these institutions the welfare of the nation, or even their own private interests. To this extent, Gramsci, Mosca and Pareto conducted a sociological analysis of fascist and democratic political systems, whose strength and stability was made contingent on the support of certain social strata. However, Mosca and Pareto, unlike Gramsci, maintained that the political hegemony of the working class is incompatible with the public interest, and interpreted the fall of the Italian parliamentary democracy as a consequence not of a political rearrangement of bourgeois forces, but of the ineptitude and selfishness of the entrepreneurial class (Pareto), or the powerlessness of the educated middle class (Mosca). Before turning to the contributions of these two authors, it is worth considering Piero Gobetti’s sociological and political analysis of fascism. Although Gobetti was an uncompromising liberal, and not a Marxist, his analysis was in many respects closer to Gramsci’s than to Mosca’s and Pareto’s. Gobetti as a student of fascism Piero Gobetti (1901–1926), born and educated in Turin, became at a very young age the influential editor of cultural and political periodicals such as Energie Nove, La Rivoluzione Liberate and Il Baretti, in addition to producing a number of essays on literature, history and contemporary politics, and founding a publishing house in 1923. His uncompromising opposition to Mussolini’s fascist movement and party, conducted from a left-liberal standpoint, became even stronger after 1922.


After that, Gobetti’s Rivoluzione Liberale was confiscated by the police; Gobetti himself was beaten up by a mob and arrested several times. He left Italy in February of 1926, and died of bronchitis a few days after his arrival in Paris. In his writings on Mussolini and fascism, mostly produced between 1922 and 1924, Gobetti expanded his liberal conception of social and political life. In this conception, the new world of industrialism promotes material and spiritual emancipation, but only provided that the social classes of the proletariat and the bourgeoisie—that is, the two classes directly involved in industrial production—find adequate representation in a ruling political class devoted to the cause of industrial progress (Gobetti (1922) 1960: 263–266). Political democracy, based on universal suffrage and proportional representation, must be considered a prerequisite to this result ‘Universal suffrage,’ as he put it, ‘is the only instrument, however imperfect, for the long-run political and moral education of the masses’ (Gobetti (1922) 1960:428). Mussolini, and those manufacturers who supported him, undermined such educational work, which was especially necessary in a country like Italy that was ‘backward and devoid of any attachment to the fundamental freedoms’ (Gobetti (1922) 1960:428; see also: (1923) 1960: 529). A vigorous opposition to fascism was accordingly, ‘a question of the historical, political, economic maturity of our economy, of our ruling classes, of the working and the industrial status groups’ (Gobetti (1924) 1960:765, 803). The proletariat and the elites of tomorrow’s free democracies ‘will not collaborate with fascism, since they endeavored to create for the future a new situationof political dignity and economic seriousness’, quite in opposition to the conservative and traditionalist economic orientation of Mussolini’s regime (Gobetti (1924) 1960: 694–695, 797). The regime represented ‘the economic dictatorship of the plutocratic status groups’, who could still control the Italian political system and citizenship, as they had done before through Mussolini’s ‘demagogic, bureaucratic and paternal dictatorship’ (Gobetti (1924) 1960:637). In this sense, fascism was ‘the legitimate heir’ to the pseudo-democratic Italian political class, which had always been conciliatory in its spirit, pursuing government positions, afraid of free popular initiatives, parasitical, oligarchical and paternalistic (Gobetti (1924) 1960:644). In the political arena, the democratic bloc, comprising Catholic, socialist and communist political forces and representing the proletarian and the enlightened middle classes, faced a reactionary bloc based on the petite bourgeoisie and the protectionist agrarians and manufacturers and politically represented by Mussolini (Gobetti (1922) 1960:240, 383–388, 400; (1924) 1960:792, 797). Gobetti’s work, and in particular the editorial he wrote for the first issue of the journal Rivoluzione Liberate, dealt with issues then widely debated in political and sociological circles centring on the establishment of a political class able to govern the country’s new social needs. Although the eclectic intellectual origins of Gobetti’s thought are still a matter of controversy, he certainly belonged to the liberal and, in certain respects, socialist traditions. There is general acknowledgement of the influence on his thought exercised by Gaetano Mosca,


who was his tutor in the Law Faculty of the University of Turin (where Gobetti enrolled as a student in 1917 and where Mosca had taught since 1898). Gobetti explored both the virtues and the vices of Mosca’s work.14 In his view, Mosca’s bleak exposition and his mathematician’s patterns of thought (features of his sociology) should be set against his work as a historian, his study of the southern Italian petite bourgeoisie—which provided him with the material for his first and best-known book, Teoria del governi e governo parlamentare—and his use of European tools of political analysis. Mosca overcame his anachronistic nostalgia for the ancien régime with his ‘brilliant discovery of the concept of the political elite’. Thus, although Gobetti adopted Mosca’s teachings, he gave them an interpretation which emphasized their democratic and liberal aspects and audaciously reconciled the two concepts of elite and political struggle. Some interpreters of Gobetti’s thought have classified him among the elitists (Ripepe 1974), of whom Gaetano Mosca, Vilfredo Pareto and Roberto Michels played a leading role in the founding of sociology in Italy as well as enjoying international fame (Burnham 1943). Yet an examination of Gobetti’s search for an innovative political doctrine (which he never managed to elaborate fully) reveals aspects that conflict with this classification and accentuate instead the democratic and ‘libertarian’ character of his liberalism. Moreover, the sceptical aloofness of Gaetano Mosca has little in common with the passionate commitment of Gobetti, who used the morality of liberalism as a political instrument; a heroic morality founded on asceticism, as the spiritual education of the bourgeois class so that it could shoulder its historic responsibilities. Gobetti’s thought was moulded by his study and discussion of Kant, and his frequent use of such terms as ‘asceticism’ and the ‘Calvinist spirit’ reveals his knowledge of and interest in the ideas expressed by Max Weber in The Protestant Ethic and Spirit of Capitalism.15 Gobetti maintained close intellectual contacts with other prominent authors such as Filippo Burzio and Guido Dorso, both of whom published in Gobetti’s periodical La Rivoluzione Liberale, and Giovanni Ansaldo, a moderate liberal who contributed to the diffusion of Weber’s sociological and historical writings in Italy in the early 1920s.16, 17 Burzio and Dorso were followers of Mosca’s and Pareto’s doctrines (Burzio was closer to Pareto, Dorso to Mosca). By surviving the fall of fascism, they were instrumental in postwar Italy in upholding the liberal-elitist approach to political and social analysis that Gobetti, Mosca and Pareto had so well represented at the onset of fascism. Mosca and Pareto as students of fascism Gaetano Mosca (1858–1941), born in Palermo, taught constitutional law at the State University of Turin and at the private Università Bocconi of Milan, and history of political thought at the State University of Rome. Mosca was also a member of the Italian Parliament (1909–1919) and Senate (1919– 1941), though he refrained from political activity after 1925. Among his most important works


are Teorica dei governi e governo parlamentare (1884), Elementi di Scienza Politica (1896, 1923, 1939), Storia delle Dottrine Politiche (1933). Vilfredo Pareto (1848–1923), born in Paris but an Italian citizen, studied engineering in Turin, then lived in Florence (1870–1873) and finally near Lausanne (1893–1923), where he taught political economy at the university. His most significant works were: Cours d’economie politique (1896–1897), Les systèmes socialistes (1902), Manuale di economia politica (1906), Trattato di sociologia generate (1916), Fatti e teorie (1920), and Trasformazione delta democrazia (1921). In 1925, the elderly Gaetano Mosca, who had become a member of the Italian Senate, on several different occasions took to the floor against law bills endorsed by Mussolini and intended drastically to curtail the citizen’s political rights and the prerogatives of parliamentary institutions (Mosca 1949:277–284; see also Albertoni 1978:193–199; Bardusco 1983:151–153). Mosca explained his opposition to all these law bills not only by referring to his own faith in political liberties as values worth preserving, but also by appealing to the more widespread value of ‘development and progress’ that benefited those nations where political liberties had been safeguarded through representative institutions (Mosca 1949:282–283). In his 1928 essay on the ‘causes and remedies of the crisis of the parliamentary regime’ Mosca took up this line of reasoning again, and extended and buttressed it by making use of the empirical knowledge he had gathered in his lifelong research on political institutions. Parliamentary regimes, he contended, were able to protect civil and political liberties because, and insofar as, they provided an independent source of authority by means of which those who ruled could control and limit the power of the rulers. According to Mosca, this held true if, and only if, the economic welfare and political influence of the cultivated middle class were preserved. Only the middle class possessed sufficient knowledge and competence to keep the power of the public administration in check. Yet the establishment of equal and universal suffrage had dealt, in Mosca’s opinion, a major blow to the political influence of the middle class, while the economic crisis and rampant inflation of the years following the First World War had greatly reduced its standard of living. Therefore, for Mosca, the economic and political crisis of the cultivated middle class constituted one of the ultimate causes of the ineffectiveness of parliamentary institutions in protecting civil and political liberties. A further cause could be traced, according to Mosca, to the control which skilled workers exerted through their unions on governments and on the parliamentary bodies, given the crucial importance of industrial production and given the political leverage of the working class in a political system based on equal and universal suffrage (Mosca 1949: 102–111). These considerations, in which the advocacy of the values of civil and political freedom was supported by sociology and political science, reiterated and epitomized recurrent themes in Mosca’s writings (Mosca 1923:264, 395, 484 note 1; 1949:302–336; 1958:341, 362). In this connection, it is worth noting that Mosca’s liberalism involves an ideological model of the balance of political and


ultimately social forces. This model, he thought, might be implemented under certain political, social and institutional conditions, such as the existence of parliamentary bodies elected on the basis of unequal and restricted suffrage and the preservation of the social and political power of the cultivated middle class. Mosca assigned to this class the crucial social function of providing legitimacy to the social and political order (Mosca 1958:452–455). Thus the demise of the middle class would pave the way to social and political systems that would not be fully legitimate, and would be socially and politically unbalanced in the sense of being subservient to capitalist or working-class interests (Mosca 1923:60–61, 397– 399; 1949:308–315; 1958: 454; see also Portinaro 1977:132; Segre 1983:118). Mosca’s analysis of fascism was part of a general theoretical scheme in which the ascent of Mussolini to power was explained as the result of the crisis of representative institutions and of the social forces which supported them (Beetham 1977:163–164). Pareto’s explanation, as put forward in his late sociological writings and private correspondence, is strikingly different. This difference stems from the distinct conceptual apparatus with which the two authors analysed fascism as a social and political phenomenon. In contrast to Mosca, Pareto dismissed the contention that parliamentary institutions can represent the general interest of the nation. Rather, parliaments were, for Pareto, the instruments of private capitalist interests, in spite of the ideological verbiage with which the existence of these institutions was legitimated (Pareto 1964: paras 1704, 1713). The contemporary rulers of democratic societies, according to Pareto the so-called ‘speculators’, were experts in the shrewd and ruthless use of persuasion and corruption to promote their own private interests. Parliamentary institutions were the appropriate tool for this purpose, since political parties—especially those of democratic orientation—appealed to sentiments deeply rooted in the populace, thereby facilitating its domination and manipulation by the plutocratic ruling class (Pareto 1964: paras 2229, 2250, 2275, 2326, 2328; 1980:1197; see also Portinaro 1977: 130–134). Against this background, it is not surprising that the references to fascism which appeared frequently in Pareto’s articles and letters of his last years (1921–1923) interpreted its rapid ascent to power as a consequence of the failure of the parliamentary institutions to give political guidance to the nation, and promote its economic welfare. The speculators’ control of these institutions had produced a general condition of political anarchy, weak governments and economic recession (Pareto 1980:1085, 1088–1089, 1150–1151, 1159, 1169–1171). Instead of using persuasion and manipulation, the fascist leaders opposed—according to Pareto— their own illegal violence to the violence exerted by their enemies, which was not restrained by the public authorities (Pareto 1980:1085, 1088–1089, 1150–1151, 1159, 1169–1171). After Mussolini seized power, Pareto welcomed the new government’s reliance on the use of force against those who followed their own selfish interests at the expense of the public weal. Moreover, according to Pareto, fascist policy sought to strike a balance between the pursuit of the collective interest, the prosperity of


the nation, on the one hand, and the demagogic satisfaction of widespread sentiments, on the other. Previous governments had made unabashed use of demagoguery and had failed to create the economic conditions for the development of industrial production. Fascism’s ascension to power was thus greeted by Pareto as the salvation of Italy (Pareto 1980:1150–1153, 1157, 1190; see also Beetham 1977: 164–166). According to Pareto, the lasting success of Mussolini’s party and of his new government was contingent on a number of social and political conditions, in addition to the ever-present necessity of overcoming the great economic and financial difficulties of the postwar years and avoiding demagogic excesses (Pareto 1962:315–316). These social and political conditions were, first, an ideology, or set of values, which would appeal to the sentiments of the fascist rank-and-file, and to those of the population at large (Pareto 1962:284–285, 292, 311; 1980:1156–1157, 1170–1171) and, second, abstention from the private use of violence after gaining control of the government and the legal means of coercion. Resorting to the private use of violence may benefit the collectivity if the authorities fail to maintain law and order, but in normal times it is in the public interest for coercion to be the exclusive prerogative of state authorities within the limits established by the law (Pareto 1962:320; 1980:1152, 1179). The third condition was the upholding of civil liberties, and particularly of freedom of expression, since their curtailment would in the long run weaken the government and be detrimental to the nation at large (Pareto 1962:320; 1980:1151–1152). In this reconstruction of Mosca’s and Pareto’s attitudes toward, and analysis of, fascism no mention has been made of their well-known concepts of, respectively, ‘political class’ and ‘elite’. This is not accidental, for the two authors made little use of these concepts in this specific connection, even though their analyses of fascism were conducted in keeping with some of their pre-established categories. Mosca’s ‘political class’—narrowly defined as composed of those who held authoritative power—may best exert its role when controlled by parliamentary institutions, whereas Pareto’s political ‘elite’ may be most advantageous when able to control, or even to do away with, an ineffective and corrupt parliament. Of course, Pareto, too, conceived the possibility that an effective ‘elite’ would cooperate with an effective parliament, but this was not— in his opinion—the case of Italy in the postwar years (see Fiorot 1983, 92–100). Neither the concept of a ‘political class’ nor ‘elite’, in relation to parliamentary order, fits the novel situation presented by fascism. THE RECEPTION OF GRAMSCI, GOBETTI, MICHELS, PARETO AND MOSCA BY FASCIST AND NON-FASCIST INTELLECTUALS The contributions by Gramsci, Mosca, Pareto and Michels to a sociological account of the rise and consolidation of fascism met either complete indifference, or a very qualified acceptance, or finally a selective interpretation which concerned


their analytical categories rather than their theoretical propositions. In the case of Gramsci, the matter is simple. Gramsci’s writings on fascism, as well as on any other subject, failed to attract attention from the time of his imprisonment (1926) until the fall of fascism. Gramsci was prevented after his imprisonment from carrying on any intellectual communication with the outside world and this repression continued even after his death in 1937.18 The contents of the notes jotted down in prison remained unknown until the late 1940s. His writings only began to attract serious attention in the 1950s and in the following decades (Santarelli 1973:9–11; Spriano 1977:97). The fascist policy of political and ideological repression was therefore successful, at least as far as the reception of Gramsci’s ideas was concerned. This policy of repression was addressed to all outspoken and overt adversaries of the regime. The social sciences in general were held in suspicion whenever their representatives displayed independence of thought, no matter how limited (Lentini 1974:48). A case in point is Michels himself. Michels was full professor of the new fascist ‘science’ of corporative economy, and was active in this capacity as an ideologist of the regime. But both qua sociologist and qua apologist he met with widespread resistance and diffidence. Fascist intellectuals had in general little use for Michels’ strictly sociological writings (Bazzanella 1986:215; Portinaro 1977:136). They praised him as a political scientist (Orano 1937; cf. also De Marchi 1986: 22). But Michels’ ‘science of the political class’ (Michels 1936a:159), largely devoted to the study of political elites, was little more than ‘legitimation of the regime’ expressed in the ‘terms of a scientific theory’ (Beetham 1977:173; see in general: 167–173). Sociology, even Michels’, was generally held in suspicion whenever power and authority became areas of inquiry (Lentini 1974:38–39). At best, as a sympathetic colleague of Michels’ remarked, Michels managed to ‘turn the same sociology that Pareto had made so disagreeable into something pleasant’ (Curcio 1937; cf. De Marchi 1986:23). Pareto’s selective and occasionally critical reception by fascist intellectuals may account for this disparaging judgement. Pareto’s works enjoyed immense popularity in the 1920s and 1930s (Beetham 1977:166), and there were attempts to make use of some concepts derived from Paretian sociology, such as the circulation of the elites, the heterogeneity of social groups and their inevitable competition for the pursuit of economic, social and political power (cf. Morselli 1928; Levi della Vida (1935) 1974: 189–200). But the general tendency was to incorporate these sociological concepts as far as possible into the framework of corporatist doctrine, and to discard them when this was thought to be impossible (Ornaghi 1984: 68–69, 117, notes 44 and 47, 166–167). The intellectual efforts of the Italian social scientists who were supportive, and concurred in the production, of fascist culture were not oriented, generally speaking, to the discussion and application of Mosca’s and Pareto’s categories, but rather to the establishment of the new ‘science’ of the corporatist state discussed above. To be sure, Pareto’s attitude toward the rise of the fascist movement and party was selectively interpreted as giving endorsement and legitimacy to Mussolini’s


dictatorship (see De Pietri-Tonelli (1939) 1961:49–52; Morselli 1928; Quilici 1939:110–114), and alleged ‘deep affinities of thought and spiritual orientation’ were discovered between Pareto and Mussolini (Quilici 1939:XVIII). Thus a case can be made for continuity in political ideology between Pareto and fascism, apart from the largely successful attempt to insert his sociological categories into a corporatist theoretical framework. A different approach to reconciliation was provided by those authors who attempted to reconcile Pareto’s theory of economic equilibrium and social change with corporatist doctrine (see De Pietri-Tonelli 1942; Palomba 1935). Finally, Enrico Leone’s (1931) articulate version of an authoritarian political science gave a new formulation to some categories of Pareto’s economic and political sociology, such as speculators, savers, and politicians. Nevertheless, fascist criticisms were levelled against Pareto’s explanation of social change in terms of residues, social heterogeneity and mobility, and against his epistemological assumptions and methodological procedures (see De Pietri-Tonelli (1939) 1961:39–40; Levi della Vida (1935) 1974: 191–192, 199). Perhaps the most stringent and articulate criticisms of Pareto’s economic and sociological categories were expressed by Ugo Spirito, who pointed out the unsatisfactory character of the conceptual distinction between logical and non-logical actions, the insufficiency of the definition of economic goods and action, the untenable character of the distinction between objective and subjective utility, and, finally, the excessively abstract character of both the economic theory of equilibrium and the sociological theory of the elites (Spirito (1927–1928) 1939: 190–232). Pareto’s reception as an economist and sociologist by fascist students of the social sciences was therefore not univocal and ranged from uncritical acceptance—after, of course, a convenient reinterpretation of his works—(Quilici) to uncompromising rejection (Spirito). On the whole, perhaps, Pareto was more influential as an economist than as a sociologist (for a short bibliography on Pareto’s reception in Italy during the 1920s and 1930s, see Quilici 1939:7–8). But even among non-fascist Italian social scientists his reception was mixed, as we shall see presently. As for Mosca, his steadfast refusal to compromise with fascism and his speeches before the Italian Senate against Mussolini’s legal reforms and in support of parliamentary democracy, makes any attempt to interpret him as a forerunner of fascism difficult. It is not surprising, then, that fascist intellectuals showed little interest in Mosca’s later writings, and preferred to quote his early polemical writings on the degeneration of parliamentary rule (Albertoni 1978:200–201; Cavallari 1983:244–247; Ornaghi 1984:89; Portinaro 1977:136–137), or else, as with Enrico Leone, limited their references to a few quotations of a critical nature (Leone 1931). It is not surprising that it was Mosca, more than Pareto, who exerted a remarkable influence on some prominent members of the intellectual opposition to Mussolini, while Michels’ involvement with fascism caused him to fall into disrepute in the liberal fold. Aside from the possible influence of Mosca, Pareto and even Michels on the Marxist Gramsci (Portinaro 1984:291; Salvadori


1973:255–256), Mosca’s development of his ‘political class’ theory within the context of a consistently liberal ideology influenced Gaetano Salvemini, as well as the younger representatives of the Italian liberal left, such as Gobetti, Dorso and Carlo Rosselli. From their perspective, which was ideological rather than sociological, the message was that democratic elites were entrusted with the task of inspiring the masses with the values of democracy and liberalism. Pareto’s sociological teaching was nevertheless influential to some extent. Of the Italian liberal intellectuals who employed Pareto’s ideas, Filippo Burzio, who freely reinterpreted Pareto’s sociological principles of the elites and the heterogeneity of social groups, had the greatest impact According to Burzio, only liberal democratic institutions would enable the most qualified individuals to rise to economic and political power, and competition among different elites would prevent economic oppression and political despotism. Whether Burzio, Dorso, Gobetti, and Rosselli were faithful interpreters of Mosca and Pareto is of course questionable (Bobbio 1977:219–239; Invernici 1983:255–268; Ripepe 1974:825– 827). CONCLUSION In this paper we have endeavoured to shed light on the mutual relations of Italian sociology and the fascist regime in the period between 1920 and 1945. In this connection, both the history of the discipline during fascism and the sociological analyses of fascism have been considered. As for the history of Italian sociology, a comprehensive overview that includes the preceding and following periods points to two developmental stages. The first stage, from the 1870s to the early 1920s, was characterized by a lively interest in, but failed institutionalization of, this new social science. The second stage, which corresponds to the rise and consolidation of fascism, and which has accordingly received special attention here, is marked on the one hand by some institutionalization of the discipline, following the 1923 reform of the educational system, and on the other hand by widespread (though not complete) suspicion and even rejection, as well as by severe constraints in the categories and subjects relevant to theoretical and empirical research. These constraints were also felt by intellectuals and scholars who opposed fascism, though those living in exile could at least take advantage of the freedoms of expression and enquiry. Despite some institutionalization as an academic discipline, the growth of sociology was thus hampered not only by the repression of these political freedoms, but also by the official support of the corporatist doctrine, which was taught in the faculties of political sciences, law, and economics. There were further obstacles, to the effect that there was a severe lack of consensus among the students of this discipline on its proper field of enquiry and relations to the other social sciences, and strong opposition, as a matter of principle, from such reputed idealist philosophers as Croce and Gentile, and from their numerous followers. All these obstacles did not prevent the establishment of important research centres and


social-science schools at the University of Rome and the Catholic University of Milan under the leadership, respectively, of Gini and Gemelli, and focusing on demographic sociology and psychophysical adaptation to industrial work. Accordingly, the consolidation of sociology after the Second World War could to some extent take advantage of the incipient institutionalization and the orientation to empirical research, which had marked the growth of the discipline in the prewar years, albeit with different objects and methods. Some of the most gifted students of the Italian social and political life in that period suggested articulate explanations of fascism as a movement, party and regime. Their explanations differed substantially in their analytical categories, content, and value premises. Their receptions were also different: ideological and political opponents of fascism were influenced by Mosca rather than by authors more sympathetic to the regime, whereas supporters of fascism made selective use of some of Pareto’s sociological categories, such as the circulation of the elites and their struggle for power. The alleged superiority in their biological endowment was especially stressed by Gini and his followers. Pareto’s concept of residue was thus often interpreted in a biological, rather than cultural, sense, even though he had made it clear that residues should not be equated to instincts. Pareto’s sociological legacy was therefore restrictively interpreted, if not quite betrayed. Given the uncertain reputation of sociology among most fascist intellectuals, they were inclined to evaluate and honour Michels as a political scientist rather than as a sociologist. On the other hand, Michels’ reputation as a fascist thinker prevented his writings from ever becoming influential in the intellectual circles hostile to fascism, with the possible exception of Gramsci, whose understanding and account of fascism were however completely at odds with Michels’. If we are to draw some conclusions of theoretical significance from this chapter in the history of sociology, we may note, first of all, that concepts ostensibly produced by social scientists for strictly scientific purposes lent themselves to ideological uses. It is significant, in this connection, that this tendency involved not only those who had created the concepts, but other authors as well, who felt free to employ them as they pleased. The lack of conceptual rigour may contribute to the ideological abuse of social-science categories (Ripepe 1974:826–827), but even Weber’s rigorously defined term of ‘authority’ (Herrschaft) was reinterpreted by Michels to become a suitable tool to legitimate Mussolini’s despotic rule. However—and this would be our second conclusion—Pareto, Mosca and, to a lesser extent, Michels succeeded in their efforts to equip subsequent generations of social scientists with a set of categories which are still crucially relevant to students of social, economic and political elites, in spite of their ideological potential. In other words, the ideological uses and abuses of social-science concepts in no way imply that they are scientifically worthless. The limits of the ideological use of concepts are not inherent in the concepts themselves (even if rigorously defined), but are given by external and contingent circumstances. The most important of all these circumstances seem to be the absence of authoritarian regimes determined to achieve full control of the


production of culture, and the lack of appeal of certain social science concepts to specific ideological audiences. Thus it was not the concept of ‘political class’ as such, but rather the liberal image of Gaetano Mosca that accounts for the fact that fascist ideologues refrained from using it, and of its popularity among the liberal adversaries of Mussolini. Likewise, Michels’ involvement with fascism contributed to his temporary influence on other fascist intellectuals, but also to the result that most opponents of fascism ignored his writings. NOTES 1 The most important contributions of recent years have been the book by Filippo Barbano and Giorgio Sola, Sociologia e scienze social: in Italia, 1860–1890, Milan, 1985, and, by G.Sola, ‘La sociologia italiana dall’unificazione nazionale ai nostri giorni’, Storia sociale e culturale d’Italia, vol. V, La cultura filosofica e scientifica, tome I, Bramante editrice, Busto Arsizio, 1988. Nevertheless, very few scholars have written on the early history of sociology in Italy, and it is only in recent years that study has begun of its origins and development, with research into source materials. 2 The idea of teaching sociology first came to Giuseppe Carle during the discussions of the Congresso delta Società per il progresso degli studi economici, held in Milan in 1874. He submitted his proposal for a university course in social science or philosophy to the then Minister of Education, Ruggero Bonghi. Thus, one can argue, Carle initiated a school of sociological thought which had the merit of blending interest in sociology with an intellectual tradition that was deeply rooted in Italian culture. He taught Gioele Solari, a distinguished scholar of political science and cultivator of this new discipline who, at the University of Turin, tutored Piero Gobetti (who wrote his degree thesis under his supervision), and then Norberto Bobbio, Renato Treves and Bruno Leoni— the outstanding minds in a generation of legal philosophers who devoted themselves to sociology and were responsible for the renewed growth of the subject after the Second World War—and Filippo Barbano, a prolific writer on the history of Italian sociology. 3 The aims of the conference were to encourage the teaching of the social sciences, to bring together scholars engaged in research in these areas with a view to founding a Società italiana di scienze sociali, and to discuss topics divided into three subject areas: historical-philosophical, legal-economic and bio-ethnological. Although the conference attracted numerous speakers from several countries, it was riven with controversy, principally because of the presence of ‘too many occasional sociologists’, which was detrimental to the quality of the scientific discussion. 4 In July 1897 the journal set out its philosophy as follows: ‘Although sociology has had and still does have its distinguished scholars, it has not yet clearly defined its principles; and work often appears under the name of sociology which—because of its shallowness of analysis, because of its unwarranted tendency to synthesize, or because of its abuse of artificial comparisons between social and biological phenomena—amounts to no more than sterile generality, rather than consisting of careful examination of facts or the prudent deduction of laws. A journal of sociology, therefore, if it is to succeed must set itself an objective that matches the current needs of the science, keeping within its natural boundaries and disseminating knowledge


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that is exact. It should not occupy itself with all facts or topics of a social nature which, by being too particular, do not fall within the scope of sociology; nor should it seek to trespass on the fields of other sciences.’ Regarding research into collective psychology, mention should be made of Scipio Sighele (1868–1913), an acknowledged pioneer in sociological study, psychologist of the scientific school, and criminologist. Sighele was the author of various essays, including ‘La coppia delinquente’ (1893) and ‘La folla delinquente’, (1891) two monographs that were translated into numerous languages. Renato Treves, one of the leading architects of Italian sociology’s revival, was the scholar who proposed this historical division to the World Congress of Sociology held at Stresa in September 1959. Treves distinguished four historical periods: the first dominated by positivist thought and lasting from approximately the unification of Italy to 1903—the year in which Benedetto Croce’s La critica first appeared; the second lasting from 1903, a period which saw the progressive rise to ascendancy of idealist thought, until 1922, the year in which fascism seized power, the third comprising the fascist dictatorship from 1922 to 1945; the fourth dating from the end of the war, when Italy rebuilt its free democratic institutions. Treves did, however, draw a distinction between Benedetto Croce and Giovanni Gentile, who was even more vehemently opposed to sociology. Other noteworthy publications by Squillace, who taught at the free university of Brussels, are his Le dottrine sociologiche (1903), translated into German in 1911, and I problemi fondamentali delta sociologia (1907). Mention should also be made of the manual by Francesco Cosentini, Sociologia: genesi ed evoluzzone dei fenomeni sociali, with an introduction by Enrico Morselli and a chapter by Massimo Kovalewski, Turin, 1912. As evidence of the influence of the First World War on Italian intellectual life, the members of the Circolo di filosofia di Roma debated subjects such as ‘Moralità e nazionalità’, ‘La guerra nel pensiero dei filosofi’, ‘Nazionalismo e internazionalismo’, ‘Guerra e diritto’. Benedetto Croce took up a position which provoked ferocious criticism. Although he recognized that the Italians had the duty to defend their ‘historic institutions’, he separated the political sphere from the cultural sphere, thus setting himself against those who over-hastily described the war as not a political, but a cultural conflict. For Gini, the process of social interchange is due to the comparatively lower birth rates of the ruling class, and he accordingly employs demographical and statistical data. For Pareto, the process is brought about by the specific cultural attributes of this class, and he therefore makes use of historical data. The author suggested, by way of conclusion, a possible integration of the two theories (cf. Levi della Vida (1935) 1974:189–200. See, for another example, Boldrini 1933). What makes his contributions even more interesting is his discussion of a moot but crucial point, the determination of the prices of goods and services in an economic order in which ‘the Corporations, entrusted with the representation of sectorial productive interests, were to promulgate ‘economic laws’ in order to regulate production’ (Panunzio 1939:352). Carli’s solution was the stipulation of ‘standard contracts’, in which the representatives of the various categories constituting a single Corporation establish agreed-upon wholesale prices as a result of a bargaining process (see Carli 1939:11–16, 157–171).


11 Roberto Michels, a scholar of European education, lived in Italy first at Cossila S. Grato (Biella) in 1900, then in Turin starting from 1906 where he taught as full professor of political economy. Between 1914 and 1928 Michels was professor at the University of Basel and succeeded in returning to teach in Italy, after several unsuccessful attempts, in 1928, when he was appointed to the Chair of General Economy and Corporative Economy in the Faculty of Political Sciences in Perugia. In May 1926, Michels had become lecturer of political sociology in Rome with an appointment by the faculty of political sciences of the Regia Università (Michels 1927). 12 We may disregard the fact that not all these social scientists would have called themselves sociologists. The figures to be discussed here are treated as sociologists because of categories and variables they employed, and because the content of their argument had a sociological character. 13 It is worth stressing the participation in this epistemological debate of Eugenio Rignano. Rignano, a little-known scholar, contributed in the late 1920s two articles to the American Journal of Sociology (see Rignano 1928; Rignano, Becker 1929). 14 Cf. in this connection Gobetti’s article ‘Un conservatore galantuomo’ (An Honest Conservative), dedicated to Mosca, and written upon the latter’s appointment at the law faculty of the University of Rome, and consequent relinquishing of his teaching position at the University of Turin (see Gobetti 1969:656). 15 Gobetti’s publishing house printed a number of works on the Protestant culture (see, for example, Gangale 1925). 16 Guido Dorso (1892–1947) studied the problems of the Italian South and worked on Gobetti’s journal Rivoluzione Liberate until 1923. Most of his writings were published in La rivoluzione meridionale, edizioni Gobetti, 1925. He wrote a detailed biography of Mussolini (1949). Noteworthy among his other writings are ‘La classe dirigente dell’Italia meridionale’, ‘Dittatura borghese da Napoleone a Hitler’ and ‘Classe politica’, collected in Dittatura, classe politica e classe dirigente (1955). Dorso took an active part in the struggle against fascism, first through his contacts with the clandestine groups of Giustizia e libertà and then as a member of the Partito d’Azione. 17 The works of Filippo Burzio (1891–1948) include Politica demiurgica, Bari, 1923, Il demiurgo e la crisi occidentale, Milan, 1933, Essenza e attualità del liberalismo, Turin, 1945. His sociological writings all appeared in Giornale degli economisti e Annali di economia: ‘Introduzione alla sociologia’, March-April 1947, pp. 139–161; ‘Le “azioni non-logiche” di Pareto’, September-October 1947, pp. 525–539; ‘II concetto di “residue” di Pareto’, March-April 1948, pp. 125–138. These articles have now been collected in Stefania De Seta (1984). 18 The only exception was a conversation which took place between Gramsci and a fellow Communist inmate in 1930. This conversation was subsequently reported to the ‘Foreign Centre’, constituted by the Party leadership living in exile in Paris (cf. Gramsci 1973a:431–435; Spriano 1977:72–74).

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4 ACADEMIC DISCUSSION OR POLITICAL GUIDANCE? Social-scientific analyses of fascism and National Socialism in Germany before 19331 Dirk Käsler and Thomas Steiner Sometimes Italian Fascism was discussed. But National-Socialism under Hitler was not regarded as a serious political movement in the academic circles I was connected with. Because it was vulgar, barbaric, and quite strange to people of the older educated traditions, with its shrill voices, its philosophy for the half-educated, its loud symbols. Therefore, as far as I recollect, nobody thought of making it a theme of sociological seminars or research. (Norbert Elias)2 When the fascist march on Rome in 1922 led to the emergence of an Italian fascist state, a potential alternative to democracy was established as a political model. Political and scholarly discussion in Germany was motivated by the question of the relevance of this development for the young and still unstable Weimar Republic. German social scientists had a share in this discussion. Their analyses of fascism were ambivalent in character—academic as well as political documents. They derived from various theoretical schools, and came to different political conclusions. The social scientists that analysed fascism in Italy misjudged Nazism. The German social scientists during the Weimar Republic who analysed the rise of National Socialism had quite different political roles, and reacted differently. THE DISCUSSION OF ITALIAN FASCISM 1923–1925 Ludwig Bernhard (1924) and Johann Wilhelm Mannhardt (1925a) published the first comprehensive books on Italian fascism. Two longer articles, one by Robert Michels (1924) and another by Jakob Marschak (1924b, 1925), were published in the influential Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik. A few more articles appeared in less prestigious journals (Eckardt 1923a, 1923b, 1923c; Landauer 1925; Rosenstock 1923; Weber 1925; Wieser 1925). These analyses shared certain features: each dealt with the question of the social and political preconditions for the development of fascism, questions related to fascism’s character as a ‘movement’, questions about changes in the political and economic system caused by fascism, and questions related to the effects the political transformation of Italy

88 ANALYSES OF FASCISM AND NATIONAL SOCIALISM IN GERMANY

might have on Germany. There were, however, significant differences in their conclusions, particularly their overall evaluation of the ‘depth’ of the fascist revolution. Mannhardt interpreted fascism as a ‘spiritual-moral power’ that tried to seize the Italian people and was to lead to what Michels called the ‘renewal of Italy’, by an ‘inner conversion’. More moderate analysts saw fascism as a new political ‘system’ (Bernhard) that was an alternative to democracy. This was the perspective of the majority of the analyses produced before 1925: Bernhard, Eckardt, and Wieser, for example, concentrated on the political structures of the fascist state. A third approach was Marschak’s, who denied that any real change in the political and social apparatus had been brought about by the fascists, and regarded the fascist revolution as no more than the installation of a new ruling party. The Marxist perspective of class struggle Marschak attempted to refute one central element of the fascist self-interpretation by arguing that the development of fascist trade unions represented the defeat of the ‘corporationist’ idea within fascism. With this argument he opened the question of class domination within fascism. He claimed that the corporationist conception of economic organizations, the idea of trade unions as basic units of the state, reaches deeper than it appears, it cannot remain on the level of constitutional questions because it contains much more: the cohesive force of society. But that very class that holds a crucial influence on the ruling party denies this cohesion where it seems to hinder their own aims and accepts it when it seems favorable for their own aims. (Marschak 1925:106) The development of the fascist trade unions was thwarted by ‘the social constellation and the social situation of Fascism’ (Marschak 1924b:727). The trade unions had lost against the ‘ruling practitioners who willingly bowed to the socially dominant groups, whether it is the plutocracy in the big cities or the local bosses within industry or agriculture, thereby stabilizing the power of the state or their own power’ (Marschak 1925:103). This pointed to the question of fascism’s power bases. According to Marschak fascism combined ‘three versions of dictatorship’ (1925:113): party-dictatorship, which was the drive by the middle-class urban intellectuals to become a new governing stratum; class-dictatorship, which utilized the tendencies of the owners of industrial and agrarian capital to use political and quasi-military violence for the solution of social questions; and the personal dictatorship of Mussolini, which rested on his personal charisma, through which these divergent forms were integrated. The relation between the forms, however, changed.


All three relationships exist independently but the importance of the innovative points within the programme are lost more and more, and the importance of the party power as means and end in itself becomes all the more clear, and even that becomes clouded more and more by the role of the party as an instrument for the capitalistic bourgeoisie. (Marschak 1925:138) Marschak’s analyses went beyond simple analyses of political structures. He showed how political structures were underpinned by ‘social domination’, and thereby opened the path from an analysis of fascist ‘dictatorship’ to one in terms of the Marxist account of fascism as ‘class dictatorship’. Contrasting democracy and fascism: the functions of the political system In using the term ‘revolution’ to describe the seizure of power by the fascists, Bernhard agreed with Mannhardt and Michels: labelling the fascist movement as ‘revolutionary’, and interpreting the fascists’ seizure of power as a ‘revolution’ (following the self-interpretation of the fascists), made it possible to treat fascism as a new political order. This new political structure of authority was contrasted with the democratic order and described unanimously as a ‘dictatorship’ (Bernhard 1924:63; Eckardt 1923c:541; Mannhardt 1925a:248–50; Wieser 1925:611) whose elements consisted of the party, the militia, the administration and the ‘corporations’, the new trade unions. Bernhard (1924:113), Mannhardt (1925a:264), and Michels (1987:294) all stressed Mussolini’s ability to produce political continuity and direction, very much in contrast to the preceding democratic system. Eckardt, however, pointed to clear disadvantages of the ‘sovereignty of the intentionally party-orientated state of the activists’. He thought it would stir the ‘fight of the pure power factions against each other’ (1923a:35). Others, such as Bernhard, Michels, and Wieser, argued that the advantage of fascism as a political system was that it worked. Michels, for example, contrasted an incompetent and decaying parliament characterized by continuous internal squabbling, with the fascist government, an extra-parliamentary elite. A parliament should be preserved, he said, only to gain the support, not the active participation of the majority. This reasoning suggested that democracy and fascism were in some sense functionally equivalent in their institutional means to similar ends. According to Bernhard, fascist hierarchy and democracy ‘in their practical application are not so far apart’ (1924:77–78). Within a democratic system there is also the contrast between trained party-leaders fully conscious of the political situation and the ‘masses which had limited political judgement’. Yet these leaders were dependent on their followers in each case. The dictator Mussolini also had to rely on the ‘trust of the broad Fascist organizations’ (1924:78). Bernhard therefore saw dictatorship as an intermediate stage which would lead to the further organic development of


the Italian nation, an interpretation also advanced by Friedrich Wieser (Wieser 1925:609, 618–19). These authors both interpreted the fascist political and economic policy as genuinely novel (Bernhard 1924:107; Mannhardt 1925b:4; Michels 1987:277), though they had conflicting opinions about its effects. Bernhard’s analysis of fascist economic practice stressed its successes in re-organizing and revitalizing the Italian economy. Eckardt, in contrast, described the policy as a failure: ‘the Mussolini government took many rights from workers, civil servants, farmers, and small tenants but has done nothing against capitalism, the financial world of the entrepreneurs—or did not want to do anything against them’ (Eckardt 1923c:542). With this, Eckardt came very close to Marschak’s thesis of the victory of a ‘class-dictatorship’, but it is characteristic of the distinction between the two perspectives that Eckardt regarded this only as ‘an increasingly undemocratic policy’ (Eckardt 1923c:542). The Völkisch perspective The idea of organic development was the basis for the notion of the Volk, the almost magical German expression for ‘the people’, which cannot be rendered fully into English. Mannhardt interpreted the fascist state as a ‘Volksstaat’. Fascism, he argued, was a revolution in the sense of a reconstruction of the Italian people ‘from within’ (Mannhardt 1925a:389). For Mannhardt this had a deep historic meaning: The people and the state [of Italy] did not correspond until now. The people, still incomplete, had not found its state yet. The Fascist state intends to become the state of the Italian people as such. Italy would become a Volksstaat like England and France have been for a long time because to be a Volksstaat meansthat a specific people has given itself the particular form of the state that fits its nature. (Mannhardt 1925a:392) According to Mannhardt fascism will become for Italy ‘what puritanism was for England and liberalism was for France’ (Mannhardt 1925a:392). To do so fascism must ‘succeed not so much as a party—that might be impossible —but as a Weltanschauung and as a way of thinking’ (Mannhardt 1925a:392–93). Mannhardt began with the same observations as the ‘political’ authors, but placed them instead in a völkisch perspective. On the grounds of his own theory of the Volksstaat Mannhardt had to reject fascism ‘as a recipe for our German situation’ (Mannhardt 1925a:394). But at the same time he regarded it as possible that fascism had a ‘übervölkisch meaning’ (1925a:393). ‘It may easily be the meaning of fascism to transmit this new line of thought in the specifically Italian version to the world, like liberalism was propagated in its French or English version’ (Mannhardt 1925:393). By that Mannhardt envisioned the possibility of using


fascism as a model: ‘It may be that the German Volksstaat grows from the same root as the Fascist state but it is very certain that it may only grow on the soil of our people from its own essence and by its own power’ (1925a:394). 1926–1933 The main authors and their themes When the fascists achieved full governmental control in Italy in 1925 a broad discussion started in German social science on the fascist state. The contributors to this discussion who became particularly visible will be dealt with in some detail in the following paragraphs.3 Enwin von Beckerath After 1927, Beckerath gradually moved to the centre of the German discussion on fascism. His book, The Essence and the Development of the Fascist State (1927b), was reviewed in five scholarly journals (Eckert 1930/31; Herre 1929; Michels 1928b; Schotthöfer 1929; T. 1927) .4 The book was a historical account of the political development of fascism and of the fascist state. This book soon became the standard for discussion of fascism during the Weimar Republic.5 Beckerath subsequently broadened his analyses in a series of articles. In two of them he introduced a comparison between fascism, Bolshevism, and the absolutisms of the seventeenth and eighteenth century (1927a, 1929b). Both variants of ‘modern absolutism’ (1927a:245) were, he noted, revolutionary in their origins. Their political methods were the same, as were their organizational practices. The symmetry ‘of the construction of both systems consists first of all in the structure of the party, the dictatorship by the party, and in domination by violence’ (1929b:146). Differences could, however, be seen. The social carriers of the different ideas varied, as did the position of the economy within the social system. In his first article for Schmollers Jahrbuch Beckerath compared the ideas of fascism to the reality of fascism, describing the origins of the fascist ideology of the state and society and confronting these ideas with the descriptions of some of the internal problems of Italian Fascsis (1928). In 1931 the very prominent Handwörterbuch der Soziologie, edited by Alfred Vierkandt, was published and soon became the standard reference work for the new discipline. Beckerath, as ‘an outstanding expert on Fascism’ (Grabowsky 1931a:316), was commissioned to write the article on fascism for this important disciplinary codification. In his contribution he systematized and repeated his account of the social origins and the social structure of the fascist movement, the fascist party, and the fascist state (1931a). Beckerath even came to be regarded internationally as an expert, as evidenced by being asked to write the chapter on fascism for the American Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, published the same year (1931b). Beckerath’s seventh article was written for the 1932 edition of Schmollers Jahrbuch, which was a Festschrift for Werner Sombart. It contained several


articles on fascism on the common theme of its economic order. Beckerath again explicated his main theses and compared fascism to other social and political systems, in particular to the ‘democratic-parliamentary interventionist state’, in which the ‘antagonisms of an economy full of conflicts have masterfully been interwoven into the state’. Fascism, in contrast, has ‘made the state independent of the economy and the party, and left the economic order totally to the bodies of self-governance’ (Beckerath 1932:362). As Christian Eckert correctly noted, Beckerath’s method was ‘essentially historical but mixed with fundamental discussions’ (Eckert 1930/31:359). Beckerath remained within the political-functional perspective which treated fascism as a ‘system’, and fascism and Bolshevism as ‘political experiments’ (Beckerath 1927a:245, 249). He was fascinated by the forces reshaping Italy, this ‘most peculiar conquest of a state modern history has experienced’ and by the ‘thrilling experiment of the creation of a state’ that had been going on since 1925 (Beckerath 1927b:141; 1932:350). He explicitly considered the fascist system to be a potential model for Europe, and considered a return to authoritarianism likely because of economic and political tensions. He saw as the main task that this authoritarian state would face was the ‘reshaping of the capitalist order’ (Beckerath 1929b:153). No concrete political suggestions for Germany arose out of Beckerath’s analyses. Writing in an academic manner, he restricted himself to an objective analysis of broad historical developments, and to general predictions. Ernst Wilhelm Eschmann Eschmann, a former student and later assistant of Alfred Weber, played a prominent role during the Weimar Republic, not so much as a scholar, but as a writer for the journal Die Tat, a source of political catchwords for young conservatives. Eschmann published a whole series of articles on Italian fascism, in Die Tat and in other journals. He played the role of expert on Italian fascism, in particular with his book The Fascist State in Italy, which appeared in 1930 in a series oriented towards the broader public. Eschmann’s first article on fascism, published in the scholarly journal Ethos in 1927, dealt with the theoretical predecessors and the few theoretical pronouncements of fascism, and with the relation of fascist ideas and concepts to the fascist movement itself. Eschmann stated that ‘fascism does not possess any real content’, and had ‘no comprehensive theory of the state’ (1927:64). In 1928 Eschmann wrote on fascist youth organizations for Das junge Deutschland, the journal of the German youth associations, and described the youth movement of fascism—its development, institutions, and methods—and fascist opinions on the relationship between the state and youth (1928). Eschmann’s article on Fascism and the Middle Classes published in Die Tat in 1929 characterized the Italian middle classes as supporting the fascist revolution. The Fascist State in Italy of 1930 was a detailed description of the development of fascism and its theory of the state, followed by an account of state-formation


processes themselves: the construction of the administration, organization of the economy, and development of important political areas such as education, youth, growth, social policy and regional politics. Eschmann did not believe that the attempt to integrate the workers into the Italian state had not been successful, nor did he believe its ‘post-democratic evolution’ (1930a:114). He doubted the transferability of fascism to Germany, suggesting that the more advanced capitalistic development of Germany precluded it. His second book, Fascism in Europe, also published in 1930 gave this question a much more differentiated treatment. First he dealt with the Italian situation and the ‘spiritual content of Fascism as a movement’ as the basis of Italian foreign policy and its methods. The next part of the book dealt with the question of whether ‘Fascism as a system [has] an European meaning independent of its concrete manifestation?’ (1930b:77). Eschmann explicitly chose not to answer this question ideologically, but rather by an ‘account of real sociological and mental conditions’ (Eschmann 1930b:77). ‘The task is to follow the social and economic experiences of Fascism, to lay out guidelines for the reconstruction of the political and social order on the basis of the nation as the only real basis out of their own necessities and their own tradition’ (1930b:87–88). Eschmann continued to do this in papers in Die Arbeit, the leading journal of the trade unions (1930c, 1931 a). Both of the articles in this journal dealt with the integration of the workers into the fascist system, one from the aspect of the organization of their interests, the other from the aspect of the general social policy. Eschmann’s perspective might be characterized as ‘political’ in two senses: thematically he dealt with fascism as a political system, which he treated in part as a political model for Germany. He presented selected parts of the fascist system to various groups that took a special interest in specific questions. He regarded national ‘needs’ as the only real basis for politics. In contrast to the völkisch conception, these needs developed out of the social situation of particular social strata and their relationship to the economy and the state. Eschmann was the only author with a nationalistic orientation dealt with here who tried to combine and relate sociological considerations with matters of political structure. Thus he contributed to the sociological discussion of the internal situation of Germany that had proceeded parallel to the discussion of fascism (1931b). The results of this can be seen in the concluding passage of Fascism in Europe. Eschmann argued against the uniformity of all ‘groups that call themselves Fascist in other countriesif in one country such a group gains some real influence it will have to follow the necessities of that country’ (1930b:88). In a footnote he noted: ‘It has to be pointed out for example that the NSDAP, regardless of their emotional sympathies for Italy, with growing clarity try to distinguish themselves more and more from Fascism as its inner development proceeds’ (1930b:88).


Robert Michels From today’s perspective, Michels appears as the most prominent participant in the discussion of fascism. In view of his stature as sociologist and his fascist activism, one might expect him to have been in the centre of the discussion. From the number of reviews of his work this assumption appears to be correct: his volumes, published in 1925 and 1930, were taken very seriously.6 His two volumes of Socialism and Fascism in Italy (1925a) included his article The Rise of Fascism in Italy, together with articles on the history of Italian socialism and Bolshevism. He tried to draw an evolutionary line from these movements to fascism. Italy Today, published in 1930, was a comprehensive account of Italian history, economy, and culture. The chapter on ‘Italy under Fascism’ reproduced four previously published articles (Michels 1926b, 1928a, 1928c, 1929), and added an account of economic developments since 1922 and an enthusiastic appraisal of Mussolini. Michels’ last publication before 1933 was a short article for the Berlin journal Die Zeit (Michels 1930b). The sheer number and visibility of Michels’ publications on fascism make it quite clear that Michels was regarded as an expert in this area. He gave many presentations on the topic and was asked for an article in a dictionary (Michels 1928c). With his 1930 book, the fifth volume in a series on the construction of modern states, addressed to a politically active readership, Michels tried to reach a broader audience and succeeded. Michels also regularly wrote articles for Swiss and German daily newspapers dealing with various aspects of fascism. Michels’ analyses throughout stressed the ethics of fascism. He identified the main characteristics of the new Italy as the ‘powerful will’ of fascism and a ‘collective enthusiasm in existence for six years’. All of this contrasted to the ‘period of fatigue’ after the end of the war (1926b:113; 1928a:17; 1930a:209). The most important quality of the political ethos that had developed from this was a ‘theoretically underdeveloped but practically highly developed sense of duty’ (1928c:524). ‘Fascism has created a new state. This has been based on tough discipline from top to bottom with an enormous productivity which tries to reach all parts of the nation’ (1928c:526). This line of argument obviously came directly from fascist self-interpretation, with its topoi of the revolutionary deed, moral rejuvenation, strong government, and leadership. Michels did not discuss Germany or National Socialism: his interest was only in his adopted country, Italy, and his new political home, fascism. Wilhelm Andreae and Walter Heinrich Andreae and Heinrich were members of Othmar Spann’s school. Their interpretation of fascism was strongly influenced by Spann’s theory of the corporate state, of ‘Stände’, the ranks they held all societies to be constructed of. Andreae’s book State-socialism and Ständestaat (1931b) opened with an overview of the history of ideas of the Ständestaat and offered short analyses of ‘recent


reality in Russia and Italy’, the ‘despotic state’ of bolshevist state-capitalism and the ‘mixture of national, state-socialist, and ständisch elements in Fascism’ (1931b:198–99). Part of his chapter on fascism had been published earlier (1931a), when he participated in the discussion on fascism, attacking some of Ludwig Bernhard’s theses mentioned above. Andreae defended fascism for installing neither a planned economy nor a dictatorship, and stressed instead the multiple ständestaatlich features of fascism. In 1932 the second and revised edition of Heinrich’s book Fascism, first published in 1929, appeared. His very detailed account of the fascist legislation that had led to the reconstruction of the Italian state and economy and its ‘spiritual bases’, was retained; an ‘evaluation from a universalistic stand-point’ was added (1932:VIII). Andreae’s second book, Capitalism, Bolshevism, Fascism, was published in 1933. It provided a comparative analysis of the basic ideas, economic system, and state forms typical for these three different systems. Both authors, who referred favourably to each other, analysed fascism and in particular the relationship between state and economy primarily from the perspective of Spann’s advocacy of a ständisch separation of state and economy. By understanding fascism in the terms of their own theoretical framework, or rather in the terms of their master’s framework, both authors were led to distinguish the state-socialist features of fascism from its ständestaatlich ones. Fascism was treated as a first step in the development predicted for the whole of Europe by their theory towards a ständisch economy. In spite of their common theoretical foundation, Heinrich and Andreae were engaged in quite distinct discussions. Andreae restricted himself to a ständestaatlich, functionalist analysis. Heinrich, however, gave his interpretation a völkisch dimension. He did not regard Italian fascism as capable of eventually evolving toward ständestaatlich ideas. He believed that the ‘word which would save the whole of Europe and which could throw a magic formula against the threatening decline cannot be pronounced in a Roman language. We believe it will have to be pronounced in German’ (Heinrich 1932:182). Georg Mehlis Mehlis was on the periphery of the discussion. From 1910, Mehlis served as editor of the philosophical journal Logos which had turned quite strongly to sociological problems, but his books were not taken very seriously or widely reviewed (Grabowsky 1931b; R.P. 1928). In his book on Mussolini’s ideas and the meaning of Fascism (1928) Mehlis praised Mussolini as the ‘hero’ and born leader of the Italian people. All social and political developments were interpreted as results of Mussolini’s ideas. In his next book, on Mussolini’s State, he interpreted Italian fascism, as the subtitle read, as ‘the realization of corporatist ideas of community’ (1929a). Many of his theses were taken directly from fascist documents and in general his interpretation reproduced fascist self-interpretation. Like Michels, Mehlis treated fascism from the perspective of heroic leadership and ethical


rejuvenation and, like Michels, Mehlis moved to Italy and regarded himself as a representative of that country. It may be noted, however, that Michels and Mehlis evidently did not accept each other in this role: neither, at least, mentioned the other. Mehlis published in the same kinds of journal as these other authors. He wrote as an expert in the official journal of the German employers’ association, Der Arbeitgeber, where four of his articles were published during the years 1926–1930. They dealt with the spirit of the fascist laws of labour (1926), with the fascist economic system as a ‘middle road between bourgeois-liberal and proletarian economic systems’ (1927:380), with ethical rejuvenation through fascism as the ‘re-gaining of the social group-morale’ (1929c:305), and with the fascist Ständestaat (1930b). Other papers were published in a social-scientific journal (1929b) and an economic journal (1930a, 1931). As in his books, in his articles Mehlis analysed fascism mainly as an ethical phenomenon; even the specific reorganization patterns of state and economy were analysed in terms of their ethical functions. The change of themes after 1925 Questions about the ideological, social and historical-political origins of the development of fascism had been an essential part of the social-scientific discussion of fascism before 1925. Beckerath in the first seven chapters of his Essence and development of the Fascist state of 1927 dealt with these questions by repeating all the interpretations developed earlier. His account of the development and structure of the fascist movement became the fourth in book form and may be interpreted as a belated final account of these questions. Works that appeared after 1925 mentioned the question of the origins of fascism in very short introductory remarks, if at all, and referred instead to the existing accounts by Beckerath, Bernhard, Mannhardt, Marschak, and Michels. After 1925 the centre of the discussion shifted. In the forefront stood the question of the state and economy which the fascists gradually built after 1925. In particular, the new syndicalist legislation, implemented after 1926, was seen as genuinely new, and as representing a political alternative for Germany. As such it became even more interesting to social scientists. Fascism as a system, a dictatorship, a class-dictatorship, an ethic, or as the first stage to democracy: different perspectives on the political character of fascism Andreae, Beckerath, Eschmann, Heinrich, and Michels offered what may be characterized as political-functional analyses of the structure of the Italian state reorganized by the fascists. The most important elements of this type of analysis may be found in the definition of the fascist system of domination given by Beckerath: ‘the Fascist system of domination as a dictatorship from the top which


interpenetrates all horizontally organized classes by its organs and links them all together with the help of the state power-apparatus like with a clamp’ (Beckerath 1927b:142). The form of the government, the party, and the state apparatus were analysed in detail. Statements about Mussolini’s position were embedded in an analysis of the fascist party structure, the fascist elite, the various committees that advised the Duce, including the ‘Big Council’—the central governing board of fifteen to twenty persons. The relationship between party and state was regarded as the fusion of both and the adaptation of the structure of the state to that of the party. These political-functional analyses each characterized the fascist state as an interdependent system of many elements, and used similar terms to describe it (Beckerath 1927b:110; Beckerath 1929b:134; Eschmann 1930a:114–15; Eschmann 1930b:77–79; Andreae 1933:198). The term ‘dictatorship’, which had been used unanimously to describe fascist rulership before 1925, gradually ceased to be used and was replaced by other terms. Fascism as a system continued to be compared with the two other political alternatives, Bolshevism and democracy, in a functionalist manner. Most of the authors had negative views of democracy (Beckerath 1932:349–50; Michels 1930a:220; Heinrich 1932:11). A certain political attitude towards fascism grew out of these political-functional analyses. Treating fascism as a system inclined people to discuss it as a potential model for Germany as can be seen in the cases of Beckerath, Eschmann, and Andreae. But not all of them drew these conclusions. Bernhard, in contrast, considered fascist political reorganization to be dysfunctional in the relation between state and citizens and in the control of power. The democratic state also showed dysfunctionalities, he thought, as ‘a necessary result of the unbridgeable conflicts between the parties’ which prevented ‘the indispensable balance that is needed for a steady government’ (1931:41). But Bernhard pointed out that ‘badly working parliamentarism is not nearly as horrible as Fascism badly guided which would throw the whole nation at the mercy of a single person or of a gang’ (1931:42). Bernhard even denied fascism the character of a system. He interpreted it as a purely personal dictatorship by Mussolini. The ‘Fascist corporative state is nothing but an unlimited self-governance’ (1931:31). Adolf Grabowsky pointed to the same tensions: ‘The Führer overpowers the system’ (Grabowsky 1928a:428). The term ‘dictatorship’ in this period became the catchword of a minority opposed to analysis of fascism as a ‘system’. Dictatorship was regarded as dysfunctional, and not a feasible model for other countries, if it had a future in Italy at all. After 1925, the Marxist thesis of class-dictatorship, as it was presented by Hermann Heller and Siegfried Marck, also retained the concept of ‘dictatorship’. In their analyses it was used as a term to denounce fascism. Heller said of fascism that ‘its political form has unveiled itself as the most primitive political form of all, as dictatorship’ (Heller 1931b:109). Because this dictatorship was interpreted as directed against workers, fascism could not solve ‘the cardinal


problem of our political crisisthe antagonisms of the social classes’ (Heller 1931b:158). These analysts consequently rejected fascism as a model. Heller criticized Beckerath for regarding the political and economic contradictions as solved (1931b:135). But his analysis was also political, directed primarily against the anti-democratic forces in the Weimar Republic. In Legal state or dictatorship? Heller characterized the ‘neo-feudal pose of power and the outcry for the strong man as the expression of a mood of despair on the side of the citizens’ for whom dictatorship appeared to bring salvation from the threat by the proletariat (1930:17). Georg Mehlis and Robert Michels were alone in giving a positive evaluation to fascism as dictatorship. They took the term from fascist self-interpretation. Mehlis spoke of an ‘aristocratic democracy which one might call in all honesty a dictatorship because the will of one man is decisive as he bears all the responsibility’ (1929a:81). Michels’ account of fascism always placed the ethical side of the state in the centre (Michels 1930a:225–24), as did Mehlis, who contrasted the ethical character of the liberal state with the ‘organic state’. In contrast to ‘rugged’ parliamentary democracy with its ‘lack of authority’ one could find in ‘the organic Fascist state the foundation of a really sovereign authority which governs over everyone, and comprises the essence of state community representing the unity of the nation which is of spiritual character’ (Mehlis 1931:329–31). But because it stressed the völkisch character of fascism this analysis did not treat Italian fascism as a model. Heinrich, Singer, Vōchting, and Schmitt continued the völkisch discussion after 1925. Elements of the fascist self-interpretation appeared in their writings as well, including the idea of the ethical rejuvenation of state and nation beyond the matter of political form (Heinrich 1932:125–127, 182; Schmitt 1929; Singer 1932:379– 80; Vöchting 1931b). The concept of the Volksstaat, first introduced to the discussion of fascism by Mannhardt, was reintroduced. Singer, for example, interpreted Mussolini’s ‘will of self-presentation as the Italian man’ as an instance of what fascism had to offer other peoples (Singer 1932:381). But he continued by saying that ‘the demands and promises by Hegel and Nietzsche were about something more: elevation as such and therefore their words still await their procreation in some more noble material’ (Singer 1932:381). It may correctly be assumed that this ‘more noble material’ could be interpreted as German material, comparable to Heinrich’s image of the word that should save Europe and which could thus reproduced the political thesis of the superiority of the German only be pronounced in German (cf. above p. 97). The völkisch perspective people. Fascism served as a pattern and starting-point for Germany’s reconsideration of herself and her political will. Fascism was also interpreted as an ethical phenomenon by conservative-democratic authors. Kogon and Bonn regarded it as a ‘developing dictatorship’, as the final realization of antidemocratic principles which could not


be the basis of an alternative system but could be seen as a preliminary step or as a detour to democracy (Kogon 1927, Bonn 1928). Wieser and Bernhard had advanced this thesis before 1925. By democracy these authors meant something spiritual, like ‘solidarism’: Solidarismus in the case of Kogon, a sentiment for the whole: Gesamtheitsempfinden in the case of Bonn. Both referred to a romantic idea of community. Fascism was regarded by neither as a political model. Kogon explicitly rejected it by referring to the ‘national and historic differences between the European north, west, and south’ (Kogon 1927:385). But they did not regard it as an enemy to democracy. Indeed, in reality fascism was not very far from democracy and would soon ‘wipe off the character of dictatorship in order to help democracy to a victory in Italy although not in a liberal form’ (Kogon 1927:405). The economic order of fascism The second major theme of the social-scientific discussion of fascism in Germany before 1933 was the reorganization of the economy and its integration into the fascist state-apparatus. The collection of laws governing the economy, the Carta del lavoro, went into effect in 1926–1927 and was discussed in detail in twenty-one of the articles dealt with here. Nine of these articles were published in non-scholarly economic or political journals (Andreae 1931a; Eschmann 1930c; Heinrich 1928–29; Mehlis 1926, 1927; Michels 1926b, 1930b; Steinberg 1926; Vöchting 1931b). The ‘functionalists’ stressed the newly founded professional associations, the fascist syndicates of workers and employers, which were said to be the crucial element in the integration of state and economy. The conventional interpretation of the fascist economy was that the ‘subordination of the economy under the state was the leading principle of Fascism’ (Albrecht 1931:762). Like the fascists themselves, the functionalists regarded the fascist economic order as a system which served as the material basis for a powerful state, increased production, as well as the solution of the social question (Albrecht 1931:762; Beckerath 1931a:135; Eschmann 1930a:93; Lachmann 1930:35; Mehlis 1927:379). The fascist economy was contrasted with preceding and competing systems, in particular capitalism. Of these authors, Margherita Hirschberg-Neumeyer alone claimed that capitalism had continued unchanged (Hirschberg-Neumeyer 1928:202). All the others stressed that only fascism had made it possible for the state to intervene in the capitalist economy (Michels 1930b:225; Eckert 1932:344; Strachwitz 1932:28; Beckerath 1927b:138, 1931a:135). This new relationship between state and economy was labelled by some authors as ‘Merkantilismus’. The Ständestaat thinkers offered a third interpretation of the relationship between fascism and capitalism. Their central idea was that parliament as well as the economy should be organized so that all important groups in the society were directly represented, a situation they contrasted with the over-representation of a


single class or interest group they considered characteristic of democratically organized societies, and they saw evidence of movement in this direction: ‘the Stato corporativo tries to break away from capitalism in many ways, it also means a break away from a centrally planned economy and rather has a tendency towards a ständisch organized national economy’ (Heinrich 1932:149). The völkisch authors again combined functional judgements with ethical ones and stressed the fascists’ attempts at the ethical education of economic opponents, as the fascists also did. Their solution to the social question was the re-establishment of an ethical foundation to the economy. In contrast to other functionalists, Bernhard, Strele, and Strachmann simply rejected the idea of a special fascist economic order. They were convinced that the corporative order would only aim at handing the professional associations over to the state. Goetz Briefs also denied to the fascist economy any distinct character: fascism, according to him, had ‘no economic system’, it ‘operates only with the concepts of bourgeois and capitalistic economic order Fascism is no new social system at least not in the sense of a revolution and re-organization of the existing social order of the country’ (Briefs 1932:925). The Marxist authors did not see in fascism any solution of ‘The Social Question’, but rather its intensification. The fascist economic order was interpreted as a version of class-dictatorship which derived from the necessities of capitalism. The essence of fascism was deduced not so much from its political order but from its economic order. There were three different readings of this. Borkenau was of the opinion that fascism was nothing but the creation of the capitalistic class itself. Heller also regarded fascist politics as being in the service of the economy, not the other way round, as fascism did not have ‘the will to strive for a form of planned economy that would reach further than present-day capitalism’ (Heller 1931b:120). The fascist order was denied any systematic character: ‘All in all Fascism cannot be seen as a new form of the state but only as a version of dictatorship that fits capitalistic society’ (Heller 1931b:133). The thesis of fascist dictatorship was also advanced by Marck, but he did not interpret it as a servant of the interests of the bourgeoisie. Fascism, he said, is ‘the most certain symptom of capitalism’s decline’. The bourgeoisie’s ‘abdication as a politically active class [was] a gesture of despair in an attempt to avert the imminent proletarian revolution’ (Marck 1928:376). In the Marxist perspective, fascism was never interpreted as a system on its own but only as a historical first step to a system governed by the proletariat. FASCISM AS A FOIL FOR THE ANALYSIS OF NATIONAL SOCIALISM After 1930 the prospect of fascism through the ‘National-Socialist German Workers Party’, the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (NSDAP), became a realistic political alternative to the democratic system of the Weimar Republic. From the end of 1931 to early 1933 several social scientists appraised


this development. Some of them used Italian fascism as a foil for their evaluation of National Socialism. Most of these articles, however, were not presented as scholarly analyses but as political commentaries. Walter Hagemann, Adolf Grabowsky, and Ferdinand Aloys Hermens each characterized the Italian model and evaluated the Nazi movement They stated that Hitler was only a little man. The little man with a pompous drapery, the little parvenu who only thinks about the decoration of his Brown House, the little man who—like his underlings—drives around in his big cars proudly, the little man who eventually releases his orders which are unconsciously funny. (Grabowsky 1931a:317) Hermens stated that while the party-dictatorship of the fascists ‘did succeed in achieving great aims’, the Nazi leadership lacked ‘the elite quality of Fascism by far’ (1932:491–92). If National Socialism, as a result of the collapse of parliamentarism, had to come out of its ‘comfortable opposition-role’, he predicted, it would be soon done with. ‘At the most it would take months, it certainly would not be years. The German people would not tolerate such a classe dirigente for long’ (1932:494). Other papers were written by Karl August Wittfogel who, in a journal close to the German Communist Party (Wittfogel 1932a, 1932b), attacked fascism, and social democracy with it, as the true political opponents because they were the enemies in the class struggle, and by Willy Hellpach, who within the conservative-democratic discussion interpreted Nazism as having a tendency towards an ‘improved democracy’ (Hellpach 1932). In February of 1933 the last detailed accounts of fascism and National Socialism by German social scientists immediately after the seizure of power by the Nazis were published. The Jewish journal Der Morgen devoted a whole edition to the theme ‘The State’ to which several social scientists contributed. Gottfried Salomon, in his article on The Total State, analysed the differences between Russia, Italy, and Germany and the danger of a total state in Germany. An article by Franz Oppenheimer analysed the evolution of the modern state and ended with an account of the battle between ‘rationalism’, or socialism, and capitalism, whose intellectual defenders argued with economics, the fascist and Soviet doctrine of the ‘absolute state’, and the race theories. Salomon and Oppenheimer remained on a highly abstract level. Both stated their opposition not so much to the political organization or movement of fascism but rather to fascism as the realization of a principle antagonistic to them. Ernst Michel in his contribution asked how Protestant and Catholic Christians might be organized together with Jews into a political Volksfront, a united front. Other concrete analyses of the threat to the political situation by the Nazis were offered. Margherita Hirschberg-Neumeyer described the essential distinction between Italian and German fascism as follows: ‘The great danger threatens the


Jews not from the Fascist system as such but from the question which has been raised by some groups in Germany acting like Fascists whether the Jews should be taken into the state at all’ (Hirschberg-Neumeyer 1933:473). According to her, the Italian Jews ‘have been fully integrated with equal rights into the Fascist state’, and Italian fascism has ‘almost not touched the basis of a society founded on a humanistic-psychological basis’ (1933:474–75). Hirschberg-Neumeyer did not give up hope for a similar development in Germany. This edition of the Jewish journal not only marked the end of the participation of Jewish scholars in the discussion of the social sciences in the Weimar Republic, where they had played such an important and crucial role (K sler 1986), it also was the last edition of the journal itself. Salomon’s and Oppenheimer’s articles can also be seen as contributions to a much broader academic and political discussion of the concept of the Staat, a concept with immense importance in the German tradition and one for which the word ‘state’ is quite inadequate. This discussion had continued throughout the Weimar Republic. The texts of Salomon and Oppenheimer reflect the great abstractness of the social scientific discussion. The style of writing meant that this literature could not deal with concrete political developments, much less influence them. Even the Jewish intellectuals threatened by concrete dangers spoke of political developments principally as a spiritual conflict, and even the most clear-sighted analysis of Nazi anti-Semitism, provided by Hirschberg-Neumeyer, concluded with a reference to ‘the idea of the organic’. Even those participants in the social scientific discussion of fascism who sympathized with it shared the belief that the Nazis were not qualified to be the agent of the political reorganization of Germany. It is no surprise that none of these social scientists produced more elaborate accounts of what they saw as German imitators of Italian fascism. Their dislike of the NSDAP did not alter their support of an authoritarian or even totalitarian reorganization of the state. The themes of their analyses of fascism derived directly from the broad anti-democratic perspective which dominated political discussion in the Weimar Republic. It is difficult to assess the political effect of those writings portraying fascism as a positive model. On the one hand it must be said that these texts remained very abstract and academic. They were published mainly in books whose readership consisted first of all of scholars, as can be seen from the number of reciprocal citations, and secondly of an elite readership of politically aware people. It is difficult to say how much of this scholarly discussion actually reached the political elite of the Weimar Republic, much less whether it had any impact. But, it nevertheless may be said that social scientists held a monopoly with regard to the theme of fascism, at least on the book market. Their only competitors were translations from Italian. The social-scientific discussion of fascism was meant to influence the political elite. This may be inferred from the fact that many of the articles were published in journals orientated toward economic elites. In these discussions social scientists appeared as experts before an audience interested in political questions and as


informants about fascism as a political model. This continued after the ‘victory’ of the Nazi party. In several papers,7 and particularly in a volume dealing with fascist economy published simultaneously in Italy and Germany in 1934 some of the authors discussed here, Beckerath, Eschmann, Heinrich, Michels, and Vōchting, evaluated fascist economic development (Dobbert ed. 1934). No concrete political suggestions were produced, and this was characteristic of the social-scientific discussion. Virtually all the authors strove to limit themselves to a purely scholarly discussion of fascism, and tried to avoid any ‘degeneration’ into political commentary. These attempts were only part of a much broader concerted effort by social scientists to gain recognition as ‘real scholars’ by adhering to the ideal of ‘objectivity’. This aim was particularly stressed by those scholars who defined themselves as ‘social scientists’ in the Weimar Republic, or were defined as such, and who hoped to gain academic respectability and to find niches in the highly institutionalized academic system of German universities (K sler 1983). THE DISCUSSION OF NATIONAL SOCIALISM The German social-scientific discussion of Nazism before 1933 must be strictly separated from the discussion of fascism: it was dominated by a totally different set of participants and it followed a very different pattern. While the social-scientific discussion of fascism had primarily appeared in books, Ph.D. dissertations and articles, the discussion of Nazism was fought out in political journals more or less directly linked with the German trade unions or the Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands (SPD), the German Social Democratic Party. The social-scientific discussion of Nazism carried out on these different platforms had more the character of a political discussion than an academic one. And it was less of a theoretical discussion and more an empirically grounded political discussion.8 Only a few articles were published before the great ‘victory’ of the Nazi party in the general German parliamentary elections in September 1930. The Nazis increased their share of votes, from 2.6 per cent in May 1928 to 18.3 per cent. Thus the social-scientific discussion of Nazism had a very short period of time to develop before early 1933, when the Nazis took power. The literature was small and the number of participants fewer than in the ten-year-long discussion of fascism. The main articles are summarized below. Conservative-democratic critique of the völkisch movement The first relevant mention of Nazism can be found in a paper by Rudolf Heberle of 1925, published under the pseudonym of ‘Jarno’, which dealt with the völkisch movement in Germany, into which he placed the NSDAP. Following the main lines of what was characterized above as conservative-democratic perspective, Heberle interpreted the völkisch movement mainly as a matter of mind, as a


Gesinnung. Anticipating the discussion of Nazism proper, he presented the völkisch political-military associations as totally new political forms, directly opposed to all forms of Gesellschaft, or society, and conforming more closely to the pattern of Gemeinschaft, or community. This analysis followed one of the central themes of early German sociology (Käsler 1984, 1991).9 The electorate of the NSDAP In the summer of 1930, in the influential SPD journal Die Gesellschaft, Carl Mierendorff published the first article analysing the electorate of the NSDAP. He noted the ‘phenomenal rise’ of the NSDAP during the preceding elections at the level of the Länder, the German states, as well as at local community level. According to Mierendorff, the Nazi Party possessed a ‘chemically perfect combination of racist resentment and resentment against their own social position, of particular economic interests and elementary feelings of hate’ (Mierendorff 1930:494). There were three groups which were particularly ‘predestined for such aims on the basis of their spiritual and social positions’: the bourgeois middle classes, the employees, and the farmers. The Nazis also succeeded in politically mobilizing the youth and the relatively large group of previous non-voters. Mierendorff undoubtedly recognized the growing success of the NSDAP before the September elections, enumerated their social causes, and warned against their political effects. After the September elections a much broader discussion started in the Social Democratic journals, but no other contribution by a social scientist appeared in the official party organ Die Gesellschaft. The structure of the NSDAP and of the political system in the political-functionalist perspective Two authors, Adolf Grabowsky and Sigmund Neumann, dealt with Nazism in political functionalist terms. Each analysed the structure and the development of the political system of the Weimar Republic and tried to show how Nazism could result from such a system, and what kind of feed-back effects it might have on the political system as a whole. Both authors were lecturers at the Hochschule für Politik, the influential Advanced Institute of Government in Berlin. Grabowsky contributed several articles to the journal Die Tat and the Zeitschrift für Politik dealing with changes in the structure of the German political parties and with the rise of Nazism (Grabowsky 1928b, 1929b, 1930, 1931a, 1931b, 1932). His earlier analyses of fascism played no significant role in his understanding of Nazism, as he did not regard fascism as a transferable system. Neumann’s analysis of Nazism appeared in his book of 1932, The political parties in Germany (Neumann 1986). Both authors explained the success of the Nazis as a consequence of a general crisis and the failure of the other parties, as well as of the crucial novelty of the political form of the NSDAP. Grabowsky described the novelty of the Nazi Party in terms of its bündisch character. The term can be loosely translated as ‘fraternal’


or ‘associational’. In the eyes of partisans and observers alike this trait distinguished the NSDAP from the ‘old parties’. It corresponded with ‘the new asceticism’ that the youth had been striving for, ‘an ideal of an order which is without any doubt deeply similar to the discipline of both the bolshevist and the Fascist parties’ (Grabowsky 1929b:455). Neumann stressed the youthful and military character of the NSDAP and the longing of its membership for strong leadership. Both authors attributed the rise of these ‘new forms of political-spiritual representation’ to the development of the old parties (Neumann 1986:96). Grabowsky attacked their internal spoils system and their quest for large membership regardless of the quality of the members (Grabowsky 1929b). Neumann identified a ‘moral crisis’ which derived from the tendencies of bureaucratization, economization, and growing rationalization of politics in general (Neumann 1986:98). These old parties which Neumann called ‘democratic integration-parties’ were confronted with ‘absolutist integration-parties’ of both the left and right. Their characteristic elements were ‘definite personal leadership, hierarchical structure, tight organization in a more or less military fashion’, activity of the party members consisting mainly ‘of obedience and subordination upheld by a great myth and made visible with the help of elaborate symbolism’ (Neumann 1986:107). The emergence of these parties influenced the whole of political life. Political discussions and propaganda were replaced by pure self-presentation, the search for coalitions became replaced by the quest for absolute domination or by an attitude of total opposition to the state. Moreover, a transfer of the power factors had taken place, such as from parliament to other institutions, for example the Reichspräsident (Neumann 1986:107–109). With this ‘political-functional’ analysis the authors reached a clear assessment of the political situation: they each characterized the contrast between the ‘old’ parties and the NSDAP and they both explained the attraction of the Nazi movement quite convincingly. They were each able to sketch potential reactions and countermeasures that could have been taken by the ‘middle-parties’ against the Nazis, such as a stress on ‘national’ motives, a change in political style, activation of the party membership, and the strengthening of parliament. All these measures might have proved successful in the long run. But the political events at the end of 1932 and the beginning of 1933 made them all irrelevant. The relationship between social democracy and the middle classes in the journal Die Arbeit The journal Die Arbeit was the official organ of the Allgemeiner Deutscher Gewerkschaftsbund, the central association of the social-democratic trade unions in Weimar Germany. During the three years after the success of the NSDAP in the elections of September 1930 this journal published a series of articles dealing with Nazism. Seven of the ten authors were social scientists, five of whom held positions in universities, the others having Ph.D. degrees in a social science.


Presumably they were employed on a full-time basis by the trade unions. These articles, which referred to each other, formed a closely interwoven debate about the historical development of Nazism, its place in the social structure of Germany, on the relationship between the SPD and the Nazi-followers, the potential further development of Nazism, and possible counter-strategies. The theme of the placement of the bourgeois middle classes was dealt with by Theodor Geiger who identified them as a Zwischenschicht, a ‘stratum in-between’ the antagonistic capital and proletariat classes (Geiger 1930:638). This ‘stratum in-between’ consisted of the ‘old middle classes’ such as craftsmen, retail traders, and farmers, and the ‘new middle classes’ like salaried employees, civil servants, professionals, and skilled labourers. This placement of the middle classes became the basis for Geiger’s further analyses which he continued in his book of 1932. His main arguments were questioned only by Eschmann and Tōnnies. Svend Riemer also spoke of the new middle classes as strata ‘which cannot be placed clearly class-wise’ (Riemer 1932a:103). For these authors it was not so much ideology which was of crucial importance for an understanding of the attraction of the Nazi movement, but rather its character as a protest movement. As Riemer explained: This situation has found a clear-cut political expression in the movement of the National Socialists who seemed to be conjured up in seemingly only a few years but which is nothing but the political protest of the petit-bourgeois middle which found itself together under the impression of the experiences of inflation and the present-day economic crisis. (Riemer 1932b:266) The electoral success of the NSDAP in 1930 derived from a ‘panic in the middle-classes’; the Nazi party had become ‘the party of the humiliated and the slandered’ (Geiger 1930:649). The ‘psychic motives’ for their continued success without any doubt and in particular among the masses that have been won over since 1930 are to be found not so much in the enthusiasm for a new state and a somehow reformed people but in emotions of anger and disappointment with the existing state. (Geiger 1932:118) Other authors were specifically interested in the question of the social origins of the voters for the NSDAP. Hans Neisser stated: The National Socialists attracted between fifteen and twenty percent of the industrial work force, twenty to twenty-five percent of the agrarian work force, and the rest from the middle-classes, the salaried employees, the civil servants, and the pensioners. (Neisser 1930:659)


According to Walter Dirks, Nazism had become ‘an Utopian action’ of the middle classes, the employees, university students, intellectuals, and young unemployed, and he explained its dynamics with the ‘social tensions which put people of these strata in unrest, in “movement”’ (Dirks 1931:205). Bruno Gleitze interpreted the NSDAP following as ‘a mixture of bourgeois in despair, proletarians fed up with the present, and youth hungry for the future’ (Gleitze 1932:310). Another crucial element in the class-analytical approaches was the effects of the propaganda of the NSDAP. Geiger argued that the propaganda during the elections was directed towards the differences within the middle classes in the framework of the very clever rhetorical mannerisms of arbitrarily exchangeable slogans that were given out depending upon the different structures of the electorate in different electoral districts. (Geiger 1930:649) Geiger offered some examples, pointing out that the slogan of a ‘powerful state’ was very attractive to the civil service and that the slogan of a ‘national spiritual elite’ was very attractive for teachers and intellectual youth. The denunciation of ‘the Jews’ and ‘the Bosses’ was very helpful in attracting several very distinct groups at once. According to Riemer the ‘function of the “Third Reich” does not rest so much on the programmatic level, it does not demand action, but rather represents the clear expression, the symbol which the nagging attitude of the dissatisfied create for themselves’ (Riemer 1932a:112). The analyses of Nazism in the articles in Die Arbeit not only tried to understand the Nazi movement but also tried to contribute to the creation of an effective counter-strategy for the SPD. After their articles on the relationship between the NSDAP and the middle classes, Geiger and Riemer each followed up with an article on the relationship between the SPD and the middle classes. Other authors also tried to advise on strategy. Geiger stated that the ‘new proletariat’ which had never been as impoverished as the industrial work-force, had remained unchanged in their nationalism. The SPD had never responded to this attitude, and thus had driven the ‘new proletariat’ into the arms of Nazism. A second mistake of social democratic propaganda was the continuous use of the term ‘proletariat’ even for salaried employees, who interpreted this as a sign of a loss in social standing. The same problem arose with the formula of ‘pauperization’; instead ‘of an explanation of a tendency of capitalistic evolutionin the ears of the petite bourgeoisie this became a programme of the socialism they saw themselves as victims of (Geiger 1931:632– 33). Geiger developed some practical political recommendations from this, after calling for a ‘theoretical re-working of social reality’ and an ‘improvement of the basic socialist ideas’. He spoke out against ‘a certain routine in demagogic influence’, and in particular against the ideological petrification of the social democratic press (1931:633–34).


Walter Dirks, who wanted to prevent a stronger Nazism from swallowing Catholicism or influencing it with fascist ideas, recommended a very similar strategy. There had to be an attempt to succeed in doing for the employees in particular, but also for the craftsmen, the farmers, and the intellectuals, what the socialist movement had succeeded first in doing for the workers’ proletariat in the factories: to analyse their social situation realistically and to define a realistic political aim based on a self-understanding, and an understanding of the social environment and from this gain the power for realistic political action (Dirks 1931:208). Neisser was the first to speak out against this kind of coalition-building strategy. He instead called for the SPD ‘to concentrate first of all on gaining those industrial workers who are standing outside’ and on ‘holding tight to the youth’ (Neisser 1930:659). Tönnies allied with Neisser on this point and called for the SPD to regain ground lost to the Communists. The followers of the NSDAP, which he regarded in reality as a monarchist party, were first of all agrarian workers and the urban petty bourgeoisie ‘together with countless young men and women’ who had voted for this Modepartei, this fashionable party (Tönnies 1931:778). They could not be won for the SPD. Riemer called Geiger’s proposition a very problematic thesis: ‘ideological generosity always means the danger of tumbling into irrationalities, into petit bourgeois romanticism’ (Riemer 1932b:268). In its idealistic and romanticist thinking ‘National-Socialism has shown so much of its adequacy to the middle-classes, this Weltanschauung increased to the level of the masses’ that it would be totally hopeless to try to compete with it (1932b:268–69). Riemer instead advised waiting for tendencies of loosening up’ in which the new middle classes due to an improvement of the economic situation will separate themselves from the old middle classes and hence from Nazism (1932b:272). Geiger offered a similarly optimistic prognosis for the future decline of Nazism. He noted a ‘sharp drop’ in the Nazi following: When the leaders of the NSDAP are forced to a practical confession against or for Socialism than we will see that the old middle-classes want old capitalism with the protection of the individual entrepreneur while the new proletariat will want socialism. The unified front of aggressive nationalism one day must necessarily crack due to these different economic interests. (Geiger 1931:628; also Geiger 1932:135–36) These authors were very close to the SPD and analysed Nazism within the confines of Marxism, in terms of its social origins and its internal ideological integration. They proposed an SPD policy limited to attracting the support of specific social groups. As can be seen from these texts their Marxist perspective did lead to a certain selective blindness with regard to some aspects of Nazism. Those who stayed too close to their own theory easily lost sight of possibilities of development and


action. In the case of the authors in Die Arbeit, it might have become clear to them that their accounts of Nazism had definitely underestimated its capacity to integrate its diverse following. Another participant in this discussion was Ernst Wilhelm Eschmann, who was not a Marxist. As we have seen, in his analyses of Italian fascism, Eschmann was the one who called for a political conception for Germany that would be specific to her own needs but take into account the fascist experiences. In two articles published in Die Arbeit (Eschmann 1930c, 193la), he had also depicted the integration of the Italian worker into Italian society as an exemplary model. In another paper in 1931 he referred to the discussion of salaried employees and tried to subsume this social group under his concept as he had done with the workers before. The ‘socialist speakers’ used concepts that Eschmann regarded as not very convincing in two ways: neither will it actually grasp the crisis of the bourgeoisie, nor find a language which might make it plausible for the middle-classes to understand their supposedly ‘false position’. Or does one really believe that slogans like ‘panic in the middle-classes’, ‘revolt of the employees’, ‘revolution by the proletarian of the white collar workers’ can convince the bourgeois strata which have entered a state of turbulence to socialism in its present-day party version? (Eschmann 1931b:364–65)

The political relevance of the middle classes, Eschmann said, had been grossly underestimated because of the Marxist ‘concept of a historical sequence of aristocracy, bourgeoisie, proletariat’ (1931b:368). In Germany for the first time in history the bourgeois strata have come to a state of political activity, and they are not the ‘forerunner of the proletariat but at least its contemporary’. ‘The class-struggle’, Eschmann concluded, ‘has moved more to the right’ (1931b:368). The proletariat together with the middle classes stood against ‘the stratum of the owners of the monopolies’ and both strove for ‘the replacement of domination by this group over the means of production by way of taking them away and putting them under the control of the whole nation’ (1931b:368). In contrast to the proletariat, which has ‘by means of their party integrated itself into the state and has won the National by the Social’, the bourgeois strata started from nation and state, ‘the Social is based on the National’ (1931b:370). This concept of a nationally oriented socialism—which made it quite easy for Eschmann ultimately to find his way to Nazism—was bound to provoke the opposition of the Marxist authors. Geiger in his article three editions later criticized Eschmann’s concept of a ‘non-capitalistic bourgeoisie’ because he regarded it as ‘essential to distinguish the middle-classes dependent upon wages from the petite-capitalistic bourgeoisie, the propertied middle-classes’ (Geiger 1931:624). The latter was not anti-capitalistic but was only looking for a more social


capitalism and could not be won for socialism. The front of the class struggle therefore was not moved ‘more to the right’. Only the ‘new proletariat’ could be attracted. Geiger pointed directly to the main aims behind Eschmann’s theses: ‘He thinks that the proletariat and the non-monopolistic bourgeoisie have the same interests, namely the replacement of socialism as the aim of the struggle by some “social” form for the middle-bourgeoisie and the petite bourgeoisie. We believe that we have to hold tight to a fundamental socialism’ (Geiger 1931:626; also Geiger 1932:106). Three articles in Die Arbeit explicitly dealt with the programme of the NSDAP. Adam Hüfner reviewed a book by Hans Reupcke on National-Socialism and the Economy of 1931. He tried to show the swift change of the Nazi economic programme from an earlier ‘petit bourgeois utopianism’ to an ‘explicit private-capitalistic ideology of entrepreneurship’ (H fner 1931:190). Jenny Radt dealt with Nazi concepts of law, in particular the Nazi conceptions of the state, of the identity of state and people, and of citizenship connected to the principle of Blutsgemeinschaft, community of the blood, and the inferior position of women. In her treatment of the Italian model, Judith Grünfeld, using quotations from the Nazi women’s movement showed that fascism in general is ‘directed against women workers and women civil servants and in particular against all higher professional occupations by women’ (Grünfeld 1932:428). Fascism meant a return to brutal male domination combined with the traditional locking of women into the worst and most stressful jobs. Therefore the trade unions will have to fight for women workers because of their poor professional situation and their justified desire for a more meaningful existence, otherwise they might become victimized by the mendacious Fascist promise to save women from the stresses of their jobs. (Grünfeld 1932:435) While the second of these two articles pointed to threats connected with the rise of Nazism, the first had tried to discredit it with an analysis of its programme like the papers dealt with above. This type of discussion stood in clear contrast to those Marxist interpretations which insisted that the published programmes of the NSDAP were irrelevant to an understanding of the character of the movement. The Neue Blätter für den Sozialismus Another social-scientific discussion of Nazism was published as of August 1930 in a second important social-democratic journal, Neue Blätter für den Sozialismus, which was the organ of ‘Religious Socialism’ or ‘Young Socialism’ within the SPD (Auernheimer 1985:119–21). Two of its editors, Eduard Heimann and Paul Tillich, were social scientists who were also ‘religious socialists’. Heimann taught economics and social sciences at the University of Hamburg; Tillich became the


successor to Max Scheler’s chair of philosophy and sociology at the University of Frankfurt during 1929–1933, until he was forced into exile by the Nazis. The articles in the Neue Blätter did not constitute as coherent a discussion as was found in Die Arbeit. Nazism was discussed from various aspects, but the main questions were similar—the social origins of the Nazi movement and the failures of SPD politics. The authors in Neue Blätter shared a Marxist analytic framework, and their disagreements were within this framework. The main theme of articles by Walter Mannzen, Eduard Heimann, and Günter Keiser was the social background of the Nazis and their ideology. According to Mannzen, Nazism had attracted ‘the whole of the petite bourgeoisie, in particular the “self-employed” craftsmen, not only a few workers, the farmers and the jeunesse dorée of the universities coming from the more petit-bourgeois strata’. Behind all these groups stood the dominating great landowners (Mannzen 1930:372). For Heimann, Nazism was ‘the revolt of the middle-bourgeoisie and the petite-bourgeoisie’ (Heimann 1931:270). Keiser considered ‘the agrarian-bourgeois middle-strata’ to be the nucleus of the Nazi movement (Keiser 1931:270). All of them saw Nazism not as anti-capitalistic ‘but as a-capitalistic and by that reactionary in the essential meaning’ (Keiser 1931:271). Nazism tried to revive the feudal system, to stop capitalistic rationalization, and recreate ‘balance’ between big and small businesses, between industry and the agrarian sector. According to Mannzen and Keiser, the Nazi alliance with the bourgeoisie against the proletariat derived from these intentions. Heimann concluded that not only the proletariat but the whole of the German people would be threatened if the Nazis realized their economic aims. This warning from Heimann was published in a special issue of the Neue Blätter in April 1931 on Nazism. Mierendorff, Heller, and Tillich contributed discussions of the political position of Nazism and the failures of social-democratic politics which had aided the development of Nazism and therefore had to be corrected. Mierendorff regarded Nazism as ‘a social movement’ of farmers, the middle classes, and employees, and at the same time as ‘a movement for freedom’— because of its combination of nationalism directed to the outside and of anti-parliamentarism on the inside, and also ‘a youth-movement’ (Mierendorff 1931:149). It was an ‘amalgamation of a social and a nationalistic protest movement into an antidemocratic, antiparliamentarian spearhead’ (Mierendorff 1931:153). Heller, who had participated in the social-scientific discussion of fascism, also commented on Nazism. In his contribution to the Neue Blätter he pointed to ‘the lack of consciousness of national responsibility of the strata which had ruled the Wilhelminian state’, and contrasted this with ‘the national consciousness of the social democratic leader’ Ebert (Heller 193la:154–55). Current social democratic politics lacked ‘a programmatic affirmation of state and nation’ and together with the economic crises this lack had aided nationalistic agitation (Heller 1931a:155). The SPD, he concluded, would have to define their future politics much more in national terms. Tillich found a way to deal with Nazism at the very end of a long


philosophical article on the problem of domination. According to him Nazism ‘overlooks the most significant feature of domination: that domination without broad acceptance and without demands that derive from this acceptance is not domination but highway robbery and rape’ (Tillich 1931:170). Two other social scientists, Fritz Borinski and Alfred Meusel, contributed to the discussion of Nazism in the Neue Blätter. Borinski analysed the nationalism of the bourgeois youth in his contributions. In his first article he depicted the ‘turn of the young bourgeoisie’ to anti-capitalist sentiments and called for them to take the next turn, to socialism (Borinski 1931:104). In his second article he distinguished between a ‘false’ nationalism, exemplified in Nazism, and a ‘genuine’ nationalism (Borinski 1932:533). Even in 1933 Borinski continued to make this contrast: ‘Nationalism as the passionate will of a people for their freedom, for their life, for their task shapes history as did the will for freedom and the will for life, as well as the missionary belief of the proletariat’ (Borinski 1933:61–62). Meusel analysed the relationship between the parties from an orthodox Marxist position through the case of a former lieutenant, Scheringer, who had switched from the NSDAP to the German Communist Party, the KPD. Under existing foreign circumstances, ‘a genuine national impulse could only come from the workers’ (Meusel 1931:285). This was because a socialist government alone could make a treaty with Russia, which the allies who made the Versailles treaty could not do, and thus initiate a policy of liberation. Therefore ‘the abandonment of socialism today necessarily means betrayal of the future of the nation. The path from a serious nationalism to a serious socialism is the product of a logically consistent evolutionary process’ (Meusel 1931:286). This expectation was based dialectically on the Marxist model of evolution, and was obviously not shared by the editors of Neue Blätter, as they pointed out in two footnotes. A certain political blindness was represented here by Meusel, who could not free himself from preconceived Marxist ideas of historical development. Social-psychological discussion of National Socialism Hendrik de Man (1931a, 1931b), leftist author of The Social Psychology of Socialism, explained middle-class sympathy for Nazism as an ‘ideological symbol’ of defence against the threatened ‘proletarization’ of these strata (1931a:22). Nationalism was interpreted by him as a ‘compensatory idea’ by which these threatened strata had tried to achieve a new self-appreciation and recapture a ‘We-feeling’ (1931a:25). In these early writings, de Man recommended ‘a genuine radicalization’ of the socialist critique as a strategy against Nazism, together with the development of more ‘leadership’ within the socialist movement and the presentation of Utopian ideas as the basis for action. De Man systematized a psychological approach to Nazism which the other Marxist writers assumed implicitly, and concluded with similar recommendations about satisfying the emotional and psychological needs of Nazi followers.


National Socialism as a weapon of the bourgeoisie: the anti-reformist position Almost all the social scientists who contributed to the discussion of Nazism were reformist Social Democrats who accepted the concept of reform of the capitalist system from within, by gaining the majority in parliamentary democracy. For them an understanding of the democratic system and the question of how different groups within the electorate could be reached were crucial. This was also the case with the discussion of Nazism in Die Arbeit and in the Neue Blätter, the Nazi movement was interpreted as an electoral opponent and the discussion focused on strategies to attract voters. Fritz Sternberg stood outside this discussion. For him Nazism was the instrument of the ruling classes, and not a social movement with a ‘false’ ideology. According to Sternberg the proletarized middle classes formed the mass basis of Nazism. The question to be asked was ‘why was it successful in preventing these strata from revolting against monopolistic capital?’ (Sternberg 1932:345). Sternberg attributed this to the location of the middle classes in the production process, where the small farmers and the retailers, who held ‘positions of small anarchical manufacturers’, turned against mortgage banks or the department stores instead of fighting against monopolistic capital. By means of wage robbery from the urban masses this capital caused the prices for agrarian products to drop. The rationalization of the retail system changed the situation for the worse. In the case of the salaried employees, what brought them to the Nazis was their ständisch ideology and their hope for the improvement of their social position relative to the workers. Sternberg asked what could be done about these developments. He criticized both workers’ parties: ‘Growing masses are disappointed by the reformism of the SPD. They start to realize that the fight against Fascism has to be a fight against pauperization, against wage-robbery, against the destruction of social policy, against the destruction of all the rights of the workers’ (Sternberg 1932:390). Because of its ‘ultra leftist tactics’ the KPD had split workers’ mass organizations and divided workers in the factories and therefore ‘was unqualified for the leadership in these struggles’ (Sternberg 1932:390). Sternberg represented those on the left who had been excluded from the SPD or the KPD and had founded two schismatic splinter groups, the Sozialistische Arbeiterpartei Deutschlands (SAPD) and the Opposition in der Kommunistischen Partei (KPDO), both of which advocated a united workers’ front: ‘It has become essential to organize an extra-parliamentary struggle, and therefore a united bloc of the workers is needed’ (1932:395). Only then when the fight for just wages had begun could a common bloc of workers be created and the proletarized middle classes be attracted to it When this bloc was established it should be possible to show the masses ‘with direct reference to their situation and without making concessions either to the emotional or to the nationalistic currents of these strata that the fascist solutions are only superficial slogans’ (1932:398).


In contrast to the other Marxist writers, Sternberg did not believe in an inevitable historical development. He hinted at the possibility ‘that a capitalistic way out of this crisis may be organized’. ‘If it comes in Germany,’ he said, ‘it will come in a Fascist version and it will increase the imperialistic danger of war in world capitalism, if not lead directly to war’ (1932:399). Germany therefore appeared to him to be currently at the centre of world history, for it will be there ‘where the decision will be made whether the counter-revolution, Fascism, or barbarity makes a decisive step forward, or the chain is broken by revolution’ (1932:400). Social science as policy guidance The social-scientific discussion of Nazism was dominated by members of the SPD or scholars who offered guidance to the social democrats. No other serious academic perspective on Nazism developed within sociology. As the quotation from Elias at the beginning of this chapter suggests, mainstream sociology was silent about Nazism (Käsler 1984:507–27). The members of the Frankfurt School, who in any case defined themselves as ‘outsiders’ to academic sociology, did not discuss Nazism in anything published before 1933. Their theoretical-philosophical orientation left little room for concrete empirical research on this subject. Erich Fromm, who wanted to undertake empirical research on workers and employees, met substantial opposition within the Institute, and his results were not published until 1980 (cf. the Introduction to Fromm 1983). Only after their exile to the United States did the members of this school seriously analyse these questions (Wilson 1982; Brandt 1983). The social-democratic authors were looking for strategies for a political struggle against the Nazi movement. In contrast to the discussion on Italian fascism, which was, as we have shown, an academic discussion about a model of society and was only indirectly political, the discussion on Nazism was directly political. The attempt to influence the practical politics of the SPD through social-scientific analysis failed. The SPD failed to react in any visible way to the proposals given in Die Arbeit and the Neue Blätter. The SPD and the KPD did not react to Sternberg’s proposals either. Thus, although a substantial group of social scientists regarded Nazism as worthy of social-scientific analysis and published their results in relevant publications, no detectable change in the political field took place. The political developments overtook them all. NOTES 1 We are grateful to Professor Harvey Marshall (Purdue University) who helped us polish our clumsy Germanic English. For further information about the authors discussed in the following, see the list on pp. 124–126. 2 Norbert Elias, Letter to Sven Papcke of November 15, 1982. In: Sven Papcke, ‘Weltferne Wissenschaft. Die deutsche Soziologie der Zwischenkriegszeit vor dem Problem des Faschismus/Nationalsozialismus’. In Sven Papcke (ed.) Ordnung und


3

4 5

6

7

8

9

Theorie. Beiträge zur Geschichte der Soziologie in Deutschland. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft 1986, p. 188 FN 89. Many other social scientists dealt with fascism during the years 1926 to 1933. Of particular interest are the following: Steinberg (Steinberg 1926); Kogon (Kogon 1927); Vöchting, a disciple of Michels (Vōchting 1927, 1931b); Schmid, who wrote the first Ph.D. dissertation on fascist economics (Schmid 1927); the collection edited by Landauer and Honnegger (Landauer/Honnegger eds 1928); Grabowsky (Grabowsky 1928a); Hirschberg-Neumeyer (Hirschberg-Neumeyer 1928); Marck, in the journal of the left wing within the Social Democratic Party (Marck 1928); the influential conservative lawyer, later to become a Nazi, Carl Schmitt (Schmitt 1929); Strele (Strele 1929); the social-democratic lawyer and author of a sociologically orientated book, Heller (Heller 1929, 1930, 1931b); the author of a Ph.D. dissertation on state economy, Lachmann (Lachmann 1930); the dictionary article by Albrecht (Albrecht 1931); the second book by Bernhard (Bernhard 1931); the author of another Ph.D. dissertation on public administration by Strachwitz (Strachwitz 1932); Briefs (Briefs 1932); the former theoretician of the Communist Party, Borkenau (Borkenau 1932); and three articles on the fascist economic order in the special Festschrift issue of Schmollers Jahrbuch for Werner Sombart by Eckert (Eckert 1932), Singer (Singer 1932), and Beckerath (Beckerath 1932). Carl Schmitt’s article of 1929 cannot properly be seen as a review of Beckerath’s book as it concentrated much more on Schmitt’s own interpretation of fascism. Dieter Haselbach in his recent analysis of the very influential economic theories and concepts of the so-called ‘Ordo-liberals’, such as Franz Bōhm, Alfred Müller-Armack, Wilhelm Rōpke and Alexander R stow, has shown the great impact Beckerath’s analyses of Italian fascism had for this group of economic thinkers. Cf. Haselbach 1991:49–54, 59–60, 249. In an appreciative manner Bernhard (1926), Bourgin (1932), Eckert (1931), Heberle (1925–26), Tatarin-Tarnheyden (1926), Vōchting (1931a). In a critical manner Anton (1926), Olberg (1925), Wichterich (1932). Eschmann (1933b, 1934a, 1934b), Hermens (1933a, 1933b), Mannhardt (1933), Mehlis (1933, 1934), Michels (1934), Beckerath (1934, 1943). Beckerath’s article of 1933 ‘Amerikanischer Fascismus?’ was an analysis of Roosevelt’s economic policy which, as he stated, tried to gain political control over the economy, even more so than fascism and Nazism. There were few social scientific publications on Nazism apart from these discussions. They followed the same academic pattern as the discussion on fascism. They included three papers by Landauer (1930, 1931a, 1931b), one book by Wiener (1931), the sole Ph.D. thesis on Nazism, by Scheunemann (1931), and the sole dictionary entry dealing with the NSDAP by jessen (1933). All these authors tried to write in an academic manner and to show the insufficiency of the economic programme of the NSDAP. Jessen was the only uncritical commentator: he even cited passages from Hitler’s Mein Kampf. Heberle later did empirical research on the election patterns and the success of the Nazis in the German Land of Schleswig-Holstein, but he could not publish these results before his exile to the USA (Heberle 1945). They will not be dealt with here, as they could not play any significant part in the German discussion.


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——(1933) ‘Die Konzentration des Wirtschaftslebens im faschistischen Staat’, Der Arbeitgeber, 23, 11/14:200–202. ——(1934) Freiheit und Faschismus, Leipzig. Meusel, A. (1931) ‘Faschismus. Sozialismus. Nationalisms’, Neue Blätter für den Sozialismus, 2, 6:277–287. Michel, E. (1933) ‘Die politische Front des Liberalismus und der religiōsen M chte in der Volks- und Staatskrise’, Morgen, 8, 6:445–463. Michels, R. (1924) ‘Der Aufstieg des Fascismus in Italien’, Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik, 52. (Reprinted in Michels 1987). ——(1925a) Sozialismus und Fascismus in Italien, M nchen. ——(1925b) ‘Erwiderung’ (Reply to Olberg 1925), Die Gesellschaft, 2, 2:191–192. ——(1926a) ‘Das neue Arbeitsgesetz in Italien’, Italienisch-Deutsche Handelskammer, Jahresbericht für 1925, Frankfurt/Main. ——(1926b) ‘Das neue Arbeitsgesetz in Italien’, Wirtschaftsdienst, 11, 33:1126–1134. ——(1928a) Wirtschaftliche und politische Betrachtungen zur alten und neuen Welt, Leipzig. ——(1928b) Review of Beckerath 1927, Weltwirtschaftliches Archiv, 27, I:130**– 131**. ——(1928c) Fascismus, Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, Handwōrterbuch für Theologie und Religionswissenschaft, T bingen, 2nd edn., vol. 2:524–529. ——(1929) Der Einfluss der faschistischen Arbeitsverfassung auf die Weltwirtschaft, Leipzig. ——(1930a) Italien von heute, Z rich. ——(1930b) ‘Die italienische Arbeitsverfassung’, Die Zeit, 1, 1:24–25. ——(1931/32) Review of Eschmann 1930a, Archiv für Rechts- und Wirtschaftsphilosophie, 25:277. ——(1934) ‘Zur weiteren Ausbildung des Korporativ-Systems in Italien’, Soziale Praxis, 43:19. ——(1987) Masse, Führer, Intellektuelle, Frankfurt/New York. Mierendorff, C. (1930) Gesicht und Charakter der Nationalsozialistischen Bewegung, Die Gesellschaft, 7, I:489–504. ——(1931) ‘Was ist der Nationalsozialismus’, Neue Blätter für den Sozialismus, 2, 4:149–154. Neisser, H. (1930) ‘Sozialstatistische Analyse des Wahlergebnisses’, Die Arbeit, 7, 10:654–659. Neumann, S. (1986) Die deutschen Parteien, 5th edn., Berlin (1st edn. Berlin 1932). Olberg, O. (1925) Review of Michels 1925, Die Gesellschaft, 2, I:588–589. Oppenheimer, F. (1933) ‘Staat und Nationalismus’, Der Morgen, 8, 6:438–444. R., P. [Peter Rhoden] (1928) Review of Mehlis 1928, Berichte der Deutschen Hochschule für Politik, 6, 4:88. Radt, J. (1931) ‘Das ōffentliche Recht im “Dritten Reich”’, Die Arbeit, 8, 3:195–200. Reupcke, H. (1931) Der Nationalsozialismus und die Wirtschaft, Berlin. Riemer, S. (1932a) ‘Zur Soziologie des Nationalsozialismus’, Die Arbeit, 9, 2:101–118. ——(1932b) ‘Mittelstand und sozialistische Politik’, Die Arbeit, 9, 5:265–272. Rosenstock, E. (1923) ‘Das Wesen des Fascismus’, Hochland, 20, 9:225–233. Salomon, G. (1933) ‘Der Totale Staat’, Der Morgen, 8, 6:422–432. Scheunemann, W. (1931) Der Nationalsozialismus, Ph.D. Dissertation, Berlin. Schmid, E. (1927) Die Arbeitgeberorganisationen in Italien, Ph.D. Dissertation, Z rich.


Schmitt, C. (1929) Review of Beckerath 1927, Schmollers Jahrbuch, 53, 1:1907–113. Schotthōfer, F. (1929) Review of Beckerath 1927, Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik, 61:419–422. Singer, K. (1932) ‘Die geistesgeschichtliche Bedeutung des italienischen Faschismus’, Schmollers Jahrbuch, 56, 6:363–381. Steinberg, W. (1926) ‘Die Auswirkung des Faschismus auf die soziale Struktur Italiens’, Wirtschaftliche Nachrichten für Rhein und Ruhr, 7, 6:157–159. Sternberg, F. (1932) Der Niedergang des deutschen Kapitalismus, Berlin. Strachwitz, M.L. Countess of (1932) Faschistische Sozialpolitik, Ph.D. Dissertation, Freiburg. Strele, K. (1929) Parlament und Regierung im faschistischen Italien, Innsbruck. T., K. (1927) Review of Beckerath 1927, Berichte der Deutschen Hochschule für Politik, 5, 4:49–50. Tatarin-Tarnheyden, E. (1926) Review of Michels 1925, Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik, 55:822–826. Thalheim, C.Chr. (1932) ‘Die Zukunft des Nationalsozialismus’, Die Hilfe, 38:24. Tillich, P. (1931) ‘Das Problem der Macht’, Neue Blätter für den Sozialismus, 2, 4:157– 170. Tönnies, F. (1931) ‘Parteipolitische Prognosen’, Die Arbeit, 8, 10:774–785. Vochting, F. (1927) Die Romagna, Karlsruhe. ——(1931a) ‘Italien von heute’ (Review of Michels 1930), Schmollers Jahrbuch, 55, 2:109–120. ——(1931b) ‘Die “Carta del Lavoro”’, Die Tat, 22, 12:997–1008. Weber, A. (1925) Die Krise des modernen Staatsgedankens in Europa, Berlin/Leipzig. Wichterich, R. (1932) Review of Michels 1930, Zeitschrift für Politik, 21:353–356. Wiener, M. (1931) Vom nationahozialistischen Wirtschaftsprogramm, Berlin. Wieser, F. (1925) ‘Die modernen Diktaturen’, Archiv für Rechts-und Wtrtschaftsphilosophie, 18. Wilson, M. (1982) Das Institut für Sozialforschung und seine Faschismusanalysen, Frankfurt/New York. Wittfogel, K.A. (1932a) ‘Die Demagogic der Frühprogramme des Faschismus’, Der rote Aufbau, 5, 16:730–741. ——(1932b) ‘Der Mystizismus des Faschismus’, Der rote Aufbau, 5, 21:977–985.

LIST OF THE SOCIAL-SCIENTIFIC AUTHORS PARTICIPATING IN THE DISCUSSION OF FASCISM AND NATIONAL SOCIALISM Albrecht, Gerhard (b.1889), Professor of Economics and Social Sciences, University of Jena Andreae, Wilhelm (b.1888), Professor of Finance, University of Graz (Austria) Beckerath, Erwin von (b.1889), Professor of Economics and Government, University of Cologne Bernhard, Ludwig (b.1875), Professor of Economics, University of Berlin Bonn, Moritz Julius (b.1873), Professor of Political Science, Business School of Berlin Borinski, Fritz (b.1903), University Assistant, University of Leipzig


Borkenau, Franz (b.1900), Full-time employee of the German Communist Party (KPD) until 1929 Briefs, Goetz (b.1889), Professor of Social Policy and Sociology, Technical University of Berlin Dirks, Walter (b.1900), Catholic writer Eckardt, Hans von (b.1890), Professor of Public Administration, University of Heidelberg Eckert, Christian (b.1874), Professor of Economics and Government, University of Cologne Eschmann, Ernst Wilhelm (b.1904), University Assistant to Alfred Weber, University of Heidelberg; Editor of the journal Die Tat Geiger, Theodor (b.1891), Professor of Sociology, Technical University of Braunschweig Gleitze, Bruno (no information available) Grabowsky, Adolf (b.1880), Dozent, Technical University of Berlin and Institute for Advanced Study of Government in Berlin Grünfeld, Judith (b.1888), Ph.D. Dissertation in Public Administration, University of Tübingen (1913) Hagemann, Walter (b.?), Ph.D. Dissertation in Philosophy, University of Berlin (1922) Heberle, Rudolf (b.1896), Privatdozent in Sociology, University of Kiel Heimann, Eduard (b.1889), Professor of Economics and Social Sciences, University of Hamburg Heinrich, Walter (b.1902), Privatdozent in Economics and Sociology Heller, Hermann (b.1891), Professor of Law, University of Frankfurt Hellpach, Willy (b.1871), Professor of Psychology, University of Heidelberg Hermens, Ferdinand Aloys (b.1906), University Assistant, Technical University of Berlin Hirschberg-Neumeyer, Margherita (no information available) Hüfner, Adam (b.?), Ph.D. Dissertation in Public Administration, University of Heidelberg (1930) Jessen, Jens (b.1896), Privatdozent of Economics, University of Göttingen Keiser, G nter (b.?), Ph.D. Dissertation in Philosophy, University of Jena (1931) Kogon, Eugen (b.1903), Editor of Catholic weeklies Lachmann, Ludwig (b.?), Ph.D. Dissertation in Public Administration, University of Berlin Landauer, Carl (b.1891), Professor of Economics, Business School of Berlin. Man, Hendrik de (b.1885), Lecturer of Social Psychology, University of Frankfurt Mannhardt, Johann Wilhelm (b.1883), Professor of Comparative Government and of the German groups in foreign countries and in the border areas (Grenz- und Auslandsdeutschtum), University of Marburg Mannzen, Walter (b.?), Ph.D. Dissertation in Public Administration, University of Kiel (1934) March, Siegfried (b.1889), Professor of Philosophy, University of Breslau Marschak, Jakob (b.1898), Professor of Economics, University of Heidelberg Mehlis, Georg (b.1878), Professor of Philosophy, University of Chiavari (Italy) Meusel, Alfred (b.1896), Professor of Economics and Sociology, University of Aachen Michel, Ernst (b.1889), Director of the Akademie der Arbeit, Frankfurt Michels, Robert(o) (b.1876), Professor of Sociology, University of Perugia (Italy)


Mierendorff, Carl (b.1897), Ph.D. Dissertation in Philosophy, University of Heidelberg (1923), journalist, SPD politician Neisser, Hans (b.1895), Privatdozent of Public Adminstration, University of Kiel Neumann, Sigmund (b.1904), Professor of Political Science, Institute for Advanced Study of Government in Berlin Oppenheimer, Franz (b.1864), Professor of Sociology, University of Frankfurt Radt, Jenny (no information available) Riemer, Svend (b.1905), University Assistant, University of Kiel Rosenstock, Eugen (b.1888), Professor of German Law and Sociology, University of Breslau Salomon, Gottfried (b.1896), Professor of Sociology, University of Frankfurt Scheunemann, Walther (b.?), Ph.D. Dissertation in Philosophy, University of Berlin (1931) Schmid, Emil (b.?), Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Zürich (1927) Schmitt, Carl (b.1888), Professor of Law, Higher Business School of Berlin Singer, Kurt (b.1886), Professor of Social Sciences, University of Hamburg Steinberg, Wilhelm (b.1893), Professor of Philosophy and Social Sciences, University of Breslau Sternberg, Fritz (b.1895), 1919–1923 University Assistant to Franz Oppenheimer, University of Frankfurt; freelance journalist Strachwitz, Maria Luise Gräfin von (b.?), Ph.D. Dissertation in Social Sciences, University of Freiburg Strele, Kurt (no information available) Thalheim, Karl-Christian (b.1900), Privatdozent of Economics, Business School of Leipzig Tillich, Paul (b.1886), Professor of Philosophy and Sociology, University of Frankfurt Tönnies, Ferdinand (b.1855), Professor of Sociology, University of Kiel Vöchting, Friedrich (b.1888), Privatdozent of Economics and Agrarian Sciences, University of Basel (Switzerland) Weber, Alfred (b.1868), Professor of Economics and Sociology, University of Heidelberg Wiener, Margarete (no information available) Wieser, Friedrich (b.1851), Professor of Economics, University of Vienna (Austria) Wittfogel, Karl August (b.1896), Member of the Institute for Social Research in Frankfurt

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5 SOCIAL-SCIENTIFIC EXPERTS—NO IDEOLOGUES Sociology and social research in the Third Reich Carsten Klingemann

The Nazi regime is usually seen as a totalitarian Führerstaat in which decisions were made exclusively in accordance with proclaimed ideology. But in reality the National Socialist state was an ‘authoritarian polycracy’ composed of many competing power sections with overlapping responsibilities. The mechanisms by which programmes were executed were not fully routinized, so the precise character of the authority of its various agencies was unclear. In the research domain, however, the mechanisms were those familiar to academics today: consulting fees, subsidies for research and publication, political influence over academic appointments, and the like. Many specifically Nazi state programmes required experts: lawyers, physicians, race theorists or eugenists, and social scientists also contributed to their development. Nor was this the case only for programmes motivated by specifically Nazi ideas. In general, governmental tasks became more and more complex, as a result of the Nazi policy of state intervention. Preparations for war, the war economy, and the administration of captured territories all contributed to the demand for experts. Because the regime had eliminated oppositional parties, free media, trade unions, other associations, interest groups and social movements, it was compelled to develop alternative sources of information and advice beyond the domain of public discussion. The Nazi party’s own Weltanschauung could not replace expert knowledge. The processing of decision-relevant information (political consultation, planning, prognosis) was thus taken over by experts, many of whom promptly offered their services after the seizure of power. Sociologists were among these experts. The sociologists who contributed were not typically engaged in attempts to realize the backward-looking and romantic aims of National Socialist ideology but rather with what amounted to the rationalization and modernization of social conditions. The policy of rearmament, war and expansion in particular depended on modernization, and the requirements of policy were often inconsistent with declared ideological dogma. Especially when the policies served to establish Germany as a world power, the technocrats of the National Socialist regime were able to establish many policies in spite of ideological resistance. The application of social-scientific knowledge and statistics was very successful. A comprehensive system of informational registration of the


population, the aim of which was to facilitate the imprisonment or ‘elimination’ of ‘social undesirable’ groups, and the ‘final solution of the social question’ in the course of building a ‘new society’, was constructed. These ‘applied’ tasks influenced the development of sociology. Sociology ‘modernized’ by becoming more intensely concerned with empirical social research. This development, in short, was not a product of the so-called ‘Americanization’ of sociology in the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG), as some historical accounts have suggested (Kern 1982). Rather, the early ‘empiricists’ of postwar sociology learned their trade before 1945, in connection with the social-scientific rationalization of National Socialist administration. The Holocaust was an element of a massive effort at planned social change and the transformation of the social structure which included the ‘final solution of the Jewish question’ (Aly and Roth 1984; Heim and Aly 1991). Sociologists were deeply involved in the implementation of the larger program. The designation ‘sociologist’ is not unproblematic in the case of these people, and this raises a broader historiographic question. Traditionally, studies of sociology under National Socialism have restricted enquiry to such topics as ways in which the theoretical direction of academic sociology changed, or the areas of sociology that ceased to be studied as a result of the expulsion and persecution after 1933 of Jews and ‘political undesirables’. These facts were used to support the contention that sociology was brutally brought to a total standstill in 1933 (R. König), or that only a ‘national’ (völkische) and pseudo- or anti-sociology continued to exist, and this contention in turn supported the idealization of sociology as an ‘oppositional science’ necessarily associated with enlightenment and emancipation. This chapter proceeds from the question of whether the success of sociology in complex societies might be the product of its functions of securing and perpetuating the status quo, whether a totalitarian regime based on a dynamic capitalist society would not inevitably have been forced to develop certain forms of social research and expertise. In the case of the National Socialist regime, this question reduces to a specific research problem: what were the reasons for the employment of professional sociologists and social researchers outside the university setting, and what effects did this have on university sociology and on other forms of institutionalized social research? It will be concluded that the National Socialist regime was a particular variant of modern social technocracy. The ‘normal’ aspects of social technocracy made the crimes possible; the Weltanschauung enabled them to become monstrosities. The participation of sociologists was one of the normal elements. Social scientists were numerous in the staffs and advisory boards of the National Socialist administration and, above all, played a role in new organizations, specific to the Nazi state. The careers of these people will provide the primary material for this study. This material points to another aspect of the question of ‘discontinuity’. According to legend, German sociology began anew in the Federal Republic in 1945. But at least eighty sociologists in the FRG were active in their field before

SOCIOLOGY AND SOCIAL RESEARCH IN THE THIRD REICH 127

1945. And at least thirty more scientists identified in the International Encyclopedia of Sociologists (Bernsdorf and Knospe 1980 and 1984) as sociologists worked in neighbouring disciplines after 1945. Not only was there continuity in personnel. Several social research institutions founded during the Nazi period became very successful after 1945, such as the Sociographical Institute at the University of Frankfurt, the Organization for Consumer Studies in Nuremberg, the Workgroup for Area Studies in Berlin, later called the Center for Area Studies and Regional Planning and located in Hanover, and the Research Group on Rural Populations in Gelsenkirchen which later became part of the well-known Social Research Center at the University of Munster in Dortmund. Social-scientific experts who had worked in fields like area studies, demography, or Eastern European studies before 1945 dominated these fields in the new FRG. Former members of the political economic class IV of the Academy for German Law, founded by the Governor General of occupied Poland, Hans Frank, became leading members of the advisory boards that designed the economic and social policy of Welfare Capitalism. In short the social-scientific infrastructure composed of scientists, their institutions, and contacts with the political-administrative apparatus that had been constructed during the Third Reich continued to develop after 1945. This of course is not how the story has usually been told: the social and political influence of certain famous social scientists, such as those of the Frankfurt School, has been taken as emblematic or representative, and their importance has been overestimated relative to these ‘practitioners’ who began their successful careers under National Socialism. In the first decades after the Second World War, it was not the critical tradition of the social sciences, with its slow and sparse development, but the activism of the quantitative sociologists with professional experiences gained in the Third Reich that dominated sociology, sometimes with the help of the former exiles. The social racist Karl Valentin M ller, for example, received public financing for his Institute for Empirical Sociology in the beginning of the 1950s, helped by a scientific and political clean bill of health (Persilschein) given by Max Horkheimer himself. THE EMIGRATION OF GERMAN SOCIOLOGISTS AND ‘REICHSSOZIOLOGIE’ The exile of many German sociologists can only cursorily be dealt with here, though it is central to the myth of the disappearance of sociology under National Socialism. After the Nazi seizure of power, laws were enacted and administrative measures taken to dismiss Jewish as well as politically undesirable civil servants. These actions affected Jewish sociologists and the few sociologists who fell into the category of political undesirables.1 The Frankfurt School has been widely used to reinforce the argument that only the best in the tradition of German sociology was expelled. But the members of this school did not regard themselves as ‘sociologists’, and, on the contrary, campaigned against the idea of a purely ‘disciplinary’ sociology. Their relation to


sociology has varied with the rhetorical purposes of commentators. In the postwar years René König expressly excluded them from the community of sociologists, treating them as tendentious and speculative philosophers of society.2 As late as 1960, König also attacked Karl Mannheim and Siegfried Landshut (emigrants, like himself), considering them to be among the social-scientific gravediggers of the Weimar Republic. Twenty years later, he exalted them as the men on whom Weimar sociology had pinned its hopes and who in their capacity as sociologists had been removed by the Nazis (Klingemann 1985:369–371). This is grossly misleading. Sociologists were not driven away because they were part of a discipline detested by the Nazis.3 The phrase ‘Jewish sociology’, it may be noted, was applied less by National Socialist officials than by the ambitious anti-Semites of the discipline itself, such as Richard Thurnwald. ACADEMIC SOCIOLOGY AFTER 1933: A SHORT SUMMARY Marxist sociology and other ‘critical’ approaches disappeared from German-academic sociology after 1933 as a consequence of the expulsion of sociologists who were Jewish or ‘political undesirables’. A broad spectrum of sociological themes and areas of research nevertheless remained. In addition to the established centres of academic sociology in Berlin, Frankfurt, Hamburg, Heidelberg, Cologne, and Leipzig, sociologists continued to teach at more than a dozen other universities within German-dominated territory, including such places as Prague, Strasbourg, and Vienna. Among these academic sociologists were some who were primarily concerned with traditional themes, including quite esoteric ones, and others who produced nothing more than quasi-sociological Weltanschauung pamphlets or programmatic (and verbally radical) formulations of ‘Community of the People’ sociology (Rammstedt 1986). Traditional scholarly sociology thus did indeed decline. But the spectrum of empirical social research concerned directly with social policy problems became increasingly broad and well-developed, especially in the areas of rural sociology, urban sociology, demography, sociology of the economy and industry, and political sociology (Schuster and Schuster 1984). Academic sociology based in the universities after 1933 thus was renovated through processes of extra-university professionalization and by an orientation towards ‘useful’ empirical social research geared towards themes that became relevant for the policies of the Nazi regime. All of this was quite unknown to traditional German academic scholarship. The first chair in Volkstumssoziologie was established at the University of Jena in 1933. In early 1940, Karl Seiler ascended to a newly established chair in sociology at the Academy of the Social Sciences in Nuremberg—after he had done research projects in rural sociology financed by the Workgroup for Area Studies, an agency to be discussed at length in this chapter. Even in Frankfurt, from which the members of the famous Institute for Social Research as well as Karl Mannheim


and other Jewish sociologists had been expelled, there were new beginnings: the Frankfurt sociologist Professor Heinz Marr organized a Working Group for Social Science which developed a programme geared to providing social scientific advice and service to firms, administrative agencies and Nazi institutions in the Frankfurt region. Although the Working Group for Social Science only partially realized its aims, it supported some academic theses and dissertations (Klingemann 1990b). The Sociographical Institute of the University of Frankfurt, however, became very successful (Klingemann 1989, 1991). The Sociology Department at the University of Cologne, under Leopold von Wiese, in addition to continuing its traditional version of sociology, also began to perform empirical social research oriented to ‘practice’. Willy Gierlichs, the second professor of sociology in Cologne and a Nazi activist, supervised diploma theses and Ph.D. dissertations that dealt with volkspolitische questions and other problems that were salient to the Nazi regime. Von Wiese himself supervised seminar papers and dissertations produced as part of an official research project financed by the state administrator of Trier on the situation of future generations in the agrarian sector of the region of Trier (Klingemann 1988b). The Sociology Department of the University of Hamburg, under its professor Andreas Walther, had substantial success after 1933. Walther’s research in the area of urban sociology, based on the methodological approach he learned from the Chicago School, came to be regarded as socially and politically valuable. Walther and his collaborators produced a comprehensive and very detailed social cartography of some quarters of Hamburg that had been defined as areas dangerous to the community (gemeinschädigende Regionen), analysing, down to the level of individual streets, rates of social deviance and political dissidence. Walther used data from the Social Welfare Administration, and added to it with field research undertaken by twelve of his assistants. His social mapping was to be used as preparation for measures of a large-scale ‘sanitization’, involving the preventive eradication (Ausmerzung) of so-called socially dangerous people (gemeinschädliche Personen), of the Hamburg slums. The plan was never carried out (Roth 1986). But the maps indirectly contributed to city planning in Hamburg, the Führerstadt (Pahl-Weber and Schubert 1987). Under the Nazis Walther was able to demonstrate something that in the democratic order of the Weimar Republic he was unable to—that empirical research in sociology could be policy-relevant. Policy relevance requires policies to be relevant to. A regime in which the ‘solution of the social question’ included the eradication of socially undesirable people provided Walther’s opportunity and he succeeded in securing a place for his brand of sociology. His success was made evident when he asked to retire in 1944, and the Faculty of Philosophy of the University of Hamburg tried to switch this chair to another discipline. Walther opposed this. He mobilized his colleagues and allies, got a vote from the academic senate in his support, and also received the support of the rector. The Nazi Partei-Kanzlei, apparently at the instigation of the Berlin sociologist and Dozentenbundführer, Schering, also intervened at the Ministry for Science Education and Adult Education to save the chair for sociology. In early


1945 the Ministry, to block the strategy of the Faculty of Philosophy, proposed that Walther should be appointed deputy of his chair (Wassner 1985, 1986). Leipzig sociologists, around Hans Freyer, established the practical utility of sociology by their empirically oriented research in rural sociology on rural labour problems. Freyer also made some visible attempts to curry ideological favour. He tried to introduce the idea of a ‘political semester’ to be required of all students. The enthusiasm of some party representatives for this idea proved to be short-lived, for his concept was not really compatible with party indoctrination. Empirical research was a more successful means of securing support (Muller 1987). Studies on the rural exodus, developed in cooperation with the special envoy of the Leader of the Farmers of the Reich (Sonderbeauftragter des Reichsbauernführers für Landarbeiterfragen), contributed to the regulatory and administrative process. Among other sponsored research was work on sociological area studies. Leipzig was an important scientific training centre, which served various purposes. Ph.D. dissertation theses were very heterogeneous: on the one hand we find Nazi functionaries who received degrees for ideological pamphlets (Sch fer 1990); on the other hand there were many dissertations in which politically neutral themes were given serious scholarly treatment, and many more that dealt empirically with concrete problems. The Department of Social Science and Government of the University of Heidelberg, usually identified with the name of Alfred Weber, who had been dismissed in 1933, also turned to practically oriented empirical research during the Third Reich. Alfred Weber’s former co-director, Carl Brinkmann, who became the sole director, had started a few empirical social research projects before 1933, supported, until 1935, by the Rockefeller Foundation. The Workgroup for Area Studies and the Central Office for Regional Administration (Reichsstelle für Raumordnung) continued the funding. The emphasis of this sponsored research, which continued until the appointment of Brinkmann to the University of Berlin in 1943, was on the areas of rural sociology, urban sociology, and sociological area studies. The research was closely related to the reorganization plans of the Nazi regime for Western Europe as well as for the newly conquered Eastern territories. The plans, of course, included the expulsion and annihilation of the population in these territories. At the Heidelberg Department of Social Science and Government many Nazi functionaries received Ph.Ds, from Arnold Bergstraesser (who was later forced into emigration when it was found that he was ‘non-Aryan’) and from Brinkmann (Klingemann 1990a). In Berlin, the work of the older generation, including Kurt Breysig, Richard Thurnwald, and Werner Sombart, continued. Franz Alfred Six, who took his second doctorate under the supervision of Arnold Bergstraesser and who had become a high-ranking officer of the SS, initiated in 1940 the foundation of the Faculty for Foreign Studies of the University of Berlin, which served as a centre of applied sociology within which young sociologists (especially from Heidelberg and Leipzig) could continue their careers. Sociologists had previously been employed at the German School of Advanced Political Studies, which in 1933


was placed under the control of the Ministry of Popular Enlightenment and Propaganda. This was one predecessor to the Faculty for Foreign Studies, which was under the direct control of the SS. The Faculty for Foreign Studies specialized in the training of qualified experts on foreign countries. Its Institute for Foreign Studies (originally part of the Fakultät and later an official state institution with its own budget) became an agency that specialized in policy advice in the overall area of foreign affairs for the Third Reich. In addition to serving as experts in psychological warfare these social scientists were expected to contribute to the expansion of information, analysis, and expertise in all areas of foreign affairs. The sociologists who taught in the Faculty for Foreign Studies were, as a rule, simultaneously section heads (Abteilungsleiter) in the Institute for Foreign Studies: the arrangement was a highly advanced combination of academic activity with extra-academic professionalization. The role of academic sociology in the scientific preparation, planning, and even the execution of the policies of the Nazi state evolved through the creation of institutes. There were institutes ‘at’ a university—and not ‘of’ a university— financed for example by foundations, such as the Sociographical Institute at the University of Frankfurt, or some private societies, like the Working Group for Social Science (Frankfurt), or the Organization for Consumer Studies (Nuremberg), which either received permanent or project-related support from Nazi agencies. There were other institutions, like the Institute for Studies of Borders and Foreign Areas (Klingemann 1989) or the Reinhard-Heydrich Foundation in Prague which did not formally belong to any university, but in reality were institutions for empirical social research which cooperated closely, in terms of staff and research aims, with nearby universities. They relied less on permanent staff and were, like the Heydrich Foundation, directly dependent on the SS. The Institute for Government Research in the University of Berlin, for example, could, because of the friendship of its directors with the Reichsführer SS, Heinrich Himmler, draw freely on the resources of the Office for the Strengthening of the German Peoples (i.e. outside the borders of Germany). The Institute for Foreign Studies at the University of Berlin held a particularly powerful position as an official state institution. The Scientific Research Institute of the Official German Trade Union in Berlin commissioned research projects for sociologists, gave them temporary positions so that they could continue to pursue an academic career, and, in the case of younger scientists without university opportunities, offered them the possibility of permanent positions. In short, academic sociology at those universities that engaged in ‘practical’ work were well integrated into the scientific planning apparatus of the Nazi state. THE GERMAN SOCIOLOGICAL SOCIETY (DGS) During the Weimar Republic the German Sociological Society organized seven sociological conventions (K sler 1983). It promoted the expansion of the profession, but without much success. Not only was academic sociology not


systematically institutionalized before 1933, the DGS played no significant role in the eyes of the general public (K sler 1984; Stōlting 1986). In August 1933 the German Sociological Society pursued its own ‘cleansing’ (Säuberung) in anticipation of action from outside. It used the phrase ‘for reasons of suspension or emigration abroad’ in a decree restricting re-election of members of its council to those not covered by this phrase. This decree was revoked on the demand of the grand old man of German sociology, Ferdinand Tönnies, but the revocation had no concrete consequences. Both the secretary of the association, Leopold von Wiese, and Werner Sombart tried by a voluntary transformation to conformity with Nazism (Selbstgleichschaltung) to prevent an attempted seizure of power by a group of National Socialist sympathizers around the Jena sociologist Reinhard Hōhn. Höhn was an influential member of the security service of the SS (the SD). Neither side succeeded: a compromise candidate, Hans Freyer, was selected as the new ‘Führer’ of the German sociologists. He attempted to affiliate the German Sociological Society with the Academy for German Law, but when this failed the DGS ceased to exist (Klingemann 1986b; Pasemann 1985).4 The community of German sociologists was not shocked by these events. Many of those who had stayed in Germany tolerated, approved or even applauded the expulsion of Jewish and ‘politically undesirable’ social scientists: the expulsions were accompanied by nearly two dozen programme papers about the future of German sociology which reflected these attitudes (Klingemann 1981, 1986a). Leopold von Wiese, one of the most prominent representatives of German sociology, stated his readiness to cooperate with the new regime, and reiterated this in several subsequent articles. The Bonn philosopher and sociologist Erich Rothacker not only published a programme for a ‘National Sociology’, he was even briefly the leader of the department of education of the people (Volksbildung) in the Ministry of Popular Enlightenment and Propaganda. Rothacker proposed, among other things, the creation of social science research institutions under the guidance of the government to the Reichs Ministry of the Interior. This initiative was stillborn (Klingemann 1990c). The public campaign against the established ‘liberal’ sociology was led ‘from below’ by Reinhard Höhn. The Jenaer Soziologentreffen in Spring 1934, organized by him, was celebrated by two articles in the official Nazi party paper, the Völkischer Beobachter, as a proof of the successful reorientation of German sociology in the form of the new ‘Communal Sociology’ propagated by Höhn. With this, the public image of sociology, previously attacked as Jewish, Marxist and liberal, changed. But none of this image manipulation influenced the everyday academic life of sociology and its concrete work. NATIONAL SOCIALIST SCIENCE AND UNIVERSITY POLICY AGAINST SOCIOLOGY? SOCIAL


SCIENTISTS AS UNIVERSITY POLITICIANS AND CONTROLLERS OF SCIENCE With the creation of the Ministry for Science, Education and Adult Education in the Spring of 1934, the regime had a national science policy organization. Reinhard Höhn became very influential in it. But the ministry had no policy for university sociology, and the political position of the minister was weak. Höhn soon became director of the SS-protected Institute for Government Research of the University of Berlin, which provided another outlet for his energies. The humanities and social sciences were not heavily regulated; universities and faculties had significant discretion. After the departure of Höhn, personnel policy for the humanities and the social sciences was formulated by Professor Heinrich Harmjanz, who had pleaded in his second doctorate (Habititationsschrift) for sociologically oriented ‘research on the German people’ (Volkskunde). Harmjanz was a friend of a leading sociologist of the time, Gunther Ipsen, and together they published the Journal for Volkskunde. Harmjanz, in a letter to the author, had said that sociology as a discipline had not been exposed to particular ministerial pressure, for example with respect to habilitations in sociology. There is no evidence against his assertion. The Ministry for Science, Education and Adult Education did exert influence, as did the Official University Teachers Organization, the Official Student Union, and the Rosenberg Office (see below), which contained a Central Office for Sociology, and they all tried to the best of their abilities ideologically to ‘cleanse’ science. But the effects of these efforts were limited. Social scientists soon realized that if they generally respected certain ideological-political limits, they could present themselves as scientific experts without proclaiming the Nazi Weltanschauung. This is not to deny the existence of ideological influences on academic science, but to make a point about the manner in which this influence took place: only when local academic ‘leaders’ or ambitious denouncers formulated a special ‘German’ version of their discipline, could they engage the support of the responsible higher institutions. Some of these institutions need to be examined separately. The Amt Rosenberg The Rosenberg Office was led by Alfred Rosenberg (often characterized as chief-ideologue of the Nazis) in his capacity as ‘Special Envoy of the Führer for the Control of the Complete Spiritual and Ideological Training and Education of the Party’ (Der Beauftragte des Führers für die Uberwachung der gesamten geistigen und weltanschaulichen Schulung und Erziehung der NSDAP). He had been appointed to this position in January 1934. Rosenberg built up an office of ideological control with many departments. In spite of its large staff, because of competition with other institutions, such as the Official Party Control Commission for the Protection of Nazi Literature (which we will deal with later), the influence


of the Rosenberg Office was limited. The basis for some of the constraints is made clear in a letter of December 1939 from Martin Bormann, leader of the Partei-Kanzlei, to the guardian of the Nazi Weltanschauung, Alfred Rosenberg, as Special Envoy of the Führer. In this letter, it becomes very clear that the National Socialist administration did not rely on ideological experts but on expert scientific advice: As you know, the ‘Stellvertreter des Führers’ gave his assent to the incorporation of the German School of Advanced Political Studies into the Faculty for Foreign Studies some time ago. To a great extent, the German School of Advanced Political Studies has lost its former tasks. Hence, at the new institute there will not be additional space for an ideological and political training to the extent I assume you have in mind. The task of the Faculty for Foreign Studies is the education of scientists with expert knowledge on foreign countries. But it is not its task to educate new staff politically. Hence I am of the opinion that the Faculty for Foreign Studies is not the right place for the realization of the plans you have in mind and which can be realized at the ‘Hohe Schule’ of the NSDAP, and therefore I would like to ask you to abstain from your demand to take over the protectorate. (Bormann 1939) The point is clear: expertise and indoctrination are separate domains. Rosenberg’s attempts to advance the ideological position beyond the party, into the academic sector, were not very successful. Some social scientists were criticized by the Rosenberg Office for their Weltanschauung and were in consequence not employed in the party-training apparatus, and some applicants to academic positions in universities were declared unqualified on political-ideological grounds. The Rosenberg Office enjoyed some success in controlling the area of Volkskunde in the university system and in the extra-university areas. Nevertheless, Rosenberg’s attempt to establish a genuinely Nazi science within the partly cooperative traditional system of science failed. Although many social scientists were active within the Rosenberg Office, as they later were active in the Ministry for the Occupied Eastern Territories (Reichsministerium für die besetzten Ostgebiete), also headed by Rosenberg after 1941, his influence on the social sciences was small. The ideological censors of the Rosenberg Office were eager to give verdicts on the social scientists who were to be hired as lecturers for party functions, and sometimes discerned a lack of ideological firmness. But they were not prejudiced against sociology as such. Indeed, the various offices of the Rosenberg Office relied on cooperative sociologists like Wilhelm Emil M hlmann for expert advice, and employed, on a full-time basis, Peter von Werder, specialist in the sociology of ethnological topics, and Kurt Utermann who was subsequently social researcher at Dortmund. Among the other scholars who served the Rosenberg Office were


the philosopher and sociologist Gerhard Lehmann, and Helmut Schelsky (Sch fer 1990), who were readers for the Book Department of the Agency for the Support of German Literature (Reichsstelle zur Förderung des deutschen Schrifttums); this unit also engaged such social scientists as Arnold Gehlen, Gunther Ipsen, Otto Kühne, Karl Heinz Pfeffer, Karl C.Thalheim and Max Rumpf. The influence of the Reichsstelle was, however, limited to selecting material for party libraries and party training. There were other relationships as well. Carl August Emge, philosopher and sociologist of law and the scientific leader of the Academy for German Law, was the permanent representative of the Schopenhauer Society to the Rosenberg Office. The warm relationship between the professor of philosophy Alfred Baeumler, leader of the Central Office of Scholarship of the Rosenberg Office, and the philosopher and sociologist Eduard Baumgarten was used extensively and successfully by Baumgarten in his various quarrels with National Socialist colleagues. The Central Office for Sociology in the Rosenberg Office was led by Wilhelm Longert, an adherent and propagator of the views of the Vienna sociologist Othmar Spann. He quickly distanced himself from Spann when Spann fell from grace, and subsequently provided the security service of the SS with information on Spann and his supporters (Siegfried 1974). At the Central Office for Sociology Longert produced numerous evaluations of university teachers of various disciplines and interfered in the granting of positions to sociologists. But the pomposity of the designation of his department as Central Office for Sociology of the Office of Science Planning in the Central Office of Scholarship was inversely proportional to his power over sociology in the Third Reich. In any case, his additional responsibilities in other offices in the Rosenberg Office—especially in the field of economics—kept him from pursuing any effective policy with regard to the social sciences. Like all the other members of the Rosenberg Office who were engaged in science policy, Longert was occupied primarily with protecting the ‘real’ doctrine of National Socialism against ‘falsifications’ produced by eager scholars who were of the opinion that they had been called to make a personal contribution to the refinement of the Nazi Weltanschauung. In at least one case the ideological control which Longert exerted led to the abrupt end of a career. But it was not a politically insubordinate university teacher: it was Heinrich Harmjanz, in charge of the recruiting policy of the Ministry in the areas of the social sciences and at the same time head of a department of an institution called ‘The Ancestral Heritage’, which was the Teaching and Research Society of the SS. This organization did not only deal with the prehistory of Germanic cults, as its name suggests, but supported a comprehensive natural scientific research program, including the infamous Institute for Research for Military Use (Institut für wehrwissenschaftliche Zweckforschung), known especially for its medical experiments on humans. This organization also had no prejudice against sociologists as such. With the explicit support of the Reichsführer SS, Heinrich Himmler, two sociologists of language, whose work


was expected to be of great value for the Nazi ‘Strengthening of the People’ policy, were supported by it. Harmjanz, who was professor of Research on German Peoples (Volksforschung) at the University of Frankfurt, fell foul of Alfred Rosenberg because he ignored Rosenberg’s claim to a monopoly on Research on German Peoples; and because he had quarrelled with Rosenberg’s collaborators in the Society for Research on German Peoples. Longert knew of an evaluation that the ethno-sociologist Wilhelm Emil M hlmann had written on the French sociologists Emile Durkheim and Henry Lévy-Bruhl for the Central Office for Scholarship of the Rosenberg Office, and he was acquainted with the work of the late Vienna sociologist Franz Jerusalem. Longert alleged that Harmjanz, in his inaugural dissertation, had plagiarized from these three Jewish sociologists. For this Harmjanz, who had long been protected by Himmler, was tried before the ‘court of honor’ of the SS and expelled from membership. He then surrendered his position in the ministry and went into the Army. But the administrative need for social-scientific data and information set a limit to ideological control. Consider the case of Max Hildebert Boehm, a well-known anti-Semite long before 1933, who is often regarded as the typical Nazi sociologist. Shortly after the Nazi seizure of power he was given a chair of ‘Sociology of the Volk’ at the University of Jena in October 1933. He had belonged to the group within the German Sociological Society which had attempted the overthrow of the established leadership. This estimate of Boehm is confirmed by the ethno-political activities of his Institute for Studies of Borders and Foreign Areas in Berlin during the Weimar Republic and the Third Reich (Klingemann 1989). Boehm was regional leader of the Nazi Organization to Protect the Law (NS-Rechtswahrerbund) as well as a member of the Academy for German Law and sustaining member of the SS. His application for membership in the Nazi party of 1937 had been forwarded by the regional head as part of a collective application for membership of prominent persons. But his acceptance as a party member was successfully prevented by Alfred Rosenberg—together with his major ally in the area of scholarship, Professor Alfred Baeumler. Boehm, who even before 1933 had attacked Rosenberg for his ‘pseudo-religious blood mystique’, had been denounced by local party members. Apart from its treatment of Jews, the Volkstheorie of Boehm, based on research on minorities in Europe, could not be made to accord with Nazi racial policy, for example, its exclusion of the Slavs. The ‘leader’ of German university teachers (Reichsdozentenbundführer) and the security main office (Sicherheitshauptamt) of the SS also raised objections to Boehm. In 1938 Boehm withdrew his membership application. Subsequent, and quite protracted, attempts by the regional Nazi leader, ‘Gauleiter’ Sauckel, to enable Boehm and ten more professors to join the party failed. Nevertheless, Rosenberg commissioned research from Boehm’s Institute for Studies of Borders and Foreign Areas because, in his capacity as Minister of the Occupied Eastern Territories (Minister für die besetzten Ostgebiete), he needed social-scientific expert knowledge. Boehm’s other customers included the


Foreign Office, the Central Security Office (Reichssicherheitshauptamt), and the supreme command of the Army (Klingemann 1989). Boehm participated in meetings of various boards of the Academy for German Law. In 1938 he received an order to perform an official survey of the possibilities for politico-cultural activities in Eastern European countries. This career is indicative of the general pattern of opportunities for social scientists in the Third Reich: the scientist as producer of ideology was a potential threat to the ‘true’ doctrine of National Socialism, while the social-scientific expert who possessed a monopoly of information is sought out. The Dozentenbund The Dozentenbund was established in 1935 as an autonomous section within the party. It had originated as a subordinate section within the Teachers Union (Nationalsozialistischer Lehrerbund). The local representatives of the Nationalsozialistischer Deutscher Dozentenbund (the National Socialist Docent League), and of the University Instructors League (Dozentenschaft),were if possible to ‘lead’ the teaching staff of the university in personal union as official representatives. Particularly after 1945, they were presented as omnipotent arbiters of academic careers. This enabled university teachers to describe their own compliant behaviour as the inevitable result of brutal force. German sociologists who remained in their positions during the Nazi era were also eager to depict sociology as a discipline that had suffered especially from this control. But the hostility of the Dozentenbund to sociology is doubtful. The prominent sociologists Arnold Gehlen, Carl Jantke, and Eduard Willeke (who, like Jantke, was a collaborator in the Social Research Institute of Dortmund), the military sociologist Walther M.Schering, the rural sociologist Hellmut Wollenweber, the industrial sociologists Johannes Gerhardt and Walter Herrmann, Karl Günzel and Willy Klutentreter, all were active and held high positions in the Dozentenbund and the Dozentenschaft. The sociologist of sport and family, Gerd Cehak, had been an officer (Gefolgschaftsführer) at the Institute for Sport. The rural historian G nther Franz, contributor to the newly established sociological journal Volksspiegel, founded in 1934, and after 1945 co-editor of the Zeitschrift für Agrargeschichte und Agrarsoziologie, taught at a Docent political training school (Dozentenakademie). Walter Beck, social psychologist and sociologist, was an official of the working group on psychology (Fachschaftskreis Psychologie) which in 1937 had planned the cooperation of the Berlin universities in the Dozentenbund. Gardy Gerhard Veltzke, who worked in 1933 and 1934 at the university office of the SA in Berlin, in 1936 and 1937 became leader of the School of the Office for Scholarship within the Youth Administration (Reichsschule des Amtes Wissenschaft der Reichsjugendführung). From 1937 to 1939 he had worked as assistant to Carl Brinkmann at the Department of Social Science and Government at the University of Heidelberg, and was in 1944 personal secretary


of the Chief Officer of the Docent League (Reichsdozentenführer) and later employed by it. In 1934, in order to strengthen the ideological resolve of the new generation of university teachers, attendance at courses at a Dozenten School or a Dozenten Camp were required of all ‘habilitated’ persons seeking a venia legendi, or licence to teach. The Ministry for Science, Education and Adult Education realized very soon that this form of ideological control would not produce a National Socialist science. Consequently in 1938 the last Dozenten Camp given in connection with the Dozenten School was closed. The responsibilities and organization of this unit had changed several times and the duration of courses had continually decreased. The local leader of the Dozentenbund at a given university was expected to become the leader of the official Dozentenschaft, in order to achieve complete control of university teachers. This aim, however, could never be realized, not least due to the fact that the position of the local Dozentenbundführer was never regarded as a very attractive post for an established university professor—though in a very small number of exceptional cases the position was held by a prominent scholar. More often it was held by a younger scholar. The power of the Dozentenführer was in fact quite limited. The Privatdozent Willy Gierlichs, a sociologist at the University of Cologne, headed the Cologne foreign office of the Dozentenbund and had been very active in the NSDAP. His teacher and mentor, Leopold von Wiese, together with the Dozentenführer had filed several applications to promote Gierlichs to full professor. The faculty nevertheless was able for many years to prevent his promotion (Klingemann 1988b). Although the local representatives and the Dozentenbund could make the lives of individual university professors quite difficult, and in some cases advance careers, the Dozentenbund as an institution was never able effectively to Nazify the universities. Those scientists who wished to work in accordance with the Nazi Weltanschauung and Nazi politics did not need to be convinced. Others remained indifferent or even resisted. Others continued their scientific work successfully without making any overt ideological concessions to Nazism. In early 1943, Martin Bormann, the leader of the Party Council, asked for the dissolution of the Dozentenbund. Although the recruitment policy of the Dozentenbund was oriented strictly towards party ends and participation reflected opportunism, the participation of social scientists was disproportionately large, relative to their numbers in the university. SOCIOLOGY RESPONDS TO FASCISM SOCIOLOGISTS IN CENSORSHIP, INTERNAL SECURITY, AND RELATED AGENCIES The Official Party Control Commission for the Protection of Nazi Literature (PPK) also concerned itself with sociology. Founded in April 1934, the PPK was originally set up to ensure that only literature that had been accepted by them, and included in the Nazi bibliography (Nationalsozialistische Bibliographie),


published monthly, could call itself ‘national socialistic’. The reason for this commission was the fact that after 1933 a great efflorescence of ‘National Socialist’ literature had developed. The PPK, with its more than one hundred full-time employees, like other agencies tried successfully to enlarge its realm of competence. Dissertations in the social sciences that dealt with explicit themes of the Nazi movement or the Nazi state had to be approved by the PPK prior to publication. Not only fresh Ph.Ds in sociology tried to have their publications listed in this bibliography but even established sociologists fought for the inclusion of their work. Here and elsewhere the PPK was in bitter bureaucratic competition with the Rosenberg Office. By means of a treaty with the Chamber of Culture (Reichskulturkammer), which was controlled by the Ministry of Popular Enlightenment and Propaganda, the PPK was empowered to ban certain books. In the course of the war, however, the full-time staff of the PPK diminished measurably. Many sociologists can be found among the volunteer ‘readers’ for the PPK. One sociological insider, Gerhard Kr ger, held a leading position there. Kr ger was granted his Ph.D. for a thesis on ‘Students and Revolution’ supervised by the Leipzig sociologist Hans Freyer. He was the chief reader at the Bibliographisches Institut in Leipzig and was responsible for the new edition of Meyers Lexikon and for the inclusion of the (surprisingly large number) of competent articles in Meyers Lexikon dealing with sociologists and sociology. Another reader in the Parteiamtliche Prüfungskommission was Kleo Pleyer, who in 1926/27 had been assistant to Max Hildebert Boehm and was a lecturer in history and sociology at the German School of Advanced Political Studies in Berlin from 1930 to 1933. Among the other readers in the Parteiamtliche Prüfungskommission were the assistant to the Königsberg sociologist Gunther Ipsen, Helmut Haufe, and the Vienna social scientist Franz Ronneberger, who worked for other National Socialist organizations as well. In some contexts censorship was welcome. The various institutions such as the Rosenberg Office, the Parteiamtliche Prüfungskommission, the supreme command of the Wehrmacht, the Youth Organization (Reichsjugendführer), the Foreign Office and other ministries and authorities were routinely asked to censor whenever issues of National Socialist ideology, the party, the government, and in particular questions concerning foreign or domestic policy or the military had been dealt with in social-scientific dissertations, or when official data had been used. Many people who received doctorates were deeply disappointed if the thesis was judged to be nothing world-shaking or ‘war-important’, so that it was not classified as ‘confidential’ and therefore they had to donate the deposit copies of their dissertation. The SS security service (Sicherheitsdienst der SS), the SD, also had a direct impact on the policy of the Ministry for Science, Education and Adult Education. The SS security service, as a party organization, had developed into the relevant control-institution for the state-run Security Police (Sicherheitspolizei), which comprised the Geheime Staatspolizei (Gestapo), the criminal police, and the


border police. After the creation of the Central Security Office (RSHA) in 1939, the various party and state organizations were formally integrated. The SD originally functioned as an internal state secret service, but after 1937 was also engaged in external espionage. In the RSHA these tasks were distributed among the ‘Amt III (SD-Inland)’ and the ‘Amt VI (SD-Ausland)’. Although executive duties were originally reserved for the Gestapo, the SD ultimately became engaged in them as well. The SD-Einsatzgruppen participated in the killing of hundreds of thousands in the occupied territories. The ‘SD-Inland’ had a task that the suppression of public criticism by the Nazi regime indirectly produced, the task of assessing public opinion. It produced thousands of detailed reports, contributed by hundreds of informants throughout the Reich. These reports (Lebensgebietberichterstattung, Lageberichte, and the Meldungen aus dem Reich) were in effect an instrument of public opinion research. They were designed by Reinhard Höhn, mentioned above, a Ph.D. in jurisprudence and a former assistant to a professor of sociology at the University of Jena. Höhn later became a high-ranking SS officer and professor at the University of Berlin. Sociologists were also active in various branches of the SD and the RSHA as experts on questions relating to Eastern Europe and south-eastern Europe, and contributed to research on the enemy (Gegnerforschung), to the control of scholarship by the ‘SD-Inland’ and the ‘SD-Ausland’, and worked in the ‘Amt VII’ for the Analysis Branch (Weltanschauliche Forschung und Auswertung) of the RSHA. As head of a main department of the SD, Höhn had responsibility for cultural affairs. From 1934 to the beginning of 1937 he intimidated officials of the Ministry for Science, Education and Adult Education; but his SD career was stopped through intrigue, on the grounds of past ideological faux pas. During his period of influence as the new director of the Institute for Government Research at the University of Berlin (from 1935), and as a personal friend of Heinrich Himmler (who continued to allow his rise in the SS hierarchy), he promoted sociological work and projects. In 1944, following the orders of his successor in the SD, Otto Ohlendorf, who was not only in charge of the ‘SD-Inland’ but at the same time also Secretary of State of the Reich Ministry of Economics, Höhn organized a meeting of fifteen social scientists. Max Hildebert Boehm gave the main paper and Franz Ronneberger an accompanying lecture. Other participants, including Ronneberger, Hans-Joachim Beyer, Karl Valentin Muller, and Karl Heinz Pfeffer, became, like Boehm, well-known sociologists in the postwar era. Friedrich Wagner, cousin of the notorious Karl Heinz Pfeffer, was also active in SD control of scholarship. Wagner studied at the Heidelberg Department of Social Science and Government and received his doctorate there in 1934 under the supervision of Arnold Bergstraesser. In 1938 he was habilitated under Ernst Krieck, who is generally regarded as the prototypical Nazi philosophy professor. Afterwards, in addition to various positions in National Socialist organizations, Wagner was made a lecturer in ‘Political Philosophy and Government’ at the University of Heidelberg. Between November 1940 and April 1943 he was a


full-time employee of the SD Munich Main Office as a referee for its office Wissenschaft und Hochschule, Schule und Erziehung. He then became lecturer and later held a chair in the Philosophy of the State and Culture (Staats- und Kulturphilosophie) in the Faculty for Foreign Studies of the University of Berlin. The founder and dean of this faculty was, as mentioned above, Franz Alfred Six, another student of Arnold Bergstraesser and a high-ranking officer in the SS. In addition, Wagner retained an honorary affiliation with the ‘Amt VII’ or Analysis Branch (Weltanschauliche Forschung und Auswertung) of the Central Security Office (RSHA), also led by Six. The liaison officer (Verbindungsführer) of the Central Security Office to the Partei-Kanzlei was an SS-Obersturmbannführer and senior officer in the Civil Service (Regierungsrat), Dr Justus Beyer, who was also head of the science department and deputy of the Head of the Culture Office (Hauptstellenleiter Kultur) at the Central Security Office. Beyer had been employed as an underling at the sociology department at the University of Jena, when Höhn was an assistant there. In the autumn of 1933, Beyer went to work for the SD, following in Höhn’s footsteps. In his curriculum vitae of 1936 he stressed the fact that he had studied sociology, which enabled him to discuss scientifically and in a politically effective way the corporativism of the Vienna sociologist Othmar Spann. Beyer’s report on ‘National Socialism and Universalism’, published in the professional journal Deutsches Recht in 1936, was placed in his SS personnel file as proof of his scientific qualifications. Höhn, as Beyer’s superior, in a letter of recommendation dated October 1936, praised ‘the extraordinary elaboration of the Spann-report’. It may be assumed that Beyer was the author of the confidential report on the Spann circle, which helped to stop its political operations in Germany (which had been promoted by the industrialist Fritz Thyssen) and in particular caused the Institute for the Study of Ranks (Institut für Ständewesen) in D sseldorf, financed by Thyssen and other industrialists, to close (Siegfried 1974). Beyer’s Ph.D. thesis, The Ideology of Ranks in the Era of Systems’ (i.e. the Weimar era) of 1941, was not only a learned sociological study, it refuted and put an end to sociological reinterpretations of the National Socialist state in terms of Spann’s model of a corporate society composed of ‘ranks’. SOCIOLOGISTS AND AREA STUDIES The Office for the Strengthening of the German Peoples as promoter of social research In his capacity as Officer for the Strengthening of the German Peoples, the Reichsführer SS Heinrich Himmler was responsible for all settlement activities in the Reich as well as for the Germanization (Eindeutschungs or Germanisierungs) policy in the occupied Eastern territories. The Reichskommissariat (RFV) was founded as an autonomous unit by Himmler in October 1939, and was responsible


for relocation measures involving millions of people throughout the Reich and in the associated and occupied territories, as well as in those areas which, after the Hitler-Stalin pact, had to be ‘cleared’ of settlers of German descent (Volksdeutsche). The notorious Generalplan Ost which included planning for the expulsion and, in many cases, killing of the former inhabitants, and the new settlement of vast territories in Central and Eastern Europe, had been developed and partly realized under the RFV. Several social scientists took an active part in the preparatory analysis and planning. As Reichskommissar, Himmler himself initiated and financed several research projects and research programmes of social-scientific institutes. Area studies and settlement planning is an example of an area of professional sociological and social research activity outside the universities in which the recognition of the expert competence of non-university sociologists led to close cooperation with university sociology, as well as to a strengthening of academic sociology. A Workgroup for Area Studies (Reichsarbeitsgemeinschaft für Raumforschung (RAG)), was founded in 1935 which in the end coordinated the research of fifty-one such workgroups at different universities. It was the scientific counterpart of the administrative Central Office for Regional Administration (‘Reichsstelle für Raumordnung’ (RFR)) founded at the same time, but it served other planning authorities as well. It became a meeting-place for sociologists. The RFR was responsible for ‘the comprehensive superior planning of the German area for the whole of the Reich’ (Meyers Lexikon, vol. 9, 1942, column 106). It had veto power over plans of other parts of the administration. At the start of the war, special Nazi agencies, like the Office for the Strengthening of the German Peoples, could push through their own regional concepts and rely on the RFR for support. Once planning measures in the old Reich territory had been dealt with, the RAG increasingly concerned itself with the implementation of the policies of expansion and settlement in the conquered and occupied territories. Among the scientific projects of the RAG were the support of dissertations and the financing of positions in the academic system, together with long-term research projects in the area of the social sciences. Through this research many sociologists participated in the Nazi policy of enlarging German Lebensraum, with its tragic consequences for the occupied states and populations. Friedrich B low, the Berlin sociologist and economist, was the chief scientific advisor of this group. After 1939, he became its vice-chairman as well. He fulfilled these tasks in addition to performing his duties as professor at the University of Berlin, and his lectureships at the commercial university in Berlin and the School of Forestry in Eberswalde. Through his position in the working group, together with his numerous programmatic treatises on the sociological foundations of Area Studies (Klingemann 1986a), and through presiding over conferences of the Arbeitskreis Zentrale Orte, B low became an important influence on the programme of the area studies. The working group dealt with the planning of settlement in the new territories in the East (based for example on the concept of


the Central Place (Zentrale Orte) of Walter Christaller), which played a role in administrative decisions (Rōssler 1990). In one of these meetings the onetime Cologne sociologist Leo Hilberath took part, as representative of the Central Office for Regional Administration. For a short time the Leipzig-Nuremberg sociologist Walter Hildebrandt worked in the central office of the workgroup. From early 1942, Erika Fischer, whose sociological doctor’s thesis was supervised by Hans Freyer, coordinated the scientific projects of all fifty-one area studies university study groups in the whole Reich. The following social scientists were heads, assistant heads, or managers in these university study groups: F.B low, A.Gunther, W.Herrmann, H. Linde, K.V. Muller, G.Mackenroth, H.Sauermann, K.Seller, K.C. Thalheim, W.Vleugels, and H.Weigmann. Participants in meetings of the workgroup included the sociologists H.Bach, H.Freyer, H.Haufe, C. Jantke, B.Rauecker, H.Raupach, M.Rumpf, H. Wollenweber, and G. Wurzbacher. The workgroup financed appointments, single research projects, and long-term research programmes for sociologists, gave orders for expert reports (memoranda as well as planning records), and supported special dissertations at the universities in Bonn, Erlangen, Frankfurt (Sociographical Institute; Institute for Economic Area Studies), Giessen, Heidelberg (Department of Social Science and Government), Cologne (Sociology Department), Nuremberg (Organization for Consumer Studies) and Rostock (Department of Economic Area Studies), as well as at the Business School of Leipzig. Besides the ‘heads’ who were already established, such junior sociologists as W.Hildebrandt, H.Linde, K.H.Pfeffer, and Max Ernst Graf zu Solms-Roedelheim, who became university sociologists in the Federal Republic, worked on these (sometimes very) well-financed projects. The workgroup represented an early form of institutionalization of multidisciplinary social research devoted to policy purposes. The Academy for Area Studies and Regional Planning in Hanover was the direct successor of the workgroup, and continued to bear its name to 1947. After 1945, such Reich sociologists as W.Brepohl, F.Bülow, G.Cehak, W. Hildebrandt, G. Ipsen, H.Klocke, H.Linde, H.Morgen, K.V.Muller, K.H.Pfeffer, E.Pfeil, and F.Wagner worked at this academy, on such topics as the sociology of refugees, education, population, and industrial and regional planning. The Sociographic Institute at the University of Frankfurt, K.V.Müller’s Institute for Studies of Intelligence and Department of Empirical Sociology (Hanover and Bamberg), the Organization for Consumer Studies (Nuremberg) and the empirical social research staff of the German Society for Population Studies and the exclusive German Center for Population Studies at the University of Hamburg (Wess 1986) are all cases of forms of institutionalized social research initiated during the Third Reich and continued in the postwar period. The most important organizational result of professional social research in the field of area studies in the academic sector of sociology was at the University of Frankfurt. Ludwig Neundörfer, who intended to give a lecture on his sociographical method of area research at the cancelled meeting of the German


Sociological Society of 1932 and 1933, was in charge of the Regional Plan for North-Baden (Bezirksplaner) and was Vice State Plan Officer in the state of Baden to 1940. In 1940, the National Farmer’s Association and the Workgroup for Area Studies requested a sociographical stock-taking to be used as the basis for the ‘rearrangement of the agricultural conditions in the Old Reich’. In order to analyse the ‘social structure of wide areas of the Reich on the basis of comparable maps and by that of the substance to be formed by the administration’ 4,500 ‘orientation communities’ (Richtgemeinden), comprising one million households, had been registered by 1942–43. Making this original material useful for planning and research efforts for public administration was a considerable task. A Sociographical Institute at the University of Frankfurt was created for Neundörfer early in 1943 to carry it out. Neundörfer had already lectured on regional planning and resettlement there in 1940. As sponsor of this Sociographical Institute, a special foundation, the Foundation for Research on the German People (Stiftung zur Erforschung des deutschen Volksaufbaus), was founded and endowed with 50,000 Reichsmarks from two former ‘Jewish’ foundations. The city and the University of Frankfurt also participated. Neundörfer’s salary was paid by the Workgroup for Area Studies which had been integrated into the Reich Research Council (Reichsforschungsrat). Neundōrfer was given additional support by the Ministry of Finance through the National Farmers’ Association, and became a part-time employee of the Administration of the office of its leader (Reichsbauernführer) in 1941. The Reichsbauernführer, the Research Council (Reichsforschungsrat) and the Office for the Strengthening of the German Peoples all agreed that the institute should build up a German Archive of Maps and Surveys supported by the Ministry of Finance. Neundōrfer’s colleagues were appointed by the National Farmers’ Association and paid by special resources from the Ministry of Finance. The annual expenditure for three such agencies in Berlin, Vienna and Frankfurt, as well as for some researchers at the State Farm Organization (Landesbauernschaften), amounted to a total of 300,000 Reichsmarks (Klingemann 1989). Discussions of the formation of an advisory board for the Sociographical Institute for the purpose of coordinating its activities for the rural reorganization (ländliche Neuordnung) concluded that, in addition to the Workgroup for Area Studies, the Reichsbauernführer, and the Central Office for Regional Administration, the Office for the Strengthening of the German Peoples should also be represented. It was also agreed that the Reichskommissar should finance the research he ordered. The habilitated rural sociologist Herbert Morgen, lecturer at the University of Berlin, was made his assistant on the advisory board. Morgen was head of the division Rural Sociology (Bodenordnung und ländliche Soziologie) at the Department of Rural Studies and Policy (Institut für Agrarwesen und Agrarpolitik) of the University of Berlin. This institute was led by SS-Oberf hrer, Professor Konrad Meyer, chief of the planning office of the Reichskommissar. Morgen was also chief of the Research (Forschungsdienst) of the working groups on rural studies (Reichsarbeitsgemeinschaften der


Landwirtschaftswissenschaft), and he conducted surveys by order of the Reichskommissar who collected planning-relevant data on the formerly Russian rural districts of occupied Poland, and became a co-author of the Generalplan Ost. Work on the reorganizational plans (Neuordnungspläne) was executed on a large scale by the Sociographical Institute, but was almost superseded in 1944 by research orders concerning the planning of the reconstruction of destroyed districts and cities. In the fiscal year 1945–46, for example, the Office for the Strengthening of the German Peoples arranged for a study of the nutritional situation of a large town population, for a sum of 12,000 Reichsmarks. The Workgroup for Area Studies provided 22,000 Reichsmarks for a study of ‘social regrouping’ problems in the old section of Frankfurt. Altogether, the budget of the institute in the year 1945 amounted to approximately 130,000 Reichsmarks. In order to secure sociological material on cities and towns (which was now abundant), the Workgroup for Area Studies continued to finance the Archive for Maps and Surveys, later renamed the ‘Archiv für räumliche Sozial-Struktur’. The Sociographical Institute became a member, through an application by the Office for the Strengthening of the German Peoples, of the Wehrforschungsgemeinschaft that had been constituted by a decree of the Reich’s Marshall Hermann Göring with explicit reference to the order of the Führer on the ‘protection of research indispensable for warfare’ (Befehl zur Sicherstellung der für die Kriegsführung unentbehrlichen Forschung) of August 1944.5 The institute continued work without interruption after the war, for example by performing research on the integration of displaced persons after the end of the war (Heimatvertriebene). In 1947 it had a budget of about 121,000 Reichsmarks. The ubiquitous SS-Oberführer Professor Höhn performed basic social-scientific research for his friend the Reichskommissar Heinrich Himmler. Between 1941 and 1944, the Reichskommissar procured, through the Reich Research Council, the considerable sum of 29,000 Reichsmarks for research projects entitled Research on the Material at the Secret State Archives on the Population Policy of the Prussian Population Office (Aufarbeitung des Materials des Geheimen Staatsarchivs über die Volkstumspolitik der Preussischen Ansiedlungskommission) and another one on the Teutonic Order and its policies of Germanization. Between 1942 and 1944, the Institute for Government Research at the University of Berlin received 25, 450 Reichsmarks for research projects on different questions related to the newly conquered territories in the East. These research projects were to be used in the planning phase of Himmler’s settlement policy, which included the expulsion and slaughter of untold numbers of Jews and Poles. By November 1939 the Reichsf hrer SS had arranged that during the war period Höhn’s institute would work exclusively for the SS. From 1939 to 1941, the institute delivered forty reports on the functions of the Reichsführer SS in his capacity as Office for the Strengthening of the German Peoples. On Himmler’s explicit order these were submitted to all supreme Reich authorities.


SOCIOLOGY IN THE THIRD REICH: PSEUDO-SCIENCE, ABUSE, OR ‘PROOF OF ABILITY’? Höhn could not directly continue his highly successful career as a Nazi sociologist in postwar years. He became the head of a private School for Management Training (Akademie fürFührungskräfte) in Bad Harzburg. As a rule, however, the younger people who had worked as professional social scientists for the political-administrative apparatus of the Third Reich soon had positions in sociology in the Federal Republic of Germany. The acceptance and use of sociology outside the universities led to a certain consolidation of academic sociology. Not only the centres of Reichssoziologie, Berlin, Hamburg, Heidelberg, Cologne, and Leipzig, but also nearly all of the other universities of the National Socialist state offered work or opportunities for training, of which more than one hundred of the sociologists who had careers in the Federal Republic after the war had availed themselves. There were at least 350 ‘sociological’ dissertations— defined by very restrictive criteria.6 These 350 dissertations (and about 20 habilitations of sociologists who continued their academic careers in German universities after 1945) represented a considerable amount of sociological training, despite the vast reduction of resources resulting from expulsion, persecution, and the effects of war. Virtually no one was interested in experts on Nazi Weltanschauung (Bergmann et al. 1981; Rammstedt 1986). But even the adherents of the National Socialist regime among the Reichssoziologen wanted their students to get a solid scientific education. As members of a social-scientific National Socialist braintrust, these junior sociologists would have been useful for Germany’s anticipated European hegemony. Under the altered political conditions of the postwar period, they pursued academic careers in a socially influential discipline. Narcissistic cliché notwithstanding, sociology is an administrative discipline. Social scientists were very successful as analysts in the field of area studies. The ‘Community of the People’ sociologists who served as justifiers for the licensed high priests of the brown ‘industrial sacrificial community’ (Jaeggi et al. 1984) were of no significance. The National Socialists exerted power over a highly complex dynamic industrial capitalism which generated a gigantic war economy. Their bureaucracy consulted social-scientific experts when the rationalization of the socio-economic machinery (much complicated by ideological irrationality) or the aims of territorial expansion could not be achieved through the exegesis of Mein Kampf. Kōnig assumed (1987) that social-scientific theory, expertise and reflection can only serve democratic societies, as a means by which social and political power bodies are criticized. This was an error. The sociology that has had real influence on society has been the kind that perpetuates the status quo and for that reason necessarily is forced to rationalize the potentially short-sighted practices by critical analysis and advice. Sociology in a dictatorial regime is not necessarily ‘pseudo-sociology’. It is rather


the side of the discipline’s Janus-face which is turned to power (Klingemann 1987a, 1988a). NOTES 1 A first impression of the extent of the exile of German social scientists can be gained from the lists of exiled social and political scientists of Lepsius (1981b; this list however includes persons born after 1930) and by examining the dates in the biographies of the sixty-six representatives of sociology in the Biographical Handbook of the German-Speaking Emigration (Mertens 1987). The surveys of university sociology in 1932/33 of Lepsius (1979) and Fornefeld et al (1986) provide quantitative comparisons. Biographies, case studies, memoirs and dialogues about, of and with exiled social scientists are provided in Greffrath (1979), Lepsius (ed.) (1981), Lepenies (ed.) (1981, vol. 4), Srubar (ed.) (1988), Wiggershaus (1986) as well as the report of 1939 by an official of the ‘Ministry for Science, Education and Adult Education’ on German university teachers in Turkey (Grothusen 1987). 2 As Neumann has pointed out, the few sociologists who returned from exile played a marginal role in the postwar consolidation of the discipline (1984, cf. the opposing interpretation by Srubar, 1988). 3 Indeed, the exiles were not all anti-fascists. Arnold Bergstraesser, a Heidelberg sociologist, was interned twice during his US exile for pro-Nazi intrigues (Krohn 1986). Other later emigrants were nationalists, among them the Jewish university sociologists who were veterans of the First World War and consequently had at first been protected from dismissal, and who waited, in vain, for recognition of their patriotism (Käsler 1985). 4 The Akademie für Deutsches Recht (ADR), into which Hans Freyer had tried without success to incorporate the German Sociological Society, was founded by Hans Frank, who later became Governor-General of the so-called ‘Rest-Polen’ (remnants of Poland). Although it never achieved its original aim of significantly participating in the development of new laws, the ADR nevertheless built up an impressive advisory apparatus and gained some public interest by means of its monthly journal, its annual report, and a publication series. The sociologist of law, Carl August Emge, was scientific leader and vice-president of the ADR for several years. Some forty sociologists were active in commissions and other ADR groups. The infamous Polen-Denkschrift (Poland memorandum), presented at the Nuremberg trials as evidence against Hans Frank, which was meant to improve German policy in occupied Poland, was the work of social scientists in the ADR who had been active in the areas of economic, social, and legal policy. Other sociologists had been consulted as experts on questions of Volkstumspolitik (assimilation policy) in the East, i.e. the concrete problems of German policy of occupation, exile, and annihilation. 5 Another social scientist, Eduard Willeke, also worked for the ‘Reichskommissar für die Festigung deutschen Volkstums’. In 1941, by order of the Reichskommissar, Willeke joined a research commission. He had the task of describing and evaluating manufacturing, particularly in the industrial sector of the Elsass. In the FRG he was affiliated with the Sozialforschungsstelle in Dortmund.


6 The list in (Fassler 1984) is most vaguely defined and there are only a few overlapping cases between his list and mine.

REFERENCES Aly, Götz and Roth, Karl Heinz (1984) Die restloseErfassung. Volkszählen, Identifizieren, Aussondern im Nationalsozialismus. Berlin (West). Bergmann, Waltraud et al. (1981) Soziologie im Faschismus 1933–1945. Darstellung und Texte. Kōln. Bernsdorf, Wilhelm and Knospe, Horst (eds) (1980) Internationales Soziologenlexikon, Bd. 1. Stuttgart 1980, 2nd edn. ——Internationales Soziologenlexikon, Bd. 2. Stuttgart 1984, 2nd edn. Fassler, Manfred (1983) ‘“Geistige SA” und “politische Hochschule”. Selbstverst ndnis und Gesellschaftsbilder der nicht emigrierten Sozialforschung 1933–1945’, in U. Jaeggi et al. Fornefeld, Gabriele et al. (1986) ‘Die Soziologie an den reichsdeutschen Hochschulen zu Ende der Weimarer Republik’, in S.Papcke (ed.). Greffrath, Mathias (ed.) (1979) Die Zerstörung einer Zukunft. Gespräche mit emigrierten Sozialwissenschaftlern, Reinbek bei Hamburg. Grothusen, Klaus-Detlev (ed.) (1987) Der Scurla-Bericht. Die Tätigkeit deutscher Hochschullehrer in der Türkei 1933–1939, Frankfurt am Main. Heim, Susanne and Aly, Gōtz (1991) Vordenker der Vernichtung, Hamburg. H lsd nker, Josef and Schellhase, Rolf (eds) (1986) Soziologiegeschichte. Identität und Krisen einer ‘engagierten’ Disziplin, Berlin. Jaeggi, Urs et al. (1983) Geist und Katastrophe. Studien zur Soziologie im Nationalsozialismus, Berlin. Käsler, Dirk (1983) ‘In Search of Respectability: The Controversy over the Destination of Sociology during the Conventions of the German Sociological Society, 1910– 1930’, Knowledge and Society: Studies in the Sociology of Culture Past and Present. A Research Annual. Robert A.Jones and Henrika Kuklick (eds) vol. 4. Greenwich, Conn./London: JAI Press, pp. 227–272. ——(1984) Die frühe deutsche Soziologie 1909 bis 1934 und ihre Entstehungs-Milieus. Eine wissenschaftssoziologische Untersuchung, Opladen. ——(1991) Sociological Adventures. Earle Edward Eubank’s Visits with European Sociologists, New Brunswick/London. Kaupen-Haas, Heidrun (1986) Der Griff nach der Bevölkerung. Aktualität und Kontinuität nazistischer Bevölkerungspolitik , Nōrdlingen. Kern, Horst (1983) Empirische Sozialforschung. Ursprünge, Ansätze, Entwicklungslinien, M nchen. Klingemann, Carsten (1981) ‘Heimatsoziologie oder Ordnungsinstrument? Fachgeschichtliche Aspekte der Soziologie in Deutschland zwischen 1933 und 1945’, in M.R.Lepsius (ed.). ——(1985) ‘Soziologie im NS-Staat. Vom Unbehagen an der Soziologiegeschichtsschreibung’, Soziale Welt, 36. Jg., 1985, H. 3. ——(1986a) ‘Vergangenheitsbew ltigung oder Geschichtsschreibung? Unerw nschte Traditionsbest nde deutscher Soziologie zwischen 1933 und 1945’. In S.Papcke (ed.).


——(1986b) ‘Soziologen vor dem Nationalsozialismus. Szenen aus der Selbstgleichschaltung der Deutschen Gesellschaft für Soziologie’. In J.H lsd nker and R.Schellhase (eds). ——(ed.) (1987) Rassenmythos und Sozialwissenschaften in Deutschland. Wissenschaftshistorische Beiträge zu einem verdrängten Kapitel sozialwissenschaftlicher Wirkungsgeschichte, Opladen. ——(1987a) ‘Ein Kapitel aus der ungeliebten Wirkungsgeschichte der Sozialwissenschaften. Sozialutopien als sozialhygienische Ordnungsmodelle’. In C. Klingemann (ed.). ——(1988a) ‘Das Individuum im Fadenkreuz der Gesellschaftswissenschaften’. In Anton-Andreas Guha and Sven Papcke (eds) EntfesselteForschung. Die Folgen einer Wissenschaft ohne Ethik, Frankfurt am Main. ——(1988b) ‘Kōlner Soziologie während des Nationalsozialismus’. In Wolfgang Blaschke, Olaf Hensel et al. (eds) Nachhilfe zur Erinnerung. 600 Jahre Universität zu Köln, Kōln. ——(1989) ‘Angewandte Soziologie im Nationalsozialismus’, 1999. Zeitschrift für Sozialgeschichte des 20. und 21. Jahrhunderts, 4. Jg., H. 1. ——(1990a) ‘Das “Institut für Sozial-und Staatswissenschaften” an der Universit t Heidelberg zum Ende der Weimarer Republik und während des Nationalsozialismus’, Jahrbuch für Soziologiegeschichte, Opladen. ——(1990b) ‘Sozialwissenschaften in Frankfurt am Main wahrend der NS-Zeit’. In Heinz Steinert (ed.) Die (mindestens) zwei Sozialwissenschaften in Frankfurt und ihre Geschichte, Frankfurt. ——(1990c) ‘Entnazifizierung und Soziologiegeschichte’, Jahrbuch für Soziologiegeschichte, Opladen. ——(1991) ‘Wiederaufbauplanung als Fortsetzung der nationalsozialistischen Raumplanung am Soziographischen Institut an der Universitat Frankfurt am Main’. In Arbeitsgruppe Stadtbaugeschichte/Lüken-Isberner, Folckert (eds) Stadt und Raum 1933–1945, Kassel. Kōnig, René (1987) ‘Kontinuit t oder Unterbrechung—Ein neuer Blick auf ein altes Problem’. In René König Soziologie in Deutschland, München. Krohn, Claus-Dieter (1986) ‘Der Fall Bergstraesser in Amerika’, Exilforschung. Ein Internationales Jahrbuch, Bd. 4. Lepenies, Wolf (ed.) (1981) Geschichte der Soziologie. Studien zur kognitiven, sozialen und historischen Identität einer Disziplin, 4 Bde, Frankfurt am Main. Lepsius, M.Rainer (1979) ‘Die Entwicklung der Soziologie nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg, 1945 bis 1967’ , in G.Lüschen (ed.). ——(ed.) (1981) Soziologie in Deutschland und Österreich 1918–1945. Materialien zur Entwicklung, Emigration und Wirkungsgeschichte, Opladen. ——(1981a) ‘Die Soziologie der Zwischenkriegszeit: Entwicklungstendenzen und Beurteilungskriterien’. In M.R.Lepsius (ed.). ——(1981b) ‘Die sozialwissenschaftliche Emigration und ihre Folgen’. In M.R. Lepsius (ed.). L schen, G nter (ed.) (1979) Deutsche Soziologie seit 1945. Entwicklungsrichtungen und Praxisbezug, Opladen. Mertens, Lothar (1987) ‘Die personelle Enthauptung der deutschen Soziologie’, Soziologie, Heft 2.


Muller, Jerry Z. (1987) The other God that failed. Hans Freyer and the deradicalization of German conservatism, Princeton. Neumann, Michael (1984) ‘Lektionen ohne Widerhall. Bemerkungen zum Einfluss von Remigranten auf die Entwicklung der westdeutschen Nachkriegssoziologie’, Exilforschung. Ein internationales Jahrbuch, Bd. 2. Pahl-Weber, Elke and Schubert, Dirk (1987) ‘Grossstadtsanierung im Nationalsozialismus: Andreas Walthers Sozialkartographie von Hamburg’, Sozialwissenschaftliche Informationen, 16, H. 2 (May 1987). Papcke, Sven (ed.) (1986) Ordnung und Theorie. Beiträge zur Geschichte der Soziologie in Deutschland, Darmstadt. Pasemann, Dieter (1985) ‘Zur Faschisierungstendenz in der “Deutschen Gesellschaft für Soziologie” 1922–1934. Untersuchung an den Nachl ssen von Werner Sombart und Ferdinand Tönnies’, Arbeitsblätter zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte, Martin-Luther-Universitat Halle-Wittenberg, 15. Rammstedt, Otthein (1986) Deutsche Soziologie 1933–1945. Die Normalität einer Anpassung. Frankfurt am Main. Rōssler, Mechthild (1990) Wissenschaft und Lebensraum’. Geographische Ostforschung im Nationalsozialismus. Berlin/Hamburg. Roth, Karl Heinz (1986) ‘Städtesanierung und “ausmerzende Soziologie”. Der Fall Andreas Walther und die “Notarbeit 51” der “Notgemeinschaft der Deutschen Wissenschaft” 1934–35 in Hamburg’. In C.Klingemann (ed.). Sch fer, Gerhard (1990): ‘Wider die Inszenierung des Vergessens, Hans Freyer und die Soziologie in Leipzig 1925–1945’, Jahrbuch für Soziologiegeschichte, Opladen. Schuster, Helmuth and Schuster, Margrit: (1984) ‘Industriesoziologie im Nationalsozialismus’, Soziale Welt, 35. Jg., 1984, H. 1/2. Siegfried, Klaus-Jörg (1974) Universalismus und Faschismus. Das Gesellschaftsbild Othmar Spanns, Wien. Srubar, Ilja (ed.) (1988) Exit, Wissenschaft, Identität. Die Emigration deutscher Sozialwissenschaftler 1933–1945, Frankfurt am Main. ——(1988) ‘Es wurde kein Kalb geschlachtetSozialwissenschaftliche Emigration und Deutschland vor und nach 1945’. In Christoph Cobet (ed.) Einführung in Fragen an die Soziologie in Deutschland nach Hitler 1945–1950, Frankfurt am Main. Stölting, Erhard (1986) Akademische Soziologie in der Weimarer Republik. Berlin. Wassner, Rainer (1985) Andreas Walther und die Soziologie in Hamburg. Dokumente, Materialien, Reflexionen, Hamburg. ——(1986) ‘Andreas Walther und das Seminar für Soziologie in Hamburg zwischen 1926 und 1945: Ein wissenschaftsbiographischer Umriss’. In S.Papcke (ed.). Wess, Ludger (1986) ‘Hans Wilhelm J rgens, ein Repräsentant bundesdeutscher Bevölkerungswissenschaft’. In H.Kaupen-Haas (ed.). Wiggershaus, Rolf (1986) Die Frankfurter Schule. Geschichte. Theoretische Entwicklung. Politische Bedeutung, München.

6 ‘SOCIOLOGISTS’, SOCIOGRAPHERS, AND ‘LIBERALS’ Hungarian intellectuals respond to fascism Dénes Némedi

Sociologists encountered fascism both as political participants and as observers. As citizens and participants in the political life of their countries, they were more or less active in fascist or anti-fascist movements and were affected by their success or failure. As observers, they encountered fascism as a new and complex phenomenon that tested their analytical capabilities as it did those of the other social sciences. Research on the response of sociology as a discipline to fascism can follow two different paths. The first is the conventional path followed by historians, in which sociologists were treated as political agents. The other one is more complicated, for it departs from the assumption that it is part of the sociologist’s vocation to provide explanations for social phenomena that go beyond conventional opinion. If sociology, confronted with fascism, fails in this respect (as, I believe on the whole, it failed), the historian faces a paradoxical task: to explain the absence of an explanation. This is an intrinsically normative historical problem, for it presupposes that sociology should have analysed the fascist phenomenon, and if it failed to, it failed to live up to its obligations as a discipline. The challenge of fascism (or of Stalinism or of any other totalitarianism) is particularly acute for sociology for another reason. These systems sought to revoke the differentiation of the spheres of political, social and economic life. Sociology, along with other social sciences, was created as a response to the process of subsystem differentiation which these movements sought to revoke. Thus fascism threatened to destroy the very foundations upon which sociology was built. But it did so in a manner which included the use of modern social techniques. This mixture of modernism and anti-modernism made the scientific analysis of fascism (and of Stalinism) particularly challenging and difficult. At first glance, the Hungarian case is not really interesting. There was no established academic sociology, and until 1942 there was no chair of sociology or social theory, and no academic training programme for sociologists, so in a sense there is nothing to analyse. The real situation is more complex. There were amateur social research movements or groups in Hungary in the interwar period and the problem of fascism was central, implicitly or explicitly, at least for two of them.


Fascism as ideology and as a political system was relevant for Hungary in two respects, internal and external. INTERNAL Even if the Hungarian political system in the interwar period cannot properly be characterized as fascist (as it was by Stalinist ideologists), there were periods when it was moving toward the establishment of a fascist-type system. And there were political groupings which aimed at the transformation of the political regime into totalitarian fascism (Lackó 1975a; Magyarország 1976; Ormos 1987). The dissolution of the Habsburg monarchy and the dismemberment of the ancient greater Hungary led to a short-lived revolutionary experiment in 1918–1919 which was followed by a bloody counter-revolutionary regime with fascist aspects (including anti-Semitism, agrarian social demagogy, and direct political influence by the military). Extreme rightist tendencies remained alive even after the restoration of the conservative, slightly authoritarian ancien régime. In the 1930s, right-wing radicalism gained in popularity among the ruling elite and a Nazi-style movement came into being (the so-called Arrow-Cross movement, an array of coalescing and dissolving parties, most popular in the lower middle classes and in some fragments of the working classes and reaching its peak of popularity in 1939) (Lackó 1966). Gyula Gömbös, the Prime Minister in 1932–36, was a former counter-revolutionary and outspokenly sympathetic to Italian and German totalitarianism. Under German influence, anti-Semitic laws were passed (the first one in 1938). Hungary was a reluctant ally of Germany in the war against Yugoslavia and the Soviet Union. Toward the end of the war, the Arrow-Cross men established a puppet regime. However, the political system as a whole remained firmly conservative-authoritarian until 1944. It did not possess the modernistic characteristics of the fascist regimes: it was not supported by any mass movement or organization, and carefully avoided the use of social demagoguery and rejected any form of plebiscitary legitimation. Perhaps this was due to the relative backwardness of the Hungarian social structure. The peasantry as a social category remained relatively intact. In spite of the intrusion of capitalist elements in agriculture it was not differentiated unequivocally along class lines. Sections of the upper and middle strata conserved their feudal characteristics (large estate owners, bureaucratic middle classes with roots in the nobility). The recently urbanized non-Jewish lower middle classes (which were the most enthusiastic supporters of the Nazis in Germany) were relatively small. EXTERNAL Whereas Italian fascism did not threaten Hungary as a national state, and was therefore unequivocally popular with the right-wing public, in the eyes of many, even among those with rightist attitudes, Nazism embodied well-known German expansionist tendencies. But German expansionism helped Hungary to recover

HUNGARIAN INTELLECTUALS RESPOND TO FASCISM 153

some of the territories lost in the Trianon treaty (which was considered as unjust by the overwhelming majority) after 1938, and was popular for this reason. But after the Annexation of Austria, Germany became a neighbour that was too powerful. This power made itself felt when Hungary was reluctant to fulfil German economic, political, and military demands and when the Nazis began to win the loyalty of Hungary’s relatively large German minority. The question of German imperialism could not be separated from the problem of fascism and Nazism, and many who became ardent anti-fascists were motivated more by Hungarian patriotism than by conscious democratic anti-fascism. The relatively low level of professionalization in the social sciences reflected the relative backwardness of Hungarian society (Lackó 1981a). Sociology was among the last developed disciplines. The conservative cultural government was not actively hostile to sociology. It was simply not interested in it and consequently did nothing to overcome the resistance of the old-fashioned faculties to its introduction in the universities (Saád 1989). The sociological activity that existed was restricted to amateur intellectual groupings and to a tolerated existence on the fringe of more traditional and secure disciplines, such as law and history. Sociological ideas, research, and sociological interest were present in three groupings. The first of these was the ‘official’ conservative sociology which was almost totally driven out of the memory of the profession after 1945.1 The group was centred around the review Társadalomtudomány and consisted of lawyers, philosophers, economists and historians who had an occasional and in most cases superficial interest in sociology or social philosophy. There was only one ‘professional’ among them, the Privatdozent István Dékány, a hard-working compiler (Saád 1985).2 The most interesting members of this grouping were the law philosopher Barna Horváth (Nagy 1985) and the history professor István Hajnal (Glatz 1988).3, 4 Although they were unable to institutionalize a genuine social science, the Társadalomtudomány group accepted the academic model of the role of social science. They argued that political ideology and political purposes should be excluded from ‘pure’ sociology. But the majority of the group were firmly conservative in their socio-ethical and political convictions, and in this respect they were not immune to the influence of certain fascist ideas. These influences can be discerned in the very learned discussion of the concept of ‘leader’ by Dékány, who treated the Führerprinzip as a legitimate formulation of the problem of leadership in modern societies (Dékány 1937), and in the uncritical analysis of the Lebensraum as a stage in economic development (Dékány 1940). Gyögy Szombatfalvy, the rival of Dékány for the direction of Társadalomtudomány, was even more sympathetic to certain right-wing ideas.5 Although he distanced himself from the Nazi variant of racism, he accepted Hungarian anti-Jewish legislation on ‘objective’, ‘scientific’ grounds. ‘The feeling of difference,’ he argued, ‘was developed on both sides (i.e. Hungarian and Jew) to such a degree that the only conceivable basis for quiet cooperation is peaceful inner separation’ (Szombatfalvy 1940:81).


Not everyone was as committed to the conservative, authoritarian world-view as Dékány and Szombatfalvy. For example, Horváth and Hajnal were much more sympathetic to certain basic liberal ideas. They were on the periphery of the group. They also tried to avoid direct political discussion. But when Horváth was asked to comment on the planned forced rationalization of the Hungarian legal system (a plan which was initiated by Gōmbōs and elaborated by the controversial administrative lawyer Zoltán Magyary), he rejected it because the evolution of law, he insisted, follows a spontaneous, unconscious path which must not be disturbed by forced intervention (Horváth 1933). Both Horváth and Hajnal were interested in piecemeal, slowly developing, ‘deep-layered’ processes, in the hidden structures of everyday activities, and opposed them to state organizations and brute power. It was in this sense that Hajnal tried to assimilate the Durkheimian idea of social facts. On this ground, he criticized both modern economic organization based on private interests and crude power and the organizations based on force alone (Hajnal 1939). The sophisticated reader could notice the latent anti-totalitarian world-view of Hajnal which was, however, concealed behind the extensive textual criticism of Durkheim, Weber, Tönnies, Freyer etc. and behind the learned analysis of the achievements of medieval peasant and artisan societies. The Társadalomtudomány group encountered fascism largely as citizens. Their writings gave evidence of their attitudes toward it, but provided no serious analysis of fascism. Perhaps this can be explained by the detached attitude toward politics which the participants of the group professed and transferred from their principal professions to their activities in sociology as a subsidiary, pastime activity. As there was no coherent attempt to analyse Hungarian society (or any concrete contemporary society) in this group, the specific problem of the sociological explanation of the origin of fascist (or totalitarian) movements was in any event not even posed for them. The second group of quasi-sociologists was a group of populist intellectuals, students, journalists, and writers. The populist intellectual movement developed in the 1930s in literary circles and in rather rightist student groups. Hungarian populism is a variant of a widespread Central and East-European intellectual current, the best-known example of which is the Russian ‘narodnichestvo’. Populism in this region generally combines national themes with the idea that the true representative of the national character is the peasantry. The fate of the peasantry is therefore the central issue of these movements, which are rather critical of the existing social conditions and reject both the Western, capitalist way of development and the Marxist socialist alternative to it, opting for a special community-oriented ‘third way’. Populistic themes were present in Hungarian social thinking since the beginning of the nineteenth century but until the end of the 1920s there was no distinct populist intellectual group. The appearance of the populists in the 1930s rearranged the intellectual scene dramatically. The Hungarian populists adopted the idea that traditional conservative, liberal or socialist ideologies were unable to give adequate answers to the social and


political problems produced by the great economic crises. They embraced the idea that the Hungarian social reality (first of all the real situation of the ‘people’, the peasantry) needed to be ‘discovered’. This movement produced an amateur sociology called ‘sociography’ (Borbándi 1976; Lackó 1975b, 1975c, 1981b, 1981c; Némedi 1985a). ‘Sociographies’ were written mostly in impressionistic, literary manner. They were based on firsthand observations of rural life. Generally there was no attempt made to use more ‘objective’, scientific procedures. The books were written for the general public and their professed aim was to enlighten the middle strata about the plight of the rural poor. There was a discernible general scheme which influenced the presentations: they were interested in the remnants of the old peasant community and culture and they deplored the ‘deformed embourgeoisement’ of the Hungarian peasantry, for its contradictions of its place in an economy dominated by urban capitalism and feudal landlordism. The incredible misery of the servants on the big estates (Illyés 1936), the fate of the, in many cases unemployed, agricultural labourers (Féja 1937; Kovács 1937; Veres 1936), the stagnant smallholder societies of the small villages (Elsüllyedt 1936; Erdei 1938, 1940; Némedi 1988; Szabó 1936, 1938), the social structure of the big agricultural towns of the Hungarian plains (Erdei 1937, 1939)—these were themes of the main works of the sociographers. Even today they are vivid works. Ferenc Erdei’s works were in many respects exceptional: although he, too, wrote impressionistic, pseudo-literary books (Erdei 1937, 1938), he was interested in more scientific procedures too.6 He systematically studied foreign sociological literature. His synthetical analysis of peasant society (Erdei 1943) is in every respect scientific and professional. Utilizing the existing statistical materials and analysing the few available observations, he developed a theory of peasantry which was based on the distinction between the ‘social forms’ produced by traditional reproduction and the social positions determined by the market processes: the combination of the two resulted in a detailed typology of the peasantry (Némedi 1985b). The sociographer’s movement was not immune to fascist influences. The peasant orientation first developed among the proto-fascist youth movements of the counter-revolutionary period (1919–1921). The populist groups of the 1930s could not totally rid themselves of this heritage. Each of the sociographers was influenced in his formative years by the controversial novelist and journalist Dezsō Szabó (Gömbös 1966; Nagy 1964).7 His passionate love of the peasantry, his advocacy of social reform and his chauvinist anti-Jewish and anti-German attitudes attracted many young intellectuals. The Bartha Miklós Society which was very active toward the end of the 1920s (B.Bernát 1987; Sebestény 1981; Szabó 1978) was highly typical of the curious populist mixture of rightist and leftist social reformism. However, the prevalence of anti-German attitudes contributed to decreased sympathy for the fascist movements, especially after 1933.


Even so, it cannot be said that in the 1930s there were no traces of radical right-wing influences in the populist, sociographic movement. The völkisch ideas and the Boden myth of the Nazi movement had an impact on many populists. Signs of this influence can be found in occasional remarks and in private correspondence. Mihály Kerék, a well-informed agrarian economist, had written a very sympathetic review of the Nazi settlement plans and in a private letter he was very enthusiastic about the reformist dynamism of the Nazi regime (Kerék 1934a, 1934b, 1934c).8 Even more characteristic is the case of Ferenc Erdei, who early combined romantic populism and Marxist ideas with his sociological insights (Huszár 1979). When he travelled in Western Europe in 1934–1935 he was impressed by the new regime in Germany. This can be seen in his sociological account of the journey, which was published in part shortly afterwards. He believed earnestly that there was a social revolution in Germany (Erdei 1988a) or, as he somewhat later put it, a thorough transformation led by the cult of the peasantry and by communitarian ideals (Erdei 1988b). The agrarian economist Mátyás Matolcsy, who was a close collaborator of the populist sociographers and who had earlier published a very influential and well-received book on agrarian reform (Matolcsy 1934), defected from the group and entered the fascist Arrow-Cross Party in 1938.9 Apparently he came to the conclusion that the populist movement was too weak to achieve any reform in the face of the opposition of the conservative government, and he believed that the radical right was earnest in its social reformism. He was later bitterly disappointed in this hope (Kisfaludy 1974). The real or supposed right-wing sympathies of the populists were passionately criticized by the ‘urban’ liberal-democratic intelligentsia and by the exponents of the various left-wing groupings. Sometimes the populists were denounced as fascists, as they were in the debate around the so-called ‘New Spiritual Front’, the product of an ill-judged alliance between the prime minister, Gömbös, and some populist intellectuals (Lackó 1975c). The accusations were repeated time and time again, both by liberal journalists and by orthodox communists (Gaál 1935; Ignotus 1936). The suspicions were justified because the position occupied by the populists, particularly in the Jewish question, was ambiguous. The anti-Semitism prevalent in the right-wing student organizations was criticized by them but they did not repudiate racial categorization totally. They qualified their position by stressing repeatedly that ‘race’ should not be understood as a biological category which determined the fate of individuals; rather it was understood by them as a spiritual categorization. Those with a liberal or socialist anti-fascist outlook did not accept this qualification. The issue was in the centre of the debate between Ferenc Fejtö and Peter Veres.10,11 Fejtō pointed out that Veres’s argumentation contained many unclear concepts and statements which could be exploited by the radical right (Fejtō 1937a; 1937b). Veres confirmed that for him class solidarity and racial-popular solidarity were equivalent, and, under pressure, reverted to a biological conception of ‘race’.


I could find the basic characteristics of my human ideal type, the form of behaviour necessary and possible in a collectivist society, in the ‘rough’ peasantry of the plains as well as among the young workers. My ‘racial reaction’ is therefore nothing other than the combination of my ideological and biological ideal type as it can be found in the peasantry and among young workers. (Veres 1937:428) Veres later combined his concept of race and nation with the idea that socialism (which meant for him agrarian collectivist radicalism) cannot triumph without the help of powerful leading personalities (Veres 1939, 1940, 1942). However, Veres remained a member of the Social Democratic Party and hostile to the various right-wing movements and groups. There is nothing anomalous in this because the populist movement as a whole was rather on the left of the Hungarian political spectrum. In 1937 they organized the short-lived March Front, a loose alliance between populists and young Communist intellectuals. The Front held meetings where the authoritarian regime was criticized and people warned of the German menace and of the activity of the Hungarian fascists. One year later the Front was practically dissolved by the government (Salamon 1980). In general, apart from the slips mentioned above, the political journalism of the sociographers’ movement was anti-fascist (and anti-German). Among the best examples of its efforts are the vivid and sociologically informed accounts of right-wing radicalism among the poor peasants of the plains written by Imre Kovács (Kovács 1936, 1938).12 The decline of sociographic activity after the Annexation of Austria did not change the attitudes of the majority in this regard. Many of the former sociographers were connected with the anti-German, liberal-reformist newspaper Magyar Nemzet. It was there that Zoltán Szabó launched his campaign for the defence of the spiritual independence of Hungary.13 The campaign was directed against German and Nazi influences (Szabó 1940). The sociographers responded to fascism as citizens and Hungarian patriots, not as sociologists or social scientists. They did not produce an analysis of the fascist phenomenon. This was not due to a detached scholarly attitude, as was the case of the ‘official’ sociologists. The sociographers were engaged in reformist politics. They considered themselves as political exponents of the peasantry and they believed that sociography was a means in the process of emancipation. However, their inability to confront fascism analytically was not just personal neglect. It was determined by the structure of their thinking. Populist sociography started from the assumption that the Hungarian peasantry was not and could not be integrated into national society. They believed that the sheer economic exploitation of the peasantry effectively restricted its capacity to participate in the national cultural and political life. They also showed that there were important status differences, power mechanisms and political inequalities which prevented the peasantry from progressing toward full citizenship. The big


estate system, the central and local administration dominated by a bureaucracy which inherited its self-definition from the old nobility, and the suppression of the interests of the village communities were seen as the main causes of the plight of the peasantry (Némedi 1985b). These were clearly political ‘causes’, and in this respect it can be said that the populists practised a critical ‘political sociography’. On the other hand, however, they were opposed to the traditional political machinery and to the traditional political ideologies. Populism thus emerged and presented itself as an alternative, a ‘third way’. In the 1930s, when the distinctive populist ideas were formed, they believed in earnest that the ‘third way’ leads somewhere ‘above’ politics. The populist group was characterized by a ‘metapolitical’ outlook which led them to look for moral answers to political questions. In this respect the influence of the cultural critic, essayist, and novelist László Németh was very important (Lackó 1981c).14 The populist sociographers were caught in a paradoxical situation: the problem they had discovered required them to provide an analysis of the political system. But the ideology they had adopted prevented them from taking the political machinery very seriously and from trying to analyse it in detail. They evaded the paradox by rhetorical means. Due to the paradoxical situation described above the populists were conceptually unable to interpret the fascist movement, which could not be reduced to the social dimension alone. The sociological analysis of fascism would have required a theoretical attitude which granted equal attention to social and political structures. This was impossible to do within a strictly populist approach. Those among the populists who, for different reasons, departed from the original ‘metapolitical’ conception (Erdei, Kovács, and Szabó) felt the inadequacy of the populist ‘paradigm’ clearly. Thus Erdei programmatically stated in his book on the agricultural towns that a new conception of politics was necessary (Erdei 1939:209 ff.). Kovács (1938) reminded fellow-populists of the dangers which come from the neglect of politics. Szabó (1940) conceptualized the problem as the dissociation of national and social aspirations. But this was too fragmentary to serve as a basis for the interpretation of the fascist phenomenon. However, a sociologically informed political commentator, István Bibó, who had some connections with the populist group (he was a close friend of Erdei and in the 1930s was sympathetic to the cause of the sociographers) (Huszár 1986), produced toward the end of the war an extended analysis of the European situation in which he presented the most serious Hungarian attempt to grasp the fascist phenomenon.15 Bibó had some links with the ‘official’ sociologists, as well. His father was the first editor of Társadalomtudomány. He was a student of Barna Horváth, and was also influenced by the historical sociology of Hajnal. Although he was sympathetic to liberal ideas (in this regard he disagreed with Erdei) he was not totally committed to any scientific or ideological grouping. In fact, he was the precursor of a discipline which did not come into existence until the 1980s: political science.


His study of European balance and peace (Bibó 1986; Kiss 1984), which was not published until the 1980s, is an ambitious undertaking. He attempts to interpret the world war in the light of European history. He analyses German fascism in this context. The key concept in his analysis of fascism (and many related systems) is ‘hysteria’, which he understands as a collective phenomenon. Hysteria prevails if ‘the community abandons reality, if it becomes incapable of solving the problems posed by life, if its self-evaluation is uncertain and exaggerated, if its reactions to the impact of the world are unreal and disproportionate’ (Bibó 1986:374). He knows the dangers of the ‘metaphysics of community’, he accepts that psychical states can be attributed only to human individuals, but he believes that the aggregation of these psychical states results, in certain cases, in collective attitudes ‘which are analogous to the reactions of hysterical men’ (Bibó 1986:375). German fascism was a hysterical phenomenon because it was ‘deformed’, dominated by the absurd conception that the historical forces which were engaged in the struggle for freedom and nationhood could be won over for the cause of nationhood alone (Bibó 1986:467). Hitlerism negates the three basic evolutionary tendencies of European society: international unity, democracy and socialism, says Bibó, and this demonstrates its incapacity to understand historical reality (Bibó 1986: 479). Bibó knows that the emergence of Hitlerism can be explained by specific historical circumstances. But he maintains that one cannot fully understand it without taking into account the social-psychological factor of ‘hysteria’ (Bibó 1986:480–481). Bibó is fully aware that fascism cannot be understood purely in political-historical terms. At the same time, he knows that there is an essential political moment in fascism. As he was not engaged very actively in the populist movement, he was immune to the ‘metapolitical’ illusions of his friends. He stressed many times the importance of political processes and ideas. But he always tried to avoid the reduction of historical processes to political decisions (and to the political ideas informing those decisions) alone. In this respect he was deeply influenced by the sociology of Erdei. He knew that the ideas and ideals constituting the core essence of Europe depend on the development of civil society and rationality alone was not enough to ensure their predominance. The social-psychological concept of ‘hysteria’ was the result of these considerations: it was the social cause of the absence of rationality in fascist thought. However, ‘hysteria’ is a specious solution. It does not describe any real social processes. Bibó himself conceives it as a logical error, a form of cognitive incapacity. The conceptualization of Hitlerism as a ‘hysterical’ phenomenon derives its plausibility from the fact that the public appearance of Hitlerism had many ‘hysterical’ features in the common-sense meaning of the word. However, Bibó had another meaning in mind. According to his definition even a philistine, quiet political system would be ‘hysterical’ if it was incapable of comprehending ‘reality’. This was how he described the Hungarian political evolution in the period of the dual monarchy. Hitlerism appears as the consequence of an inner, logical contradiction. The idea that fascism is the result of some gigantic failure of


European thought was not totally foreign to contemporary philosophers. However, by adopting this line of reasoning, Bibó’s analysis of fascism remains merely pseudo-sociological (or pseudo-social-psychological). He, too, was unable to develop a comprehensive account of right-wing totalitarianism. His historico-political analysis was very similar in structure to the political critique of fascism developed in the ‘liberal’ pre-sociology of the 1930s: the analysis was reduced to the defence of certain values and to the critique of the fascist destruction of the European rational heritage. The ‘liberals’ constituted the third group in this period of the prehistory of Hungarian sociology. They were centred around the review Századunk which was heir to the more famous, pre-1914 review Huszadik Század. Originally, the group was founded by Oszkár Jászi and attracted mainly urban, open-minded, critical Jewish intellectuals.16 After the revolution the majority of the participants (among them the best-trained specialists) were forced into exile. In the 1930s, the leadership of the group fell to a non-Jew, Imre Csécsy, who tried to maintain a high intellectual level and a combative democratic spirit (Kerékgyarto 1989).17 The authoritarian racial and press legislation of 1938 destroyed the Századunk and with it the group itself. The sociological legitimacy of the Századunk derived from the fact that it published many sociological review articles. The emigrant members, too, published sociological essays in it. Those who remained at home were unable to do original systematic research in sociology. These circumstances determined the manner in which fascism as a social and political phenomenon was dealt with. Of the three pre- (or proto- or pseudo-) sociological groups, the team of the Századunk was the most interested in fascism. From the late 1920s onward there were few issues which did not contain material relating to fascism and/or Nazism. The authors whose theories or theoretical opinions were dealt with included Francesco Nitti, Luigi Sturzo, Carl Schmitt, Richard Kroner, Oswald Spengler, Wilhelm Andreae, Georg Bernhard, Werner Sombart, G.A.Borgese, G.Salvemini, Karl Mannheim (who, although he did not publish in the review, as a Hungarian emigrant had personal contact with Csécsy), Coudenhouve-Kalergi, M. Horkheimer and H.Marcuse. The lectures of Oszkár Jászi (who was at that time at the Oberlin College) on Hitler and Nazism, given before American audiences, were republished here (Jászi 1933, 1934, 1935). Paul Kecskeméti (Mannheim’s brother-in-law) published some articles in the review dealing with general political problems.18 The political events of the first years of Nazi rule were summarized by him in well-informed commentaries under the pseudonym Peter Schmidt (Schmidt 1933a, 1933b, 1935). He saw clearly that Hitler could not have acquired power without winning the support of part of the working class. While he placed Nazism in the German Protestant tradition of worship of the state, he did not reduce the analysis to the demonstration of analogies with other phenomena known from the history of ideas. The main factor leading to the Nazi victory was, he said, the division of the working class movement.


The most interesting and profound analyses of fascism were written by the emigrant moral and social philosopher Aurel Kolnai.19 Borrowing some key Marxist concepts, he described fascism as the outcome of the contradiction between political democracy and capitalist economy. Fascism attempts to defend capitalism by creating a castrated socialism. It is not the bourgeoisie or the proletariat, he says, which serves as the social base of fascist movements, but it creates its own social base: the ruling groups of the fascist ‘gang state’ (Kolnai 1930). He stressed that fascism restricts the power of the oligarchic ruling classes. The fascist elite has its roots in the popular classes. Therefore, he says, the fascist state will be different from the ancien regime. While it is allied to the representatives of anti-democratic forces (to the big estate owners, to big industry, and military circles), it is in its essence an illegal popular movement aiming at the establishment of a new type of dictatorial power. Kolnai’s explanation was only one among many European attempts to explain fascism by a revisionist Marxist approach. It had no discernible influence on the thinking of the inner Hungarian group of the Századunk. For Csécsy and the whole group of the Századunk fascism was a problem that was political stricto sensu. Csécsy’s orientation was clearly stated in his well-known article on the decline of democracies. He criticized equally fascism, Bolshevism and the New Deal because all three were contrary to the democratic ideal based on natural rights. He opposed to them democratic values (liberty, equality, fraternity) which were supra-historical. Csécsy adopted an ethical standpoint which implicated that the ‘essence’ of individuality was more important for him than any social bonds. The social form of existence, he said, was not ‘the highest possible form of life for us. It is not adherence to something which is valuable in life. It is only the personality which counts’ (Csécsy 1935:2). In a letter written to Jászi in 1936, Csécsy explained that he had given up the sociological point of view, and no longer sought the ‘laws’ of history. The task of the thinker is, he explained, ‘to preach the norms of the right moral conduct even if they are contrary to the predetermined course of history’ (Kerékgyarto 1989:99). This position excluded any attempt to analyse fascism sociologically while it encouraged its ethical and political condemnation. Other members of the group, including Berend (1936), Gōrög (1938) and Vámbéry (1936), reacted to the rise of Nazism similarly.20 The anti-sociological evaluation of fascism by the heirs of liberal sociology is fully understandable in the circumstances. They were closely connected with the urban, largely Jewish, culture of Budapest which was menaced by right-wing tendencies. They were in a defensive minority position which was not very congenial to a detached, ‘objective’ sociological analysis of their adversary. It was quite natural that they considered it to be their primary duty to defend the threatened values themselves. They stressed that democratic values were valid and did not enter into a sociological discussion, which would inevitably lead to the relativization of these cherished values. As citizens they did their best to oppose fascism and in this respect they exploited their connections and the fact that the


Századok was regarded as a sociological journal. As sociologists they believed that it was impossible to confront it on a scientific level. This overview of the response of Hungarian sociologists to fascism has yielded largely negative results. For different reasons, each of the three groups of ‘sociologists’ were unable to give a specifically sociological answer to the fascist challenge. This can be explained partially by the relative backwardness of sociology in the interwar period in Hungary. But this is only part of the explanation. We have seen that the special place which was occupied by politics in the thought of the different groups determined their approach. The ‘metapolitical’ attitude of the populists was as much a hindrance to the understanding of the fascist phenomenon as the ‘pure’ political (or ethical-political) conception of the Századunk group (and, in a different way, of Bibó). Fascism (or any other totalitarian political system) cannot be understood unless one is able to synthesize the social and political point of view. This cannot be done unless circumstances permit, as they did not in the Hungarian situation. NOTES 1 ‘Official’ was the epithet chosen by the opponents of this grouping. It was taken over by historians. It does not mean that they possessed an ‘office’ as sociologists: there was no such office. It was intended as a shorthand description of their positive, uncritical or softly critical attitudes toward the authorities. In fact, many of them were civil servants or employees of agricultural corporative organizations. 2 István Dékány 1886–1965, Philosopher, sociologist: Doctoral degree 1909; Privatdozent and secondary school teacher from 1920; 1942–1946, professor of social theory at the Budapest University; extensive literary activity; forced retirement in 1946, later deported to a provincial township. 3 Barna Horváth 1896–1973, Lawyer: Doctoral degree 1920; 1925–1949 professor of philosophy of law at the University of Szeged; 1949, emigration to the USA; 1950– 1956, professor of The New School of Social Research, visiting professor in many European universities, publications on the philosophy and sociology of law. 4 István Hajnal 1892–1956, Historian, official of various public and private archives: from 1921 Privatdozent; 1930–1949 professor of modern history at the Budapest University; later official at the Hungarian National Museum. Main areas of interest: medieval and modern social history, history of technology, the relation of history and sociology. 5 Gyōrgy Szombatfalvy 1888-?, Sociologist, public official: Secondary school teacher; later official of the Ministry of Education; founding member, later secretary of the Hungarian Social Scientific Association; editor of Társadalomtudomány. 6 Ferenc Erdei 1911–1971, Sociologist, politician: son of peasants; student of law in Szeged; friendship with István Bibó; between 1937 and 1943, publication of several important sociological and sociographical works; 1944–1949, one of the leaders of the National Peasant Party, sympathetic to collaboration with the Communists; 1949– 1956, various governmental functions; after 1956, scholar in agrarian economics and organizational activity in the Academy of Sciences.


7 Dezsō Szabó 1879–1945, Novelist, publicist: Literary studies, secondary school teacher until 1919; later freelance journalist; sympathetic to the radical counter-revolution in 1919–1920; his novel, Az elsodort falu (The Village Which Was Swept Away, 1919), formulates the basic tenets of populism; popular among the young generation in the 1930s. 8 Mihály Kerék 1902-, Economist: Official of various agrarian interest organizations; 1938–1939 departmental secretary for social policy; extensive literary activity on problems of agrarian social policy, agrarian labour question and land reform. 9 Mátyás Matolcsy 1905–1953, Engineer, economist: Studied in Hungary, Britain and the USA; employee of the Hungarian Institute of the Study of the Economy; 1935– 1944, member of parliament; 1939–1942, member of the Arrow-Cross Party; publications on the methods of measurement of national income, on agrarian unemployment and on land reform; 1946, sentenced to several years of imprisonment for war crimes. 10 Ferenc Fejtö 1906-, Literary critic, novelist, political writer: Participation in the communist youth movement; imprisonment; later member of the Social Democratic Party; collaborator in the social-liberal review Szep Szo; 1938 emigration to France; after 1945, leading French expert on East European issues. 11 Péter Veres 1897–1970, Novelist: Autodidact, until 1945 lived in a village as a journeyman; member of the Social Democratic Party; imprisoned several times; author of political, autobiographical essays, sociographical works, novels describing the everyday life of poor peasants; 1944–1949, leader of the National Peasant Party, founded by populist intellectuals. 12 Imre Kovács 1913–1980, Political essayist, novelist: Student of economics; leading member of the group of sociographers; contributor to various journals and newspapers; active in the anti-German resistance; after the liberation one of the leaders of the National Peasant Party; hostile to the Communists; left the Peasant Party; 1948, emigrated to the USA. 13 Zoltán Szabó 1912–1984, Essayist, sociographer: Initiator of the sociographic movement of the Catholic youth; author of two sociographical books; after 1938 active participation in the patriotic, anti-German intellectual circles; 1945–1947, editor of the populist review Valosag, 1947–1949, diplomatic service; 1949, emigration to Paris, later London. 14 László Németh 1901–1975, Novelist, playwright, essayist: Medical studies; until 1942, practising dentist; from the 1920s on, critical and philosophical essays; one of the leading ideologists of the populist movement; in a series of psychological novels (the first one in 1936) and social and historical plays describes the situation of the heroic, ethical and committed intellectual. 15 István Bibó 1911–1979, Lawyer, political scientist: Studied in Szeged, Vienna and Geneva; Privatdozent from 1940; connections with the populist movement (with Ferenc Erdei); 1946–1950, university professor in Szeged, member of the National Peasant Party, author of famous essays on Hungarian history and political development; from 1951, librarian; 1956, minister in the Imre Nagy government; 1957–1963, imprisoned. 16 Oszkár Jászi 1875–1957, Sociologist, politician: Student of law in Budapest, founder and editor of the liberal socialist political and sociological review Huszadik Szazad, leading figure of the progressive sociological school; actively participated in the revolution in 1918; emigration in 1919 to Vienna, in 1925 to the USA; subsequently


17

18

19

20

professor at Oberlin College, Ohio; active in the democratic, anti-communist emigration, author of books on theoretical issues, the national question, political sociology. Imre Csécsy 1893–1961, Editor, political essayist: Philosophical studies in Budapest; lifelong friend of Jaszi Oszkar; in the 1920s private employee; in the 1930s editor-in-chief of the Szazadunk, 1945–1949, leader of the Hungarian Radical Party, publications on political and philosophical problems. Paul Kecskemeti 1901–1980, Philosopher, social scientist: After studies in Pecs and Budapest, journalist in Budapest and from 1929 on in Berlin; toward the end of the 1930s emigrated to Paris, later to the USA; worked for the Rand Corporation, later university professor in California. Aurél Kolnai 1900–1973, Philosopher: After 1920 emigration, studied in Freiburg and Vienna; after 1933 emigration to Paris, later to the USA; from 1945, professor of social philosophy in Quebec; many publications on German Nazi ideology. Rusztem Vámbéry 1872–1948, Lawyer, publicist. 1898–1913 ministerial employee, 1903 Privatdozent, 1915–1919 professor of criminal law at Budapest University. After 1920 barrister. Co-editor of the review Századunk. 1938 emigration to the USA. 1947–1948 Hungarian ambassador to the USA. Extensive literary activity on legal problems, political and ethical issues.

REFERENCES Berend, Béla (1936) ‘A modern diktatúrák elmélete’, Századunk 11:12–26. Bernát, István (1987) A népi ideológic elözményeihez. A Bartha Miklós Társaság torténete (1925–1930), unpublished manuscript, Budapest Bibó, István (1986) ‘Az európai egyensúlyról és békéröl’, in Bibó István, Válogatott tanulmányok 1:295–635, Budapest: Magveto. Borbándi, Gyula (1976) Der ungarische Populismus, Mainz: Hase & Koehler. Csécsy, Imre (1935) ‘Megbukott-e a demokrácia?’, Századunk 10:1–20. Dékány, István (1937) ‘A társadalom vezetöi. A vezetō-kategóriák kérdése’, Társadalomtudomány 17:1–29. ——(1940) ‘A gazdasági élet fokai és az “elettérgazdaság”’, Közgazdasági Szemle 83: 539–575. Elsüllyedt falu a Dunántúlon (collective work) (1936) Budapest: Sylvester. Erdei, Ferenc (1937) Futóhomok, Budapest: Athenaeum. ——(1938) Parasztok, Budapest: Athenaeum. ——(1939) Magyar város, Budapest: Athenaeum. ——(1940) Magyar falu, Budapest: Athenaeum. ——(1943) Magyar paraszttársadalom, Budapest: Franklin. ——(1988a) M ncheni level. II. Az emberek. III. Urak és többiek, in Erdei Ferenc, Politikai irasok 1, Budapest: Akademiai, pp. 38–42 (originally published 1 Dec. 1935, in Makói Ujság). ——(1988b) ‘A parasztság németországi divatja’, in Erdei Ferenc, Politikai irások 1, Budapest: Akadémiai, pp. 103–104 (originally published 20 June 1937, in Makói F ggetlen Ujság). Féja, Géza (1937) Viharsarok, Budapest: Athenaeum. Fejtö, Ferenc (1937a) ‘A “faji” szocializmusról’, Szocializmus 30:253–258.


——(1937b) ‘Fajkérdes es szocializmus’, Szocializmus 30:302–313. Gaál, Gábor (1935) ‘A magyarságtudományi törekvések bírálatához’, Korunk 10: 847– 854. Glatz, Ferenc (1988) ‘Hajnal István történetírása’, Valóság 31, 3:52–69. Gōmbōs, Gyula (1966) Szabó Dezsö, M nchen: Molnár. Gōrōg, János (1938) ‘Diktatúrák t ndöklése és elmúlása’, Századunk 13:132–141. Hajnal, István (1939) ‘Történelem es szociológia’, Századunk 73:1–32, 137–166. Horváth, Barna (1933) ‘A jog racionalizálása’, Társadalomtudomány 13:23–36. Huszár, Tibor (1979) ‘Tudós és politikus’. Erdei Ferenc m helyében, in Huszár Tibor, Történelem és szociológia, Budapest: Magveto, pp. 249–551. ——(1986) ‘Bibó István—a gondolkodó, a politikus’, in Bibó István, Válogatott tanulmányok 3, Budapest: Magvetö, pp. 385–534. Ignotus, Pál (1936) ‘“Népiség” es “új humanizmus”’, Toll 8:21–23. Illyés, Gyula (1936) Puszták népe, Budapest: Nyugat. Jászi, Oszkár (1933) ‘A hitleri hitrege’, Századunk 8:128–131. ——(1934) ‘Miként jutott Hitler hatalomra?’ Századunk 9:23–25. ——(1935) ‘Régi vita új megvilágításban’, Századunk 10:110–120. Kerék, Mihály (1934a) ‘Németország mezögazdaságának új szervezete’, Válasz 1: 209– 211. ——(1934b) ‘A föld és munka reformja a Harmadik Birodalomban’, Válasz 1: 525–534. ——(1934c) ‘Letter to Gyula Szekfü, 20 Nov. 1934’, Archive of the National Szechenyi Library, Fond 7. XXXIX. No. 29. Kerékgyártó, Béla (1989) ‘Az örök Gironde javithatatlan hívōje’. Csécsy Imre gondolkodói és politikusi pályája, unpublished manuscript, Budapest. Kisfaludy, Gyula (1974) Fajvédelem és földreform (Matolcsy Mátyás társadalomszemléletének bírálatához), Budapest: M velodési Minisztérium. Kiss, Endre (1984) ‘Tōrténelem és társadalomlélektan’, Valóság 27, 9:42–49. Kolnai, Aurél (1930) ‘Ifjuság és fasiszta reakció’, Századunk 5:503–511. Kovács, Imre (1936) ‘A kaszás-kereszt mozgalom’, Magyar Szemle 27:325–333. ——(1937) Néma forradalom, Budapest: Cserepfalvi. ——(1938) ‘Mezöbereny-Tiszántul politikai sorsa?’ Magyar Szemle 33:33–42. Lackó, Miklós (1966) Nyilasok, nemzetiszocialisták 1935–1944, Budapest: Kossuth. ——(1975a) ‘A fasizmus Kelet-Kōzépeurópában’, in Lackó Miklós, Válságok— választások, Budapest: Gondolat, pp. 298–317. ——(1975b) ‘A nemzedéki tömōrülésröl és szakadásról’, in Lackó Miklós, Válságok — választások, Budapest: Gondolat, pp. 13–51. ——(1975c) ‘Az Új Szellemi Front tōrténetéhez’, in Lackó Miklós, Válságok— választások, Budapest: Gondolat, pp. 52–170. ——(1981a) ‘A társadalomtudományok szerepe a magyar szellemi életben a két világháboru kōzōtt’, in Lackó Miklós, Szerep és mü, Budapest: Gondolat, pp. 298– 342. ——(1981b) ‘A megrendítō rōgeszme’, in Lackó Miklós, Szerep és mü, Budapest: Gondolat, pp. 123–156. ——(1981c) ‘Egy szerep története’, in Lackó Miklós, Szerep és mü, Budapest: Gondolat, pp. 157–247. Magyarország története (1976) vol. 8, Budapest: Akadémiai. Matolcsy, Mátyás (1934) Agrárpolitikai feladatok Magyarországon, Budapest: Soli Deo Gloria.


Nagy, Endre (1985) ‘Bevezetés Horváth Barna: Demokrácia és jog c. tanulmányához’, Medvetánc, 2–3:295–306. Nagy, Peter (1964) Szabó Dezsö, Budapest: Akadémiai. Némedi, Dénes (1985a) A nepi szociografia 1930–1938, Budapest: Gondolat. ——(1985b) ‘The Contribution of Ferenc Erdei to the Theory of Peasantry’, History of Sociology 6:87–101. ——(1988) ‘Tard und Marienthal’, in Joseph Langer (ed.), Geschichte der österreichischen Soziologie, Wien: Verlag für Gesellschaftskritik, pp. 143–154. Ormos, Mária (1987) Nácizmus -fasizmus, Budapest: Magvetö. Saád, József (1985) ‘Társadalomtan—szociológia helyett’, Világossag 26:34–41. ——(1987) Tanulmányok a magyar szociológiai gondolkodás történetéböl, unpublished manuscript, Budapest. Salamon, Konrad (1980) A Márciusi Front, Budapest: Akadémiai. Schmidt, Péter (1933a) ‘Az ellenforradalom gyözelme Németországban’, Századunk 8:97–105. ——(1933b) ‘A harmadik birodalomból’, Századunk 8:229–233. ——(1935) ‘Hitler három éve’, Századunk 10:74–82. Sebestény, Sándor (1981) A Bartha Miklós Társaság, Budapest: Kossuth. Szabó, Miklós (1978) ‘Új elemek az értelmiségi ifjúság mozgalmaiban az 1920–1930-as évek fordulóján’, in A haladó egyetemi ifjúság mozgalmai Magyarországon 1918– 1945, Budapest: Kossuth, pp. 133–164. Szabó, Zoltán (1936) A tardi helyzet, Budapest: Cserépfalvi. ——(1938) Cifra nyomoruság, Budapest: Cserépfalvi. ——(1940) ‘Szellemi honvedélem’, Magyar Szemle 38:191–197. Szombatfalvy, Gyōrgy (1940) ‘A zsidótōrvény társadalmi mérlege’, Társadalomtudomány 20:75–82. Vámbéry, Rusztem (1936) ‘Az arja legenda’, Századunk 11:113–126. Veres, Peter (1936) Az Alföld parasztsága, Budapest: Oravetz. ——(1937) ‘“Vértörzs”, “néparc”, “idealtipus”’, Szocializmus 30, 424–428. ——(1939) Szocializmus, nacionatizmus, Budapest: Magyar Elet ——(1940) Mit ér az ember, ha magyar?, Budapest: Magyar Elet. ——(1942) Népiség és szocializmus, Budapest: Magyar Elet.

7 PRINCIPLE, POLITICS, PROFESSION American sociologists and fascism, 1930–1950 Robert C.Bannister

THE PROBLEM ‘For the two years from ‘38 to ‘40, I never discussed democracy or Nazism,’ the sociologist William F.Ogburn confided to his diary once the war was over. Although he had broken this silence briefly during 1941, his lectures were ‘wholly analytical’, he continued. ‘I knewthat to refer to Hitler without at the same time calling him a son-of-a-bitch, was to be classed as pro-Nazi. But we were not at war, and I have never been much concerned with what people thought of me.’ Nor did the outbreak of hostilities shake this resolve. ‘When the war came on I never made any speeches referring in anyway to Nazism or democracy.’ When in his classroom he occasionally discussed democracy, he approached the subject as one might the ‘mores of the Eskimo’. ‘The classes,’ he observed, ‘were sometimes resentful, sometimes quiet, sometimes, maybe, sullen.’1 During the interwar years, Ogburn’s was a voice that counted in American sociology. During the 1920s, most of the prewar founders had passed from the scene: Albion Small of Chicago (died 1926), Charles Horton Cooley of Michigan (1929), and Franklin Giddings of Columbia (1931). Remaining founders included Charles Ellwood of Duke and Edward A.Ross of Wisconsin, both secondary powers in the profession. A third was W.I.Thomas, whose use of the ‘case study’ in The Polish Peasant (1918) provided a model for one brand of Chicago sociology but whose prestige declined after his dismissal from the University of Chicago on a bogus morals charge in 1918. In their place appeared new contenders for professional power and prestige. During the 1920s, the urban sociologist Robert Park and his students made the ‘Chicago school’ virtually synonymous with American sociology. At the University of North Carolina, Howard W.Odum (Ph.D. Columbia, 1909) launched the discipline’s first formal research institute and published Social Forces, the first new sociological journal in the United States since the founding of the American Journal of Sociology (1895). At the University of Southern California Emory S.Bogardus established a West Coast enclave and a second new journal, Sociology and Social Research. With W.F.Ogburn’s election to the presidency of

168 AMERICAN SOCIOLOGISTS AND FASCISM, 1930–1950

the American Sociological Society in 1929, this ‘second’ generation effectively came to power within the profession. Ogburn’s program, as outlined in his presidential address to the ASS, called for a rigorously quantitative sociology, preferably based on statistics. Alternately termed ‘neo-positivists’, ‘objectivists’, or (more derisively) proponents of ‘scientism’, sociologists of this persuasion held, not only that science provided mankind with an all-embracing philosophy of life and the solution to all problems, but that the techniques used in the physical sciences could be used to solve any problem (Hayek 1954:1). During the 1930s, these objectivists, in turn, divided into two loose factions, one led by Ogburn and his allies (including Stuart Rice of the University of Pennsylvania) and the other by Luther Lee Bernard, a maverick whose peripatetic career finally brought him to Washington University in St Louis.2 For Ogburn, a scientific sociology was nominalist, statistical, and advisory, that is, it was concerned with means rather than ends. For Bernard it was realist and presumptively radical in that it provided an ‘objective standard of social control’, and hence absolute standards for social reconstruction. During the early 1940s, objectivist sociology reached a peak of sorts with the successive appointment of two leading proponents of value-neutral scientism to the editorship of the American Sociological Review (Read Bain of Miami University in Ohio; F.Stuart Chapin, University of Minnesota), and of a third (George Lundberg of Bennington College) to the presidency of the American Sociological Society for 1943. Although the lines separating the objectivist factions sometimes blurred, they collectively differed in minor but significant ways from non-objectivist colleagues in background and politics. Socially marginal, they represented the more provincial reaches of a fast-modernizing America: the rural south (Ogburn), the southwest (Bernard), and the upper Great Plains (Lundberg). Educated almost exclusively in the United States, they had fewer contacts and less interest in Europe than did the prewar founders and many of their own more cosmopolitan contemporaries. Although Ogburn and his associates achieved success in the university and foundation worlds, Bernard and many of his allies toiled at provincial institutions of the second or third rank. While these circumstances inclined many to a sort of populist radicalism on domestic issues, and to dissent within the profession, they also made them prime candidates for post-First World War disillusionment and isolationism in international affairs. Since sociological theory and professional prestige were intertwined, questions concerning American sociology’s response to fascism must be asked at the levels of principle, politics, and profession. To the extent that the response was muted or superficial (as Ogburn’s comments suggest), did the fault lie in sociological theory, political conviction, or some combination? What role if any was played by the internal dynamics of professionalism, a question particularly relevant given sociology’s perennial instability? What effect did the emergence of fascism have on the shape of the discipline? It is these questions that this paper will explore.


Historiography Although historians of sociology have addressed these issues only tangentially, earlier debates provide a focus for this discussion. An overarching question has been whether fascism was rooted in religious, idealist, or romantic thought, or in the tradition of positivism dating from Auguste Comte. Defending the first view, a British pro-fascist argued that sociology provided no basis for social policy precisely because it was narrowly positivistic. Italian fascism, in contrast, provided the missing moral guide because it was rooted in religion and tradition. Enemies of fascism reversed this judgement while accepting its premise. So viewed, fascism marked a resurgence of the forces of traditionalism, authoritarianism, and various forms of irrationalism (Barnes 1928; Ellwood 1938: 289). In this interpretation, sociologists who set the stage were Vilfredo Pareto (‘the Karl Marx of Fascism’); Ludwig Gumplowicz and others of the Austrian ‘struggle school’; and a potpourri of racialists, nationalists, and eugenists now branded ‘social Darwinists’ (McGovern 1941; Hofstadter 1944).3 Others added that Comte, Durkheim, and Tönnies must also shoulder blame, a charge later commonplace so far as concerned Tönnies. Despite their embrace of science, each of these sociologists allegedly harboured secret affection for an organic order characterized alternatively as theological (Comte), as Gemeinschaft (Tönnies), and as mechanic solidarity (Durkheim) (Ranulf 1939:16–34). Other critics meanwhile rooted fascism in positivism itself. Within American sociology, this charge fuelled the ongoing battle between Ogburn’s rigorously scientistic faction and Bernard’s loose coalition of social evolutionists, reformers, and others increasingly marginalized within the profession. ‘If fascism comes, I surmise that [some of the sheltered sociologists who are commanding the strategic positions within the academic world] might be willing to surrender their birthright for a mess of pottage,’ one of Bernard’s allies wrote him in 1938. ‘At the present, some of them for the lack of vision, are drifting into the intellectual desert of Logical Positivism where they will be brooding upon their empty eggs of thought.’4 In Reason and Revolution (1941), the émigré philosopher Herbert Marcuse argued that positivism, in separating sociology from philosophy, narrowed the former to the study of immediate experience while exempting from critical reason wider realms of experience which Comte proceeded to fill with the elaborate rituals and symbols of his Religion of Humanity. Positivism thus provided a defence of middle-class society, while bearing within itself ‘the seeds of a philosophic justification of authoritarianism’ (Marcuse 1941:340–43). An American critic, charging Lundberg with pro-fascist views, turned Marcuse’s argument against ‘operationalism’, the latest attenuation of the extreme positivist spirit (Hartung 1944:330, 335, 337, 340–41).5


Summary of argument On balance, the following account supports the second rather than the first of these interpretations, although insisting that national, international, and professional politics were inextricably bound up with a positivistic orientation. In American sociology’s response to fascism, principle, politics, and profession each played a part. Some American sociologists early developed a distaste for fascism. But those who spoke out against the new movements in Italy and Germany laboured under a dual disadvantage. At the level of theory, their passion was often deeper than their analysis, as they viewed fascism rather narrowly in terms of class struggle or as the logic of capitalism, both legacies of the domestic political battles of the prewar Progressive Era.6 Despite some truth, these analyses were more revealing of the concerns of left-of-centre American liberals or radicals than of the complex nature of fascism. Nor, from a later perspective, were they really sociological.7 Within the profession, the most outspoken anti-fascists also lacked clout. Although the four leading sociological journals gave some space to discussions of fascism, and regularly reviewed books on the subject,8 authors and reviewers were typically relative unknowns (often without Ph.Ds), European émigrés (and hence also outsiders), or in fields other than sociology. Often right for the wrong reasons, they were easy to ignore. At the other extreme, Ogburn’s studied silence, if notable in its frankness, was not unique among the profession’s leaders. During Mussolini’s rise to power surprisingly few sociological big shots mentioned Italian fascism, while even fewer criticized it. From the triumph of National Socialism in 1933 through the Nazi-Soviet pact six years later, an amalgam of value-free objectivism, political isolationism, and veiled anti-Semitism kept public discussion to a minimum. Privately, younger objectivists speculated that a social scientist as scientist could function as effectively in Hitler’s Germany as in Franklin Roosevelt’s America. In his presidential address to the ASS in 1943, George Lundberg seemed to some to verge on open anti-Semitism, while his other public statements appeared to repudiate democracy. During the early 1940s, a gradual recognition of the complex nature of German fascism transformed the debate—due in part to new perspectives drawn from earlier European sociology, and in part to growing recognition of the true meaning of Hitler’s attack on the Jews. In the end, the debate over fascism worked to the disadvantage of both versions of objectivism, most especially the narrowly positivistic faction represented first by Ogburn, then by Lundberg. The beneficiaries, however, were not the reformers and dissidents of the 1930s, but a new generation who proposed to bring American sociology more squarely within the European tradition. Chief among these was Talcott Parsons, whose analysis of fascism in the early 1940s moved the debate to a new level, while directing American sociology along a new path. Just as the First World War had hastened the demise of a reformist social evolutionism and brought the rise of value-neutral


scientism, so the events of the Second World War paved the way for the emergence of the Parsonian paradigm within the discipline. In considering these issues, ‘response’ must be interpreted within an American context. Unlike their Italian or German colleagues, American sociologists faced no momentous decision to support or to oppose regimes that demanded their loyalty. Rather they enjoyed the luxury of a wait-and-see attitude throughout most of the 1930s. Once war was declared, theoretical discussions of the nature and sources of fascism were subordinated to more general issues concerning America’s war effort and, later, to the postwar reconstruction of Germany. Nor were sociologists alone in responding too little and too late, as the historian John Diggins has shown in his exhaustive study of American reactions to Mussolini (Diggins 1972). No American sociologist here considered was openly pro-fascist, as was the case with certain Italian and German social scientists.9 Rather, the case was one of collective myopia in the face of distinctly modern developments that cast a shadow not only on human history but on the very concept of modernity.10 ANTI-FASCIST VOICES Charles A.Ellwood During the 1920s, the professionalization of American sociology translated in practice into close, empirical study of domestic issues rather than comparative or historical studies of social systems or ideologies. The result was evident in the response to international affairs. Despite their important contributions to urban ecology and regionalism, for example, neither Robert Park nor Howard Odum apparently studied or commented on the rise of Mussolini or German fascism.11 The task of speaking out instead fell initially to two men trained in the prewar years: Charles A.Ellwood, an early Chicago Ph.D. (1899) who continued to represent the religious, reformist impulse of prewar sociology; and Emory S. Bogardus, also a Chicago Ph.D. (1911), whose ‘social distance’ scale won him a minor reputation during the 1920s. Born in upstate New York, Ellwood (1875–1946) began his career as a charity worker before teaching at the universities of Nebraska and Missouri, and finally Duke (appointed 1929). Convinced that the First World War was the product of unbridled materialism, he launched a one-man crusade for spirituality in scholarship against all forms of ‘objectivism’, a term he first used in 1916. In the early 1920s he fought (and lost) battles against military conscription, immigration restriction, and the racism that was endemic in his adopted state of Missouri. Ellwood early observed fascism firsthand during a visit to Italy in 1927–28. ‘Perhaps the three and one half months which I spent [there] were the most stimulating of the nine and one half months which I spent on the continent of Europe,’ he wrote in an unpublished sketch of his career a year later. Although he had once believed that social evolution guaranteed the triumph of democracy, he


was now less sure. ‘I now see that the Democratic Movement is not certain of victory in our culture,’ he continued, ‘unless strong efforts are made in the direction of social and political education.’12 From the late 1920s onward, Ellwood warned audiences throughout the nation of fascism’s perils. ‘Never before has democracy in all its forms been challenged so boldly, so determinedly, and so logically as by the fascist regime in Italy,’ he observed in a public lecture at Vanderbilt. ‘Fascism is doomed before it starts because it is built on false doctrines of social theory,’ he added before another audience at Northwestern. ‘Even if fascism is well integrated within the nation— and notice I am not saying that it is—but even if it is, it is headed for disaster, because it leads inevitably to war.’13 Although Ellwood contributed little or nothing in the way of formal analysis in these lectures or in his published work, the menace of fascism also echoed through his escalating attack on sociological objectivism (an ‘emasculated sociology’, he termed it), and surfaced again in The Story of Social Philosophy (1939). ‘Hegellives again,’ he wrote of the roots of Nazism, ‘in the “Authoritarian Volk State” that Hitler and his followers have set up.’ Writing to praise E.A.Ross’s New Age Sociology the following year, he added: ‘The trend at the moment, as you know, is so strongly for fascism, and possibly even toward a totalitarian form of the state, that our youth need to have their faith re-awakened in the social and political principles which lie at the foundation of our republic.’14 By the 1930s, however, Ellwood’s frank religiosity and armchair theorizing branded him as a voice of sociology-past, while a diminutive stature, a nervous manner, and a tendency to appropriate the theories of others made him an easy target for ridicule among younger colleagues. At the University of Missouri years before, the students called him ‘Little Charlie’ behind his back. During lectures, Bernard recalled of his former professor, Ellwood had a habit of shrugging his shoulders as if to ‘worm out’ of a jacket always too big for him, and had an ‘annoying habit’ of ‘sucking air or saliva through his teeth with a characteristic sound, possibly because his lips were too big for his Irish type mouth’. At the University of Chicago, Bernard added, sociologists resisted inviting Ellwood to their seminars for fear he would publish their ideas before they did (Bannister 1987:115–16, 134–35, 192–94). When in 1935 Ellwood was elected president of the soon-controversial International Federation of Sociology, one of Bernard’s allies branded the election ‘utterly preposterous’.15 However estimable his attacks on fascism, and prescient his predictions concerning war, Ellwood’s warnings were unlikely to have much impact on his fellow-sociologists. Sociology and Social Research Born in rural Illinois, Emory S.Bogardus (1882–1973), like Ellwood, was heir to the religious/reform spirit of the early century. While supportive parents urged education, a local pastor inculcated a sense of ‘universal values and humanity-wide


needs’, he wrote of his early life. After graduating from Northwestern University (BA 1908, MA 1909), he received a Ph.D. at Chicago for a thesis on ‘The Relation of Fatigue to Industrial Accidents’. To finance his studies, he worked at the Northwestern University Settlement on Chicago’s North Side, where he developed a lifelong interest in the relations of different immigrant groups. During his long career at USC (1911–1946), he published some 275 articles, most on theory and group relations, although twelve (as he counted them) in the area of ‘world community and organization’. In creating the ‘social distance scale’,16 Bogardus contributed to the 1920s passion for quantification. But, unlike the more extreme quantifiers, he continued to insist that sociology must serve democracy and social welfare.17 Bogardus, accordingly, opened the pages of Sociology and Social Research to discussions of fascism and international affairs. Typically brief, rarely penetrating, these contributions nonetheless championed democracy against both fascist and Communist alternatives. ‘As a means, fascism may be good,’ Bogardus concluded an assessment of the advantages and disadvantages of Mussolini’s programme in 1933; ‘but it contains the seeds of its own destruction in its autocracy.’ The platforms of Hitler’s movement, a second commentator warned the same year, ‘reveal the party’s inbred anti-Semitic stand’ (Bogardus 1933:569–74; Mohme 1933: 409–15; Yankwich 1934:365–71). National Socialism was not socialism despite its name, insisted John E.Nordskog, a colleague of Bogardus whose training had included studies at the London School of Economics. In a column of ‘International Notes’, Nordskog also informed readers of the latest European developments, while in book reviews drew attention to works critical of fascism, among them John F.Holt’s Under the Swastika (1936) and Gaetano Salvemini’s Under the Axe of Fascism (1939) (Nordskog 1939; 1937a; 1937b). Sociology and Social Research thus reinforced Ellwood’s warnings. But Bogardus faced similar problems impressing the sociological community with the urgency of the situation. Not only were West Coast institutions still relatively isolated, but he personally enjoyed little prestige among his eastern colleagues, indeed was ‘very much disliked’, as Bernard put it to Read Bain, explaining why a plan to make Sociology and Social Research one of three ‘official’ journals of the ASS was doomed to fail.18 Although elected president of the Society for 1931, Bogardus played little role in its affairs during the decade. More importantly, as was also the case with Bernard and his allies, the contributors to Sociology and Social Research, despite their defences of democracy, often made curious concessions in the attempt to balance pros and cons of fascism. Although anti-Semitism was excessive, continued the author of the article cited above, ‘a racial problem does exist’. Even Hitler’s ‘frequently Nordic extravaganzas’, he concluded, ‘may be viewed as moral regeneration’ (Mohme 1933:411, 415). In Bogardus’s own analysis, and in others, admiration for fascist planning showed through the criticism (Bogardus 1933; Wilson 1936). Although discussions of fascism appeared sporadically into the 1940s, they were slight in both volume and


substance when compared with growing interest in the topic in the profession generally. The ASS rebels During the 1930s, younger activists within the American Sociological Society added their voices to those of Ellwood and Bogardus.19 At their centre stood the irascible Luther Bernard, elected president of the ASS for 1932. Others included Jerome Davis, soon to be dismissed from Yale in what became a minor cause célèbre; and Maurice Parmelee, a sometime sociologist and government economist, who in 1931 led the first of a series of battles to reform the ASS.20 Jerome Davis (1891–1979) led off in Contemporary Social Movements (1930), a superficial and in many ways unsatisfactory effort that is important only because it was one of the first attempts by an American sociologist to elucidate fascist theory. For Davis, opposition to fascism was a natural extension of a lifelong crusade against bad things. Born in Japan, the son of missionary parents, he returned to the United States at age thirteen only to discover a great many things to disapprove, starting with the ‘sexual smut and profanity [and]the ostentatious display of wealth’ at the posh private school he attended in Washington D.C. (run by his uncle), and continuing at Columbia graduate school (Ph.D. 1922) with the ‘social ignorance and stupidity’ that produced the 3-Ds (dependants, defectives, and delinquents).21 In 1917 Davis made the first of several trips to Russia where he observed the Revolution firsthand, an experience that provided him with a model of the good society, a topic for a doctoral dissertation, and material for several books. During the 1920s, Davis’s radicalism was a source of unending academic difficulties. In 1922 several New Hampshire manufacturers demanded that he be fired from Dartmouth the year he arrived because of a study of a strike in a Manchester factory. In 1925, Davis’s sympathy for the revisionism of Harry Elmer Barnes and Sidney B.Fay brought a warning from Yale President James R.Angell, and possibly cost him a Guggenheim Fellowship. In 1927, following a trip to the Soviet Union, the charge was that Davis had taken ‘Moscow Gold’ in connection with a series of books he was editing for Vanguard Press.22 For self-protection if nothing else, Davis increasingly wrapped his social concerns in a rhetorical mantle of science and quantification. Increasingly, he was ‘convinced that sociology must rely on the statistical method to a greater extent than before’. His best-known work, An Introduction to Sociology (1927), was subtitled ‘A Behavioristic Study of American Society’ (Davis 1927).23 Although Davis’s publications were numerous, they were the sort that the new professionals increasingly dismissed: studies of labour, the church, immigration and related social problems; readers and textbooks. By 1932, he had published almost a dozen books, but as a Yale dean was later unkind enough to point out, many were written with others or loaded with source material.24


Contemporary Social Movements was an uneasy compromise between Davis’s convictions and the demands of classroom teaching. A collection of readings strung together by his own prose, it devoted only a hundred of its 900 pages to fascism, with the bulk given to Communism, socialism, and the British labour movement. Dealing entirely with Italy (since Hitler’s rise to power was three years in the future), the fascist section consisted largely of selections from participants favourable to the movement, capped by a dissent from Davis in the form of a recitation of instances of fascism within the United States: from statements by defenders of American capitalism to the activities of the Ku Klux Klan. For analysis, Davis fell back on the conventional wisdom of the left: ‘Fascism is a bulwark of capitalism’. Although he remained hopeful that American traditions of free speech and popular education would safeguard the nation against the fascist menace, he predicted that political power-holders, if sufficiently threatened by opponents of private property, ‘would find the use of violence a natural and easy step’ (Davis 1930:518, 521). Most reviewers focused more on Davis’s treatment of Bolshevism than of fascism. The hostile ones faulted his bias, while the favourable ones denied it ‘Rather strained efforts are made,’ one reviewer noted, ‘to link up each movement with American conditions and interests.’ Another pronounced the work of ‘questionable’ value both scientifically and pedagogically. A third, in contrast, wished that Congressmen investigating ‘red’ activity could have used the text in college. In all three, professional and national politics tinged concern with fascism per se, since the first two were written by professors at Yale’s arch-rival Harvard, and the third by an Ohio State sociologist soon to be fired for radical activity (Elliott 1931; Sorokin 1931; Miller 1931). A second ASS dissident to discuss fascism was Maurice Parmelee (1882–1969) in his Bolshevism, Fascism, and Liberal Democratic States (1934). Born in Istanbul, the son of Congregationalist missionaries, Parmelee like Davis was a birthright rebel, inheriting his parents’ zeal if not their religious faith. After graduating from Yale (1904), he received a doctorate in sociology at Columbia (1909), then taught briefly at the universities of Kansas, Missouri, Minnesota and finally the City College of New York. In 1918 he accepted a job with the War Trade Board in London, effectively leaving academic life for good, although not for want of trying to return. During the 1930s, he won brief notoriety as a member of the rebel faction that attempted to ‘democratize’ the ASS, but otherwise remained on the fringes of his discipline. Before retiring from the Railroad Retirement Board in 1952, he spent the rest of his career as an economist for various governmental agencies.25 A man of wide interests and many causes, Parmelee wrote prolifically on subjects that ranged from criminology (his speciality) to ‘scientific’ sociology (his passion) to nudism (his favorite avocation). Other books included studies of sea power, oriental culture, poverty, and even modern marriage, although he remained a bachelor throughout his life. While Criminology (1918) and related works won him a minor reputation within sociology, The New Gymnosophy (1927), a study


of nudism, and Bolshevism, Fascism and the Liberal Democratic State brought him notoriety and near-disaster when Congressman Martin Dies in the early 1940s managed to have him fired from his post with the Board of Economic Warfare for espousing nudism and Communism (‘Dies in the Spring’ 1942). An inveterate traveller, Parmelee observed the rise of Italian fascism and National Socialism at first hand. In 1920, he returned to Germany to study economic conditions for the State Department, remaining in Berlin until the spring of 1923. During 1928–29 he travelled for a year in the Soviet Union and through Italy to observe Bolshevism and fascism. During the summer of 1933 he was back in Germany to witness the results of the Nazi takeover. Among American sociologists, Parmelee was thus uniquely privileged to comment on fascism. The fact that he finally had little more impact than Ellwood or Davis is thus especially instructive. Although Parmelee’s Yale education and wide international experience distinguished him from most objectivists, he shared their desire to make sociology more ‘scientific’, albeit more ‘liberal’, as he once explained to Bernard. In practice, this programme translated into a prevailing animus against social workers, rural sociologists, and other ‘meliorists’ (his favourite pejorative). This animus extended to European sociologists, particularly when they threatened to siphon foundation funds from American sociologists, among them Parmelee, who perennially sought such grants. ‘Last winter it occurred to me that if these foundations would spend this money [given to European researchers] in America, the problem of the unemployed American social scientists could readily be solved,’ he wrote to Bernard in 1933, explaining a plan to persuade the Rockefellers and others to buy American.26 Unfortunately, Bolshevism, Fascism, like most of Parmelee’s work, was bold in scope, rich in detail, but rather short on critical analysis and systematic research. Both Italian fascism and National Socialism, as expressions of nationalism, had roots in history, he argued, the first ‘in imperial Rome, the medieval city state, and the Catholic Church’, the second in the ‘traditions of the ancient Teutons’. Although appealing to various groups in early stages, both were finally expressions of ‘monopolistic capitalism’. Without denying the extreme denial of civil liberties and individual rights under these regimes, he insisted that liberal-democracy under capitalism ‘had also resulted in destroying in large part the civil liberties’. Although National Socialism was a ‘close variant of fascism’, both differed markedly from Bolshevism, despite contemporary opinion to the contrary (Parmelee 1934:193, 7, 195, 362, 293). Although one of Parmelee’s defenders later described his book as a ‘vigorous attack on bolshevism and fascism and a paean for the liberal democratic state’ (Gibbons 1974:407), its emphasis on fascism-as-monopoly-capitalism, as with Davis’s analysis, marked it as a product of American left-of-centre liberalism. To be sure, Parmelee pulled few punches. Although stressing the pragmatism in Mussolini’s philosophy, his characterizations of this strain as ‘opportunism’ made it clear that he had little sympathy with it. His description of Nazi book-burning and anti-Semitism were detailed and forthright.


On balance, however, Parmelee added little to current debate. Less extreme but also less reasoned than contemporary analyses along similar lines (for example, R.Palme Dutt’s Fascism and Social Revolution [1934]), his view of fascism as an expression of capitalist interests, and as an authoritarian response to the problems of liberal democracy, was by now the standard line of leftist writers, many of whom Parmelee read and cited. Indeed, as one reviewer noted, Parmelee tended to report on published sources rather than provide ‘his first hand reactions to what he actually saw’ (‘Review’ 1935a: 499). His view of Communism, written while New Deal policies seemed to be foundering and before Stalin’s purges were under way, expressed the sort of sympathetic optimism many American intellectuals still harboured toward the Soviet experiment. His prognosis for capitalism was accordingly gloomy. ‘This is a vain hope for them’, he concluded of recent attempts at economic planning in capitalistic societies. ‘Planning is wholly inconsistent with and impossible under capitalism’ (Parmelee 1934:418). Although Parmelee’s book was more widely reviewed than Davis’s Contemporary Social Movements, the reviews suggested why he was even easier to dismiss. The North American Review thought his chapters on Italian fascism ‘especially interesting’ because they exposed the economic realities behind the ‘bold, showy, and wonderfully well publicized Italian front’. But the reviewer also cautioned readers that Parmelee must be ‘read with care’ because he ‘does not always think as clearly as he might’. The Saturday Review of Literature wondered where Parmelee himself stood politically. If not capitalism or socialism, then what? Perhaps ‘technocracy’, the reviewer opined. But like most supporters of technocracy, Parmelee dodged the question of what political and social objectives would guide the technocrats —a charge similar to that often levelled against most proponents of a more strictly scientific sociology and social policy (‘Review’ 1935b:92; ‘Review’ 1935a:499). Nor did Parmelee’s position in the profession redeem these shortcomings. He was ‘a most insignificant looking person’ who ‘never achieved any standing’, one contemporary recalled. He was not a very ‘conspicuous’ figure, added another, and ‘was generally looked on as a mediocre scholar’. For whatever reasons, his colleagues in sociology virtually ignored his analysis of fascism, just as most would later fail to support him during the Dies investigation (comments quoted by Gibbons 1974:413). Luther L.Bernard Although Luther Bernard (1881–1951) published less than his fellow dissidents on the subject, he was perhaps the most adamant in private in opposing all tendencies of ‘fascism’ whether at home, abroad, or within his own profession. Born in Kentucky, raised in the bleaker parts of west Texas and southwest Missouri, Bernard was one of sociology’s most complex figures—personally, intellectually, and politically. After attending an obscure Baptist college in Missouri, he received a doctorate in sociology under Albion Small at Chicago, in


the process breaking from his mentor and offending most of the faculty. Partly as consequence, he became one of the profession’s most peripatetic practitioners, teaching finally at half a dozen universities before an unwilling retirement from Washington University in St Louis in the mid 1940s. During his graduate school days, Bernard considered himself an ‘intelligent liberal’, that is to say, one who favoured a social policy based on science rather than on sentiment. During a summer on the Chautauqua lecture circuit in 1909, he opposed socialists, reactionaries, and do-good sentimentalists alike.27 His goal was ‘an objective standard of social control’, the title of his dissertation. But Bernard’s politics, like those of Parmelee, could be somewhat confusing. Like other social controllers, including many who supported Theodore Roosevelt’s Progressive (Bull Moose) Party in 1912, he mingled praise of democracy with calls for an ‘objective standard’ that seemed to denigrate democratic politics. During the 1930s, Bernard was a political enigma—an amalgam of populist instincts, an elitist faith in efficiency, and a distrust of the two major parties. In 1932, he urged two former Bull Moosers to run on a third-party platform of ‘constitutionalism, agrarian defense, and the welfare of the workers and the unemployed’.28 In one unpublished attack on then-President Franklin D. Roosevelt, he charged that the New Deal’s chief beneficiaries were ‘speculative business’, ‘speculative overcapitalized railroads’, ‘credit speculators and professional stock waterers’. F.D.R. himself was ‘the face debonair and the ingratiating radio voice’; the ‘hero of the Hudson’; and ‘ninety percent Eleanor [the President’s wife] and ten percent mush’.29 Then and later, however, the politics of Bernard’s own utopia of perfect adjustment remained regrettably vague. From this uncertain perspective, Bernard monitored the rise of Nazism with growing concern. Unlike some champions of social control, he rejected the argument that a Hitler or Mussolini could provide order and stability superior to that in the democratic societies. Such stability was ‘illusory’, and indeed destructive of the ‘most valuable elements in our society’, Bernard observed in the spring of 1935 when a member of the audience at one of his lectures made this argument. The coming of the dictatorships was but ‘a last desperate attempt to hold a decaying civilization together a little longer’. Confronting a group of Germans while returning from Europe that fall, he chided them for not overthrowing Hitler. A year later, more apprehensively, he asked fellow sociologist Charles Ellwood whether the older man thought that fascism was ‘going to overrun the world’.30 Tutored by his wife Jessie, Bernard acquainted himself with the growing literature on fascism in preparation for his forthcoming study of Social Control (1939). In the autumn of 1936 Jessie reported on John Strachey’s The Menace of Fascism (1933), a left-wing attack widely criticized by American reviewers as being pro-Communist. After reading Stephen H. Roberts’ The House that Hitler Built (1937) and another work by a ‘British journalist’, Jessie commented on the power of German propaganda, a theme of special interest to social control sociologists. Shortly after Munich, Luther himself condemned the ‘effete


democracies’ of Europe for not calling Hitler’s bluff. ‘[War] would have been the best thing,’ he wrote to Jessie, ‘war now—for it will certainly be war in earnest in a few years, after Hitler has fully armed, and after Fr. and Eng. are ruined by armament races. Only Russia, Germany, and Italy will survive (in Europe) this cowardly policy.’31 In Social Control, Bernard cited examples of terrorization and regimentation under the Nazi regime. His bibliography provided a full listing of recent treatments of fascism. In War and its Causes (1944), an encyclopedic survey of the nature and future of war as a social institution, he castigated the Nazis’ sneak attack on other nations, their plundering of wealth from other countries, and their ‘unsound racial ideology’. Although German nationalism was a minor motivation in Nazism, the appeal to pan-German sentiments was ‘a convenient working camouflage’ of motives that included ‘the desire of Hitler personally to play a hero role in world affairs,of the capitalistic interests in the state to establish economic imperialism over the world, of the military clique to regain their lost professional prestige, and of the masses of the German people to have revenge upon the peoples they had been told had despoiled them of their place in the world’. In these and similar statements, Bernard thus introduced psychological and cultural factors absent from the work of Davis and Parmelee (Bernard 1972:87, 335–36, 380). Bernard also worked actively to offset the consequences of fascism for the social sciences in Europe. At the 1937 meeting of the ASS he supported a motion by Maurice Parmelee that would have blocked affiliation with the International Federation of Sociological Societies, an organization dominated by the French International Institute of Sociology, then (or soon to be) subject to fascist influences.32 As editor of the American Sociologist, a publication he launched after resigning from the ASS in the late 1930s, Bernard invited comments from fellow sociologists concerning the role of refugee intellectuals. These refugees were welcome, Harry Elmer Barnes intoned in a lead article in the American Sociologist, so long as they ‘expose the methods of fascism, not flirt with them’ (Barnes 1944:1–2). Linking fascism to a narrow and sterile positivism, Bernard also anticipated the idealist-positivist argument then taking shape in the work of Marcuse and others. His particular focus was the ‘fascist’ sympathies that allegedly motivated the sociological elite who formed the core of the Sociological Research Association, an invitation-only club organized in 1936, from which Bernard had been excluded. Its members—which he termed ‘particularistic mystical sociologists’—included two quite different types. One wing denied any regularity in human affairs, and hence the possibility of social control through science. ‘Many, perhaps most of the sociological mystics are Fascists at heart, and, when they can overcome their repugnance to the espousal of a cause, are so in fact,’ he wrote. In their view, sociology was ‘a mere esthetic exercise’, the universities ‘a natural product of human stupidity, made to serve the function of providing them with incomes and intellectual amusement’. A second type of mystic inhabited the house of science


itself: ‘he often regards himself as a statistical methodologist (and indeed does frequently play with numbers and equations and with fact gathering)’ (Bernard 1940:340–50). In the early 1940s Bernard sharpened this attack in the pages of the American Sociologist. In one draft editorial—initially titled ‘Little Sociologist, What Now?’—he summed up his case in especially vitriolic terms.33 The SRA, having ‘drawn ridicule’ for the ‘poverty’ of its research and the ‘mediocrity’ of its candidates for election, now proposed to secure its grip on the ASS by creating different categories of members (a proposal at the 1941 meetings). This report would be accepted ‘by the “Heil Hitlers” of the Society’. So bitter were his feelings that he temporarily succumbed to an adolescent temptation to jibe at the Society’s initials—ASS. The result would be the domination of the Society by the SRA’s ‘fascistic machine’.34 Although Bernard’s friends persuaded him to delete the reference to the ‘Heil Hitlers’, the charge contained a point worth exploring seriously: idealism and empiricism, although philosophically opposed, boiled down to the same thing. Denying a natural order, the ‘sociological mystics’ despaired of reintroducing order in ‘this world of chaos’ other than through the imposition of an external ‘dictator’, just as the ‘theologically minded had earlier turned to “priestly hierarchies”’. The worship of ‘fact‘ led down the same path. Coming from a positivist, the charge against idealism was nothing new. What distinguished it now was the related allegation that the trouble was with positivism itself. ‘Strange bedfellows indeed!’ Bernard commented, thinking again of the cosy alliances within the SRA (Bernard 1940:343). Whatever their merits, however, Bernard’s fulminations diluted principle with provincial prejudice and professional politics even more obviously than was the case with most of his colleagues. Although he did not finally agree with isolationists concerning the coming and conduct of the war, he shared their anti-British animus, seeing British and German imperialism as the twin devils in international affairs, and fearing a resurgence of fascism in British clothing with war’s end (Bernard 1943a: 1–2; 1943b:1–2). Domestically, as the reference to effete democracies suggested, his own version of democracy was something other than that actually practised in Britain, France, and the United States—in fact closer to a populist authoritarianism than he cared to admit. Professional infighting also muddied devotion to pure principle. In the battle over affiliation with the International Sociological Society, ongoing feuds within the ASS (especially over the SRA), even perks in the form of the appointment of delegates, reinforced lines drawn over isolationism, internationalism, and the Nazi menace. On the issue of refugee sociologists, concern over their pro-fascist leaning (as in Barnes’s article) joined considerations based on job security and often-parochial nationalism.35 Whether or not some members of the SRA were actually soft on fascism (Ogburn among them), Bernard provided no particulars. Although his ‘fascist’ name-calling may be excused as the sort of hyperbolic excess in which Americans often indulge, it also expressed his personal pique at


being excluded from the sociological establishment, effectively trivializing the European reality. Moreover, it was not at all clear that Bernard had more to offer than those sociologists who insisted on a rigid separation of science and society, means and ends. Although he had a chance to clarify his position in War and its Causes (1944), the work was a curious one from someone who for several years had been hurling the epithet ‘fascism’ at members of his own profession. At the conceptual level his analysis combined a conspiracy theory of ‘big business’ (the American perennial) with a personal inclination to see the world in terms of manipulation, revenge, and the quest for individual advantage and prestige—a view he buttressed with appeal to an already shopworn behaviourist psychology. Thus Hitler sought to play the hero, military men sought lost prestige, and an industrial elite sought economic advantage while bamboozling a vengeful German public. Bernard’s taxonomic method meanwhile blunted those criticisms of fascism he made, as he organized causes of war in a series of pigeon-holes (psychological, geopolitical, cultural, etc.) into which he placed historical examples. Thus Nazism as a manifestation of nationalism or religious fervour was effectively equated with any and all expressions of these sentiments, past or present. ‘If this book were readable, it would be dangerous’, a Harvard historian wrote concerning the latter point. By putting aggressor and defenders on the same level, ‘no war appears profitable and no cause good’: not the Civil War, not the war against the Axis. Ultimately, he concluded, the fault lay not with Bernard, but the thrust of modern ‘objective’ scholarship. Three decades later, another critic put the matter more bluntly: ‘But why doesn’t he also say simply, War is hell?’ (Fox 1944:4, 16; Charny 1972:7). Whatever the shortcomings of the analysis, Bernard and the other academic radicals nonetheless deserve credit for speaking out, especially when compared with the attitudes of leading proponents of a more strictly value-neutral sociology. During the war years, The American Sociologist provided a continuing guide to the latest books on fascism, while insisting that sociology was not adequately addressing the issues. Although sometimes suspicious of Allied aims, and convinced that war was an outmoded means of ‘social control’, Bernard called for its vigorous prosecution, while warning of the dangers of a postwar reaction. In retrospect, some of his themes appear naive, even wrong: his echoing of the New Deal-as-fascism line, for example, or his characterization of Dumbarton Oaks as a ‘thinly veiled military dictatorship of the great powers’. But his warning against those in the postwar era who would collaborate with former Nazis in the interests of opposing Russia raised an issue that continues to be debated (Bernard 1945:1– 2).36 At the same time, the factors that kept Bernard and his allies from pushing their analyses further also explain why they too were less effective than they might have been in mobilizing opinion against fascism within and outside the profession. Politically, their leftist views, coupled in varying degrees with enthusiasm for the Soviet Union, made them automatically suspect. However energizing their animus against American ‘big business’, their insistence on this theme to the exclusion of


a genuinely sociological analysis revealed more about the American past than the German or Italian present. The absence of such analysis, in turn, revealed the interwar isolation of American sociology from its European roots (indeed a general animus against theory altogether). Nor were these political convictions (and, as it will turn out, anti-Semitism) unrelated to this theoretical orientation since both ultimately reflected a crisis within a provincial, culturally impoverished, segment of American Protestant culture from the 1910s onward.37 ABOVE THE BATTLE William F.Ogburn Although Bernard never named the ‘fascists’ in the SRA, he and his associates regularly referred to the ‘T-O-R’ faction that controlled ASS affairs by the mid 1930s—the ‘O’ in this unholy Trinity being William Fielding Ogburn (1886– 1959), probably the most prominent and influential of the proponents of ‘scientific’ sociology within the profession.38 Born and educated in the South, Ogburn had done his graduate work under Franklin Giddings at Columbia, and in 1912 earned his Ph.D. for a statistical study of child labour legislation. In Social Change (1922), he introduced the phrase ‘cultural lag’ into the sociologists’ vocabulary. During the 1920s, he represented the discipline at the Social Science Research Council, and was soon a power in the world of foundation politics. In 1927 he joined the faculty at the University of Chicago, later chairing the sociology department. Ogburn’s pioneering study of the 1928 election earned him a minor footnote in histories of quantitative social science (Ogburn 1929–1930; Easthope 1974:114–19, 133–34, 145–46; Maus 1962:136–38; Gow 1985:1–18). As research director of President Herbert Hoover’s Committee on Social Trends, he played a pivotal role in producing the pathbreaking Recent Social Trends (1931). During the depression years, he served on several New Deal agencies.39 Despite a lifelong penchant for travel to exotic places, Ogburn early developed a distrust of Europe and things European. During a visit to Paris in 1906, his first trip out of Georgia, he was repulsed by his discovery of a bohemian world of ‘Russians, poets, artists, Jews’ (‘But nearly all queer’, he confided to his diary). During the First World War, he saw firsthand evidence of wartime hysteria in the activities of his Columbia mentor, Franklin Giddings, whose pro-war excesses provided many younger sociologists with a powerful lesson of what sociology should not be (Gruber 1975:60–1, 85–6). Attracted to socialism, he toyed first with the economic explanations of Louis Boudin’s Socialism and the War (1916) before settling into profound disillusionment at the outcome in the postwar era. Ogburn’s programme for sociology, as outlined in his presidential address before the ASS in 1929, was uncompromising. Sociology was ‘not interested’ in improving the world, he told his colleagues. ‘Science is interested directly in one thing only, to wit, discovering new knowledge.’ This goal required a ‘wholly


colorless literary style’ and a rigorous method, preferably statistical. The truly scientific sociologist, a service intellectual rather than a policy maker, would not pretend to ‘guide the course of evolution’, but rather would generate the ‘information necessary for such supreme direction to some sterling executive who will appear to do the actual guiding’. The enemy was ‘emotion’: the goals ‘efficiency’ and ‘adjustment’ (Ogburn 1930). Although Ogburn’s enthusiasm for this vision gradually eroded during the 1930s, his devotion to it shaped his reaction to fascism. As a matter of principle, he tried to avoid statements on public issues entirely. When circumstances forced him to discuss fascism, his references were brief and muted. For example, in Sociology (1940), a textbook written with Meyer Nimkoff, Ogburn included one three-page discussion of fascism and a second brief mention of totalitarianism, both treated within the context of economic organization, social efficiency, and ‘different systems of interrelation of state and industry’. A ‘new type of government’, totalitarianism posed ‘a challenge to democracy’, the authors told students. But too much could be made of the differences between the two systems. ‘The propaganda regarding democracies and totalitarian states serves to exaggerate the differences.‘Just as fascism in Germany and Italy was largely a product of war preparations, so ‘many of the characteristics usually associated with totalitarian societies are found in the democratic states in wartime’. Would the totalitarian states evolve toward democracy? Answering this question, Ogburn equivocated, concluding with a homily on the need to balance freedom and organization (Ogburn and Nimkoff 1940: 765, 651, 654). Meanwhile, Ogburn learned that such detachment had its price. Attending a talk on German propaganda by the head of the Berlin Associated Press Bureau in mid 1942, he was curiously torn. ‘The questions and his stories related chiefly to the interferences of the Nazis with liberty and to their brutalities’, he wrote in his diary. He had ‘listened with great admiration at the skill and efficiency’ of the German propaganda machine (‘not admiration of course for the end, but for the means’), a manipulation of opinion that seemed to him not much different from what any family or college fraternity does to its members. Others in the audience, however, ‘seemed to listen with contempt, disgust and horror at the domination and the interference with the liberty of the press and the distortion of fact’. While they were consumed by hate, he assumed that atrocities ‘were a function of war, instead of being a correlate of one side’, he continued, reverting to the language of statistics. ‘As the discussion progressed, I felt alone, as though no one thought the same way I thought.’ Was he ‘psychotic?’ Was he ‘in anyway abnormal?’ No, he decided. But he disliked seeing his colleagues ‘so emotional and so hating’.40 When it came to explaining Nazism, or America’s motives in fighting the war, Ogburn fell back on an economic analysis more extreme than that offered by the ASS radicals. Attending a talk on the causes of the war a month later, he rejected the speakers’ contention that the Allies fought for ‘human dignity’. If so, why were those who cared about human dignity not at war all the time? Why not fight at home for the rights of minorities? And weren’t the Germans fighting for their


own ‘human dignity’ which suffered so badly after Versailles? As a motive, ‘human dignity’ would not do, he decided. ‘The desire for material resources and economic advantages plus a tradition for national glory’ better explained the issue for both sides. Even at that, he still wondered why the United States was in the war at all since the nation’s economic motive was at best in the form of fears for the future.41 On V-E day, Ogburn looked back over the troubled years. ‘Now that the war is over, I may say that I have felt lonely during the war with no person that I knew with whom I could talk.’ His position, as he now reviewed it, was probably not unlike that of many isolationists and ‘America Firsters’. He had ‘always wanted us to win’. But the victory had been at great costs, hatred and passion being among them. The root of his difficulty was merely ‘(a) certain detachment and (b) an ability to see the other fellow’s side’. From this Olympian perspective, even Hitler was but ‘a symbol to stimulate and arouse the masses’. In yet another entry he complained that it was impossible to say any ‘kind words’ about Hitler without being ostracized. What ‘kind words’ he had in mind, he did not specify.42 A year later Ogburn learned the full cost of his detachment. ‘The consensus expressed about you was that your professional careerhas been seriously marred and your reputation injured by your non-belief in democracy and your obsession with [and] your fondness and admiration for totalitarian dictatorships’, a former student wrote to him in 1946 after overhearing him thus criticized during a conference held at Princeton. ‘Your friends cited the fact that you seemed to be pro-Nazi in the late 1930s, even up to Pearl Harbor. They now say you are just as strongly in favor of the Soviets, and that you evidently adhere to a totalitarian form of government.’ She was also not comforted when another friend defended Ogburn, saying he was reported as pro-Nazi ‘merely because of the absurd notion you had that you could view objectively a war in which the world was involved, and remain neutral’.43 The irony in all this was that Ogburn by this time was assailed on all sides. To Harry Elmer Barnes, he seemed the prime example of the ‘flipflopping and backflipping liberals’ who favoured peace in the 1930s but supported war when ‘Frankie [Barnes’s and Lundberg’s preferred name for President Franklin D. Roosevelt] slipped’.44 The FBI, in turn, suspected Ogburn of being soft on Communism, a suspicion that led them to keep track of his activities until close to his death. The resulting file—which one investigator has recently examined under the Freedom of Information Act—shows no evidence of any association with right-wing groups, but rather involvement (usually very meagre) with organizations designated as Communist or Communist fronts, among them the Association of Scientific Workers from about 1938 to 1945, the Spanish Aid Committee in 1941, and the Veterans of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, also in 1941.45 Ogburn, accordingly, was troubled by this student’s report. ‘It jerked me up quick’, he confided to his diary. But, as his other entries indicated, he was not entirely blameless. He did admire order and efficiency; he did distrust emotion


deeply, even when directed against an Adolf Hitler. Nor, given a lifetime of training, was Ogburn able or willing to remove the cloud in his postwar writings. Debating the merits of freedom versus organization, he continued to insist that the question was one of relative merits rather than absolute values. Thus the war imposed some restrictions on all of us’, albeit that in Nazi Germany ‘the curtailment of liberty was general’. In a passing reference, he used Goebbels’ work as minister of propaganda as evidence of the misuse of knowledge, but left his own judgement in the form of a question: ‘who shall say he used such knowledge for the good of society?’ (Ogburn 1948:256; 1949:208). George A.Lundberg During the early 1940s, the defence of value-neutral sociology fell to a new generation, and with it the problem of responding to fascism during wartime. Among these stalwarts, few were more outspoken, or more colourful, than George A.Lundberg (1895–1966) of Bennington College, and, after 1945, the University of Washington. Although never enjoying Ogburn’s prestige, Lundberg exerted greater influence within the profession than his academic positions might suggest: as author of Foundations of Sociology (1941) and Can Science Save Us? (1947); as president of the ASS for 1943; and as chief exponent of what he termed ‘operationalism’. Lundberg’s troubles with fascism began in the late 1930s, at first almost as a joke. ‘I know you are quite Fascist in speech, but I imagine you wouldn’t like it if you had to live under it—because you dearly love your “inalienable right” to shoot off your mouth,’ his friend Read Bain of Miami University wrote in March 1937. To this Lundberg replied: ‘Whence came this idea that I “am quite Fascist in speech”? I hate the bastards as much as any Hebrew.’ Still bantering, the sociable Bain confessed a year later that such talk was not making him very popular. ‘I have already been run out of 2 or 3 households almost for saying that I believe I could get along in Nazi Germany as a scientist, about as well as here— some better. If I got into trouble it would be because I stuck my neck out, i.e. tried to play a part in policy making, and value promoting—instead of doing my stuff —find out what is.’46 In the end, however, it was Lundberg’s attitudes toward fascism, rather than Bain’s, that caused the greatest controversy. Born in Fairdale, North Dakota, the son of Swedish immigrants, Lundberg sought in ‘science’ a security and respectability missing during his youth. Since there were no high schools in his area, his education consisted of a college preparatory course from a Chicago correspondence school, and a degree in education at the University of North Dakota. From there it was an appointment as superintendent of schools in a place called Hope, North Dakota (1920), an MA. under E.A.Ross at the University of Wisconsin (1922), and a Ph.D. at Minnesota (1925) under Bernard and F.Stuart Chapin.


A fifteen-month interruption to serve in the First World War shaped Lundberg’s attitudes toward politics and world affairs more or less for life. ‘I escaped most of the irritations, indignities, and absurdities of the military routine’, he later wrote with characteristic hauteur, ‘and felt more than adequately repaid for the inconvenience by a three months’ period of study at the London School of Economics’. Whatever patriotism he felt yielded quickly to the post-Versailles disillusionment. To the end of his days, he remained a foe of internationalism in all its forms. Were his convictions not problem enough, Lundberg had a way of putting things that was offensive or amusing, depending upon one’s point of view. Despite his self-professed love of the people, his statements concerning democracy and dictatorship seemed to many to be pro-fascist, as his exchange with Bain attested. Although on that occasion Lundberg denied the charge (‘I am not for a damn thing but Roosevelt at present, and share his views fully in democracy’), he proceeded to dig himself in even deeper. Sure, he liked ridiculing ‘the communists’ criticism of fascism —most of it is idiotic’. Further, he wasn’t ‘at all sure that the Italians aren’t as well off as they would have been under any other regime’. And the Germans? ‘Somebody had to repudiate the treaty etc., etc. And if Hitler should take back some of his colonies, it might help the world situation, if it wasn’t too expensive.’ As for ‘the freedom of speech stuff, as he termed it: ‘how important is it to those who have nothing to say, i.e. about 99%’. Since such freedoms were a ‘correlate or function of the security of a regime’, one could expect their gradual return once the new rulers were firmly in the saddle. From 1939 to 1941, with war raging in Europe, Lundberg supported isolationism and such America Firsters as the aviator Charles Lindberg. In public he could be biting enough. But in private he was even worse. While visiting the sociologist Roderick D.McKenzie at the University of Michigan in the late spring of 1940—as Jessie Bernard heard the story—he boasted that he ‘had enjoyed [the war] and grown fat on it’, a statement particularly offensive to Mrs McKenzie who had lost a brother in the war. For ‘intellectuals’ he had nothing but contempt. He hoped to do an article on their ‘stupid behaviorin the face of the war’, he wrote to Jessie Bernard that same July. ‘I’d like to accuse them of selfishly looking after what they think is their own interest—a vested interest in talk—and selling the masses of the people in every country down the river by inducing them to fight for symbols which aren’t worth fighting for, except for journalists, preachers and professors, who live by them.’47 Nor did the war change Lundberg’s mind. In Can Science Save Us? (1947), originally lectures at the University of Washington in the spring of 1945, he repeated the message, although this time without any reference to fascism. Lundberg’s message was vintage positivism, coupled with a lament that social scientists get no respect. Without benefit of a scientific approach, the postwar settlement was doomed to go the way of the disastrous Versailles settlement of two decades before, Lundberg warned. Although he never defined the term ‘science’, his model was essentially that of the engineer or technician, stressing


method and results over theory and truth. Scientific statements, so conceived, had a similar formulation whether dealing with disease or social problems: ‘if you want this, ‘then’ do that. Statements of any other sort—whether political, ethical, or aesthetic—were not scientific even when uttered by scientists. Social scientists often form pressure groups to advance their preferences. But neither the likes, the dislikes, nor the organizations were thus scientific (Lundberg 1947:27–33). By this time, Lundberg’s views were taking a toll on his reputation. In September 1940, Jessie Bernard warned that his anti-war sentiments, Olympian objectivity, and apparent disdain of democracy were harming him professionally. ‘It has occurred to methat in the past decade or so you have allowed yourself to become a bit too removed from the ordinary human values’, she wrote to her old friend. ‘Are you not a bit too Olympian? pontifical? unsympathetic?’ Others soon seconded the comment. ‘Positivistic sociology had its origin in a conservative and reactionary mission, and this function characterizes it even today’, another critic charged in the wake of his presidential address to the ASS, citing Marcuse among others. Lundberg’s ‘advocacy of the isolation of science from society, and a contempt for democracy’ together illustrated the ‘proto-fascist aspect of positivism’. Years later, Jessie Bernard repeated her earlier warning. ‘I know you are not a fascist; at least you never were. But your theories are definitely fascistic in implication’ (Hartung 1944).48 Perhaps even worse, Lundberg had discredited all sociologists when it came to government service, another student of Luther Bernard wrote to him once the war was over. ‘I would say in the late emergencyI saw no evidence of any practitioner of sociology (of either the scientific or intuitive school) being in any policy making or agency role as a sociologist,’ he continued. ‘Being a sociologist was a positive disadvantage in acquiring a strategic position in government and you are not wholly without blame.’49 New departures That interest in empirical research and a high level of professionalism need not necessarily breed indifference to fascism was demonstrated by two apparent exceptions to the Olympian detachment of Ogburn, Lundberg, and others: Clifford Kirkpatrick’s Nazi Germany: Its Women and Family Life (1938); and Theodore Abel’s Why Hitler Came Into Power (1938). Contemporaries of Lundberg, and representatives of American sociology’s third generation, both men moved in circles where scientific detachment was at a premium. An undergraduate at Clark (B.A. 1920), Kirkpatrick (b. 1898) received his doctorate at the University of Pennsylvania (1925), and later taught at the University of Minnesota (1930–49), a bastion of positivist sociology. Abel (b. 1896), in turn, received both an M.A. (1925) and Ph.D. (1939) at Columbia where he taught from 1929 until his appointment at Hunter College in 1951. Yet, in other respects, their backgrounds and experiences differed significantly from Lundberg’s. While Lundberg first sat out, then regretted the First World War,


Kirkpatrick won a Distinguished Service Cross for service in the Army Ambulance Corps. Before going to Minnesota, he moved through a series of elite eastern schools, Andover and Brown (where he taught 1920–21 and 1923–24 respectively), in addition to Clark and Penn. Abel, a Pole by birth, served in the Polish army during the First World War before coming to the United States, living his entire life in New York, New Mexico, and Indiana. Steeped in European social theory, he published his first book on Systematic Sociology in Germany (1929). In their studies of fascism, Abel and Kirkpatrick employed empirical techniques, setting their works apart from many similar efforts. Awarded a Guggenheim for 1936–37, Kirkpatrick conducted extensive interviews in Germany, many with National Socialists. In addition, he consulted a wide range of German newspapers and other relevant publications. Abel, more ingeniously, devised a contest wherein Nazi party members could win four hundred marks in prizes for essays on their life histories. The enterprise yielded some 683 manuscripts, a number of which he reprinted verbatim in a final section of his study. What distinguished their works, however, was a new theoretical sophistication that for the first time approached a genuinely sociological interpretation. National Socialism, argued Kirkpatrick, was more than the product of leadership, terrorism, class struggle and monopoly capitalism, or militarism—although each played a part. Viewed sociologically, Germany was rather ‘an experiment in regression to tribal-group intimacy on a national scale by means of modern agencies of communication’. Initially, modern transportation and communication disrupt primary-group intimacy, he continued, employing a distinction between primary and secondary, in- and out-group going back to Charles Horton Cooley, William Graham Sumner, and their European mentors. But these same forces also facilitate attempts to revitalize this community on a national scale, a ‘tribal engineering’ with modern propaganda techniques. Since confusions concerning family life and woman’s place were a central element in this dislocation, sociological analysis provided the key to the Nazi programme for women, no less than to National Socialism generally. Abel, targeting psychoanalytic and Marxian theories in particular, also opposed simplistic, monolithic explanations. Rather, a complex interaction of discontent, a flexible ideology, organization and propaganda, and charismatic leadership brought Hitler to power, he argued in an analysis that drew on Weber’s conception of charisma (Kirkpatrick 1938: Ch. 1; Abel 1938: Chs. 6– 8; Abel 1945). Both Kirkpatrick and Abel also stated explicitly that careful scholarship did not require detachment or disinterest. ‘The writer has no illusions about his capacity for purely objective description,’ Kirkpatrick confessed. ‘In political outlook, he is liberal in the sense that he values reason, toleration and co-operation.’ He was also a ‘hedonist’ and thus disliked any system that made people manifestly unhappy. To understand all was not to forgive all, Abel observed, challenging Mme de Stael on this point. In later years, he returned to Germany to record exit interviews with concentration camp inmates (Kirkpatrick 1938: xi-xii).50


But was the conflict between scholarship and commitment, medium and message thus finally resolved? Had the shadow that objectivism shed over analyses of fascism been dispelled? Despite their personal revulsion to Nazism, and the merits of their analyses, neither the authors nor their reviewers answered these questions very satisfactorily. Having disagreed with de Stael, Abel added somewhat enigmatically: ‘I therefore declare myself willing to bear the accusation of impartiality, but plead “not guilty” to a charge of intended approval or disapproval of the movement’ (Abel 1938:9).51 Apologies aside, Kirkpatrick also left no doubt that he intended a ‘scientific’ study. Indeed, in a variation of a dilemma many social scientists have faced, he regretted that many Nazis he had interviewed would view a ‘scientific analysis’ of their movement as a ‘betrayal of friendship and ingratitude for hospitality’ (Kirkpatrick 1938:xii). Reviewers applauded their detachment, rather than their convictions. ‘The author will doubtless be attacked in these hysterical times for his impartiality’, Kirkpatrick himself wrote of Abel. ‘From the standpoint of the sociologist that is an achievement.’ While he had put down most such books ‘because the authors have obviously written with their glands rather than their brains’, added a reviewer of Nazi Germany, ‘not so Kirkpatrick, for this book is a model of tireless sifting of evidence, patient inquiry, testing of interpretations, and scientific detachment’ (Kirkpatrick 1939; Waller 1940). Sophisticated analysis, it appeared, did not resolve the dilemma of advocacy and objectivity. OBJECTIVISM AND ANTI-SEMITISM By the early 1940s, mounting evidence of Hitler’s ‘final solution’ convinced some observers that anti-Semitism was not merely an incidental appendage but integral to the psychodynamics of German fascism. Although the full story of how and why Americans resisted acting upon this knowledge is too complex to be detailed here, one factor was certainly a long, convoluted tradition of anti-Semitism that strengthened during the interwar years as sons and daughters of prewar Jewish immigrants took their place in American society. For the leading objectivists, hints of anti-Semitism (or something very close) reinforced a principled neutrality concerning fascism.52 Within academia, and the professions generally, discrimination against Jews in the interwar years ranged from outright exclusion to admissions quotas to more subtle ‘understandings’. Nor were the social sciences immune. ‘Another possibility is Louis Wirth at Tulane’, W.F. Ogburn wrote to a friend at Smith in 1930. ‘He has a very keen mind. He is a Jew, however.’ Even more bluntly, Read Bain wrote to the sociologist Samuel Stouffer at the University of Chicago in 1936 that he wanted to hire ‘a bright, young, non-Jewish, non-Negro male under thirty’—a remark that deeply offended Wirth and caused Stouffer to beg Bain for an apology.53 At Harvard a few years later, one administrator explained patiently to Talcott Parsons why no Jew should be appointed at their institution, reasoning circularly that their own economics department had a difficult enough time placing their graduate student Paul Samuelson.54


Objectivism contributed to this status quo, however subtly and indirectly, in that it took conventional stereotypes as ‘data’ for analysis. Perhaps most striking was the case of William Ogburn. A radical of sorts during his younger years, Ogburn by his own later testimony had spent ‘great gobs of time’ during his years at Columbia in the 1920s helping Jews obtain jobs and fellowships. But his attitude gradually soured. Their ‘aggression, ego, contempt, etc.’ got under his skin, he later confided to his diary. Invited to dinner parties, he would wonder ‘if Mr.__, a Jew, would be there, or Prof.__, a Jew was invited. If so, I braced myself for a bad time.’ Finally, he asked himself ‘why I have to be so damned nice to the Jews if I do not enjoy them’. At the same time, he realized how unjust it was to endow ‘the individual with the traits of the race’.55 Faced with this dilemma, a nineteenth-century liberal ideally might have reread John Locke on ‘natural rights’, or quoted the Declaration of Independence. Ogburn instead made a list. Comparing thirty-five Jews he had known at Columbia and at Chicago with a random list of thirty-five non-Jews, he scored each group for ten to fifteen objectionable traits often attributed to Jews. The result showed that 85 per cent of the Jews had the traits, but only 15 per cent of the non-Jews. ‘So I declared my independence of my conscience about the Jews’, he concluded this tortured diary entry. ‘And I am not “nice”, to those I don’t like, no matter how much I sympathize, or how well I understand how they got that way.’56 Since Ogburn left little record of his activities before and during the war, the results of this diary ‘declaration’ may never be fully known. The irony was that this objectivist exercise, in an important sense, violated his basic instincts, then and later. The letter for Wirth, a positive recommendation, was itself concrete evidence of his efforts on behalf of Jewish colleagues. When compiling his list of ‘objectionable traits’, he did not consult his own feelings, but rather asked his secretary, who was a Jew, what it was the Anglo-Saxons did not like about Jews. Ogburn’s son later recalled that his father’s social life and friendships included many Jews, and remembered nothing derogatory said about Jews in his home (Fielding Ogburn to author, 18 October 1991). A few diary entries aside, Ogburn was otherwise silent on the subject. But it is the silence, in the face of Nazi atrocities, that is finally the problem. Just as curious in its way was Bernard’s War and its Causes. Since his wife Jessie was born a Jew, Bernard had discussed the issue of Jewish culture often and passionately for two decades. Jessie herself had recently contributed to a symposium on the nature and causes of anti-Semitism. Bernard thus ought to have been more sensitive to the issue than were many of his colleagues. Yet in these discussions with his wife, Bernard himself betrayed a deep ambivalence toward Jews and Jewish culture, which, if not anti-Semitic, sometimes came awfully close.57 Coupled with his other convictions—animus toward all religion, populist resentment of big business—this ambivalence now translated into complete silence concerning Hitler’s treatment of the Jews. Although Ogburn confined his remarks to his diary, and Bernard took refuge in silence, George Lundberg was characteristically outspoken. Like Ogburn,


Lundberg was never crudely anti-Semitic, and might even claim to oppose discrimination against Jews. But his way of talking about them left doubts. ‘I am breakfasting with two-of the fairest Bennington Hebrews’, he wrote to Bain in late 1936, adding: ‘They have insisted on meeting me at the train with the family limousine—I wouldn’t get out to meet Jesus Christ at a Chicago station at such an hour of the morning.’ Equally ambivalent was his comment to Bain that he hated the Nazi ‘bastards as much as any Hebrew’. As translated in his presidential speech to the ASS in 1943, this ambivalence caused a public furore. Although the subject was Sociologists and the Peace’, Lundberg lost no time getting to religion, the source of those moral and ethical views that had consistently frustrated true social science. A ‘minor illustration’, he noted, were ‘large numbers of organized and articulate Jews in their unhappy predicament devoting themselves to legalistic and moralistic conjurings so that their attention is entirely diverted from a realistic approach. They demand legislation prohibiting criticism and they demand international action outlawing anti-Semitism, instead of reckoning with the causes of the antagonism’. These ‘firebrands’ would probably attack his remarks as anti-Semitic, he concluded this lengthy harangue. But this fact merely showed ‘how a primitive, moralistic, theological, legalistic attitude obstructs a scientific approach’. As it happened, Lundberg did not have to wait. ‘I am compelled to report’, he later wrote of the reception, that the talk ‘was interrupted with some hisses and boos—not a usual recognition at this annual occasion’. In fact, he had not seen such ‘an accolade’ in thirty years of attending scholarly meetings! When the address was published, others continued to wonder. ‘Have you read Lundberg’s presidential address?’ Parmelee wrote to Bernard the following spring. ‘It has raised the question whether he is anti-semitic, although he protests against it’ (Larsen 1968:21).58 For the next decade, Lundberg continued a running battle with prominent Jewish leaders and organizations, all the while claiming that he was really on their side. The more he protested, however, the more you wondered. The Council for Judaism are loud in their praises for my views and apparently regard me as a second Moses called to lead the Chosen People out of the Wilderness’, he wrote to his close friend Harry Elmer Barnes at the height of this controversy. ‘If this continues, I expect to be eligible for honorary circumcision by the time commencement roles [sic] around, or what does one get for high achievement among the Hebrews?’59 Anti-Semitism (partially) reconsidered Such attitudes notwithstanding, some sociologists by the early 1940s were beginning to explore the deeper dimensions of Jewish-Gentile relations, past and present. A notable effort was Jews in a Gentile World (1942), a collection of essays edited by one Isacque Graeber, a sociologist/ethnologist formerly at the University of Paris, and Steuart H. Britt, a sometime lawyer and assistant professor of psychology at George Washington University. Although the editors clearly


intended the work to aid the Jewish cause in the developing crisis, they insisted that theirs was a book in which ‘experts from a number of fieldsexamine the problems of anti-Semitism in a dispassionate, objective manner’. Contributors were to include a number of non-Jewish scholars (‘in the interest of tact and effectiveness’, the editor wrote to one contributor) (Graeber and Britt 1942:v-viii). In the end, eight sociologists joined nine other contributors, making the volume the most sustained address of the situation of Jews and the nature of anti-Semitism by sociologists to date. Their contributions included the worst and the best in the collection. Arguably the worst was a survey of ‘Anti-Semitism through History’ in which Joyce O. Hertzler of the University of Nebraska appeared to argue that the solution to the problem of anti-Semitism was nothing less than the elimination of the Jew as Jew. Among the better was Jessie Bernard’s ‘An Analysis of Jewish Culture’. Although she too blamed Jews as well as non-Jews for the long history of anti-Semitism, she argued for modification of conflicting cultural traits on both sides. Probably the best, certainly the most sophisticated conceptually, was Talcott Parsons’s ‘The Sociology of Modern Anti-Semitism’, the first of several analyses of fascism he published during the early 1940s. In these articles, Parsons raised analysis of fascism to a new level and in the process eventually established a new paradigm for the discipline. ENTER TALCOTT PARSONS Born at the turn of the century, Talcott Parsons (1902–1977), like Lundberg, represented a third generation in American sociology. Unlike his objectivist contemporaries, however, he was early exposed to a wide range of American and European social theory, first as an undergraduate at Amherst (1924), then at the London School of Economics (1924–25) and Heidelberg (1927).60 In The Structure of Social Action (1937) he provided the synthesis of Weber, Durkheim, and Pareto that secured his reputation and later influence. This work, in turn, provided the framework for several studies of the professions in modern society (Parsons 1937 and 1939) and, indirectly, of anti-Semitism and fascism. Fascism, Parsons insisted, was a distinctly new phenomenon on the world scene —a ‘radicalism of the right’. Its ‘radicalism’ lay in the fact that it inspired often fanatical zeal among the masses of the people. Its character as a movement of the ‘right’ derived from the role played in it by ‘privileged elite groups, groups with a “vested interest” in their position’. The combination was ‘paradoxical’, he continued, employing a favourite catchword of post-Second World War liberalism. But the combination of the two in the same movement—masses and elite—was ‘the very essence of the phenomenon’ (Parsons 1942d:124–25). For his analysis, Parsons went directly to his European mentors: to Durkheim for the concept of ‘anomie’ to characterize the state of insecurity that made the masses amenable to extremist appeals; to Max Weber for the notion of a ‘process of rationalization’ whereby scientific culture challenged traditions of status,


authority and privilege in the name of equality and individual liberty, while at the same time creating an economic order of capitalist free enterprise that threatened these values; and to Vilfredo Pareto for the idea that the ‘rationalistic scheme’ of scientific culture leads to an underestimation of the ‘non-logical’ aspects of human behaviour, including ‘the sentiments and traditions of family and informal social relationships, of the refinements of social stratification, or the peculiarities of regional, ethnic or national culture—perhaps above all of religion’. Since the process of rationalization affected social groups differentially — professional and business groups leaning in the rational direction, for example, and rural ones in the traditional—the result was not only inherent ‘strains’ within the social system, but social struggle. The ‘uneven incidence ofemancipation’ explained why certain marginal groups within society (women, youth, the lower middle classes) felt these tensions most acutely, and hence were ripe for the appeals of fascism’s radical traditionalism. In a second article on the social structure of pre-Nazi Germany, Parsons described how and why these social factors had combined to create a seedbed for National Socialism (Parsons 1942a). From this perspective, anti-Semitism was an integral part rather than an incidental by-product of fascism. Again, Parsons’s argument unfolded in a series of interrelated propositions. For ‘smooth functioning’ a social system requires ‘a relative stability of expectations’ and ‘a sufficiently concrete and stable system of symbols around which the sentiments of the individual can crystallize’. Where social disorganization produces ‘anomie’ the disruption of expectations and absence of suitable symbols lead to a generalized aggression and insecurity. This ‘free-floating’ aggression then attaches itself to ‘symbols only remotely connected with their original sources’. In this situation, scapegoating characterizes public discourse. Since Jews are most intimately involved in, and hence identified with, the spheres of rationalized activity (business and the professions) that are furthest removed from Gemeinschaft patterns, ‘they easily become targets of the frustrations and aggression of those groups least touched by the “process of rationalization”’. Thus, Parsons concluded his contribution to Jews in a Gentile World, ‘the most important source of virulent anti-Semitism is probably the projection on the Jew, as a symbol, of free-floating aggression, springing from insecurities and social disorganization’ (Parsons 1942d: 125–26, 134; 1942a:121). Viewed in the light of European theories of fascism, most of this was hardly new. Parsons’s anomie mass man, consumed by ‘free-floating aggression’, stood in the tradition of Gustave Le Bon’s The Crowd (1895), Ortega y Gasset’s The Revolt of the Masses (1932), and most recently, Emil Lederer’s The State of the Masses (1940), even though Parsons cited only Durkheim.61 His notion of the differential impact of modernization likewise echoed Karl Mannheim’s analysis of the ‘sphere of knowledge’ of different social groups in Ideology and Utopia (1929, Eng. trans. 1936), although Parsons did not mention any source other than Weber.62 This is not to say that American sociology immediately embraced Parsons’s interpretation. Before Howard Odum accepted ‘Some Sociological Aspects of


Fascism’ for Social Forces, Herbert Blumer turned it down for the American Journal of Sociology, claiming that it was too long.63 Between 1945 and 1960, the American Journal of Sociology, the American Sociological Review, and Social Forces together published fewer than a dozen articles even nominally dealing with fascism or Nazism, none of them mentioning Parsons or developing a similar analysis.64 But new questions had been asked, and the basis laid for a more systematic understanding. Where fascism was concerned, Parsons had moved American sociology to a new level of analysis. Gone were unrelated generalizations concerning the logic of capitalism, the revolt of the lower middle classes, the strength of German nationalism, or the humiliation at Versailles. In its place was a psycho-sociological explanation which anticipated similar arguments in American social science and historical writing for the next two decades. As the ‘frustration-aggression’ model gained adherents, Parsons’s brief efforts were quickly eclipsed by an outpouring of new studies of fascism and anti-Semitism. Among the most prominent of these were Theodor W.Adorno et al., The Authoritarian Personality (1950), Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (1951) and a growing number of studies by émigré social scientists. In Political Man (1960), Seymour Martin Upset (Ph.D. Columbia 1949) fused these interpretations—including Parsons’s—into probably the fullest account of fascism by an American-born sociologist to that date. Without claiming too much for these psycho-sociological interpretations, or attempting to analyse subsequent debates over theories of ‘the authoritarian personality’ or mass society, one can say that Parsons’s work thus marked a turning point in American sociology’s thinking about fascism.65 Parsonianism in practice As the war approached, Parsons also took an active part in opposing German totalitarianism—a public role that belies later images of him as an abstract, ‘grand’ theorist. Warning that Nazism threatened a return to the ‘Dark Ages’, he publicly opposed the ‘appeasers’ at the time of the Munich conference in 1938. ‘This war is not “just another European squabble” from which we can remain aloof, he lectured, in effect answering the Ogburns and Lundbergs. ‘Our institutions are in danger because a fight to the death is already being waged against them.’66 In Cambridge, Parsons helped establish the Harvard Defence Committee, an organization formed to mobilize public opinion against Nazism and for aid to Britain. Chairing its Morale and National Service subcommittee, he gave numerous speeches (including one at a dramatic campus meeting disrupted by isolationists), wrote frequent letters to congressmen, and spoke often on local radio stations on behalf of intervention. When the isolationist Harvard Student Union requested that he excuse a class to participate in a peace demonstration in the spring of 1940, he refused on the basis both of his obligations to his students and of his opposition to a ‘peace’ movement which, in his words, ‘can only mean peace


at any price’. ‘In the present juncture such agitation plays directly into the hands of the Nazis;’ he added. ‘I can just hear Goebbels’ chuckle, as he hears of them.’67 So far as anti-Semitism was concerned, Parsons’s frustration-aggression model did not please everyone, as the editor of Jews in a Gentile World soon made clear, with respect to his contribution to that volume. In one of several uncomfortable exchanges, one of the editors nagged Parsons about the tone of his article. ‘Mind you, none questions your sociological analysis,’ he wrote, ‘but merely the political effect of your conclusions upon the public’, since these conclusions would ‘confirm the average Gentile in his most complacent attitudes of snobbishness’. Among Parsons’s sins were a seemingly derogatory reference to Jews as a ‘minority’, an allegation that Jews occupied the ‘most conspicuous places’ in German society and government in the Weimar years, and a characterization of Jewish sensitivity. ‘On the whole,’ Graeber added, ‘I find the aggression-frustration hypothesissomewhat unsatisfactory.’68 Yet this flap told more about the editor’s hypersensitivity, however understandable in the face of events in 1940, than of anti-Semitism on Parsons’s side. In response to the complaints, he went out of his way to placate the editor, qualifying the first and last points in footnotes, and replacing ‘most conspicuous’ with ‘prominent’. Privately, he complained to a friend that the editor was chopping and rewriting his prose to cut the heart from his analysis.69 More importantly, Parsons’s later activities and associations had about them none of the aroma of anti-Semitism that tinged the private and public musings of some of the leading objectivists. Quite the opposite. In subsequent writings, he continued to couple anti-Semitism and aggressive nationalism as twin ills of modernization.70 His many Jewish colleagues and students consistently expressed nothing but gratitude for his efforts on their behalf. During the McCarthy years, Parsons defended younger colleagues, Jews and gentiles alike. Although the full story of Parsons’s opposition to Nazism, and his support for German sociologists, Jew and gentile, Marxist and bourgeois, remains to be told, his record appears to have been one of firm opposition to bigotry and intolerance in all its forms.71 In the postwar years Parsons’s sociological theory, itself steadily evolving, served a political agenda that remains in contention. Just as the writings of Ogburn, Lundberg, and others masked the programme of isolationists, British bashers, and America Firsters, so Parsons’s for a time supported the emerging anti-Communism of the Cold War era. While their narrow economic interpretations were a pale echo of socialist or Marxist originals, and rooted deeply in post-First World War revisionism, his analysis was anti-Marxist by design and fervently anti-Stalinist in practice. While the concerns of Ogburn, Bernard and others ranged from isolationism to anti-business populism, the Harvard sociologist spoke for an Eastern internationalism now reconciled to post-New Deal, mixed economy, welfare capitalism. To his critics, this Parsons of the 1940s-1950s appears a leading proponent of an emerging ‘corporate liberalism’ and a Cold Warrior par excellence.72 To his defenders, in contrast, his postwar activities seem a natural extension of his earlier


battle against all forms of totalitarianism. Never an uncritical defender of ‘capitalism’, they argue, Parsons distinguished in theory between ‘capitalism’ as a socio-economic phenomenon and the economic rationality and market mechanisms that were equally important for the operation of socialist economies. In practice, he sought a middle way between orthodox laissez faire capitalism and Marxian socialism. His vigorous opposition to Stalinism in the late 1940s, no mere ‘Cold War hysteria’, proceeded directly from his crusade against Nazism. When McCarthyism threatened to deny free speech and civil liberties, he opposed it with equal vigour. From this perspective, the recent de-Stalinization of Eastern Europe suggests that Parsons was once again more right than wrong.73 Recently this debate has focused on Parsons’s activities in securing Russian experts among former German collaborators in the late 1940s, a final chapter in his wartime activities. Writing in the Nation in March 1989, the historian Jon Wiener argued that Parsons’s agenda did not preclude cooperation with ex-Nazis in the name of anti-Communism once the Cold War was underway. During the summer of 1948, with the Communist takeover of Czechoslovakia already a fact, Parsons travelled to Germany to recruit Soviet and Eastern European specialists for Harvard’s Russian Research Center (RRC), a group closely associated with US intelligence agencies. Among the scholars whom Parsons allegedly met and recruited was one Nicholas Poppe, a language specialist from the University of Leningrad. Poppe’s wartime assistance to the SS extermination programme made him an embarrassment to authorities in the British zone of Germany (where he resided) and had convinced the US State Department to deny him a visa. Although aware of these facts (although probably not the SS connection), Parsons allegedly sought Poppe a Harvard appointment until continued opposition led him to the University of Washington. Parsons’s other alleged ex-Nazi contacts that summer included a Kiev professor who had worked with the German propaganda ministry, and a former Red Army lieutenant-colonel who became chief of security of a pro-Nazi Committee for the Liberation of the Peoples of Russia. Sought as war criminals by the Soviets, these individuals presumably had a personal stake in exaggerating the Russian menace to the State Department or to anyone else who would listen. ‘By materially assisting in this intelligence process,’ Wiener concluded, ‘Talcott Parsons contributed to some of the most antidemocratic and anti-intellectual trends in post-war American political life.’74 In a significant challenge to this account, Jens K.Nielsen, a Danish scholar trained at Yale, has raised important questions of fact and interpretation. For one thing, Parsons, so the evidence suggests, never met or spoke with Poppe. For another, it was the Harvard anthropologist Clyde Kluckholm, not Parsons, who initiated efforts to recruit Poppe for the RRC (after convincing himself on the basis of careful enquiry that Poppe had committed no war crimes). More importantly, in all these efforts, one must distinguish between Parsons’s personal role and motives and the activities of the RRC in which he was an active but secondary actor.75


The background and beliefs of the ‘pro-Nazis’ whom Parsons allegedly contacted during the summer of 1948 also demand a closer look, Nielsen continues. Most if not all were in fact members of a so-called ‘Vlasov group’ (after Russian Lieutenant-General Andrey A.Vlasov), a left-oriented, nationalist faction of Russian army dissidents who hoped to overthrow Stalin by allying with Germany. Closely connected with anti-Nazi groups in the Germany Army and German intelligence (one of its most eager promoters in Germany was the officer who planted a bomb in Hitler’s headquarters in 1944), they were German collaborators but not pro-Nazi. Although Nazi leaders saw the value of the Vlasov movement for propaganda purposes, they consistently humiliated its members. Vlasov himself was held in semi-captivity in Germany throughout the war and was once called by Himmler ‘a pig’. A ‘Vlasov army’ that existed briefly in 1945 was best remembered for a fight against SS units in Prague, and, in any case, was in no position to commit war crimes. Toward the end of the war, they spoke of establishing democracy in a so-called ‘Prague Manifesto’.76 Making this case, Nielsen is appropriately cautious. Parsons was fully aware that Harvard’s RRC was closely integrated with governmental intelligence, an arrangement which, however justified under the circumstances, raises important questions about the appropriate role of the university in society. Future historians may conclude that Poppe was indeed guilty of war crimes (even though his supporters vehemently deny the allegation). The Vlasov group’s eleventh-hour enthusiasm for ‘democracy’ may have been for allied consumption, since its authoritarian tendencies generally eclipsed its libertarian ones. Although not rabidly anti-Semitic, some of its leaders shared the anti-Semitism endemic in Russian society. But in matters of such moral moment as war crimes, Nielsen concludes, getting the facts straight becomes a special obligation. Whatever the full truth turns out to be concerning Poppe (or, more specifically, RRC knowledge of his past), the nature and aims of Vlasov and his followers, and Parsons’s role on the RRC (and Nielsen’s case on each point appears compelling), Parsons by the early 1950s was a clear winner on the sociological battlefront. For Ogburn and Lundberg, debates over fascism brought ostensible damage to reputation, while his became a major voice within American sociology and postwar American liberalism. CONCLUSION What, then, should be the final judgement of American sociology’s response to fascism? For émigré intellectuals such as Hans Gerth, as well as for a younger generation of radicals in the 1960s, the answer later seemed clear, as the response to fascism became something of a bellwether to those who attacked the ‘value-free’ ideal. Lamenting the emergence of this ‘scientific ethos’, Gerth in particular noted that the American Journal of Sociology published only two articles on National Socialism from 1933 to 1947, one, his own account of Nazi leadership, accepted only ‘after the hot war was underway’ (Gerth 1959:7–14).


For Gerth, the explanation lay in the increasing specialization of the discipline and the emphasis on ever-narrower ‘empirical’ studies. While agreeing in part, this essay suggests both modification and extension of the argument. For one thing, Gerth’s view understates the opposition voiced by Ellwood, the many lesser-knowns who wrote articles and reviewed books on fascism in the sociological journals, and by the Bernard dissidents, however superficial and unheeded their analysis. For another, Gerth’s emphasis on developments within sociology ignores the relation between sociological theory and the professional and political pressures that shaped debate. As sociology professionalized, a rising cult of scientific objectivity inhibited public statements on public issues while at the same time marginalizing those most inclined to speak out against developments in Europe. Intellectually, the treatment of fascism during the 1930s and 1940s revealed the continuing isolation of American sociology from European social theorists (Marx, Weber, and Freud among others), an isolation that grew more marked as a second and third generation of American sociologists, unlike the founders, sought their training at home. Compounding this myopia were parochial concerns derived from the American experience during the progressive era, specifically the tradition of opposition to ‘big business’, isolationism in international affairs, and anti-Semitism, however veiled or convoluted. The combined results could be seen in simplistic economic explanations that obscured the revolutionary nature of fascism as combining a racial pathology with the latest in science and technology; and in a behaviouristic psychology that focused attention on propaganda techniques rather than the psychodynamics of the fascist appeal. Finally, in blurring differences between the Value-free ideal’ as preached and practised by such interwar objectivists as Ogburn and the theories and activities of Talcott Parsons, Gerth’s analysis obscures both the breakthrough in Parsons’s writings on fascism and the extent of his public opposition to it before and during the war. In the process, it also obscures the role of fascism, in shaping, if only indirectly, a fundamental reorientation of the discipline in the postwar years. NOTES 1 William F.Ogburn, Diary, May 8, 1947, William F.Ogburn Papers, University of Chicago [hereafter WFO]. Many citations in this paper are from archival material. These citations will be listed in the endnotes. Portions of this paper have been adapted from Robert C.Bannister (1987 and 1991). I am indebted to Professors Stephen Turner and Dirk Käsler for their perceptive comments on an earlier draft of this essay. 2 For ‘realism’ and ‘nominalism’ in sociology see Robert E.Park and Ernest W. Burgess (1921:36–44); J.David Lewis and Richard L.Smith (1980:Ch. 6); Christopher G.A.Bryant (1985:4–5). 3 For discussion of this literature and the ‘invention’ of social Darwinism, see Robert C.Bannister (1989).


4 Christopher J.Bittner to Luther Bernard, November 11, 1939, Luther Bernard Papers, Pennsylvania State University [hereafter BPPS]. 5 A second source was Robert A.Nisbet (1943). Some intellectual historians generalized this position into a criticism of the ‘relativism’ of the entire pragmatic tradition. See John Diggins (1966:487–506), and Robert Skotheim (1971). 6 Although many writers capitalize ‘fascism’ when speaking of the Italian movement, and use lower case for what is termed ‘generic fascism’, I employ the lower case except when the author of a quotation has done otherwise. 7 On changing interpretations of fascism see A.James Gregor (1974); Frederick L. Carsten (1976); and Renzo De Felice (1977). 8 In addition to books and manuscript sources, this study is based on a comprehensive reading of articles and book reviews on fascism in the American Journal of Sociology, Social Forces, Sociology and Social Research and the American Sociological Review (est. 1936), although space precludes a systematic content analysis of each. 9 Indeed, it would be fairer to say that some of those most sympathetic to fascism (the Humanists of The American Review, for example, or the iconoclastic H.L. Mencken) were inclined to be anti-sociological. See Stone (1960). 10 If this analysis is correct, the sociologists stand in marked contrast to the natural scientists as described in Kuznick (1987). 11 This statement is based on the absence of any mention of the subject in Fred H. Matthews (1977) and Wayne D.Brazil (1975). The latter deals with Odum’s career only through the early 1930s. 12 Charles A.Ellwood, ‘Sociological Life’, Luther Bernard Papers, University of Chicago [hereafter BPUC]. 13 ‘Modern Democracy is the Offspring of Christianity’, ‘Ellwood Views Fascism as Greatest Threat to U.S’, clippings in Scrapbook, Charles Ellwood Papers, Duke University. For bringing these and other clippings of the 1930s to my attention, I am indebted to Stephen Turner. 14 Charles Ellwood to Ross, May 17, 1940, Ross Papers, Wisconsin Historical Society. Although Ross also kept alive the reformism of the founders, he apparently ignored the subject of fascism almost entirely. See Julius Weinberg (1972). 15 Maurice Parmelee to Luther Bernard, June 28, 1937, BPPS. 16 The Bogardus scale measured distances between an individual and various racial and nationality groups through a series of graded categories indicating the amount of social intimacy the individual would allow (‘admit to citizenship’, ‘admit to my club as a chum’, etc.). 17 On Bogardus, see autobiographical sketch, 1928, BPPS; Bogardus (1962), and Martin H.Neumeyer (1973). 18 Bernard to Bain, April 4, 1930, BPPS. 19 For a full account see Bannister (1987:190–99). 20 A fourth academic radical to address the issue of fascism was Harry Elmer Barnes (1889–1968), a historian-sociologist who led the revisionist battle to discredit America’s entry into the First World War. Although space does not allow treatment of his views here, see especially his Society in Transition (1939). For a recent treatment of Barnes and revisionism see Peter Novick (1988: 208–23). 21 Davis [autobiography], BPUC.


22 Ross, ‘Some Aspects of the Jerome Davis Case’; and Davis to Ross, April 22, 1936, Ross Papers, Wisconsin Historical Society [hereafter EAR]. 23 Davis [autobiography], BPUC. 24 Davis to Dean Weigle, October 19, 1936, EAR. 25 On Parmelee, see Don C.Gibbons (1974). 26 Maurice Parmelee to Luther Bernard, October 21, 1933, BPPS. 27 Bernard, ‘George Vincent’ [faculty sketch], ms. 18 pp., BPUC. 28 Bernard to Gifford Pinchot, June, 1932; and to Harold Ickes, August 1932, BPPS. 29 Bernard, ‘Shall It Be “Goodbye Mr. Roosevelt”’, ms. [1935], BPPS. 30 Luther Bernard to J.A.Wolf, April 11, 1935; to Jessie Bernard, September 19, 1935; to Charles A.Ellwood, August 22, 1936, BPPS. 31 Jessie to Luther Bernard, October 5, 1936, September 26, 1938, October 8, 1938; Luther to Jessie Bernard, October 1, 1938, BPPS. 32 Luther Bernard to Earle Eubank, January 1, 1938, and to Maurice Parmelee, March 7, 1938, BPPS; American Sociological Society (1938:92ff). Although the radicals in this four-year struggle revealed the same mixed motives as characterized their activities generally, and were inexplicably slow to identify Nazi control as the central issue, Bernard finally reviewed the episode in these terms in ‘Is Hitler Our Fuehrer?’(1942). For background see Terry N.Clark (1973:228). 33 Bernard’s inspiration for the title was probably Hans Fallada’s Little Man, What Now? (1933), a poignant, fictional representation of the German petite bourgeoisie on the eve of Hitler’s takeover. Although Bernard left no record of having read Fallada’s novel, it was widely discussed, including a review in Sociology and Social Research (1936). For this suggestion, I am indebted to Stephen Turner. 34 Bernard, ‘Little Sociologist, What Now?’ ms. n.d. [1939], BPPS; cf. ‘The SRA Plans to Die’, American Sociologist, p.1. 35 This generalization is based on an extensive file of replies to Bernard’s enquiry in BPPS. 36 For drawing my attention to these themes in the American Sociologist, I am indebted to John F.Galliher and Robert A.Hagan (forthcoming). 37 For a fuller development of this argument see Bannister (1987), especially pp. 231– 38. 38 The other initials stood for William I.Thomas, formerly of the University of Chicago, and Stuart Rice of the University of Pennsylvania. Each was closely associated with the educational foundations that were coming to play a large part in the funding of the social sciences. 39 On Ogburn’s career see Duncan (1964), Huff (1973), and Martindale (1961:324–30). 40 William F.Ogburn, Diary, June 22, 1942, WFO. 41 Ibid., July 10, 1942, WFO. 42 Ibid., May 7, 1945, and September 16, 1944, WFO. 43 Mary Sims Walker to Ogburn, quoted in Ogburn ‘Journal’, May 8, 1947, WFO. 44 Harry Elmer Barnes to George Lundberg, September 8, 1949, Lundberg Papers, University of Washington, Seattle [hereafter GAL]. 45 Barbara Laslett to author, March 6, 1989. I am indebted to Professor Laslett of the University of Minnesota for all the information in this paragraph. 46 Bain to Lundberg, March 2, 1937; Lundberg to Bain, March 22, 1937; Bain to Lundberg, December 1, 1938. See also Bain to Lundberg, February 19; Lundberg


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to Bain, February 23, 1941, Read Bain Papers, University of Michigan [hereafter RB]. Jessie Bernard to George Lundberg, September 25, 1940, Lundberg to Jessie Bernard, July 9, 1940, BPPS. Jessie Bernard to Lundberg, April 22, 1949, GAL. See also Behice Boran (1947). Bruce Melvin to George Lundberg, December 17, 1945, GAL. Information concerning still unanalysed camp interviews from Stephen Turner to author, September 10, 1989. To this statement, an anonymous reader years later pencilled a large question mark in the margin, adding ‘What the fuck??’ Marginalia in copy in Swarthmore College Library. On growing American awareness of the plight of European Jewry, and the nation’s shamefully tardy response to the Holocaust, see Arthur D.Morse (1968), Henry Feingold (1970), and David S.Wyman (1968 and 1984). Read Bain to Sam Stouffer, October 17, 1936, RB. Edwin B.Wilson to Talcott Parsons, May 12, 1939, Talcott Parsons Papers, Harvard [hereafter TP]. Ogburn, ‘Journal’, March 15, 1948, WFO. Ibid. For an extended treatment of this theme, see Bannister (1991). Maurice Parmelee to Luther Bernard, May 25, 1944, BPPS. Lundberg to Barnes, February 22, 1949, GAL. The Lundberg papers contain extensive correspondence on this issue. On Parsons’s early life, see Peter Hamilton (1983:Ch. 3). On this tradition, see Gregor (1974:Ch. 4). This point is suggested in De Felice (1977:87). Herbert Blumer to Talcott Parsons, July 6, 1942, TP. One exception among sociologists was David Riesman (1942). Although Riesman did not cite his future Harvard colleague, Parsons, his analysis was similar to Parsons’s. This similarity underlines the judgement in Gregor (1974:91), that Parsons had merely ‘conveniently summarized the efforts made until that time’. When Riesman returned to the topic in the early 1950s it was within the context of ‘totalitarianism’—a term increasingly popular during the Cold War years to conflate fascism and Soviet Communism. See Riesman (1964). For a useful discussion of recent thinking see G.Eley (1983). Parsons, ‘New Dark Ages Seen if Nazis Should Win’, Boston Evening Transcript, September 28, 1938. I am indebted to Stephen Turner for bringing this piece to my attention. For perceptive comments on an earlier version of this section, I also wish to thank Dr Victor Meyer Lidz, Division of Addiction Research and Treatment, Department of Mental Health Science, Hahnemann University. Dr Lidz, of course, bears no responsibility for any remaining errors of fact or interpretation. In particular, I am unable to address in the space available some important differences between Parsons’s statements concerning Nazism in an advocacy role and in a more strictly theoretical context, or the originality of his analyses of German social structure when compared with sociologists before and after, including Hannah Arendt. Talcott Parsons to Alan Gottlieb, April 16, 1940, quoted in Jens Kaalhauge Nielsen, ‘The Political Orientation of Talcott Parsons: The Second World War and Its Aftermath’, in Talcott Parsons: Theorist of Modernity, (eds) Roland Robertson and


68 69 70 71 72 73 74

75 76

Bryan S.Turner, London, Sage Publications, 1991. I am indebted to this analysis for much information in this section, and to Jens Nielsen for sharing his findings in greater detail in a phone conversation with the author, November 14, 1991. I.Graeber to Talcott Parsons, February 19, 1940, TP. Parsons to Ben Halpern, June 26, 1942, TP. E.g. Parsons, ‘Certain Primary Sources and Patterns of Aggression in the Social Structure of the Western World’, Psychiatry 1947, vol. 10, p. 179. Victor M.Lidz to the author, October 20, 1991; Nielsen, ‘Political Orientation’, p. 225. William Buxton, Talcott Parsons and the Capitalist Nation-State, Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1985, especially pp. 97–101. Nielsen, ‘Political Orientation’, p. 225. See Jon Weiner, ‘Bringing Nazi Sympathizers to the US,’ Nation, March 6, 1989, pp. 304 ff., which draws heavily on the unpublished doctoral dissertation (UCLA) of Charles O’Connell, and on Christopher Simpson, Blowback: America’s Recruitment of Nazis and Its Effects on the Cold War, New York, Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1988, a book that discusses Poppe extensively. Information in this and the next two paragraphs is drawn from Nielsen, ‘Political Orientation’, pp. 220–24. In addition to his own research, Nielsen bases this account on his reading of the rich secondary literature on Vlasov and the Russian Liberation Movement, the most recent being Catherine Andreyev, Vlasov and the Russian Liberation Movement, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1987.

REFERENCES Abel, Theodore (1938) Why Hitler Came Into Power, New York: Prentice-Hall. ——(1945) ‘Is a Psychiatric Interpretation of the German Enigma Necessary?’, American Sociological Review 10:457–64. American Sociological Association (1938) ‘Official Reports and Proceedings’, American Sociological Review 3, Bannister, Robert C. (1987) Sociology and Scientism: The American Quest for Objectivity 1880–1940, Chapel Hill, N.C.: University of North Carolina. ——(1989) Social Darwinism: Science and Myth (2nd edn.), Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. ——(1991) Jessie Bernard: The Making of a Feminist, New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press. Barnes, Harry E. (1944) ‘Psychology of the Refugee Sociologist’, American Sociologist 6:1–2. Barnes, James S. (1928) The Universal Aspects of Fascism, London: Williams and Norgate. Bernard, Luther L. (1940) ‘The Method of Generalization for Social Control’, American Sociological Review 5:340–50. ——(1942) ‘Is Hitler Our Fuehrer?’ American Sociologist 4:1–3. ——(1943a) ‘The War and the Peace’, American Sociologist 5:1–2. ——(1943b) ‘Either- Or’, American Sociologist 5:1–2. ——(1945) ‘The New World Order’, American Sociologist 7:1–2.


——(1972) War and its Causes, New York: Garland. Bogardus, Emory S. (1933) ‘Fascism as a Social Movement’, Sociology and Social Research 17:569–74. ——(1962) Much I Have Learned, Los Angeles, CA: University of Southern California Press. Boran, Behice (1947) ‘Sociology in Retrospect’, American Journal of Sociology 52:317– 19. Brazil, Wayne D. (unpublished Ph.D. thesis, 1975) Howard W.Odum: The Building Years 1884–1930. Buxton, William (1985) Talcott Parsons and the Capitalist Nation-State, Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Carsten, Frederick L. (1976) ‘Interpretations of Fascism’, in Walter Lacqueur (ed.) Fascism: a Reader’s Guide, Berkeley: University of California Press. Charny, Israel W. (1972) ‘Introduction’, in Luther L.Bernard (1972). Christopher G.A.Bryant (1985:4–5) Positivism in Social Theory and Research, London: Macmillan, 1985. Clark, Terry N. (1973) Patrons and Prophets: The French Universities and the Emergence of the Social Sciences, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Davis, Jerome (1927) ‘Testing the Social Attitudes of Children’, American Journal of Sociology 32:947–52. ——(1930) Contemporary Social Movements, New York: Century. De Felice, Renzo (1977) ‘Interpretations by Social Scientists’, in Interpretations of Fascism (trans. Brenda Huff Everett), Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ‘Dies in the Spring’ (1942) Nation 154 (April 4):385–86. Diggins, John P. (1966) ‘Flirtation with Fascism: American Pragmatic Liberals and Mussolini’s Italy’, American Historical Review, Volume 71:487–506. ——(1972) The View from America, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Duncan, Otis Dudley (ed.) (1964) On Culture and Social Change: Selected Papers, Chicago: Chicago University Press. Easthope, Gary (1974) A History of Social Research Methods, London: Longman. Eley, G. (1983) ‘What Produces Fascism: Preindustrial Traditions or a Crisis of a Capitalist State’, Politics and Society 12:53–82. Elliott, William Y. (1931) [review] American Political Science Review 25:1077–1079. Ellwood, Charles A, (1938) The Story of Social Philosophy, New York: Prentice-Hall Fallada, Hans (1933) Little Man, What Now? (trans. Eric Sutton), New York: Simon and Schuster. Feingold, Henry L. (1970) The Politics of Rescue: the Roosevelt Administration and the Holocaust, New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. Fox, Edward W. (1944) [review of Bernard (1972)], New York Times, December 31, 1944:4, 16. Galliher, John F., and Hagan, Robert A. (forthcoming) ‘L.L.Bernard and the Original American Sociologist’, American Sociologist Gerth, Hans (1959) ‘The Relevance of History to the Sociological Ethos’, Studies on the Left 1:7–14. Gibbons, Don C. (1974) ‘Say, Whatever Became of Maurice Parmelee, Anyway?’, Sociological Quarterly 15:405–16. Gow, David J. (1985) ‘Quantification in the Early Years of American Political Science 1880–1922’, Political Methodology 11:1–18.


Graeber, Isacque and Britt, Steuart Henderson (eds) (1942) Jews in a Gentile World, New York: Macmillan. Gregor, A.James (1974) Interpretations of Fascism, Morristown: N.J. Gruber, Carol S. (1975) Mars and Minerva, Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana State University Press. Hamilton, Peter (1983) Talcott Parsons, London: Tavistock. Hartung, Frank E. (1944) ‘The Sociology of Positivism’, Science and Society, vol. 8, 340–41. Hayek, Friedrich A.von (1954) The Counter-revolution of Science: Studies on the Abuse of Reason, Glencoe, IL: Free Press. Hofstadter, Richard (1944) Social Darwinism in American Thought, Philadelphia, PA.: University of Pennsylvania Press. Huff, Toby E. (1973) ‘Theoretical Innovation in Science’, American Journal of Sociology 79:261–77. Kirkpatrick, Clifford (1938) Nazi Germany: Its Women and Family Life, Indianapolis, IN: Bobbs-Merrill. ——(1939) [review of Abel (1938)] American Sociological Review 4:410. Kuznick, Peter J. (1987) Beyond the Laboratory: Scientists as Political Activists in 1930s America, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Larsen, O.N. (1968) ‘Lundberg’s Encounters with Sociology and Vice Versa’, The Behavioral Sciences: Essays in Honor of George A.Lundberg, ed. Alfred de Grazia et al., Great Barrington, MA: Behavioral Research Council. Lewis, J.David and Smith, Ricard L. (1980) American Sociology and Pragmatism, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lundberg, George (1947) Can Science Save Us?, New York: David McKay. McGovern, William Montgomery (1941) From Luther to Hitler: the History of Fascist-Nazi Political Philosophy, Boston: Houghton-Mifflin. Marcuse, Herbert (1960) Reason and Revolution (1st edn. New York: 1941), Boston, MA: Beacon. Martindale, Don (1961) The Nature and Types of Sociological Theory, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul 1961. Matthews, Fred H. (1977) Quest for an American Sociology: Robert Park and the Chicago School, Montreal: McGill University Press. Maus, Heinz (1962) A Short History of Sociology, Eng. edn., London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Miller, Herbert A. (1931) [review] American Journal of Sociology 37:152–153. Mohme, Erwin T. (1933) ‘The Platform of the Hitler Movement’, Sociology and Social Research 17:409–15. Morse, Arthur, D. (1968) While Six Million Died, New York: Random House. Neumeyer, Martin H. (1973) ‘A Tribute’, Sociological Inquiry, 44:3–5. Nisbet, Robert A. (1943) ‘The French Revolution and the Rise of Sociology’, American Journal of Sociology, vol. 69. Nordskog, John E. (1937a) Review of Holt’s Under the Swastika, Sociology and Social Research 21:392–93. ——(1937b) Review of Salvemini’s Under the Axe of Fascism, Sociology and Social Research 21:488. ——(1939) ‘Is Nazism Socialism?’, Sociology and Social Research 23:455–65. Novick, Peter (1988) That Noble Dream, New York: Cambridge University Press.


Ogburn, William F. (1929–1930) ‘A Measurement of Factors’, Social Forces 8: 175–83. ——(1930) ‘The Folkways of a Scientific Sociology’, Scientific Monthly 30:300–306. ——(1948) ‘Thoughts on Freedom and Organization’, Ethics 58. ——(1949) ‘Science and Civilization’, in Science and Civilization, ed. Samuel Stouffer, Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Ogburn, William F. and Nimkoff, Meyer F. (1940) Sociology, Boston: Houghton-Mifflin. Park, Robert E., and Burgess, Ernest W. (1921) Introduction to the Science of Society, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Parmelee, Maurice (1934) Bolshevism, Fascism, and Liberal Democratic States, New York: Wiley. Parsons, Talcott (1937) ‘Education and the Professions’, Ethics 47:365–69. ——(1939) ‘The Professions and Social Structure’, Social Forces 17:457–67. ——(1942a) ‘Democracy and Social Structure in Pre-Nazi Germany’, Journal of Legal and Political Sociology 1:96–114. Reprinted in Parsons (1954) Essays in Sociological Theory, rev. edn. Glencoe, IL: Free Press: 104–23. (Page references in this paper are for the revised edition.) ——(1942b) ‘Propaganda and Social Control’, Psychiatry 5:551–72. Reprinted in Parsons (1949) Essays in Sociological Theory, Glencoe, IL: Free Press: 142–76. (Page references in this paper are for the revised edition.) ——(1942c) ‘The Sociology of Modern Anti-Semitism’, in Graeber and Britt (eds) (1942):101–12. ——(1942d) ‘Some Sociological Aspects of the Fascist Movements’, Social Forces 21:138–47. Reprinted in Parsons (1954) Essays in Sociological Theory, rev. edn. Glencoe, IL: Free Press: 124–41. (Page references in this paper are for the revised edition.) Ranulf, Svend (1939) ‘Scholarly Forerunners of Fascism’, Ethics 50:16–34. Review of Maurice Parmelee’s Bolshevism, Fascism, and Liberal Democratic States (1935a) Saturday Review of Literature 11 (Feb. 16):499. Review of Maurice Parmelee’s Bolshevism, Fascism, and Liberal Democratic States (1935b) North American Review 239:92. Riesman, David (1942) ‘Politics of Persecution’, Public Opinion Quarterly 6:41–56. ——(1964) ‘Some Observations on the Limits of Totalitarian Power’, in Riesman, Individualism Reconsidered, Glencoe, IL: Free Press: 414–24. Skotheim, Robert (1971) Totalitarianism and American Social Thought, New York: Holt, Rinehart. Sociology and Social Research (1936) [review of Hans Fallada’s Little Man, What Now?], Volume 18:18. Sorokin, Pitirim (1931) [review] Annals of the American Academy 154:171–172. Stone, Albert (1960) ‘Seward Collins and the American Review’, American Quarterly 12: pp. 3–19. Waller, Willard (1940) [review of Kirkpatrick (1938)], American Sociological Review 5:974–75. Weinberg, Julius (1972) Edward Alsworth Ross and the Sociology of Progressivism, Madison, WI: Wisconsin Historical Society. Weiner, Jon (1989) ‘Bringing Nazi Sympathizers to the U.S.’, Nation, March 6, 1989:304 ff.


Wilson, Francis G. (1936) ‘Social Objectives of Fascism’, Sociology and Social Research 20:322–27. Wyman, David S. (1968) Paper Walls: America and the Refugee Crisis 1938–41, Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press. ——(1984) The Abandonment of the Jews: America and the Holocaust 1941–45, New York: Pantheon. Yankwich, Leon R. (1934) ‘Racialism as Dogma’, Sociology and Social Research 18: 365–71.

8 RESPONSES TO FASCISM IN BRITAIN, 1930–1945 The emergence of the concept of totalitarianism Peter Lassman

There is still very little agreement concerning the nature and significance of fascism. The emergence of fascist regimes in the 1920s and 1930s presented contemporaries with an awkward and yet compelling question. How were they to make sense of these new regimes when their ideology and practice seemed to defy the categories of conventional theory? The essence of the problem has been stated by O’Sullivan who points out that ‘fascism appeared like a bolt from the blue. The advent of fascism in the present century, that is to say, took nearly everybody by surprise; and surprise, of course, is at once the parent and the child of theoretical incomprehension’ (O’Sullivan 1983:7). It is easy to forget that according to the major political ideologies of the time, conservatism, liberalism, socialism and Marxism, there is no room for such a movement to appear and, more significantly, to be successful. Bearing this in mind it is clear that contemporary social and political thinkers were faced with a very difficult task. Furthermore, it was not until the 1930s that the success of fascism abroad provided it with a significance in Britain that it had previously lacked. It is also important to take note of the fact that the theoretical debate about the meaning of the fascist phenomenon was itself situated within a context of political argument. The practical objective of the literature of fascism, written during this period, cannot be ignored. It is certainly correct to say of most of this literature that, as it ‘was conceived of as a function of the anti-fascist struggle, its immediate impact was political, or ethico-political’ (De Felice 1977:5). It appears that British public opinion, as portrayed by the press, found fascism to be a generally puzzling phenomenon. The British press found it difficult to believe that it was being confronted by a genuinely new form of political activity. British journalists tended to play down the anti-Semitism and racism of the Nazi Party, for example, because they were incredulous that men could actually mean to put such rhetoric into action. It has been argued that this inability to recognize the totalitarian nature of the Nazi movement is indicative of a general failure of the political imagination. The following statement is a strong assertion of this argument. There was a failure in Britain, as in Germany, to grasp the nature of ideological thinking and of totalitarianism as a concept. People, in the

208 RESPONSES TO FASCISM IN BRITAIN, 1930–1945

framework of a liberal discourse, simply could not conceive that the governing party of a great and civilized country could think in terms of a philosophy which claimed to explain everything in terms of Race, Struggle and Leadership, and which then sought to make, not a few improvements here and there, but a veritable heaven (or hell) on earth from which all divisive, and thus subversive, elements would be eliminated. (Crick 1964:12) Although there is an element of truth in this statement it is an exaggeration and a simplification of the actual state of affairs. In fact, there was, especially outside the Marxist camp, a growing awareness and interest in the use of the concept of ‘totalitarianism’ as a way of making sense of these new movements. The concept of totalitarianism was deployed by many of the writers of this period. An important example is to be found in the work of George Orwell, ‘a figure lonely in the England of the 1930s for his insistence that the new and great enemy was “totalitarianism”, of whatever form, and no longer other people’s nationalism’ (Granzow 1964:236). Again there is both truth and exaggeration here. Orwell is certainly extremely important in his recognition of the significance of totalitarianism but he certainly was not alone in this. Increasingly, during the 1930s and early 1940s, it became clear to many that, although fascism and National Socialism were distinct systems, they were both examples of totalitarianism. A typical view was that of Crossman who argued that totalitarianism itself had been invented in Soviet Russia and its methods borrowed by the fascist regimes (Crossman 1940:286). The concept of totalitarianism was increasingly being used to focus upon the novelty and uniqueness of the fascist regimes, in contrast to those, especially parliamentary democratic, regimes which they had replaced. The use of a general concept of this type also implied that a comparison of the differences, as well as the similarities, that existed between the Italian and German cases be made. More controversially, the logic of the concept drew attention to the similarities between the fascist regimes and the Soviet Union. In effect, the theory of totalitarianism had its first airing during this period, some twenty years before the popularization of the term by the political science of the Cold War period. Nevertheless, the theory was not developed in the direction of rigorous research, and, in the view of one critic, the fundamental problem with the concept is that its ahistorical character was inadequate for an exploration of the origins of this political system and, as a consequence, only served to highlight the idea that fascism had ‘arisen from the void’ (Aycoberry 1981:41). A central feature of the debate, in Britain, concerning the nature of fascism during this period is its uncertainty with regard to the question of the novelty and uniqueness of the fascist regimes. This, in turn, is linked to the question of its relationship to Communism. As the debate about the nature of fascism took place within a context of political argument, in which Marxist categories played a central role, it often assumed a highly polemical character. Many, who, for various


reasons, opposed the Marxist account of the nature of fascism came to rely upon an appeal to the concept of totalitarianism. For example, Crick has pointed out that Orwell, who must be considered as a ‘political thinker of genuine stature’ (Crick 1982:25), believed, in a way that is analogous to Hobbes’ Leviathan, that ‘a breakdown in good government’, by which he meant a breakdown in liberty, tolerance and welfare, ‘could cause a leap forward into a hypothetical world order of one-party total power, a kind of state that the world had never seen before’ (Crick 1982:25). According to Crick, between about 1936 and 1940, ‘political and literary intellectuals’, such as Koestler, Borkenau, Silone, Malraux and Orwell, all began to use and develop this concept quite independently of each other. It appears that the concept itself was, if not invented by, at least first popularized by Mussolini and the Italian fascists. Mussolini’s statement that a ‘party that governs a nation in a totalitarian way is a new fact in history’, is typical (Mussolini 1939:175). Contemplation of the emergence of fascism and its affinities with other regimes, especially that of the Soviet Union, encouraged the use of the concept of totalitarianism in Britain. The point of the concept was to warn that fascism represented something new and dangerous that could not be grasped adequately by the conventional categories of social and political analysis. However, in using the concept to point to the similarities between the fascist and the Communist regimes, there is a danger that an appreciation of the unique character of fascism will be lost. Certainly, as the ideological debates in Britain developed during this period, it becomes clear that the term was being used with increasing popularity. Orwell certainly makes it perfectly clear that the virtue of the concept is that it challenges directly the conventional wisdom of the Left for whom ‘National Socialism was simply capitalism with the lid off’, and that ‘Hitler was a dummy with Thyssen pulling the strings’. The uncomfortable fact that had to be recognized was that ‘National Socialism is a form of Socialism, is emphatically revolutionary, does crush the property owner just as surely as it crushes the worker. The two regimes, having started from opposite ends, are rapidly evolving towards the same system—a form of oligarchical collectivism’ (Orwell 1970:40–41). There is a problem in considering the response to fascism of those who explicitly defined themselves as sociologists. Sociology hardly existed in prewar Britain as a distinct academic field. Nevertheless there was considerable debate concerning the nature of sociology and the future prospects for the social sciences. Given the absence of an institutionalized academic field of sociology it ought not to come as a surprise to find that an interest in what we today might define as sociological ideas and methods existed within many other related fields (Marshall 1936). It has been argued that there was a ‘concealed sociology’ within much of British intellectual life (Lepenies 1988). Despite the absence of sociology as an institutionalized academic discipline, there was a high level of interest in the nature and development of sociology and the social sciences. Indeed, it is reported that a foreign academic was led to remark that ‘we English, who profess to be unversed in problems of methodology, were more passionate about such problems than the


scholars of the Continent’ (Barker 1936:8). Social and political theorists such as Laski, Cole and Barker, if not writing what today we might want to define as ‘sociology’ as such, were writing, it can be claimed, ‘an inherently “sociological” political theory’ (Collini 1978: 29). Laski, for example, was quite clear that ‘political theory cannot separate itself from sociology, of which, indeed, it is clearly a branch or aspect’ (Laski 1936:115). Nevertheless, it is important to guard against the fallacies of anachronism, in reading back into the past current definitions of what counts as ‘sociology’. There are considerable differences between the ideas of these thinkers that cannot be ignored. In fact, it can also be argued that the influence of some of these thinkers was ultimately counter-productive for the development of academic sociology (Collini 1978). The ‘official’ sociologists such as Ginsberg, professor of Sociology at the London School of Economics, tended not to deal directly with current political questions. Much of Ginsberg’s work consists of essays which are mainly philosophical in character. Fascism is only mentioned in the context of general philosophical questions as, for example, in his essay The Individualist Basis of International Law and Morals’ where some fascist ideas are briefly outlined (Ginsberg 1947:258–278). Even writers such as Marshall who, although trained as an economic historian, defined himself as a sociologist and became head of the Social Science Department (not the sociology department) at the London School of Economics did not concern himself, in print at least, with the problem of fascism except to endorse the ‘new middle class’ theory of fascist support championed by, among others, Cole (Marshall 1965:186). Also worth mentioning is the work of the Mass Observation movement. The Mass Observation movement was founded in 1937 by Charles Madge, Tom Harrisson and Humphrey Jennings. Madge and Jennings shared a literary background. Madge was a poet and Jennings was making films for the Post Office. Harrisson was a member of the Oxford University Expedition to Malekula (now Vanuatu) and produced a widely read New Left book Savage Civilization on the basis of his experiences there. Typical of their work was the setting up of a National Panel of Observers who were given several tasks to perform on every twelfth day of the month. An example of this approach was the publication of May the Twelfth, a very detailed piece of literary collage based on reports from observers throughout the country on the Coronation of George VI (12 May 1937). Topics covered in the monthly surveys included attitudes to blacks, Jews and fascists. This form of social research does not fit into any orthodox categories of social science but was very popular during this period. Its aim was to ‘capture social reality’ at precisely defined moments without bothering with the excess baggage of theories and methods. Although there is nothing systematic here and there are obvious questions concerning the reliability of the data there are some interesting examples of popular attitudes to fascism to be found here (Harrisson and Madge 1939). Most of the interest in fascism was directed at the established regimes abroad rather than at the British movement. Fascism itself had many precursors in Britain but the first important movement was the British Union of Fascists founded in


1932. It appears that critical analysis and hostility towards fascism did not develop fully until the 1930s and, especially, after the establishment of the Nazi regime which provided fascism with a content and significance that it had previously lacked (Lewis 1987; Thurlow 1987). The success of the National Socialists demonstrated that fascism was no longer an exclusively Italian phenomenon while, in Britain, warnings of the possibility of a fascist seizure of power began to appear (Strachey 1934). The early response to Italian fascism among British intellectuals was to regard it sympathetically as an interesting social experiment. On the non-Marxist left Italian fascism was seen by many, at first, as a development of the ideas of the syndicalists and similar in aim to the ideas of the British Guild Socialists, who were in favour of a decentralized economy with workers’ control of industry. However, Cole, a leading advocate of Guild Socialism, had confessed as early as 1923 that, although he was ‘in the dark’ about fascism, it certainly had little to do with the interests of the working class (Wright 1979:109). There was a degree of expected sympathy for the Italian regime from many on the right. One typical account argued that the Grand Fascist Council ‘consists of tried and trusted men, and removes all questions of supreme national importance from the irresponsible forces of political agitation’. Furthermore, it was asserted that fascism is supremely successful in liberating the individual from the tyranny of the majority (Goad and Currey 1933). However, when more analytical attention was focused upon the Italian regime it was perceived to be a clear example of ‘totalitarianism’, in which, if there had ever been any intention of constructing a state on syndicalist lines, it had now been abandoned. Nevertheless, it was pointed out by one writer that one of the lessons of Mussolini’s Italy was that it demonstrated the limits to totalitarianism. This resided in the simple fact that total control of thought is impossible. The libraries are still the organized opposition to the Fascist State’ (Finer 1935: 540). Although the British fascist movement was not usually seen as the main threat there was a considerable and growing anxiety about the danger of fascism. One of the most perceptive accounts recognized fascism as a danger precisely because it had its attractions and could not be written off in reductionist terms as being simply a stage in the development of capitalism. According to Orwell, the real danger that faced the country did not come from the British Union of Fascists but from a ‘fascist attitude of mind’. In order to understand fascism, Orwell argued, it is necessary to admit that ‘it contains some good as well as much evil’. It is quite understandable that many would be drawn to fascism seeing it as ‘the last line of defence of all that is good in European civilization’ (Orwell 1962: 187). A large part of the responsibility for the appeal of fascism rests with the Marxist left whose inability to take democracy seriously has had the effect of undermining its own position. But more significantly, the tendency towards a belief in economic determinism has also weakened the left’s case. The excessive materialism of the left has resulted in the fact that ‘fascism has been able to play upon every instinct that revolts against hedonism and a cheap conception of “progress”. It has been


able to pose as the upholder of the European tradition, and to appeal to Christian belief, to patriotism, and to the military virtues’ (Orwell 1962:188). More ominously, the end product of a ‘Fascist International’ would be the creation of a ‘totalitarian world’. Orwell’s message is pessimistic but realistic. There is no reason to suppose, despite the optimism of the Marxist left, that economic and technological development leads to an egalitarian and collectivist society. It was more than likely that the future would be collectivist and totalitarian with ‘the profit principle eliminated’ but with ‘all political, military, and educational power in the hands of a small caste of rulers’ (Orwell 1962:189). CAPITALISM IN DECAY AND FASCISM: THE ORTHODOX MARXIST ACCOUNT The main example of the orthodox Marxist account of fascism was that offered by R.Palme Dutt. Dutt (1896–1974), originally a Classics scholar, was expelled from Oxford for ‘Bolshevik propaganda’ and subsequently became a member of the Executive Committee of the Communist Party from 1922 until 1965. He was editor of the Daily Worker from 1936 to 1938. According to Dutt fascism is capitalism in decay. It is the culmination of the ‘most typical tendencies and policies of modern capitalism’ (Dutt 1934: 72). As a consequence there is no point in examining fascist theory. It is in the ‘actual historical process that the reality of fascism must be found, and not in the secondary derivative attempts post festum at adornment with a theory’ (Dutt 1934:75–76). In true Marxist manner Dutt attempted to define the essence of fascism by examining it in class terms and they seemed to contradict each other. On the one hand, there was the picture of fascism as a middle-class movement standing in opposition to both the proletariat and to large-scale capitalism. On the other hand, fascism was presented as a weapon of capitalism that made use of the middle class and some sections of the working class. In Dutt’s view this contradiction can be shown to be more apparent than real. Although it is true that the fascists do have widespread middle-class support it does not follow that fascism is an independent movement of the middle class. ‘Fascism, in short, is a movement of mixed elements, dominantly petit-bourgeois, but also slum-proletarian and demoralized working class, financed and directed by finance-capital, by the big industrialists, landlords and financiers, to defeat the working-class revolution and smash the working-class organizations’ (Dutt 1934:82). The question of middle-class support for fascism was central for a diagnosis of the political crisis. In conventional Marxist terms the emergence of the new middle classes was described as being simply a stage in the process of proletarianization. The middle classes are incapable of any kind of independent political activity and, therefore, must support either the forces of finance capital or the proletariat. The idea that there can be any form of ‘third force’ based upon middle-class support is a myth. The decisive factor is the ownership of the means of production. The middle class can either be the Auxiliary of finance capital’ or it can join the


proletariat in the socializing of the means of production. ‘These are the only two alternatives before the middle class. The first is the line of fascism. The second is the line of communism’ (Dutt 1934:86). Of course, as far as Dutt and the orthodox Marxists were concerned, the true interests of the middle classes were represented by the proletariat. Fascism could only succeed where the proletarian movement was weak and the responsibility for such weakness lay with the ‘revisionists’ of social democracy who, in essence, were ‘social fascists’ themselves. The account of the development of fascism put forward by Dutt and others on the Marxist left, such as R.Pascal (Pascal 1934), Professor of German at the University of Birmingham from 1939 to 1969 and a prominent Marxist scholar, was characterized by the mechanical application of a rigid set of theoretical categories. As a consequence there was no need to consider fascist ideology or theory. The idea that there is such a thing as a theory of fascism is itself an illusion. For example, the idea of a ‘corporate state’ is ‘in fact the transparent masquerade-dress of modern capitalism’. It follows that from this standpoint all attempts, such as those of Butler (Butler 1941) or Russell (1935) (Bertrand Russell, the third Earl Russell, the philosopher and winner of the Nobel prize for literature in 1950), to trace the roots of fascism back into the intellectual past were completely pointless. Modern society can be either capitalist or socialist. According to this logic, if fascism is not socialism, then it must be capitalism. In economic terms, which, ultimately, are the only terms that matter, fascism is ‘identical with capitalism, representing only a special method to maintain its power and hold down the workers’ (Dutt 1934: 193). The major difference between the fascist capitalist state and the democratic capitalist state is that the former ‘is based on the violent destruction of the worker’s independent organizations and the complete abolition of the right to strike’ (Dutt 1934:203). Other capitalist states are advancing in this same direction but they have not dared to go this far. The Marxist account put forward by Dutt is also characterized by a form of historicist optimism. The teleology inherent in fascism is such that it is ultimately to be seen as an ‘episode in the long-drawn class-war advancing to the final victory of the socialist revolution’ (Dutt 1934:223). There is nothing ‘progressive’ about fascism. If there were to be a society of ‘stabilized fascism’ then it would be a society of ‘organized decay’. But fascism cannot last. It is merely a transitional form of society. Fascism is the consequence of a delay in the revolution ‘when the whole objective situation calls for the proletarian revolution as the only final solution and ever more visibly raises the issue of the struggle for power, but when the working-class movement is not yet strong enough and ready owing to being disorganized and paralyzed by reformism, and thus lets the initiative pass to capitalism’ (Dutt 1934:270). Fascism has the effect of intensifying the class struggle. Fascism is both a ‘punishment for the “weakness” of reformism and “the weapon of history for purging and burning out this weakness”’ (Dutt 1934:289).


TOTALITARIANISM: LEFT AND RIGHT A similar description of fascism was put forward by Strachey. Evelyn John St Loe Strachey (1901–1963), an important figure on the left, was a Labour member of Parliament from 1929 to 1931 when he resigned from the party. He rejoined the party and was an MP from 1945 to 1963. From 1946 to 1950 he was Minister of Food and from 1950 to 1951 Secretary of State for War. In Strachey’s view fascism and war are the inevitable results of the failure to overthrow capitalism. It seems to be an uncontroversial fact that ‘fascism is one of the methods which may be adopted by the capitalist class when the threat of the working class to the stability of monopoly capitalism becomes acute’ (Strachey 1932:261). The function of fascism is to create a mass movement for the protection of capitalism. In order to be successful the fascists must rely upon anti-capitalist slogans and, as a consequence, there is the danger that they might be taken seriously. Nevertheless, it is clear that fascism is a counter-revolutionary force despite the fact that it might be said to have a ‘revolutionary’ aspect in terms of its ability to destroy ‘weak’ capitalist governments. Where a ‘strong’ capitalist government exists, such as the National Government in Britain, there is no need for fascism and such movements are bound to be unsuccessful. However, unlike Dutt, Strachey saw that there was something more to fascism than a simple economic analysis would allow. Although fascism ‘had no theory’ it did have a technique. This was the development of a ‘new form of party’ that ‘attempts to capture the whole lives’ of its members. Even more significantly there ‘is no doubt that the fascists borrowed this technique from the communists’ (Strachey 1932:266). The idea that fascism and Communism were both examples of totalitarianism was developed by Strachey when political events, principally the Hitler-Stalin pact and the communist policy of ‘revolutionary defeatism’, forced a reconsideration of his ideas. What we now find ‘unspeakably vile’ about fascism is its totalitarian character. But what is ‘totalitarianism’? ‘The best short definition of it will perhaps be “enforced uniformity”. A country is totalitarian if uniformity of all kinds is enforced upon the people of that country by the state. We primarily think of such enforced uniformity as mental uniformity; for it is in the mental sphere that such enforced uniformity is most striking and most repulsive’ (Strachey 1941:191). The danger inherent in totalitarianism is that it has, despite being ‘a supreme evil’, ‘many advantages which undoubtedly attract many people to it’. For example, it is ‘suggested that, if such enforced uniformity provides the working class with rather better living conditions and more economic security, then the loss of the right to differ does not matter to workers in the least’ (Strachey 1941:192). However, a difficulty presents itself to the analyst writing from the left. How is totalitarianism of the right to be distinguished from that of the left? Although Strachey at this time does point out the similarities between the two versions of totalitarianism there is still a residue of the reluctance, that was felt on the left, to equate them. We are informed that the ‘fascist, and more especially Nazi, doctrine is so wildly untrue (i.e., it so wildly contradicts the objective facts


of the real world) that it corrupts, and will ultimately destroy, all those on whom it is enforced’. But in the Soviet Union the doctrine upon which mental uniformity is based is ‘incomparably truer (i.e., gives an incomparably better and closer interpretation of reality) than is the fascist doctrine’ (Strachey 1941:195). The recognition of the threat of totalitarianism played a central part in the argument concerning the political implications of the idea of ‘democratic’ or ‘social’ planning (Mannheim 1940). Hayek’s argument against planning was initially based upon his ‘annoyance with the complete misinterpretation of the character of the Nazi movement in English “progressive” circles’ (Hayek 1944: vii). His fundamental point is that the real conflict is not between the various forms of fascist or Communist collectivism but, rather, between collectivism, as such, and individual freedom. Of course, it is argued, the various forms of collectivism differ from each other in terms of their aims and policies but it is more important to recognize that they ‘all differ from liberalism and individualism in wanting to organize the whole of society and all its resources for this unitary end, and in refusing to recognize autonomous spheres in which the ends of the individuals are supreme. In short, they are totalitarian in the true sense of this new word which we have adopted to describe the unexpected but nevertheless inseparable manifestations of what in theory we call collectivism’ (Hayek 1944:42). Hayek and Popper take as their ‘target’ the work of another émigré, Mannheim. Mannheim’s argument for ‘freedom at the level of planning’ (Mannheim 1940) was ridiculed by both Popper and Hayek as being, in essence, an invitation to totalitarianism. Popper, with some malice, went so far as to compare the ideas of Mannheim, a victim of Nazism, and the logic of his sociological thought, with those of Carl Schmitt (Popper 1957:79). FASCISM AND THE CAPITALIST COUNTER-REVOLUTION An influential example of an attempt to understand fascism from a position that has been termed ‘democratic Marxist’ (Barker 1942) is that of Laski. H.J.Laski (1893–1950) was professor of political science at the London School of Economics from 1926 to 1950. He was a member of the Executive Committee of the Labour Party from 1936 to 1949 and Chairman of the Labour Party from 1945 to 1946. As far as Laski was concerned the answer to the question of the nature of fascism was simple. It is ‘capitalism in decay’ (Laski 1943:95). Laski’s interpretation of fascism was in essentials an unstable mixture. The interpretation that he put forward attempted to combine some fairly orthodox Marxist ideas with others which were in contradiction with them. The Marxists were correct to point out that fascism is ‘simply the expression of monopoly-capitalism in decay’ because ‘it does not disturb the vital class-relations in any society it comes to dominate; individuals, or special groups like the Jews, apart, it is characteristic of its functioning that the rich remain rich and the poor remain poor’ (Laski 1942:88). There is also, Laski felt, much truth in the description of fascism as the dictatorship


of the monopoly capitalists. Fascism is ‘the refuge to which capitalism is driven when it is no longer able to preserve the privileges of its ruling classes and to make concessions to the multitude’ (Laski 1942:88). Laski, while in agreement with the main lines of the Marxist analysis, felt that it was open to criticism. It was inadequate as an explanation of some of the most troubling facts about the emergence of the fascist regimes. The Marxist analysis had not paid sufficient attention to two fundamental facts. The first of these was that both Mussolini and Hitler had come to power with the support of mass movements which they themselves had created. The social basis of these movements was such that they would seem to defy the categories of orthodox Marxist analysis. They had brought together a distinct social mixture of ‘the disinherited, whether the unemployed soldier like Roehm, or the déclassé intellectual like Rosenberg, the dissatisfied youth and the petit bourgeois trader; and they made an obvious and important appeal to women’ (Laski 1942:88). This appeal was itself based upon the exploitation of nationalism. The fascist movements also offered the prospect of a career and a new identity. This latter point is not to be underrated in the particular context of economic depression and the collapse of governmental legitimacy. The second major disagreement with the orthodox Marxist interpretation concerns the question of the relationship of the fascist movements to ‘monopoly-capitalism’. In Laski’s view it was a fundamental error to suppose that the fascists were simply puppets in the hands of the capitalists. The fascist state had been ‘driven by its own inner logic to the destruction of capitalism in its historic liberal form’ (Laski 1942:91). The solution of the unemployment problem demanded a level of state intervention in the economy that was inconsistent with classical capitalism. Furthermore, the renewal of national traditions required an extensive rearmament program. The consequence of the extensive state direction of the economy was that the two fascist states had, by 1939, ceased to possess liberal capitalist economies. Although it was true that the power of the large industrial companies had been increased, this had to be understood to be in the context of the general political direction of the economy. Laski, while committed to the theory of the primacy of the relations of production in social explanation, when dealing with fascism, was drawn towards an interpretation that recognized the autonomy of politics (Laski 1936:118). His whole discussion of fascism is characterized by this tension. If fascism is ‘the outcome of capitalism in decay’, what does this imply? It is the retort of the propertied interests to a democracy which seeks to transcend the relations of production implied in a capitalist society. But it is not merely the annihilation of democracy. It is also the use of nationalist feeling to justify a policy of foreign adventure in the hope, thereby, of redressing the grievances which are the index of capitalist decay. Wherever fascism has been successful, it has been built upon a protest by the business interests against the increased demands of the workers.


(Laski 1934:95) Fascism itself has revealed the weaknesses within ‘capitalist democracy’. As capitalism declines, the capitalist class and its allies will reject democracy in order to defend their own position. The fascists, in Laski’s view, were simply ‘outlaws’ who had fooled the business interests into believing that they were capable of killing Communism and saving capitalism. Fascism is the ‘counter-revolution’ and, as such, ‘it is the outlaw who gives its character to a counter-revolutionary, as distinct from a reactionary state’ (Laski 1943: 259). The fascist parties had succeeded in their use ‘of the power of the state to make themselves the masters alike of the working classes and of the capitalist class in the interest of perpetuating their own authority’ (Laski 1943:94). The logic of fascist rule is to create a form of state in which terror is the means used to destroy all forms of possible opposition. The essence of this new form of state is that it is a ‘monoparty state’ in which there is a fusion of party-structure and the apparatus of state-power. The result is that all opposition to the party is, by definition, opposition to the state. Fascism in Laski’s view, amounts to a regime of ‘outlaws’ who are primarily concerned with the preservation of their own power. As a consequence of this, it follows that there is no need to undertake any examination of fascist political ideas. Much effort has been expended to discover a philosophy of fascism. It is a waste of effort. Fascism is power built upon terror and organized and maintained by the fear of terror and hopes to which conquest gives rise. It is the disciplining of society for a state of war in which martial law is permanent because the nation is forced to spend any brief period of peace in the preparation for war. (Laski 1943:96) Laski denies in the strongest terms that there is such a thing as a fascist philosophy. The ideas that fascists put forward are simply propaganda designed to give support to a system of pure power and terror. Indeed, fascism is not a permanent phenomenon in history and can only ‘win purpose by developing a philosophy; but, by so doing, it would cease to be fascism’ (Laski 1943:114). ‘Fascism, in any of its forms, is at bottom a doctrineless nihilism; the attempt to provide it with a philosophic basis is the usual attempt of scholars to explain, or to provide a pedigree for, something altogether remote from serious influence upon its fortunes’ (Laski 1943:107). The difficulty here is obvious. Given this materialistic analysis there can be no way of investigating or even recognizing the way in which fascist ideology has the character that it, in fact, does have. It also becomes difficult to say what is specific and novel in the fascist regimes. As a result Laski, despite his awareness of the problem, is led to say that there is ‘nothing in the argument of fascism which was not foreseen by Aristotle in his description of Hellenic tyranny; all that is new in its technique is the scale upon which it has been applied


and the character of the weapons which modern science has placed at its disposal’ (Laski 1943:97). Fascism for Laski is to be understood as the consequence of the breakdown of capitalist democracy. The essential reason why fascism rather than socialism succeeded is that it is, in reality, implicit within capitalism. ‘Capitalist democracy, so to say, was always democracy on conditions approved by the capitalists. It was admitted its place always upon the condition that it did not strain their allegiance to democratic principles’ (Laski 1943:126). The Marxian form of analysis favoured by Laski was simply unable to explain how and why it was that Germany, the most advanced nation in Europe, had become a fascist state. Pointing to the roots of fascism in German history, and making clear his rejection of ‘national character’ forms of explanation, Laski could only describe the appeal of fascism in terms of its claim to end political divisions and to recover a lost international prestige. Ultimately, such a successful seizure of power could only occur under suitable conditions. The preconditions for the possibility of ‘the outlaw’ taking power are the breakdown of the rule of law and of agreed common principles in society. As the foundation for his explanation Laski fell back on the orthodox Marxist formula. A society begins to break down and its state can no longer satisfy the demands of a large number of its citizens when its relations of production are in contradiction with its forces of production (Laski 1943:111). Fascism, according to Laski, is a transitional phase in the development of capitalism but its essential character is disguised by the high level of state intervention in the economy. Fascism is the capitalist counter-revolution. In order to survive, the counter-revolution must suppress all forms of democracy and take on a totalitarian form. ‘In a collectivist society based upon the world market, the totalitarian state is the inevitable instrument of the counter-revolution’ (Laski 1943:264). However, as far as Laski was concerned, there was a fundamental difference between the totalitarianisms of the fascists and of the Communists. The vital difference is that ‘there is nothing in the nature of the Bolshevik state which is alien from the democratic ideal’ (Laski 1943:265). Despite the formal similarities between the two forms of state they are to be distinguished in terms of their ideas and purposes. Here, at least, we can be assured that ‘fascism is a contradiction of the objective movement of history’ (Laski 1943:113). Having no philosophy, relying on terror, it cannot progress as an economic and social system and without success in war it is bound to fail. FASCISM AS AN ANTI-SOCIALIST MIDDLE-CLASS MOVEMENT An important discussion of the nature of fascism occupies a central part of the work of G.D.H.Cole during this period. G.D.H.Cole (1889–1959) taught at Oxford University from 1912 to 1957. He was Chichele Professor of Social and Political Theory in that university from 1944 to 1957. The author of an enormous number of publications, he was also president of the Fabian Society from 1952 to 1959.


Cole initially analysed fascism in terms of the changing class structure. The fascist movement represented a new development in the ‘politicization’ of society, the most significant being the transformations that have taken place in Russia, Italy, and Germany. Margaret Isabel Cole (1893–1980) was assistant secretary of the Labour Research Department from 1917 to 1925 and was a lecturer for the University of London Tutorial Classes from 1925 to 1949. She was a political journalist and the author of numerous works on social and political topics. Widely as they differ in essentials, the communist and fascist systems have this in common, that in both the state is not merely omnicompetent but also omnipresent, concerning itself positively in every walk of life. In a sense, it is idle to ask a Russian or an Italian to distinguish between politics and, say, economics for in their countries everything is political, directed and controlled by the agents of political life. (The Coles 1934:5) It is not surprising that in writing from their socialist standpoint the Coles, in attempting to analyse the appeal of fascism, had to make clear the differences between these two political doctrines. A major difficulty here arises from the fact that there is not only much unclarity about the precise meaning of the term ‘fascism’ but that there is also the question of the possible similarities between these two ideologies. In fact, fascism is depicted as being, in essence, an anti-socialist movement. Fascism arose and developed as an organ of struggle against Marxian Socialism, and it signalized its victory by uprooting together with parliamentary democracy every form of Socialist and independent Trade Union organization. Its gospel was not social equality or world revolution but a nationalism which denied the primacy of class distinctions and invoked against them the collective self-interest of the nation as a whole. (The Coles 1934:36) The view of the Coles is that the appeal of fascism is to be explained largely in terms of disillusionment and the ‘widespread sense of futility aroused by the great depression’. In order to understand the current political situation, the Coles felt that it was of central importance to see what ‘forces in men’s minds’ lie behind the diversity of movements bearing the ‘fascist’ label. This strategy, it is argued, is necessary precisely because of the confusion surrounding the correct meaning of the term ‘fascism’. Here we see a common problem that all writers of the period, and ever since, have faced. This is the question of the nature of the differences and similarities that are to be found when comparing the two major fascist states. This is without considering the added difficulty of those other states and movements which either took or were given the ‘fascist’ label. This problem, in turn, is directly


linked to the question of the place of fascism on the political spectrum. Is it a movement of the left, right or centre? Is it to be described, in any sense, as a revolutionary movement? Furthermore, as the term ‘fascist’ is sometimes used so broadly that it can include programmes of social and economic reconstruction, such as Roosevelt’s National Recovery program, it is essential to clarify matters by looking closely at the social basis of fascism. It is only in this way that the correct distinctions can be made. The confusion that is possible is demonstrated in the Coles’ own judgement that, while it is definitely wrong to call Roosevelt’s programme ‘fascist’, there certainly are qualities that it does share with the European fascist movements. The truth is that in all the capitalist countries of the world today large sections of the population are in a mood which makes them open to the appeal of new political emotions enormously reinforced by the circumstances of the time. Fascism is one form of response to this new emotional situation; but it is by no means the only possible response, and many of the movements that are commonly called fascist exist mainly because social classes and vested interests of many different sorts have seen their opportunity of getting popular support behind them in the imitation of those methods which were effective in bringing Italian fascism to power. (The Coles 1934:61) What then are the causes of fascism? According to the Coles there is a definite set of causes that can be listed which provide an explanation of this phenomenon. In the first place, there is a widespread sense of futility with regard to the political institutions of the parliamentary democracies. This general feeling predates the world depression and the crash of 1929 but, clearly, it has been deepened by it. Secondly, and following on from this observation, there is, in modern jargon, a developing ‘crisis of legitimacy’ in most Western states. There is a widespread feeling that parliamentary democracy is unable to cope with the demands thrust upon it by the modern world. There is a growing ‘lack of respect’ for parliamentary institutions and a general unwillingness, especially among the young, to speak up for them. Furthermore, in the Coles’ estimation, this sense of the inadequacy of parliamentary democracy is heightened by the belief that, as a system, it is incapable and unwilling to do anything about the ‘growing sense of vast potential wealth going foolishly to waste’. One result of this general feeling is the growth of cynicism about politics but this, in turn, produces its own reaction. The reaction against cynicism in politics leads to a demand for ‘new values’ to replace ‘the old values that have decayed or ceased to appeal’. This ‘weariness of cynicism’ is felt especially strongly among the intelligentsia, but it has spread among all sections of the population. Here we can see an intimation that the fascist style of politics is of a radically different kind to that of the more limited form typical of the parliamentary or liberal democracies. Indeed, this is the implication of the Coles’


recognition that the appeal of fascism does, in fact, have deep roots within the structure of parliamentary democracy itself. A major background factor that helps to account for the emergence of fascism is the ‘world-wide decline in the prestige of parliamentary institutions’. The internal contradiction that exists in the heart of this political system is that while ‘it calls for popular participation in the work of government’, it ‘has reconciled this demand with the practical exemption of the great mass of people from any sustained political activity’ (The Coles 1934:41). On the other hand, both fascism and Communism offer an ideal of ‘active citizenship’, and this is an essential aspect of their appeal. Nevertheless, despite a common appeal to a concept of ‘active citizenship’, there are some fairly fundamental differences in operation between the two systems. Thus, neither in Italy nor in Germany does ‘the state belong to the workers or to the people in the same sense as in Russia. For in these countries private property and class inequality remain’ (The Coles 1934:41). The Coles offered the thought that if we were to look at these systems in terms of active citizenship alone then we would have to agree that fascism and Communism were much more democratic than the politics of the middle classes. The significance of this was that, as the proportion of industrial workers in the labour force declined, fascism had made a strong appeal to the ‘new middle classes’, represented, for example, by the technicians, the salary earners and white-collar workers, who were not tied to obsolescent methods of production. This middle-class movement had emerged ‘as the instrument for saving capitalism from socialism or communism’ (Cole 1933:280). Cole did not interpret this new social and political development in a mechanistic manner. There was nothing inevitable in the spread of fascism. In Britain, at least, it was unlikely that fascism would appeal to these classes because the economic crisis had not been so acute. Furthermore, it was not impossible for the middle classes to be attracted to socialism. Fascism is not a permanent feature of the political landscape. Its probable outcome will be war and economic collapse. This analysis was attacked from the orthodox left. As far as Strachey was concerned, Cole had completely misunderstood the true situation (Strachey 1935:333). In ignoring ‘the falling tendency of the rate of profit’ and concentrating on the politics of the middle classes, Cole had not seen that, although the fascist movements were composed of the ‘petits bourgeois’, they were not controlled by them. Fascism, according to Strachey and the orthodox left, was monopoly capitalism and nothing else. The real nature of fascism is that ‘it is a movement owned and controlled, bought and paid for, from start to finish by these great capitalists themselves’ (Strachey 1935:349). Even Hitler’s actions against the SA were ‘capitalistically correct’ measures to restore the rate of profit. In A Guide to Modern Politics (1934), co-authored by Cole and his wife, Margaret, the Coles point out that, among the major social and political developments of the time, such as the growth of bureaucracy and the ‘politicization’ of society, the most significant were the transformations that had taken place in Germany, Italy and Russia. What then is fascism? One definition


that they offer is that ‘fascists are anti-socialists who are prepared to go to any length in order to prevent the socialists from getting their way, and, distrustful of the “freedoms” of parliamentary democracy, mean to make sure of defeating the socialists by establishing a rival dictatorship of their own’ (The Coles 1934:43). Another factor that accounts for the appeal of fascism is the fear of insecurity felt especially among the property-owners, including those whose ‘property’ is their education. This is a motivating force for supporting any anti-socialist movement that offers a hope of maintaining the distribution of property. A more extreme fear is generated by the prospect of Communism, which in contrast to West European Socialism, is perceived as an alien ideology. Thus, the Nazis ‘with their constant stress on their mission to defend Western Europe against the menace of barbarism from the East, are only exaggerating a sentiment which finds a wide response in minds which have been formed by a culture based on an age-long system of class-inequality’ (The Coles 1934:64). In addition to these factors, the Coles mention two further aspects of the appeal of fascism. Here they come close to what later writers, such as O’Sullivan, have regarded as a defining characteristic of fascism. This is the idea that fascism is best understood as the most extreme form of an ‘activist style of politics’ that has its origins in the development of a number of distinct motifs in modern European political thought. A feature of this ‘activist style’ of politics is its theatricality. ‘Men want to march about the streets, dress up in special shirts, make loud political noises on all possible occasions. For these activities give them the sense that they are doing something instead of merely sitting still’ (The Coles 1934:66). This desire for direct action tends to be felt more strongly by the young and this helps to account for the fact that the fascists draw a disproportionate degree of support from this social group. For among the young there is to be found, more than elsewhere, a growing sense of futility with the orthodox parties, which are committed to a more limited concept of politics. The Coles themselves express some sympathy with this point of view, for it is true, they argue, that ‘socialist leadership has been weak and ineffective in most of the parliamentary countries’ (The Coles 1934:65). A central feature of fascism that most analysts have found difficult to come to grips with is its fusion of socialist and nationalist ideas. As a result fascism has not been easy to place on a conventional left-right continuum. There has also been much disagreement concerning the extent to which the fascist regimes could be called revolutionary. The Coles could point out that the revival of nationalism had played an important role in the success of fascism. From their socialist standpoint nationalism represented a paradoxical development. It contained both old and new ideas. Nationalism had emerged in Europe with the French Revolution and was therefore of relatively recent origin, but as a mass phenomenon it appealed to something primitive in human societies. Nationalism is ‘at bottom a flight from the terrifying complications of modern world problems back to a notion deeply rooted in man’s social tradition’ (The Coles 1934:66). The Coles could see very little that was positive in nationalism. They were able to make sense of it only in


terms of a form of social regression. The modern nation state becomes a symbol for the reassertion of ‘tribal solidarity’ and as a reaction, especially among politically unsophisticated peoples, against the progressive force of internationalism. The success of fascism can also be attributed to some other ‘secondary factors’. Among these are the reassertion of the right to private property that has arisen as a direct response to the threat of socialist control. In the struggle between socialism and capitalism which the Coles take to be fundamental it is highly probable that the mass of small property-owners will take the capitalist rather than the socialist side. The defence of property coexists with a seemingly contradictory trend of opinion. This is the belief that the state ought to intervene in order to support any section of society that feels threatened by economic change. Such state support has nothing to do with socialism. In fact, it is often a sign of desperation and can be linked quite strongly with a belief in the qualities of personal leadership as an alternative to democratic institutions. Furthermore, the Coles perceived a ‘growing demand for state intervention to help any section of the community which feels the pinch of economic adversity’ (The Coles 1934:69). This demand is not to be equated with a demand for socialism. More ominously, there is also, linked to this desire, a decline in the legitimacy of representative institutions and a corresponding growth in the respect felt for personal leadership as a response to the perceived failures of intervention by democratic states. The problems of democracy are compounded by a decline in the belief in the value of politics itself, when political activity is understood in terms of debate and discussion rather than coercion and violence. Indeed, the Coles go so far as to say that this attitude, born out of frustration, is the most dangerous of all the factors at work in the political arena. Fascism, then, for the Coles, is one possible response to the political and social crisis of the age. It is important to distinguish the fascist form of politics from those other forms of state intervention that were often, mistakenly, labelled as ‘fascist’, especially by theorists on the left. An example of this is the New Deal in America. From an orthodox Marxist point of view it would appear that Roosevelt’s New Deal programme had all the significant characteristics of a fascist policy. As far as the Coles were concerned this could not be an accurate picture. If we compare the policies of the European fascists with those of the Americans then we will see more clearly the specific nature of fascism. The New Deal was an attempt to strengthen and preserve industrial capitalism, while European fascism is a genuinely revolutionary system in its desire to transform permanently the political structure. The general conclusion that the Coles came to was that fascism is best seen as an attempt to rebuild capitalism but upon state-directed lines and in the interests of the middle classes and of the rentiers. European fascism can be characterized as a form of capitalism that has emerged as an alternative to the largely discredited form of relatively unregulated capitalism. The fundamental objective of fascism is the destruction of socialism. The concept of the corporate


state is an essential element of fascist doctrine as it serves as an antidote to the egalitarian demands of socialism. The result of the Coles’ analysis is that ‘the essential thing about Nazism is that it managed to fuse nationalist sentiment and the fear and dislike of Socialism into a combined force too strong to be resisted’ (The Coles 1934: 187). Initially a movement of property-owners and the middle classes threatened by proletarianization, it has produced a new form of state and society. It is statist in the most extreme form; it is totalitarian. Totalitarianism is a distinctively new form of dictatorship. The ‘essential idea’ underlying the concept of ‘totalitarianism’ is the process of ‘securing that as far as possible every form of social organization that is capable of influencing the attitude and opinion of the members of the state shall be brought under a leadership which is fully in sympathy with the attitude of the dominant party’. Nevertheless, there is still the problem of differentiating fascism from Communism. One distinction that can be made between the two systems is that Communism arrives at a horizontal division of society prior to the total abolition of all classes, while fascism operates with an image of a vertical and corporatist division of society. Both systems are deeply anti-individualistic but differ in terms of the form in which it is expressed. The Coles’ attempt to distinguish between the two expressions of totalitarianism leads them to argue that the real difference must lie in the forms of social structure that these political systems both reflect and aim to create. As far as the Coles are concerned there is ‘all the difference in the world between using dictatorship as an instrument for the preservation and for the destruction of class differences’ (The Coles 1934: 331). While the Soviet Communist Party aims to be a broadly based party with an internal organization that aims to be as ‘democratic as possible’, the fascist dictatorships aim to preserve class distinctions and, as a result, the fascist parties are organized on highly authoritarian lines. ‘The party has to mirror the social system which it upholds: if the system is to maintain class distinction, so must the party’ (The Coles 1934:332). As a consequence the fascist dictatorships rely upon personal leadership as the ultimate form of authority. Again, it is the Coles’ belief that there is an important difference between the fascist and the Communist forms of dictatorship. As far as Communism is concerned there is a ‘natural hostility to personal leadership’. The proletarian dictatorship ‘will not canonize Stalin’ (The Coles 1934:332). Another distinguishing feature of fascist totalitarian dictatorship is that, in contrast with the Communist variant, it is satisfied with the prevailing distribution of economic rewards and can secure its ends without taking direct control of the means of production. In fact, the ‘scope of dictatorship is far wider under communism than under fascism; for in fact, as long as the great capitalists remain in possession of the essential means of production, they are bound to constitute a force in society—a kind of economic dictatorship—which no purely political dictatorship can hope to make thoroughly compliant to its will. No fascist dictatorship can be purely a political dictatorship; it must either become an economic dictatorship as well, or govern in alliance with the economic dictatorship


of capitalism’ (The Coles 1934:333). It is the judgement of the Coles that fascism is, in essence, a reactionary system in the sense that it merely aims to preserve threatened institutions, whereas Communism is a truly transformative and revolutionary social and political system. Both fascism and Communism are examples of the new development of ‘totalitarian’ dictatorship but, from the Coles’ standpoint, it is essential that they are clearly distinguished, even if this means that we are forced to conclude that the Communist system is the more complete form. In fact, it is ‘a mistake to suppose that they stand in any sense for a common idea. They are all anti-parliamentary because it regards the parliamentary system as incapable of being adapted to serve the purposes of establishing or conducting a classless Society based on economic equality. Fascism, on the other hand is anti-parliamentary because it regards parliamentarism in its modern democratic forms as incapable of serving any longer as an effective instrument for the preservation of class differences and the nationalist idea. For communism, though it has found embodiment so far only in the national state, is essentially cosmopolitan, denying not only class privilege but also that national exclusiveness upon which fascism everywhere insists’ (The Coles 1934:334). TOTALITARIANISM AND THE WAR OF IDEAS In contrast to theorists such as Laski and Dutt, who paid little or no attention to the content of fascist ideas, in the opinion of Ernest Barker, the world of politics could not possibly be understood in any real sense unless political and social ideas were taken seriously. Sir Ernest Barker (1874–1960) was principal of King’s College, University of London from 1920 to 1927 and professor of political science at Cambridge University from 1928 to 1939. He was also professor of political science at the University of Cologne from 1947 to 1948. For Barker, the ‘real war of our times is not a class war: it is a war between two mental worlds’ (Barker 1942: 121). ‘As we stand today, there is no war of classes. It is difficult to say that there are any organized classes. But there is a war of ideas; and ideas, when they grip the mind and drink the blood of conviction, become stern realities’ (Barker 1942:120). Democratic societies are threatened on two fronts. One of these threats is the outcome of a ‘dualistic’ vision of a class-divided society which denies the possibility of true democracy. But the much more dangerous threat is that of totalitarianism. The totalitarian denies, not merely, the reality of democracy, but its value. The fascist form of this argument regards democracy as a hopeless war of political parties which is incapable of ever producing genuine national unity. The Marxist, or ‘dualist’, argument, as Barker refers to it, leads in the same direction but for a different reason. By asserting the victory of one class over all others the apparatus of a totalitarian state is just as likely to be produced. Barker was able to develop a much deeper understanding of the nature of fascism than many of his contemporaries because he recognized that it could not be understood in simple and straightforward class terms alone and that little was to be gained by calling it the ‘counter-revolution’ of capitalism. In order to understand the appeal


of fascism it was necessary to investigate what its theorists claimed for it. The fascist criticism of democracy that Barker considers is mainly that put forward by Carl Schmitt for whom the ‘liberal-democratic’ state ‘is essentially a system—or rather an anarchy—of unresolved dualisms’ (Barker 1942:289). Fascism is a form of the modern totalitarian disillusion with democratic politics. Nevertheless, the essence of fascism is not to be found in terms of a simple identity with its doctrine. The ‘phenomenon itself is simply the party—whatever the doctrine it holds or the theory it professes, and whatever the institutions which it constructs in virtue of its theory or of its exigencies. The leader of the Fascist Party has written that “a party which governs totalitarianally is a new fact in history”’ (Barker 1942:331). Furthermore, this new form of rule did not begin with the Italian fascists. It began with the bolsheviks in 1917. The communist and fascist parties are both single parties, which tolerate no other. They may differ in their social and political aims: they may differ in the social and political institutions with which they surround themselves. In themselves, and as a phenomenon of history, they belong to the same genus. They are both of them close and exclusive parties dominating everything in their area, and therefore “governing totalitarianally”’ (Barker 1942:332). The concept of ‘totalitarianism’ helps to define and make sense of a new form of opposition to democratic politics and society. What is ‘totalitarianism’? The opposition between totalitarianism and democracy is not simply between two forms of government A totalitarian state is known ‘much more by what it does than by the form of government which it employs. A totalitarian state is one which, whatever its form of government and its method of political action, acts on the principles (1) that the whole (however conceived, in terms of race, or of nationality, or of class) is a transcendent being or “organism” which determines the life of its members, (2) that the whole is “integrally realized”, or entirely comprehended, in one association called the state, and (3) that the state has therefore a complete and solitary control of human life and activity’ (Barker 1942:153). There is a note of ambivalence in Barker’s understanding of the modernity of totalitarianism. If totalitarianism is compared with absolutism it certainly goes beyond it in its desire and ability to permeate every area of social life. But from a historical point of view he felt that, perhaps, this impression of modernity ought not to be taken at face value. ‘Totalitarianism professes to be modern: to be a system of deliberate planning. But it is an old idea that men should be engineered, and that their life should be made according to a plan. There is a sense in which we might say that the totalitarian states are living in the sixteenth century’ (Barker 1942:166). Nevertheless, there is a recognition that, despite the similarities with past societies, there is something new here that needs, especially in the case of Nazi Germany, to be understood in its own terms. It was also important to see that the rise of the totalitarian parties was not entirely explicable in the terms of a theory of social class. Social class was obviously an important element in any explanation but one had to be cautious. In each case the emergence of a single party government represented the victory of a class or


combination of classes but its precise nature varied from country to country. Each case must be examined in its uniqueness. In Barker’s discussion of the totalitarian states he is careful to distinguish between Italian fascism and German National Socialism. In both cases he pays particular attention to their doctrines. Italian fascism seems to be the more straightforward of the two systems. The development of Italian fascism, in Barker’s view, was bound up in ‘chance and contingency’. When compared with another totalitarianism, Soviet Communism, it became even more apparent that it was ‘less planned, less continuous, and more opportunist’ (Barker 1942:329). Italian fascism was to be interpreted as a rather eclectic system. Despite this, one set of guiding principles could be discerned. Fascism is ‘a synthesis of the negations and contradictions of communism’. Fascism is nationalist, anti-secular and allied with capitalism. It also defined itself in terms of the negation of liberalism and democracy. This was expressed in its idea of a ‘regulated’ capitalism and in its ‘corporatist’ theory of political representation. The theory of ‘corporatism’ was one of the central features of Italian fascism. As a response to both the liberal notion of the free competition of individuals and the Marxist theory of class struggle, the corporatist idea becomes a defining characteristic of the fascist movement. It was also proposed that corporativism provided a superior form of national representation. Nevertheless, Barker stressed that the reality of fascism does not lie in the doctrine alone. How was fascism to be characterized? Not wanting to reduce a complex reality to one factor, Barker argued that it is the result of an interaction of ‘leader, nationalist creed, and social interest’ (Barker 1942:333). The dominant ‘social interest’ was drawn from the independent and professional classes, industrialists, businessmen, landowners, and students. However, there was another element that ought not to be underestimated. This was the desire for political unity allied with dissatisfaction with the international status of Italy. It was also clear that there was no possibility of an autonomous corporatist organization of industry within a totalitarian state. The Italian system is not a ‘corporative democracy’. ‘It is simply a new would-be Caesarism, wearing a new democratico-corporative disguise’ (Barker 1942:359). In comparison with Nazi Germany, Italian fascism seemed to be a political system that presented few barriers to a rational interpretation. The political system being constructed in Germany did present great difficulties for an explanation because it was the most thorough and drastic rejection of democracy to be found in any of the totalitarian states. The roots of this rejection of democracy were to be found deep in the German political tradition. In Barker’s view, the German intellectual tradition from the beginning of the nineteenth century had been characterized by the two dominant motifs. These were ‘Prussianism’ and ‘Romanticism’. By ‘Prussianism’ he meant ‘the system of a transcendent state, uniting a congeries of territories—a state expressed in the directing will of a monarch or leader who was supported, on one side, by the army and the army officers whom he had gathered around him, and, on the other, by a trained and


disciplined staff of administrative officials, loyal to their employer and versed in all the technique of running and arranging smoothly the various wheels of his business’ (Barker 1942:367). The state, in this account, is a transcendent being. It does not emerge from the will of the people. From the standpoint of ‘Romanticism’, there is something immanent in the people, who are conceived as a ‘Volk’. The ‘Volk’ is a maker of law, which expresses what is right for that particular people or nation. The peculiarity of the German tradition consists in its fusion of these two, seemingly antithetical, themes. ‘The transcendent state, which shapes the people from above, can readily make its peace with the immanent mind of the Folk’ (Barker 1942:368). It is here that Barker saw the clue to an understanding of the uniqueness of the National Socialist state. The transcendent state, and its director, can readily serve to put into practice the will of the ‘Volk’. Furthermore, when Western constitutionalism was imported into Germany, it did not change the essence of its political tradition. The main result was that the typical form of German political party was a doctrinaire party marked by an ideology, a ‘synthetic philosophy of life’, concerned with criticism, rather than with dialogue, as a consequence of the nature of the dominant state’s refusal to share in power in any real sense. The result, in Barker’s view, was that Germany, more than any other state, developed the preconditions for the existence of the totalitarian party, as a new form of political organization, which ‘engaged in pursuing some particular philosophy of life to its logical consequences’, and defined itself in terms of its opposition to all other parties and their philosophies. The establishment of the National Socialist regime could be seen, on this account, as both a restoration and a revolution. It recalled the idea of a Leader and a united Folk, but this Leader was of a new type. The Folk were also of a new type, defined, now, by race and racial purity. The National Socialist Party itself represented a mixture of nationalism and a ‘new non-working class Socialism’. ‘So far as it was National, it drew its adherents from all, of whatever rank, who desired a national renaissance; so far as it was Socialist, it appealed particularly, at any rate in its origins, to the elements less regarded by the orthodox social democrats —the peasantry, the small shopkeeper, and the lower middle class.’ (Barker 1942:373). It also had an immense appeal to the young. From its beginnings, the party had defined itself as being exclusively German, and linked itself to the idea of the Folk. The German Party differed fundamentally here from the pragmatism and eclecticism of the Italian fascists. This doctrine was fully articulated before it came to power. National Socialism, with its roots set deep in the German political tradition, possesses a uniqueness that sets it apart from other totalitarian parties. This is, in part, a result of the centrality of the idea of leadership which dominates the party. Here, the party following represents the will of the leader, the leader does not represent the will of his following. This is the essence of the ‘F hrerstaat’, as defined by Carl Schmitt.


The other innovation that characterizes the National Socialist regime, differentiating it from the other totalitarian states, is its modernized version of the romantic idea of ‘identity of kind’. This idea complements the leadership principle. Again relying on the words of Carl Schmitt, Barker points out that, according to this theory, there cannot be genuine leadership without an identity of kind, in effect, of race, between leader and people. The belief in ‘identity of kind’ has also been developed in another direction. This is the idea of racial superiority. Leadership within races is joined to leadership between races. This belief in the significance of race makes National Socialism more profoundly anti-democratic than any of the other totalitarian movements. National Socialism, for Barker, clearly represents a unique political and social order. Despite its similarities with the fascist regime in Italy and the Communist system in Russia, its extreme commitment to the idea of a ‘closed’ society produces ‘a peculiar polity’ and ‘a peculiar and self-contained economy’ (Barker 1942:390). Even more significantly, the National Socialist system aims to bring an end to political life, as it has been generally understood in the Western tradition, in a much more radical fashion than have either the Italian or Russian regimes. Italian fascism and Soviet Communism both claim to present the rest of the world with a model for its own development. Germany simply presents itself. It is a unique system which, by definition, cannot be extended beyond its racial boundaries. The ‘totality’ that is inherent in the National Socialist Weltanschauung represents, in its denial of the rule of law and of the common European heritage which flows from the subjectivity of its racial judgements, the most profound break with the Western political tradition to be found in any of the totalitarian rejections of democracy. CONCLUDING REMARKS It is clear from the work that has been discussed that in Britain, from the beginning of the 1930s until, roughly, the end of the Second World War, there was an important and interesting set of responses to the emergence of fascism. The main difficulty that confronted all analysts was that they were attempting to understand something new. The significance of this point is that we are presented here with a specific example of what is a general problem for the social sciences in general. Social and political reality does not generally develop in a totally predictable way. New and unexpected phenomena arrive on the scene and we try to make sense of them. But in trying to do so we have to make use of inherited concepts and theories that were themselves fashioned in response to some earlier social development Imaginative thinkers struggle to create new theories and concepts that they believe will be adequate for a new reality. In Britain, during this period, despite the low level of the institutional development of the social sciences, social and political debate was characterized by both depth and intensity. Debate of this kind did not occur in an ideological vacuum and it, clearly, was marked by the political struggles of the period. This


ought not to come as a surprise. It is an essential element in the development of the social sciences. The concept of ‘totalitarianism’ was adopted during this period by a wide variety of political analysts because it seemed to focus upon a new and puzzling reality of twentieth-century politics. This new concept, although initially used in the analysis of fascism, by its own logic led to the consideration of wider issues. Even thinkers on the orthodox left had to pay some attention to the question of whether this concept applied to the Soviet Union. The interpretation of fascism, ultimately, could not be separated from a consideration of broader and, probably, even more controversial questions. REFERENCES Aycoberry, P. (1981) The Nazi Question, London: Routledge. Barker, E. (1936) ‘Forward’, The Social Sciences: Their Relations in Theory and in Teaching, London: Le Play House. ——(1942) Reflections on Government, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Butler, R.D’O (1941) The Roots of National Socialism 1783–1933, London: Faber. Cole, G.D.H. (1933) ‘Fascism and the Socialist Failure’, Current History, vol. 38. Cole, G.D.H. and M. (1934) A Guide to Modern Politics, London: Gollancz. Collini, S. (1978) ‘Sociology and Idealism in Britain 1880–1920’, Arch. Europ. Sociol 19:3–50. Crick, B. (1982) George Orwell A Life, London, Penguin. ——(1964) Introduction to Granzow. Crossman, R.H.S. (1940) Government and the Governed, London: Basis. Currey, M. and Goad, H.E. (1933) The Working of a Corporate State, London: Nicholson and Watson. De Felice, R. (1977) Interpretations of Fascism, Cambridge, Mass: Harvard. Dutt, R.P. (1934) Fascism and Social Revolution, London: Martin Lawrence. Finer, H. (1935) Mussolini’s Italy, London: Gollancz. Ginsberg, M. (1947) ‘The Individualist Basis of International Law and Morals’ (orig. 1942), Reason and Unreason in Society, London: London School of Economics and Longmans. Granzow, B. (1964) A Mirror of Nazism, London: Gollancz. Harrisson, R. and Madge, C. (1939) Britain by Mass Observation, London: Cresset. Hayek, F.A. (1944) The Road to Serfdom, London: Routledge. Laski, H.J. (1936) ‘Political Theory and the Social Sciences’, The Social Sciences: Their Relations in Theory and in Teaching. London: Le Play House. ——(1943) Reflections on the Revolution of our Time, London: Allen and Unwin. Lepenies, W. (1988) Between Literature and Science: the Rise of Sociology, Cambridge University Press. Lewis, D.S. (1987) Illusions of Grandeur. Mosley, Fascism and British Society 1931– 1981, Manchester University Press. Mannheim, K. (1940) Diagnosis of our Time, London: Routledge. Marshall, T.H. (1936) ‘Report on the Teaching of the Social Sciences’, The Social Sciences: Their Relations in Theory and in Teaching, London: Le Play House.


——(1965) ‘The Nature of Class Conflict’ (orig. 1937), Class, Citizenship, and Social Development, Garden City: Doubleday. Mussolini, B. (1939) ‘The Doctrine of Fascism’, in M.Oakeshott, The Social and Political Doctrines of Contemporary Europe , Cambridge University Press. Orwell, G. (1962) The Road to Wigan Pier (orig. 1937) London: Penguin. ——(1970) ‘Review of “The Totalitarian Enemy” by F.Borkenau’ (orig. 1940), The Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters of George Orwell vol. 2, My Country Right or Left 1940–1943, London: Penguin. O’Sullivan, N. (183) Fascism, London: Dent. Pascal, R. (1934) The Nazi Dictatorship, London: Routledge. Popper, K.R. (1960) The Poverty of Historicism, London: Routledge (the ‘main outline’ first read as a paper in 1936. First published in Economica vols. 11 and 12, 1944 and 1945). Russell, B. (1971) ‘The Revolt against Reason’ (orig. 1935), W.A.Robson (ed.) The Political Quarterly in the 1930s, London: Allen Lane. Strachey,J. (1932) The Coming Struggle for Power, London: Gollancz. ——(1934) The Menace of Fascism, London: Gollancz. ——(1935) The Nature of Capitalist Crisis, London: Gollancz. ——(1941) ‘Totalitarianism’, The Betrayal of the Left (ed.) V.Gollancz, London: Gollancz. Thurlow, R. (1987) Fascism in Britain. A History 1918–1985, Oxford: Blackwell. Wright, A.W. (1979) G.D.H.Cole and Socialist Democracy, Oxford: Clarendon.

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INDEX

Aachen, University of 122 Abel, Theodore 187, 201 Abraham Lincoln Brigade, Veterans of the 184 absolutism 90, 116, 226 Academy for German Law (Akademie für Deutsches Recht 126, 132, 135, 147 Academy of Sciences (Hungarian) 162 Adler, Max 16, 18, 22, 27, 38 Adorno, Theodor W. 1, 11, 193 agriculture and agrarian issues 23, 29, 66, 87, 89, 106, 111, 113, 143; bourgeois middle-strata 111; collectivist radicalism 156; conditions 143; corporative organizations 162; economists 155; experts 52; interest organizations 162; labour question 129, 162; protectionism 67; reform 155; rural reorganization 144; social demagogy 151; workers 108; see also peasants Akabane, Toyojiro 18, 34 Akademie für Deutsches Recht (ADR) see Academy for German Law Albertoni, E. 50, 56, 69, 74, 79, 84 Albrecht, Gerhard 99, 115, 121 Allgemeiner Deutscher Gewerkschaftsbund 105 Aly, Götz 125, 147 Ameri, Vincenzo 51 America Firsters 183, 186, 195

American Jewish Committee 2 American Journal of Sociology 79, 167, 193, 197 American Review, The 198 American Sociological Review 167, 193, 198 American Sociological Society 167, 169, 173, 175, 179, 183 186, 191 American Sociologist, The 179 Amherst College 192 Amoroso, L. 57, 79 Ancien regime 68, 160 Andreae, W. 17, 18, 36, 94, 96, 99, 116, 121, 160 Andreyev, Catherine 201 Angell, James R. 174 Anglo-Saxons 190 Annali di Statistica 54 Année Sociologique 43 annexation, Austria’s 25 anomia 9, 192 Ansaldo, Giovanni 47, 68 Anschluss see Austria, annexation of anthropology 46; cultural 44; social 54 anti-capitalism 116 anti-communism 195 anti-German attitudes 155 anti-German resistance 163 anti-individualism, sociological 5 anti-parliamentary 111, 224 anti-semitic laws 64, 151 anti-semitism 127, 136, 151, 156, 169, 172, 176, 181, 189, 193, 196, 206 Anton, Z. 115 233


Antonetti, N. 62, 80 appeasement 193 Archiv für Sozialmssenschaft und Sozialpolitik 86 Archives de Sociologie 53 Arcoleo, Giorgio 46 area studies 130, 141 Arena, C. 57, 79 Arendt, Hannah 193, 201 Aristotle 19, 217 Arrow-Cross Party 151, 155, 163 asceticism 68, 104 Association of Scientific Workers 184 Asturaro, Alfonso 43, 79 atheism 11, 21, 34 Atrocities 29, 125, 128, 132, 141, 144, 147, 188, 190, 217; German occupation policy 147; Nazi atrocities 190; see also Holocaust, concentration camps, medical experiments on humans, sanitization Auernheimer, G. 116 Augustine 19 Austria 4, 13, 22, 26, 29, 32, 35, 39, 121, 149; annexation of 15, 27, 152, 156; Concordat of 1855 26; constitution 23, 26, 32; fascism of 23, 39; First Republic of 15, 26, 29, 32, 36; Habsburgs 15, 26, 151; Heimwehr 23, 35, 38; socialist paramilitary organizations 35 Austrian People’s Party 27 Austro-Marxism 18, 26, 30, 33, 36, 38 Authoritarian Personality, The 12, 193 authoritarianism 76, 91, 168, 176 authority 61, 76, 83, 192; charismatic 60; Michels’ definition of 59; Weber’s concept of 59 Aycoberry, P. 208, 230 Bach, H. 142 Bachi, R. 53

Bad Harzburg, School for Management Training in 145 Baden 143 Baeumler, Alfred 135 Bailyn, B. 37 Bain, Read 167, 173, 185, 189, 199 Baldi, R. 61, 79 Banissoni, F. 80 Bannister, Robert C. 8, 12, 172, 198, 202 Barbano, Filippo 45, 77, 80 Bardusco, A. 69, 80 Baretti 67 Bari, law faculty of 48 Barker, Ernest 209, 215, 224, 229 Barnes, Harry Elmer 37, 168, 174, 179, 184, 191, 199 Barnes, James S. 202 Barth, Paul 43 Bartha Miklós Society 155 Basel, University of 78, 123 Battaglia, F. 62, 80 Bauer, Otto 28, 30, 36 Baumgarten, Eduard 135 Baxa, Jakob 17 Bayertz, Kurt 12 Bazzanella, A. 60, 73, 80 Beck, Walter 136 Becker, H. 53, 79, 84 Beckerath, Erwin von 90, 96, 99, 102, 115, 120 Beetham, David 7, 12, 70, 73, 80 behaviourism 16 Bellini, Luigi 55 Below, Georg von 18 Benini, R. 53 Bennington College 184, 190 Berend, Béla 161, 164 Bergmann, Waltraud 146 Bergstraesser, Arnold 130, 140, 147, 149 Berlin 127, 130, 142, 144, 146, 175; Business School of 121, 142; Hochschule für Politik 104; Institute for Studies of Borders and Foreign Areas 131, 136; Technical University of 121; University of 17, 43, 121, 130, 142, 144;

INDEX 235

Department of Rural Studies and Policy (Institut für Agrarwesen und Agrarpolitik) 144; Faculty for Foreign Studies of 130, 134, 140; German School of Advanced Political Studies 130, 134, 138; Institute for Advanced Study of Government 122; Institute for Foreign Studies 130; Institute for Government Research 131, 139, 145 Bernard, Jessie 178, 186, 190, 197, 199 Bernard, Luther L. 167, 172, 176, 185, 187, 190, 197, 202 Bernát, B. 155 Bernát, István 164 Berne 46 Bernhard, Georg 160 Bernhard, Ludwig 86, 88, 100, 115, 121 Bernsdorf, Wilhelm 126, 147 Beyer, Dr Justus 140 Beyer, Hans-Joachim 140 Beyerchen, Alan D. viii, 12 Bibó, Istvan 158, 162 biological determination 21, 49, 58, 76, 80, 82 Bittner, Christopher J. 198 blacks, attitudes to 210 Blaschke, Wolfgang 148 Blumer, Herbert 193, 200 Bobbio, Norberto 61, 75, 77, 80 Boehm, Max Hildebert 136, 138, 140 Bogardus scale 171, 199 Bogardus, Emory S. 167, 171, 202 Böhm, Franz 115 Boldrini, Marcello 55, 59, 78, 80 Bologna, University of 43 Bolshevism 23, 27, 32, 35, 90, 93, 97, 101, 104, 161, 174, 201, 204, 211, 218, 223, 225; as a political experiment 91 Bonn, Moritz Julius 98, 116, 121 Bonn, University of 142 book burning 21 Boran, Behice 200, 202 Borbándi, Gyula 154, 164 Borgese, G.A. 160

Borinski, Fritz 112, 116, 121 Borkenau, Franz 115, 121, 208, 230 Bormann, Martin 133, 137 Bosco, A. 44 Bottai, Giuseppe 57, 80 Bottomore, T. 36 Botz, G. 30, 36 Boudin, Louis 182 bourgeois-liberal 95 bourgeoisie viii, 26, 28, 31, 66, 88, 100, 106, 109, 194; conflicting tendencies within 65; petite 28, 31, 66, 109; young 112 Bourgin, G. 115 Brandner, M. 18, 36 Brandt, G. 114, 116 Braunthai, Julius 28, 36 Brazil, Wayne D. 198, 202 Brepohl, W. 143 Breslau, University of 122 Breysig, Kurt 130 Briefs, Goetz 100, 115, 121 Brinkmann, Carl 130, 137 Britain 4, 9, 18, 62, 89, 162, 179, 194, 206 passim; fascist movement in 210, 231; Guild Socialists in 210; hostility to in US progressive circles 179, 195; labour movement in 174 Britt, Steuart Henderson 191, 203 Brussels, Free University of 78 Bryant, Christopher G.A. 198, 202 Budapest 163; culture of 161; University of 162 Bukharin, N. 64 Bull Moose Party 178 Bülow, Friedrich 142 Bunzel, Julius 32, 36 Burgess, Ernest W. 198, 204 Burleigh, Michael viii, 12 Burnham, J. 68, 80 Burzio, Filippo 47, 68, 74, 79 business 6, 18, 190, 192, 197, 216, 227; see also capitalism Butler, R.D’O 212, 230


Buxton, William 7, 12, 201 Caboara, Lorenzo 54 Caesarism 227 Cagliari 48, 65; law faculty of 48 Cambridge University 225 Campanini G. 62, 80 Capannari, S.C. 84 capital 212; agrarian 88; industrial 88; monopolistic 113 capitalism and capitalists 11, 19, 25, 31, 36, 55, 79, 89, 92, 100, 108, 114, 146, 154, 160, 192, 212, 217, 222; American 174; classical 216; crisis of 231; decline of 100, 220; democracy of 216; development of 2; final stage 2; interests 70, 179; Italian 55; logic of 169, 193; mode of production 29; monopoly 176, 188, 213, 216, 220; new phase in the development of 31; plutocracy 65; rise of modern 55; social 109; system of 113; urban 154; welfare 126, 195 Cappellazzi, A. 80 Carle, Giuseppe 43, 77 Carli, Filippo 47, 49, 51, 52, 57, 78, 80 Carsten, Frederick L. 198, 202 Carta del Lavoro 22, 95, 99, 120 Casanova, E. 54, 59, 80 Castrilli, V. 43, 50, 80 Catania, University of 44 Catellani, E. 53 Catholic Union for the Social Sciences 54 Catholic University of Milan see Milan, Catholic University of

Catholic weeklies 122 Catholic youth 163 Catholicism and Catholic institutions 22, 25, 36, 44, 55, 61, 67, 102, 107, 117, 121; Austrian 26; conservative 55; hierarchy 56; journalists 26; political 26; sociology 56, 62; theorists 26 Cavaglieri, Guido 44, 46 Cavallari, G. 74, 80 Cehak, Gerd 136, 143 Central Place: concept of 142; workgroup 142 centralization, administrative 9 Cesca, Giovanni 44 Chapin, F.Stuart 167, 185 charisma 59, 88; of elites 84; leader 6, 188 Charny, Israel W. 202 Chautauqua lecture circuit 178 Chiavari, University of 122 Chicago 172, 191; see also University of Chicago Christian Democratic Party (Italy) 55, 62 Christian Socialist Party 23 Christianity and socialism 26, 32, 38, 211 City College of New York 175 civil liberties 71, 176, 195; see also rights civil service and civil servants 63, 89, 106, 140, 162; politically undesirable 127 Civil War 180 Claar, M. 117 Clark, Terry N. 199, 202 Clark University 187 class and classes 5, 10, 24, 107, 221, 226; capitalistic 100; conflict 230; contrasts 26; dictatorship by 88, 96, 100; dirigente 101; distinctions 224;

INDEX 237

employees, salaried 106, 113; entrepreneurial 56, 67, 89; estate owners 151; interests, reduction of politics to 10; managerial 60; middle 23, 29, 51, 69, 92, 109, 111, 169, 212; bureaucratic 151; crisis of 67, 69, 106, 117; enlightened 67, 70; intellectuals 87; lower 151, 192, 228; ‘new’ 10, 105, 212, 220; old 108; petite bourgeoisie 67, 107, 199, 212, 216; political 59, 60, 67, 72; concept of 76; propertied 109, 222; relations in Italian cities 63; rentiers 28, 223; retailers 113, 228; ruling 52, 54, 67; aging of 58; agrarian 67; birth rates 78; capitalist 67; historical, political, economic maturity 67; oligarchic 160; social 50, 52, 67, 97, 219, 226; tenants 89; struggle 101, 109, 169, 188, 213; war 213, 225; white collar 109; working 13, 23, 28, 31, 35, 50, 61, 63, 65, 70, 89, 93, 97, 108, 111, 151, 160, 178, 208, 212, 216; see also Proletariat Cobet, Christoph 150 Codignola, E. 53 Colajanni, N. 80 Cold War 10, 195, 201, 207 Coles, the (G.D.H. and Margaret Isabel) 209, 218, 222, 224, 230 collectivism 211, 215, 218 Collini, S. 209, 230 Collins, Seward 204

Cologne: University of 121, 128, 137, 225; Sociology Department of 127, 142, 146 Columbia University 166, 173, 175, 181, 187, 189, 193 Commercio 51 communism and communists 26, 35, 63, 67, 79, 107, 162, 172, 174, 184, 208, 212, 214, 217, 220, 223, 226; Hungarian 156; intellectuals, young 156; of Italy 65; natural hostility to personal leadership in 224; Parisian Group of 63; similarities to fascism of 207, 214, 219 Communist Party 64, 66, 115, 211; German (KPD) 101, 112, 121; organizational purity of the 66; policy of revolutionary defeatism 214; Russian see also Bolshevism; system in Russia 229 community 20, 103, 154, 158; as Blutsgemeinschaft 110; romantic idea of 99; spiritual 19; see also Gemeinschaft and Volk ‘community of the people’ sociology see Volkstumssoziologie Comte, Auguste 45, 168 Concentration Camps 25, 34; see also Atrocities Concordat of 1855 25 Confederazione Nazionale Fascista del Commercio 22 Congresso della Societá per il progresso degli studi economici 77 conservatism 12, 26, 66, 79, 98, 101, 152, 206 constitutionalism 178, 228 Converse, Jean M. 11 Cooley, Charles Horton 166, 188 corporations 23, 78, 88; the order of 22; sectorial 57; traders’ 57


corporatism 17, 22, 49, 51, 55, 57, 79, 83, 85, 87, 140, 223, 227; conception of economic organizations 87; doctrine 54, 57, 73, 119; economy 60, 116, 119; fascist 49, 55; functional representation 57; general theorem of Pietri-Tonelli 51, 73, 83; ideas of community 95; organic 57; reconstruction of Germany 24; representation 57, 226; science of 48, 50, 72, 73; society 32, 141; state 37, 100, 212, 230; structural 57; theory 49, 51, 57; see also St nde conception Cosentini, Francesco 43, 78, 80 Cotta, M. 57, 80 Coudenhouve-Kalergi 160 Counterreformation 55 Crick, B. 208, 230 criminology 54, 77, 80, 84, 175 Critical Reason 169 Critical Theorists 9, 116; see also Frankfurt School Croce, Benedetto 44, 48, 53, 55, 75, 78, 80 Crossman, R.H.S. 207, 230 Csécsy, Imre 160, 163, 164 cultural lag 181 Curcio, C. 73, 81 Curiel E. 64, 81 Currey, M. 210, 230 Czatania, law faculty of 48 Czechoslovakia 195 Daily Worker 211 Dartmouth College 174 Darwin, Charles 45 Darwinism 84; Social 58, 168, 198, 203 Davis, Jerome 173, 179, 199, 202 De Felice, Renzo 198, 200, 202, 206, 230 De Man, Hendrik 3, 5, 6, 9, 12, 112, 119, 122

De Marchi, F. 72, 81 De Maria, Giovanni 55 De Marinis, Errico 43, 46, 81 De Rosa, G. 62, 83 De Sanctis, Sante 47, 53 De Seta, Stefania 79, 81 De Stael, Mme 188 Declaration of Independence 190 Dékány, Istvan 152, 162, 164 Del Vecchio, Giorgio 53 demagoguery 67, 71, 107 democracy 15, 17, 20, 22, 26, 30, 88, 96, 99, 118, 158, 182; aristocratic 98; decline of 161; as a disease 26; elites in 74; forms of 26; ideal 218; movement for 171; negative views of 97; order 88; parliamentary 17, 32, 98, 220; party 23; political 67, 160; sociological analysis of 67; repudiation 169; social 29, 101; societies 70, 100, 178, 225; spirit of 23, 160; state 91, 97; system 100; ‘true’ 23; values of 161 demography and demographic 41, 48, 50, 54, 78, 83, 128; crises of late nineteenth century 58; cycles 59; policy 58, 60; senescence 58 Der Arbeitgeber 95, 119 Der Morgen 101, 120 Deutsche Arbeitsfront 24 Deutsche Gesellschaft für Soziologie see German Sociological Society Diamant, A. 26, 36 dictatorship 30, 67, 79, 88, 94, 96, 118, 121, 161, 164, 178, 223, 230;

INDEX 239

concept of 97; economic 67, 119; French Bonapartism 30, 118, 164; Hellenic 217; by the party 90; of the proletariat 65, 224 Die Arbeit 92, 105, 107, 113, 120 Die Tat 92, 104, 121 Die Zeit 93 Dies, Martin 175, 177, 202 Diggins, John P. 170, 198, 202 Dirks, Walter 106, 121 Dobbert, G. 83, 102, 117 Dobretsberger, Josef 27 Dollfuss, E. 13, 23, 26 Dorfman, Joseph 11 Dorso, Guido 68, 74, 79, 81 Duke University 166, 171 Dumbarton Oaks Accord 180 Duncan, Otis Dudley 200, 202 Duprat, G.L. 53 Durkheim, Emile 5, 8, 12, 43, 62, 136, 153, 168, 192; social realism of 54 Düsseldorf 24; Institute for the Study of Ranks (Institut für St ndewesen) 24, 140 Dutt, R.Palme 176, 211, 212, 224, 230 Eastern Europe 136, 139, 147, 195; demographic trends in 58; occupation of 141; see also Ostforschung Easthope, Gary 181, 202 Eberswalde, School of Forestry of 142 Ebert, F. 111 Eckardt, Hans von 87, 117, 121 Eckert, Christian 90, 99, 115, 117, 121 École libre des sciences politiques (Paris) 43 economic crises 66, 69, 71, 106, 154 economic man, end of 9 economics and economists 34, 48, 51, 54, 57, 74, 101, 121, 135, 152, 162, 189, 209; Austrian School 16; political 17, 36, 41, 43, 51, 69, 71, 118;

see also Bolshevism, capitalism, communism, corporatism, fascism, planning, socialism Ehrlich, Eugen 15 Einaudi, Luigi 54, 60, 81 Eisler, Rudolf 15 Eley, G. 201 Elias, Norbert 114 elites 8, 20, 58, 61, 67, 72, 74, 192; agrarian 63; charismatic 84; circulation of 58, 73; economic 57, 76; heterogeneity of social groups 74; political 57, 63, 68, 72, 76; see also class, political ruling Ellenbogen, Wilhelm 29, 36 Elliott, William Y. 175, 202 Ellwood, Charles A. 9, 166, 168, 170, 178, 197, 199, 202 Emge, Carl August 135, 147 emigration 5, 11, 32, 34, 39, 61, 63, 73, 110, 127, 146, 159, 163, 168, 179; anti-communist 163; intellectuals 197; to Paris 163; to the USA 114, 116, 162, 164 empiricism 18, 19, 26, 179 Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences 53, 91 Energiie Nove 67 entrepreneurship, modern 55; see also class and classes, entrepreneurial epistemological debate 79; assumptions 73; see also sociology, methodology of equality 20, 192; see also socialism Equilibrium 56, 73 Erdei, Ferenc 154, 159, 162, 164 Erlangen, University of 142 Eschmann, Ernst Wilhelm 91, 96, 99, 102, 105, 108, 115, 120 Espinosa, Agostino degli 51 ethics 8, 20, 56, 94, 104, 162; see also fascism, analyses of, as an ethical-spiritual phenomenon ethno-sociologist 136


ethnography 44 ethnology and ethnologists 54, 134, 136 Eubank, Earle Edward 20, 199 Eugenists 12, 123, 168 exile see emigration Fabian Society 218 Fallada, Hans 199, 203, 204 Fanfani, Amintore 55, 81 Fantini, O. 83 fascism 94, 120, 161, 178, 202, 207, 214, 219; ambivalence toward 5, 210; analyses of 8, 31, 61, 64, 70, 72, 86, 95, 98, 157, 161, 177, 229; as anti-parliamentary movement 224; as anti-socialist movement 219, 221; as class-dictatorship 88; as development from syndicalist socialism 59; as an ethical-spiritual phenomenon 87, 89, 92, 94, 98, 107, 119; as a form of capitalism 87, 88, 99, 183, 211, 213, 218, 220, 226; frustration-aggression model of 193; insufficiency of class analysis of 226; as new form of party 214; normalizing 10; as party dictatorship 87, 101, 193, 217; political 65, 67, 84, 88, 96, 101, 217; as product of New Middle Class 10, 209; see also class and classes, ‘new’ middle; psychological approaches 1, 12, 112, 158, 193, 198; as radicalism of the right 65, 192; as regression to tribal group intimacy 188; self-interpretation of 95, 98, 100; social origins 91, 108; as state-economic system 99; see also corporatism; as Weltanschauung 89, 108, 126, 134; appeal to women of 216; British 210, 230; cultural policy 50, 56;

doctrine 101, 159, 173; economics of 89, 102, 115, 221; see also corporatism, planning Italian 2, 9, 13, 22, 29, 41 passim, 94, 114, 119, 171, 229; as a model 90, 97; party 65, 67, 71, 96 laws of labour see Carta del Lavoro; meaning of the term 219; policy of political and ideological repression 72; trade unions 87; Weltanschauung of 32; youth and 92, 117; see also National Socialism Fassler, Manfred 147 Fauconnet, P. 53 Fay, Sidney B. 174 Feder, Gottfried 24 Federal Bureau of Investigation 184 Feingold, Henry L. 200, 203 Féja, Géza 154, 164 Fejtō, Ferenc 156, 163, 164 Ferrarotti, F. 49, 81 Ferrero, Guglielmo 53, 61, 63 Ferri, Enrico 46 Fiamingo, G.M. 47 financiers 212 Finer, H. 211, 230 Finland 29 Fiorot, D. 72, 81 First World War 15, 29, 35, 170, 182, 185, 187; veterans 147 Fischer, Erika 142 Fleck, C. 36 Fleming, D. 37 Florence 48, 69; Institute Cesare Alfieri 47 Fornefeld, Gabriele 147 Fossati, Antonio 50, 81 Fox, Edward W. 203 France 15, 18, 89, 179; revolution 61, 204, 222 Frank, Hans 126, 147 Frankfurt 1, 127, 144, 149; University of 110, 122, 136, 143;

INDEX 241

Institute for Economic Area Studies at 142; Institut für Sozialforschung; see Frankfurt School; Sociographical Institute of 126, 128, 131, 143, 149; Working Group for Social Science 128, 131 Frankfurt School 2, 17, 54, 114, 123, 126; see also Critical Theorists freedom of expression 29, 71, 75, 183, 185, 195 Freedom of Information Act 184 Freiburg, University of 123 Freud, S. 197 Freyer, Hans 11, 12, 129, 132, 138, 142, 147, 153 Frodl, Ferdinand 26, 36, 40 Fromm, Erich 2, 114, 117 Frōschl, E. 36 Fuchs, A. 36 F hrerprinzip 152 Furiozzi, G.B. 84 Gaal, Gabor 156, 164 Galliher, John F. 200, 203 Gangale, G. 79, 81 Garofalo, R. 46, 81 Garzia, M. 53, 81 Gasset, Ortega y 192 Gehlen, Arnold 134, 136 Geiger, Theodor 105, 108, 117, 121 Gelsenkirchen, Research Group on Rural Populations in 126 Gemeinschaft 5, 103, 110, 168, 192; see also community Gemelli, Agostino 54, 58, 75, 81 Geneva 163; University of 53, 61 Genoa, University of 43; law faculty of 48 Gentile, Giovanni 48, 60, 75, 78 George Washington University 191 Georgia 181 Gerhardt, Johannes 136 Germans: minorities in foreign countries 122, 152

German Society for Population Studies 143 German Sociological Society 15, 21, 28, 37, 118, 131, 132, 136, 143, 147; cleansing of (S uberung) 131; Fifth Convention (1926) 21 Germanization (Eindeutschungs or Germanisierungs) policy 141 Germany 2, 4, 7, 17, 21, 29, 31, 33, 59, 86 passim, 155, 169, 175, 178, 181, 185, 196, 219, 220, 228; assimilation policy of (Volkstumspolitik) 147; Federal Republic of 7, 126, 143, 146; Americanization of sociology in 125; law 123; nationalism 179, 193; political tradition of 160, 227; postwar reconstruction of 170; propaganda 182, 196; rearmament of 123; social structure of 192, 201; trade unions 102; universities 102; see also specific locations; Volksstaat 90; Wilhelminian 10; see also National Socialism, Weimar Republic, Nazi era offices and organizations; Ancestral Heritage (teaching and research Society of the SS) 135; Archive for Maps and Surveys (later Archiv für r umliche Sozial-Struktur) 145; Book Department of the Agency for the Support of German Literature (Reichsstelle zur Förderung des deutschen Schrifttums) 134; Central Office for Regional Administration (Reichsstelle für Raumordnung [RFR]) 141, 144; Central Security Office (Reichssicherheitshauptamt [RSHA]) 136, 139; Chamber of Culture (Reichskulturkammer) 138; Culture Office of the Central Security Office (Hauptstellenleiter Kultur) 140;


Foreign Office 136, 138; Foundation for Research on the German People (Stiftung zur Erforschung des deutschen Volksaufbaus) 143; Geheime Staatspolizei (Gestapo) 25, 139; Grossdeutscher Pressedienst 24; ‘Hohe Schule’ of the NSDAP 134; Institute for Research for Military Use (Institute für wehrwissenschaftliche Zweckforschung) 135; Ministry of the Interior 132; Ministry for the Occupied Eastern Territories; (Reichsministerium für die besetzen Ostgebiete) 134, 136; Ministry for Science, Education and Adult Education 129, 132, 137, 139, 147; Ministry of Economics 140; Ministry of Popular Enlightenment and Propaganda 130, 132, 138; National Farmers Association 129, 143; Office for Scholarship within the Youth Administration; (Reichstelle des Amtes Wissenschaft der Reichsjugendf hrung) 137; Office for Strengthening of the German Peoples (Reichskommisar für die Festigung deutschen Volkstums) 131, 135, 141, 144, 147; Official German Trade Unions, Scientific Research Institute of 131; Official Party Control Commission for the Protection of Nazi Literature 133, 138; Organization to Protect the Law (NS-Rechtswahrerbund) 136; Prussian Population Office, Secret State Archives on the Population Policy of 145; Reich Research Council (Reichsforschungsrat) 140; Reichskommissariat (RFV) 141; Reichstelle far Raumordmmg (RFR) 130, 141; SS 130, 135, 139, 144, 195;

Rosenberg office 133, 138, 143; SA, University Office of 136; SD 132, 139; Security Police 139; see also Geheime Staatspolizei; Social Welfare Administration 129; Society for Germany Culture (NS-Gesellschaft für deutsche Kultur) 24; State Farm Organization 144; Teacher’s Union (National-sozialistischer Lehrerbund) 136; University Instructors League (Dozentenschaft) 133; Worker’s Party (NS-Deutsche Arbeiterpartei) 100; Workgroup for Area Studies (Reichsarbeitsgemeinschaft für Raumforschung [RAG]) 126, 128, 141; Working Group on Psychology (Fachschafts Kreis Psychologie) 136; Working Groups on Rural Problems (Reichsarbeitgemeinschaften der Landwirtschaftswissenschaft) 144; Wehrforschungsgemeinschaft 145; Wehrmacht 136, 138; Youth Organization (Reichsjugendf hrer) 138; see also Academy for German Law Gerth, Hans 197, 203 Gesellschaft für Ganzheitsforschung 34 Gesellschaft, Die 103 Gesellschaftslehre 16, 18, 26, 36, 39 Geuter, U. 11 Gibbons, Don C. 176, 199, 203 Giddings, Franklin 166, 181 Gierlichs, Willy 128, 137 Giessen 17, 142 Gini, Corrado 41, 47, 50, 52, 54, 58, 62, 75, 78, 81; demographic sociology of 58; evolution of conception 50; neo-organicism of 54 Ginsberg, M. 209, 230 Giolitti 66

INDEX 243

Giornale degli economists e Annali di economia 79 Giustizia e libertá 79 Glatz, Ferenc 152, 164 Gleitze, Bruno 106, 117, 121 Goad, H.E. 210, 230 Gobetti, Piero 47, 61, 64, 67, 72, 74, 77, 79, 82, 84 Goebbels, J. 184, 194 Goldscheid, Rudolf 15 Gōmbōs, Gyula (political figure) 153, 156 Gombos, Gyula 151, 155, 164 Goode, P. 36 Gōring, Hermann 145 Görög, Janos 161, 164 Gōttingen, University of 122 Gottlieb, Alan 201 Govi, M. 48, 54, 82 Gow, David J. 181, 203 Grabowsky, Adolf 91, 95, 100, 103, 115, 117, 121 Graeber, Isacque 191, 201, 203 Gramatica, F. 54 Gramsci, Antonio 60, 64, 72, 74, 76, 79, 82, 84 Granzow, B. 207, 230 Grato, Cossila S. 78 Graz, University of 15, 17, 24, 27; Sociological Society in 32 Graziani, Augusto 47, 53 Greffrath, Mathias 147 Gregor, A.James 198, 200, 203 Gregorian University (Vatican) 62 Groppali, Alessandro 44, 82 Grothusen, Klaus-Detlev 147 Gruber, Carol S. 182, 203 Gr nberg, Carl 17 Grünfeld, Judith 110, 117, 121 Guggenheim Fellowship 174, 187 Guha, Anton-Andreas 148 Gumplowicz, Ludwig 15, 38, 54, 168 Gundlach, Gustav 26 G nther, Adolf 17, 36, 142 G nzel, Karl 136 Haag, J. 36 Haberler, Gottfried 33

Hagan, Robert A. 200, 203 Hagemann, Walter 100, 117, 121 Hagtvet, V. 37 Hajnal, Istvan 152, 158, 162, 164 Halladay, Terry 12 Halpern, Ben 201 Hamburg 129; University of 110, 122, 127, 146; Faculty of Philosophy of 129; German Center for Population Studies at 143; as ‘F hrerstadt’ 129 Hamilton, Peter 200, 203 Handwōrterbuch der Soziologie 91 Hanisch, E. 39 Hanover: Center for Area Studies and Regional Planning in 126, 143; Department of Empirical Sociology 143; Institute for Studies of Intelligence 143 Harmjanz, Heinrich 133, 135 Harrisson, R. (Tom) 209, 230 Hartung, Frank E. 169, 187, 203 Harvard Defence Committee, Morale and National Service Subcommittee 193 Harvard University 175, 180, 189, 195; Russian Research Center 195; Student Union 194 Haselbach, Dieter 115, 117 Haufe, Helmut 138, 142 Hayek, Friedrich A.von 32, 167, 203, 214, 230; argument against planning 214 Heberle, Rudolf 103, 115, 118, 122 Hebrew 185, 190 Hegel 98, 171 Heidelberg, University of 121, 127, 137, 146, 148, 192; Department of Social Science and Government 130, 140, 142 Heim, Susanne 125, 148 Heimann, Eduard 110, 118, 122 Heimwehr see Austria Heinrich, Walter 17, 22, 33, 37, 94, 96, 98, 102, 118, 122 Heinz, K.H. 26, 37


Heisz, G. 37 Heller, Hermann 97, 100, 111, 115, 118, 122 Hellpach, Willy 101, 118, 122 Hensel, Olaf 148 Hermens, Ferdinand Aloys 100, 115, 118, 122 Herre, P. 90, 118 Herrmann, Walter 136, 142 Hertzler, Joyce O. 192 Hilberath, Leo 142 Hildebrandt, Walter 142 Himmler, Heinrich 131, 135, 139, 141, 145, 196 Hirsch, J. 31, 37 Hirschberg-Neumeyer, Margherita 99, 102, 115, 118, 122 historiography 2, 4, 125, 168 history and historians 48, 61, 63, 67, 152; comparative 4; economic 52, 54, 152, 162; laws of 3, 114, 161; philosophy of 62; social 54 Hitler 5, 9, 11, 12, 24, 86, 101, 166, 170, 178, 180, 183, 188, 199, 201, 203, 208, 216; actions against the SA 221; Austria’s annexation by 27; hero role of 179; Mein Kampf 115, 146; Order on the Protection of Research Indispensable for Warfare (Befehl zur Sicherstellung der für die Kriegsf hrung unentbehrlichen Forschung) 145 Hitler-Stalin pact 141, 214 Hobbes, T. 208 Hochschule für Welthandel 34 Hofstadter, Richard 168, 203 Höhn, Reinhard 132, 139, 145 Holocaust 2, 10, 125, 189, 200, 203, 205; see also Atrocities Holt, John F. 173, 204 Honigsheim, P. 62, 82 Honnegger, H. 115, 119 Hope, North Dakota 185 Horkheimer, Max 126, 160 Horváth, Barna 152, 158, 162, 164

Huff, Toby E. 200, 203 Hufner, Adam 109, 118, 122 H lsd nker, Josef 148 Hungary 4, 150 passim; academic sociology in 150; anti-Jewish legislation of 153; fascists of 156; fascist-type system of 151; Institute of the Study of the Economy 162; National Museum 162; National Peasant Party 162; ‘New Spiritual Front’ in 156; patriotism 152, 157; peasantry 154, 157; populism 154; Radical Party in 163; right-wing radicalism in 156; Social Scientific Association of 162 Hunter College 187 Huszadik Század 159, 163 Huszár, Tibor 158, 164 Ickes, Harold 199 ideal type 21 idealism 19, 108, 168, 179; German 19; philosophical 45, 49, 78 ideology viii, 3, 6, 31, 50, 71, 74, 90, 96, 105, 125, 136, 154, 157, 207, 228; anti-socialist 28; nationalist 28; of Planism 12; of Ranks 141; see also St nde conception; sociology and 60, 63, 6; see also specific ideological movements Ignotus, Pál 156, 164 Illinois 172 Illyés, Gyula 154, 164 immigration 171, 174 Imperialism: British 179; German 179 individualism 18, 21, 34, 55, 161, 176, 192, 209, 215, 230 industrial work 106;

INDEX 245

physiology of 55; psychology of 56; psychophysical adaptation to 75 industrialization 15 industry 15, 24, 29, 67, 87, 107, 111, 146, 172, 227; big 160, 212; heavy 24; sociology of 136 inflation 69 Innsbruck 15; University of 17 Institut International de Sociologie 46, 53, 54, 179 Institute for Sport 136 institutions, parliamentary 69 intellectuals 8, 107, 120, 155, 219; déclassé 216; populist 156 International Federation of Sociological Societies 172, 179 Internationale Kommission zur Abwehr des Faschismus 31 Internationalism 185, 195 Invernici, F. 75, 82 Ipsen, Gunther 133, 138, 143 isolationists 169, 183, 194, 197 Istanbul 175 Istituto di Sociologia Luigi Sturzo (Rome) 62 Italy 4, 6, 9, 22, 29, 41 passim, 89, 93, 94, 96, 98, 120, 151, 169, 171, 174, 179, 181, 182, 202, 210, 219, 221; backwardness of 67; bourgeoisie: inadequacy of the 51; capitalism 55; Central Institute of Statistics 58; corporatism, legal framework of 56; see also corporatism; fascism in 98, 101, 110, 152, 168, 169, 175, 219, 226, 227, 228; see also fascism, Italian; as social experiment 210; foreign policy 92; intellectual life, influence of the First World War on 78; Jews 102;

ministry of national education 57; National Institute of Agrarian Economy 52; Parliament 67, 69; petite bourgeoisie 68; post-war 68; Senate 69, 74; socialist party 65; Sociological Association 50; see also specific names of organizations; Southern 61; Universities of 41, 43; see also specific locations; worker’s laws 120; see also Carta del Lavoro Izzo, A. 82 Jaeggi, U. 146, 148 Jahoda, Marie 16, 33, 37 Jander, W. 18, 37 Janowitz, Morris 12 Jantke, Carl 136, 142 Japan 18, 173 Jarno, W. 118 Jászi, Oszkár 159, 163, 164 Jena: University of 121, 128, 131, 136, 139 Jennings, Humphrey 209 Jerusalem, Franz 136 Jerusalem, Wilhelm 15 Jessenjens 115, 118, 122 Jews 21, 24, 26, 51, 102, 107, 118, 125, 127, 132, 136, 145, 153, 170, 181, 189, 190, 192, 194, 200, 210, 215; American 2; attitudes to 210; foundations 143; Gentile relations to 191; intellectuals 102, 159; Italian 102; sociologists 127, 128, 136, 147; see also anti-semitism Jewish question 156 Johnson, A. 39, 53 Johnston, W.M. 37 journalism 34 J rgens, Hans Wilhelm 150


jurisprudence 34, 43, 139 jurists 56 Kampf Der 31 Kant, I. 28, 68 K sler, Dirk 3, 5, 6, 9, 16, 20, 37, 102, 118, 114, 131, 147, 148 Katholisch-Soziale Nationalpartei 24 Katholische Wochenschrift für Religion, Kultur, Soziologie und Volkswirtschaft 26 Kaufmann, Felix 16, 22, 32, 37 Kaupen-Haas, Heidrun 148 Kecskemeti, Paul 163; under pseudonym Peter Schmidt 160 Keiser, Gunter 111, 118, 122 Kelsen, Hans 17, 26, 30, 35, 37, 57 Kendall, Patricia L. 37 Kentucky 177 Kerék, Mihaly 155, 162, 164 Kerékgyártó, Béla 160, 165 Kern, Horst 125, 148 Kiel, University of 122 Kiev 196 Kirkpatrick, Clifford 12, 187, 203 Kisfaludy, Gyula 155, 165 Kiss, Endre 158, 165 Klagenfurt 26 Klein, Josef 24 Klingemann, Carsten 4, 7, 127, 128, 130, 136, 137, 142, 144, 148 Klocke, H. 143 Klopp, W. 35, 37 Kluckhohn, Clyde 196 Klutentreter, Willy 136 Knoll, August Maria 17, 27 Knospe, Horst 126, 147 Koestler, A. 208 Kogon, Eugen 34, 37, 98, 115, 119, 122 Kolnai, Aurel 160, 163, 165 Kōnig, René 13, 125, 127, 146, 149 Kōnigsberg, University of 138 Konrad, H. 40 Kovács, Imre 154, 156, 158, 163, 165 Kovalewski, Massimo 78 Krieck, Ernst 140 Krohn, Claus-Dieter 147, 149

Kroll, Jurgen 12 Kroner, Richard 160 Kr ger, Gerhard 138 Ku Klux Klan 174 K hne, Otto 134 Kuznick, Peter J. 198, 203 L’Ordine Nuovo 65 La Critica 45 La Rivoluzione Liberate 68 Labour Party 213, 215 Lachmann, Ludwig 99, 115, 119, 122 Lackó, Miklós 151, 154, 165 Lacqueur, Walter 202 land reform 162 Landauer, Carl 87, 115, 119, 122 Landheer, B. 37 landowners 66, 212, 227 Landshut, Siegfried 127 Langer, J. 33, 37 Lanzillo, A. 57, 82 Larsen, O.N. 191, 203 Larsen, S.U. 13, 36, 37 Laski, H.J. 209, 215, 224, 230 Laslett, Barbara 200 Lassman, P. 10 Lausanne University 69 law and lawyers 41, 48, 55, 75, 122, 152, 162; conservative 115; penal 44; social-democratic 115; sociology of 15, 48; see also jurists, jurisprudence Lazarsfeld, Paul F. 16, 32, 37 Le Bon, Gustave 192 leadership 20, 94, 95, 153, 188, 223, 227; attempts at ideological 33; charismatic 6, 188; heroic 95; moral 59; racial bond as basis of 228; working-class 67, 112 Lebensraum 153 Lederer, Emil 193 legitimation viii, 3, 6, 11, 51, 60, 70, 73, 76 Lehmann, Gerhard 134

INDEX 247

Leichter, O. 37 Leipzig 43, 127, 129, 138, 142, 146; Bibliographisches Institut in 138; Business School of 142; University of 121 Leningrad, University of 195 Lentini, O. 50, 52, 56, 63, 65, 72, 80, 84 Leone, Enrico 73, 82 Leoni, Bruno 50, 77, 82 Lepenies, Wolf 11, 147, 149, 209, 230 Lepsius, M.Rainer 37, 146 Leser, N. 38 Levi della Vida, G. 52, 74, 78, 82 Levy-Bruhl, Lucien 136 Lewis, David J. 198, 203, 210, 230 liberals and liberalism 10, 26, 53, 64, 67, 68, 74, 76, 79, 89, 99, 118, 132, 157, 176, 177, 184, 190, 204, 206, 215; adversaries of Mussolini 76; American 169, 202; Authoritarian 118; conception of social and political life 67, 69, 161, 227; corporate 195 Lichtenberger-Fenz, B. 38 Lindberg, Charles 186 Linde, H. 142 linking fascism: positivism 179 Linz, J.J. 59, 82 Lipset, Seymour Martin 193 literary circles 153, 162, 208 literature 65, 67 Livi, L. 59, 82 Locke, John 190 Logos 95 London 46, 62, 163, 175; University of 219; King’s College 225; School of Economics 172, 185, 192, 209, 215 Longert, Wilhelm 38, 135 Lorenzoni, G. 48, 82 Loria, Achille 44, 82 Losito, M. 6, 9, 53, 81 Luigi Sturzo Foundation for Sociological Studies (New York) 62 Lukács, Georg 6

Lundberg, George A. 167, 169, 184, 185, 190, 193, 195, 197, 200, 203 Lundgreen, P. 38 L schen, G nter 149 Luther, M. 203 Machlup, Fritz 33 Mackenroth, G. 142 Madge, Charles 209, 230 Magnino, B. 82 Magyary, Zoltan 153 Malraux, A. 208 Mannhardt, Johann Wilhelm 86, 96, 98, 115, 119, 122 Mannheim, Karl 1, 127, 128, 160, 193, 214, 230 Mannzen, Walter 111, 119, 122 manufacturers and manufacturing 63, 67, 113, 147; see also capitalism, industry Marburg, University of 122 Marchi, Vittore 53 Marck, Siegfried 100, 115, 119, 122 Marcuse, Herbert 2, 160, 168, 179, 186, 203 Marotta, M. 82 Marr, Heinz 128 Marschak, Jakob 86, 96, 119, 122 Marshall, Harvey 115 Marshall, T.H. 209, 230 Martiis, Salvatore Cognetti de 43 Martindale, Don 200, 203 Marx, Karl 28, 168, 197 Marxism and Marxist approaches 2, 6, 9, 16, 21, 28, 34, 65, 67, 80, 87, 100, 108, 110, 112, 132, 154, 160, 194, 206, 211, 215, 218, 225, 227; democratic 215; optimism of 211; orthodox 66, 112, 218, 223 Marxist-Leninism 65 Masci 57 mass observation 209, 230 masses 29, 74, 89, 113, 120, 192, 193 materialism 9, 21, 34, 171 Matolcsy, Matyas 155, 162, 165 Matthes, J. 16, 38 Matthews, Fred H. 198, 203


Maus, Heinz 181, 203 Mayer, J.P. 119 McCarthy, J. 194 McCarthyism 195 McGovern, William Montgomery 168, 203 McKenzie, Roderick D. 186 medical experiments on humans 1, 135 medieval society 153 Mehlis, Georg 95, 98, 115, 119, 122 Meliorists 176 Melvin, Bruce 200 Mencken, H.L. 198 Menzel, Adolf 32, 38 mercantilism 99 Mertens, Lothar 146, 149 Messina 44; law faculty of 48 Messner, Johannes 27 metapolitical outlook 157, 162 methodology 22, 49, 59 Metron 54 Meusel, Alfred 52, 112, 119, 122 Meyer, Konrad 144 Miami University 167, 185 Miceli, Vincenzo 44, 82 Michel, Ernst 101, 119, 122 Michels Roberto 6, 41, 49, 50, 53, 59, 63, 68, 72, 76, 78, 80, 85, 93, 98, 102, 115, 120 Michigan, University of 166 middle class see class and classes, middle middle-class parties 30 Middle Way 195; see also Third Way Mierendorff, Carl 103, 111, 120, 122 migration, inner viii, 4; see also emigration Milan 43, 48, 53, 77; Catholic University of 47, 50, 56; Research Center for Applied Psychology 56; Bocconi University 55, 69; University of, law faculty of 48 militarism 188 military 29, 31, 63, 138, 211; armed forces 30; Army 136; conscription 171;

fashion 104; political influence by 151; routine of 185; virtues of 211 militia 31, 88; see also Austria, Heimwehr Miller, Herbert A. 175, 203 Mioni, U. 83 Mises, Ludwig von 32, 35, 38 Miskolc: law school of 17 Modena, University of 54 modernity 11 Mohme, Erwin T. 172, 203 Mokre, Johann 27 monarchy 26, 159 Mondolfo, Rodolfo 61 Mongardini, C. 82 morale surveys 7, 11, 139 Morgen, Herbert 119, 143 Morgenstern, Oskar 33 Morra, G. 62, 83 Morse, Arthur, D. 200, 203 Morselli, Emanuele 54, 73, 83 Morselli, Enrico 43, 78 Mosca, Gaetano 6, 60, 67, 68, 72, 74, 79 Mosley, O. 230 Moss, L. 84 Mozetič, Gerald 5, 16, 28, 35 Mueller, F.H. 62, 83 Munster, University of see Dortmund, University of Munster Mühlmann, Wilhelm Emil 134, 136 M ller, Adam 18, 25, 35 M ller, Jerry Z. 11, 129, 149 M ller, Karl Valentin 126, 140, 142 M ller, R. 33, 38 M ller-Armack, Alfred 115 Munich, University of 24 Munich Accords 178, 193; see also appeasement Mussolini, B. 6, 9, 22, 29, 50, 59, 62, 67, 73, 81, 88, 93, 96, 98, 116, 119, 169, 178, 208, 216, 230; conservative orientation of 67; as ‘hero’ 60, 95; dictatorship of 64, 73, 97; legal reforms of 74; opposition to 61;

INDEX 249

program of 172; regime of 62, 67, 95; reliance on the use of force 70; traditionalist economic orientation of 67; see also Italy, Fascism in Myklebust, J.P. 37 Nagy, Endre 152, 165 Nagy, Imre 163 Nagy, Péter 155, 165 Naples, University of 43; law faculty of 48 National Socialism (Nazism) 7, 11, 13, 21, 24, 26, 31, 34, 38, 86, 93, 100 passim, 152, 158, 169, 171, 175, 178, 180, 187, 191, 192, 194, 203, 210, 214, 215, 226; anti-semitism of 102; see also anti-semitism, Holocaust; atrocities committed, see Atrocities; bookburning 176; as capitalism with the lid off 208; collaboration with 11; economic program of 110, 118; see also planning; economy and 120; followers 108, 112; see also NSDAP, membership of, and class; law, concepts of 110; leadership 101, 102; ‘Lebensraum’ policy of 142; literature of 138; mass basis of 113; as movement for ‘freedom’ 111; party see NSDAP; philosophy of 140; racism and racial policy 136, 153; science 129, 134, 137, 185; seizure of power 103, 127, 136, 218; as socialism 163, 208, 221, 226, 228; staffs and advisory boards 126; see also Germany, Nazi era offices and organizations; state, conceptions of 123, 228; state intervention in 60, 123; technocrats of 125;

terrorization 179; true doctrine of 135, 136; as Utopian action 106; Weltanschauung 25, 123, 133, 135, 137, 146, 229; women and 110, 188 nationalism 3, 54, 107, 116, 168, 176, 178, 179, 196, 207, 216, 222, 227; as compensatory idea 112; false 112; German 27 Nationalwirtschaft: Blätter für organischen Wirtschaftsaufbau 18, 34, 37 Neisser, Hans 107, 120, 122 Nell-Breuning, Oswald von 26 Némedi, Dénés 5, 154, 157, 165 Németh, Laszlo 157, 163 Nemzet, Magyar 157 Neo-Kantianism 26 Neo-Thomism 55 Neue Blätter far den Sozialismus 110 Neugebauer, W. 39 Neumann, F. 2 Neumann, Michael 147, 149 Neumann, Sigmund 103, 120, 122 Neumeyer, Martin H. 199, 204 Neundörfer, Ludwig 143 Neurath, Otto 16, 33, 38, 40 New Deal 176, 178, 181, 223; as fascism 115, 161, 180, 222 New Hampshire 174 New Left 209 New Mexico 187 New School for Social Research (New York) 27, 162 New York 62, 187 Niceforo, Alfredo 46, 83 Nielsen, Jens Kaalhauge 196, 201 Nietzsche, F. 32, 98 Nihilism 217 Nimkoff, Meyer F. 204 Nisbet, Robert A. 198, 204 Nitti, Francesco 160 Nobility 23, 151, 157 Nordskog, John E. 172, 204 North American Review, The 177, 204 Northwestern University 171


Notre Dame University 187 Novalis 18 Novick, Peter 199, 204 NSDAP 24, 102, 108, 112, 115, 134, 137, 206, 228; b ndisch character of 104; membership in 25, 136, 187; as monarchist party 108; Party Council 129, 133 nudism 175 Nuremberg: Academy of the Social Sciences in 128; Organization for Consumer Studies 126, 131, 142, 143; tribunal 147 O’Connell, Charles 201 O’Sullivan, N. 206, 221, 230 Oberkofler, G. 38 Oberlin College 163 objectivism 8, 63, 102, 154, 161, 170, 180, 184, 188, 194, 197 Odum, Howard W. 166, 170, 193, 198, 202 Ogburn, William F. 166, 180, 183, 187, 189, 193, 195, 197, 200, 204 Ohio State University 175 Ohlendorf, Otto 139 Olberg, O. 115, 120 operationalism 169 Oppenheimer, Franz 22, 101, 120, 122 Orano, P. 72, 83 Orel, Anton 26 Ormos, Mária 151, 165 Ornaghi, L. 49, 55, 73, 83 Orwell, George 10, 207, 211, 230 Ostforschung viii, 12, 126 Osterle, J. 62, 83 Oxford University 209, 211, 218 Padua: University of 44, 48; ‘Schools’ of 47, Pahl-Weber, Elke 129, 149 Palermo 44, 46, 69; law faculty of 48 Palomba, Giuseppe 50, 73, 83 Pan-Germanism 22, 31 Panunzio, S. 57, 78, 83

Papal Encyclical Quadragesimo anno 23 Papcke, Sven 38, 115, 148, 149 Pareto, Vilfredo 6, 8, 44, 47, 50, 57, 60, 62, 64, 67, 68, 78, 81, 168, 192; concept of non-logical action 74, 79; concept of persistence of aggregates 52; concept of residues and derivations 51, 76, 79 Paris 43, 53, 61, 63, 67, 69, 79; University of 191 Park, Robert E. 166, 170, 198, 204 parliament and parlimentarism 3, 17, 29, 36, 69, 72, 74, 99, 113; failures of 67, 71, 74, 97, 101; strengthening of 105 Parmelee, Maurice 173, 175, 178, 191, 199, 203 Parsons, Talcott 7, 170, 189, 192, 200 Partito Popolare Italiano 61 party politics 59, 88, 96, 121, 213; fascist 50, 96; German 104, 120 Pascal, R. 212, 230 Pasemann, Dieter 132, 149 patriotism 163, 211; see also nationalism patronage 7, 50 Pauley, B.F. 38 Pavia, School of 47 Pearl Harbor 183 peasantry 26, 31, 66, 151, 154, 228; cult of the 155, 162; right-wing radicalism in 156; see also agriculture and agrarian issues Pellizzi, C. 83 Pels, Dick 3, 12 pensioners 106 persistence of aggregates 52 Perugia 47; University of 122; Faculty of Political Sciences of 49, 56, 78 Pesch, Heinrich 26, 163 Peters, Alfred 34 Pfeffer, Karl Heinz 134, 140, 143 Pfeil, E. 143 Philippovich, Eugen von 16 philosophical studies 163

INDEX 251

philosophy and philosophers 41, 49, 54, 65, 81, 111, 122, 132, 135, 152, 159, 163, 168, 213, 217; authoritarian social 56; cognitive 48; field of 24; of law 64, 77, 162; moral 48; neo-Thomist 54; political 140; scholastic 19; social 41, 56, 127, 171; of the State and Culture (Staats- und Kulturphilosophie) 140 physicians 123; see also medical experiments on humans Pichler, J.H. 34, 38 Pietri-Tonelli, Alfonso de 50, 74, 83 Pinchot, Gifford 199 Pisa: law faculty of 48; università populari of 43 planning 9; ‘democratic’ 214; economic 94, 100, 115, 117, 177; fascist, admiration for 173; ‘freedom at the level of 215; industrial 143; regional 143, 149, 155; for North Baden 143; reorganizational, Nazi 130, 144; rural 144; of science 131 Plato 19, 26 Pleyer, Kleo 138 Plutocracy 87 Plutocratic ruling class 70 Poland 126, 145, 147, 187; Poland Memorandum (Polen-Denkschrift) 147; ‘Rest-Polen’ 144, 147 Polanyi, Karl 32, 38 political science 16, 18, 34, 47, 59, 75, 77, 81, 121, 123, 158, 163, 207; authoritarian 73 political theory 41, 61, 83, 89, 209, 218, 230;

history of 50, 69; sociological 209 polling, political 11 Poppe, N. 195 Popper, Karl 32, 215, 231 population see demography and demographic populists 153, 156, 162, 179, 190 Portinaro, P.P. 49, 60, 71, 74, 84 positivism 18, 39, 45, 78, 81, 168, 186; linked with fascism 179 pragmatism 176; relativism of 198 Prague, University of 127, 196 Prague Manifesto 196 Preglau-H mmerle, S. 27, 38 primary group 188 Princeton University 183 Proctor, Robert 1, 12 progressivism 169, 178, 197, 205 Proletariat 2, 26, 29, 64, 67, 84, 98, 106, 111, 212, 223; industrial 66, 67; new 107; rural 66, 67; revolution 64, 213 propaganda 8, 31, 50, 107, 178, 182, 188, 198 property 208 Protestantism 102; American 181; culture of 79 Prussianism 227 psychological warfare 130 psychology 11, 49, 77, 82, 122, 191; applied 56; class-specific 10; collective 44, 77; experimental 54; mass 10; social 4, 49, 85, 112, 122, 136, 159 public administration 115, 122, 143 public opinion research 139 Puglia, Ferdinando 44, 84 Puritanism 89 Quebec 163


Quilici, Nello 51, 73, 84 race and racialism 12, 21, 25, 36, 101, 103, 123, 148, 156, 168, 171, 173, 179, 198, 205, 226, 228 Racheli, Attilio 51 Radice, G.Lombardo 53 Radt, Jenny 110, 120, 122 Rammstedt, Otthein 13, 38, 127, 146, 149 Rand Corporation 163 Ranks see St nde conception Ranulf, Svend 5, 8, 12, 168, 204 Rapport, V.A. 84 Rathkolb, O. 38 Ratzel, F. 54 Ratzenhofer, Gustav 15 Rauecker, B. 142 Raupach, H. 142 reformism 168, 170, 199, 213 refugees see emigration Regia Università (Rome) 78 Reich, Wilhelm 1, 10 Reinhard-Heydrich Foundation (Prague) 131 relativism, moral 21, 161 religion 21, 119, 168, 191, 192; animus toward 190; of humanity 169; sociology of 21, 34 Renner, Karl 15, 30, 33, 38 representation: economic 58; of interests 56; political 58; proportional 67 Rerum novarum 26 Reupcke, Hans 109, 120 Revisionism 199; post World War I 195 Rhoden, Peter 120 Ricardo, David 18 Rice, Stuart 167, 200 Riehl, Hans 17, 23, 27 Riemer, Svend 105, 107, 120, 123 Riesman, David 201, 204 rights 70, 89; civil 31, 69;

constitutional 82; economic 51; human 13; natural 18, 161; political 69; to strike 213 Rignano, Eugenio 79, 84 Ripepe, E. 68, 75, 84 Rivista di Psicologia 56 Rivista Internazionale di Filosofia del Diritto 54 Rivista Internazionale di Filosofia Politica e Sociale 54 Rivista Internazionale di Scienze Sociali 54, 79 Rivista Italiana di Sociologia 44, 53 Rivoluzione Liberale 47, 67, 79 Roberts, Stephen H. 178 Robertson, Roland 201 Rockefeller Foundation 130, 176 Roeder, Hermann 17 Roehm, E. 216 Romanticism 18, 38, 108, 168, 227; idea of community 99; populism 155; see also community Rome 22, 46, 47, 78; ancient 61; Italian fascists’ march on 28, 86; University of 46, 49, 69, 75; law faculty of 79 Ronneberger, Franz 138, 140 Roosevelt, Franklin D. 9, 11, 178, 184, 199, 203, 219, 223; economic policy of 115 Roosevelt, Theodore 178 Röpke, Wilhelm 115 Rosenberg, Alfred 24, 133, 135, 216; see also Germany, Nazi era offices and organizations, Rosenberg office Rosenstock, Eugen 87, 120, 123 Ross, Edward A. 166, 171, 185, 199, 205 Rosselli, Carlo 74 Rossi, G.Cesare 51 Rossi, Luigi 51 Rössler, Mechthild 149 Rostock, University of, Department of Economic Area Studies 142

INDEX 253

Roth, Karl Heinz 125, 129, 147, 149 Rothacker, Erich 132 Rugarli, Sincero 53, 84 ruling class see class and classes, ruling Rumpf, Max 134, 142 rural life, first-hand observations of 154 Rurali 84 Russell, B. 212, 231 Russia 94, 101, 112, 151, 174, 179, 180, 183, 196, 207, 214, 219, 220, 230; Committee for the Liberation of the Peoples of 196, 201; narodnichestvo 154; see also Bolshevism Rüstow, Alexander 115 Saád, Jozsef 152, 165 Salamon, Konrad 165 Salin, E. 38 Salomon, Gottfried 101, 120, 123 Salvadori, M. 74, 84 Salvemini, Gaetano 61, 160, 173, 204; intellectual leadership of 61 Samuelson, Paul 189 sanitization 129 Santarelli, E. 65, 72, 84 Sardinia 65 Sarfatti, M. 53 Sassari, Universita Populari of 43 Saturday Review of Literature, The 177, 204 Sauermann, H. 142 Sauter, Johann 17, 18 Savorgnan, Franco 54, 59, 84 scepticism 21, 34 Sch fer, Gerhard 129, 134, 149 Scheler, Max 110 Schellhase, Rolf 148 Schelsky, Helmut 134 Schering, Walther M. 129, 136 Scheringer, R. 112 Scheunemann, Walther 115, 120, 123 Schiattarella, Raffaele 44, 84 Schleswig-Holstein 115 Schlick, M. 40 Schmid, Emil 115, 120, 123 Schmidt, Péter 165

Schmitt, Carl 10, 98, 115, 120, 123, 160, 215, 225, 228 Schmollers Jahrbuch 91, 115 Schopenhauer Society 135 Schotthöfer, F. 90, 120 Schubert, Dirk 129, 149 Schumpeter, Joseph 15, 32, 39, 55 Schuschnigg, Kurt von 27 Schuster, Helmuth 128, 149 Schuster, Margrit 128, 149 Schutz, Alfred 16, 32, 39 science see specific fields; philosophy of 19 scientific culture 27, 192 scientists, as political activists 203 Sebéstény, Sándor 155, 165 Segre, S. 6, 9, 84 Seiler, Karl 128, 142 Seipel, Ignaz 23, 26 Seligman, E.R.A. 38, 53, 55 Sereni, E. 63, 84 Sergi, Giuseppe 44, 46 Serpieri, Arrigo 52, 84 Siciliani, Pietro 43, 84 Siegfried, Klaus-Jōrg 24, 39, 135, 141, 150 Siena, University of 44; law faculty of 48 Sighele, Scipio 78 Silone, I. 208 Simmel, Georg 43 Simpson, Christopher 201 Singer, Kurt 98, 115, 120, 123 Six, Franz Alfred 130, 140 Skotheim, Robert 198, 204 Slavs 136 Small, Albion 166, 177 Smith College 189 Smith, Adam 18 Smith, Richard L. 198, 203 social change 52, 73, 181 social contract theory 18 social control 167, 178, 180 Social Darwinism see Darwinism, Social Social Democracy 35, 102, 105, 107, 110, 113, 117, 156, 163; Austrian 29; failures of 110; ideological petrification of 107;


left-wing of 115; revisionist 212 Social Distance Scale see Bogardus Scale social evolutionism 168, 170; see also Gini, Corrado Social Forces 166, 193, 198 social mobility 54, 60; see also elites, circulation of social psychology see psychology, social social question 61, 99 social realism see Durkheim, Emile, social realism of social research, empirical 8, 12, 38, 50, 56, 63, 75, 78, 114, 128, 130, 148, 154, 167, 172, 174, 179, 182, 197, 203; practically oriented 128; support for 129 Social Science Research Council 181 social stratification 192; see also class and classes Social Trends, Committee on 49 social workers 176 socialism 3, 10, 26, 28, 32, 44, 67, 80, 90, 93, 101, 107, 112, 156, 158, 166, 174, 178, 182, 195, 206, 213, 220, 231; egalitarianism of 223; nationally oriented 109; non-working class 228; paramilitary associations of 35; proletarian 26; religious 26, 110 Società italiana di scienze sociali 77 Società Italiana di Sociologia 46, 49, 54 sociographers 155, 158, 163 sociography 154, 162; political 157 Sociological Research Association 179, 181 sociology and sociologists passim; German version of 131, 146; methodological and epistemological issues 19, 28, 48, 62, 73, 84; rural 52, 128, 136, 144, 176; positivistic 16, 170, 186; ‘fascist’ character of 168 Sociology and Social Research 167, 172, 198, 204 Sociology of the Volk see Volkstumssoziologie

Solari, Gioele 45, 50, 54, 59, 77, 84 solidarism 26, 98 solidarity, mechanical 168; tribal 222 Solms-Roedelheim, Max Ernst Graf zu 143 Sombart, Werner 51, 55, 91, 115, 130, 160 Sorel, G.E. 62 Sorokin, Pitirim 175, 204 Soziologische Gesellschaft (Vienna) 15 Soviet Communism see Bolshevism Spanish Aid Committee 184 Spann, Othmar 5, 6, 16, 21, 24, 34, 38, 94, 135, 140; followers of 23, 33, 94; NSDAP application of 25 Spann, Rafael 24 Spencer, Herbert 45 Spengler, Oswald 160 Spirito, Ugo 49, 56, 58, 74, 84 Spitzer, Hugo 32; in Graz 16 Spriano, P. 65, 72, 82, 84 Squillace, Fausto 46, 78, 84 SRA 179, 200 Srubar, Ilja 147, 150 Staat, concept of 102; see also Volksstaat Stadler, F. 36, 39 Stalin, J. 9, 176, 196, 224 Stalinism 32, 150, 195 St nde conception 20, 23, 94, 99, 113, 117 Starhemberg 23 statistics and statisticians 48, 54, 58, 78, 125, 183 Steinberg, Wilhelm 99, 115, 120, 123 Steiner, Thomas 3, 5, 6, 9 Steinert, Heinz 149 stereotypes 189 Sternberg, Fritz 113, 120, 123 Stōking, Erhard 131, 150 Stone, Albert 198, 204 Stouffer, Samuel 189, 200 Strachey, J. 178, 210, 213, 220, 231 Strachmann 100 Strachwitz, Maria Luise 99, 115, 120, 123 Strasbourg 127 stratification 20, 52, 54, 192 Strele, Kurt 100, 115, 121, 123

INDEX 255

students 153, 156, 227 Sturzo, Luigi 61, 63, 80, 82, 85, 160; rejection of the totalitarian state by 62 Sumner, William Graham 188 Suranyi-Unger, T. 17, 34, 39 Swarthmore College 200 Sweeney, J. 33, 39 Switzerland 53 syndicalism 59, 80, 210 Syracuse University 34 Szabó, Dezso 154, 155, 157, 162 Szabó, Miklós 165 Szabó, Zoltan 157, 163, 165 Századunk 159 Szeged 163; University of, law faculty of 162 Szekfu, Gyula 165 Szep Szo 163 Szombatfalvy, Gyorgy 153, 162, 166 T., K. 90, 121 Talos, E. 39 Tangorra, V. 44 Tarde, Gabriel 43 Társadalomtudomány 152, 158, 162, 164 Tatarin-Tarnheyden, E. 115, 121 technocracy 125, 177 Tedeschi, E.E. 44 Teutonic Order 145 Texas 177 Thalheim, Karl-Christ 121, 123, 134, 142 theocracy 25 theological 168 theology, social 26 Third International 65 Third way 95, 154, 157 Thomas, William I. 166, 200 Thurlow, R. 210, 231 Thurnwald, Richard 127, 130 Thyssen, Fritz 24, 140, 208 Tillich, Paul 110, 121, 123 Timasheff, N.S. 62, 85 Tinti, A.R. 85 Tönnies, Ferdinand 5, 8, 15, 32, 39, 105, 107, 121, 123, 131, 153, 168 Torrance, J. 33, 39

totalitarianism 10, 101, 150, 159, 162, 171, 182, 183, 193, 201, 206, 211, 214, 218, 223, 225, 226, 228; limits to 211 trade unions 24, 70, 87, 88, 93, 105; see also specific organizations Treves, Renato 63, 77 Trianon Treaty 152 Trier 128 Trieste, law faculty of 48 Tulane University 189 Turi, G. 50, 85 Turin 43, 67, 78; University of 43, 65, 69, 77, 79; law faculty of 48, 68 Turner, Bryan S. 201 Turner, Stephen P. 7, 12, 199, 200 united bourgeois front 66 United States 2, 4, 7, 9, 15, 29, 34, 44, 62, 149, 162, 164, 166 passim, 179; agencies of: Board of Economic Warfare 175; National Recovery Program 219; Railroad Retirement Board 175; State Department 175, 195; War Department 7 universalism 17, 21, 22, 27, 34, 39, 140 University of Birmingham 212 University of Chicago 58, 128, 166, 170, 172, 176, 181, 190, 200 University of Kansas 175 University of Minnesota 167, 175, 185, 187 University of Missouri 171, 175, 177 University of Munster in Dortmund: Social Research Center at 126, 136, 147 University of Nebraska 171, 192 University of North Carolina 166 University of North Dakota 185 University of Pennsylvania 167, 187, 200 University of Tucuman (Argentina) 64 University of Washington 184, 186, 195 University of West Virginia 43 University of Wisconsin 185 urban sociology 64, 128 Utermann, Kurt 134 utilitarianism 18, 20


Vadala-Papale, Giuseppe 44, 85 Valosag 163 value-free ideal 26, 169, 197; see also objectivism Vámbéry, Rusztem 161, 164, 166 Vanderbilt University 171 Vanguard Press 174 Vanni, Icilio 44, 85 Vardaro, G. 85 Vatican 55, 62; see also Gregorian University Veblen, Thorstein 11 Vecchio, Giorgio del 54 Veltzke, Gardy Gerhard 136 Veres, Peter 154, 156, 163, 166 Versailles, treaty of 29, 88, 112, 185 victimization claims viii, 25, 136 Vienna 15, 21, 27, 46, 127, 135, 144; University of 16, 18, 27, 32, 123 Vienna Circle 16, 33, 39 Vierkandt, Alfred 34, 39, 91 Vincent, George 199 Virgili, Filippo 44, 85 Vito, Francesco 47 Vlasov, Andrey A. 196, 201 Vleugels, W. 142 Vochting, Friedrich 98, 102, 115, 121, 123 Voegelin, Erich 17, 33, 40 Vogelsang, Karl von 25, 35 Volkisch ideas 89, 93, 95, 98, 100, 103, 118, 125, 128, 136, 155, 227 Völkischer Beobachter 132 Volksdeutsche (Settlers of German descent) 141 Volksforschung (Research on German Peoples) 135 Volkskunde 133; Society for Research on 136 Volksspiegel 136 Volksstaat 89, 90, 98, 171 Volkstumssoziologie 127, 136, 146 Wagner, Friedrich 140, 143 Walker, Mary Sims 200 Waller, Willard 204 Walther, Andreas 128, 150 war 114, 123, 171, 178, 217, 220, 225

war economy 123, 146 War Trade Board 175 Ward, Lester F. 43 Wartofsky, M.W. 33, 39 Washington D.C. 173 Washington University in St Louis 167, 177 Wassner, Rainer 129, 150 Webb, E. 40 Weber, Max 6, 8, 21, 34, 39, 47, 55, 57, 59, 68, 76, 83, 87, 153, 188, 192, 193, 197; concept of Herrschaft 59 Weber, Alfred 92, 121, 123; dismissal of 130 Weidenholzer, J. 33, 39 Weigle, Dean 199 Weigmann, H. 142 Weimar Republic 6, 86, 90, 92, 97, 101, 105, 127, 129, 131, 141, 148, 150, 194; political elite of the 102; social scientific gravediggers of the 127 Weinberg, Julius 199, 205 Weiner, Jon 201, 205 Weinert, W. 40 Weingart, Peter viii, 12 Weinzierl, E. 40 Werder, Peter von 134 Wess, Ludger 150 Westphalen, Ferdinand A. 17 Wichterich, R. 115, 121 Wiener, Jon 195 Wiener, M. 115, 121 Wiese, Leopold von 22, 26, 40, 53, 128, 131, 137 Wieser, Friedrich von 15, 87, 88, 121, 123 Wiggershaus, Rolf 147, 150 Wilbrandt, Robert 22 Willeke, Eduard 136, 147 Wilson, Edwin B. 200 Wilson, Francis G. 205 Wilson, M. 114, 121 Winter, Ernst Karl 26, 37 Wirth, Louis 189, 190 Wittfogel, Karl August 101, 121, 123 Wolf, J.A. 199 Wollenweber, Hellmut 136, 142 women 110, 192, 203 World Congress of Sociology (1959) 78 Wright, A.W. 210, 231

INDEX 257

Wurzbacher, G. 142 Wyman, David S. 200, 205 Yale University 174, 196 Yankwich, Leon R. 172, 205 youth 107 youth-movement 111, 138, 155 Yugoslavia 151 Zeisel, Hans 16, 37 Zeitschrift für Agrargeschichte und Agrarsoziologie 136 Zeitschrift für Ganzheitsforschung 34 Zeitschrift für Politik 103 Zilsel, Edgar 16, 33, 40 Zoitl, H. 36 Zurich, University of 123

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