Posts Tagged With: historiography

Writing European History


Eric Hobsbawm was right when he called the twentieth century an age of extremes, and the phrase applies especially well to Europe.[1]  Starting in 1914, the continent was engulfed in total war for thirty years, followed by an unprecedented 45-year period of peace, even if it was a peace imposed by the Cold War.  How then should one tell the story of twentieth century European history?  Such a task requires one to confront questions of narratives, perspective, and themes.  Was it the gradual and haphazard, yet inevitable progress of capitalism and liberal democracy, relegating the world wars as regrettable aberrations of “true” European history?  Or do the darker moments of the twentieth century overshadow Europeans’ later achievements?  In Dark Continent, Mark Mazower portrays Europe’s twentieth century as one characterized primarily by violence, an era in which ideologies inspired entire peoples to fight to the death.  Bernard Wasserstein presents a continent continuously caught between two extremes in Barbarism and Civilization.  Lastly, Tony Judt’s book Postwar begins in 1945, but demonstrates how the previous thirty years of global war remained a defining influence on Europe after the war’s end, acting as the foundation for a new Europe committed to learning from its mistakes.

Mark Mazower’s Dark Continent: Europe’s Twentieth Century is considerably shorter than the other two books, but this can be attributed to the fact that his book is meant to be more of an extended essay than a full survey of Europe in the twentieth century. At the core of his book is the assertion that Europe’s twentieth century was defined by three competing visions for the future or Europe and ultimately the world: liberal democracy, fascism, and communism.  “Europe’s twentieth century is the story of their conflict,” he writes (xv).  Consequently, competition and violence are the heart of Mazower’s narrative.  Throughout his provocative and eloquently written book, Mazower demonstrates how all three ideologies were seeking to improve the world through the establishment of a New World Order.  “Like it or not, both fascism and communism involved real efforts to tackle the problems of mass politics, of industrialization, and social order; liberal democracy did not always have all the answers” (xii).

Another major goal of Dark Continent is to highlight the historical contingency of this European era. “Though we may like to think democracy’s victory in the Cold War proves its deep roots in Europe’s soil, history tells us otherwise” (5).  His narrative shows that fascism and communism were just as European as liberal democracy, though it is easy to retrospectively consider them anomalies of European history.  The Nazi “utopia was also a nightmarish revelation of the destructive potential in European civilization,” he writes (xiii).  What made Nazism stand out from the other European visions was the fact that it turned European imperialist mentality on other Europeans.  Consequently, Mazower argues that the Nazis’ “greatest offence against the sensibility of the continent” was treating Europeans like Africans, turning Europeans into barbarians and slaves (73).

After 1945, the forced peace of the Cold War “brought the continent the most precious commodity of all – time” (249).  Even though the emergent European Community (and later, the European Union) curtailed national sovereignty of the member states, Mazower argues that by the end of the 1990s, Europe had decided that social cohesion was of greater value than individuality (360). While Europe may have achieved a level of peace and economic prosperity, Mazower’s book does not really end with a positive note.  He concludes that “The real victor in 1989 was not democracy but capitalism” (397), and that one reason Europeans live with democracy today is “partly because it involves less commitment or intrusion into their lives than any of the alternatives” (397).  After half a century in which states took full control of the public and the private spheres, Mazower argues that Europeans have come to appreciate one of democracies “quiet virtues:” it gives people a retreat and allows for a private life (xv).  In other words, he feels that the stability of contemporary Europe comes not from dedication to an inherently peaceful ideology, but instead from Europeans’ settling on democracy because of their ideological exhaustion.

Bernard Wasserstein’s Barbarism and Civilization: a History of Europe in Our Time begins with a quote from Walter Benjamin:  “There is no document of civilization that is not simultaneously a document of barbarism” (vii).  This quotation sets the path for the rest of Wasserstein’s 850-page book; as such, readers see violence and peace occupying the same space in the story.  His book begins (like Mazower’s) in 1914, because the outbreak of World War One signals the ideological beginning of the new century.  He refers to the world of 1914 as a time of “dying empires” and “rising nation-states” (9), and expands by declaring that “Nationalism, not socialism, was the most explosive political force in much of central and eastern Europe, all the more so because it was frustrated and pent up by the authoritarian structures of the multi-national empires” (36).  Ethnicities and nation states play central roles in Wasserstein’s book.  Once the European nations were able to gain stability by the 1950s and 1960s, they had to learn how to deal with new ethnic minorities (like the Turkish workers in Germany), especially as Europe became a continent of immigration instead of emigration.  When discussing the 1991-1992 wars in Yugoslavia, Wasserstein writes, “The war brutally exposed the limitations of the European diplomatic system and its inability to resolve conflict arising from profound ethno-religious cleavages” (733).  This example – beyond revealing that Wasserstein’s book takes all of Europe into account, and not just central or western Europe – demonstrates Wasserstein’s skepticism of nation states’ ability to provide a peaceful environment for its ethnic minorities.

Barbarism and Civilization is primarily concerned with political, economic, military, and demographic developments, though he does offer glimpses into other areas (there is a four page section dedicated to sex and sexuality).  I was also surprised to see that decolonization was explicitly addressed in only eleven pages since the loss of colonies in Africa and Asia was so symbolically and economically important to the old imperial powers.  One way that Wasserstein’s account differs from Mazower’s is that Wasserstein’s focuses much more on individual actors than larger political ideologies. But by doing this, I wonder if he underestimates the power of ideas.  He refers to Hitler as a self-pitying misanthrope (397) and comments that fascist ideas were the “primitive rationalization of gangsterism” (160).  Wasserstein is right to highlight the influence that particular individuals had, but it may be easier to dismiss individuals as misanthropic than to fully give credence to the origins and power of their ideologies.

Tony Judt’s Postwar: a History of Europe since 1945, on the other hand presents a narrative based on ideologies.  His book starts in 1945 and so does not dedicate time to studying the actual events of the world wars.  Instead, the work focuses on the place the dark half of the century has held in Europeans’ minds since 1945.  World War One destroyed Old Europe and World War Two laid the foundations for a new one, he argues (6).  He quite provocatively claims that the work of Hitler and Stalin actually allowed for the post-1945 stability because theirs were projects that sought to unify and hegemonize European peoples.  Ethnic diversity only worked under multi-ethnic empires; that same diversity could not work under nation states.  “Between them, and assisted by wartime collaborators, the dictators blasted flat the demographic heath upon which the foundations of a new and less complicated continent were then laid” (9).

But the World War era also provided stability for the post-war Europe in another way.  Judt argues that for fifty years, the atrocities of Hitler’s Europe remained silent and that this silence was vital to the establishment of European stability.  Only after social, political, and economic stability were achieved were Europeans able to begin fully studying and confronting what it soon became clear was a European-wide complicity in the murder of the Jews.  In the post-1989 world, Judt argues that “Holocaust recognition is our contemporary European entry ticket” (803).  After Marxism lost its legitimacy through the knowledge of Soviet atrocities, Europeans witnessed the death of “grand narratives,” or single explanations that tied the march of history to one’s destiny (563).  Particularly after the collapse of Communism, Europeans were left with no competing ideologies with which to make sense of their world and use as the basis of identity.  Instead, Judt suggests that the Europeans’ violent past has become the unifying “other” for present day Europe.  Only by acknowledging the dangers of rampant capitalism and nationalism, by recognizing the destruction wrought by Europeans – epitomized by the Holocaust – can one be considered part of the new, unified “Europe” of today (830).

While they may focus on different themes throughout their narratives, all three authors position Europe into a larger, transnational or global history in the same way.  Each scholar concludes that the history of the twentieth century is the history of Europe’s relative decline in the world.  Wasserstein posits 1914 as already marking the “beginning of the end of the Eurocentric world” (1).  Mazower points out that the economic crises of the 1970s revealed to Europeans the weakness of nation states and “the need for concentrated action to defend their way of life against global competition” (328).  He adds that while the European nations themselves enjoy relative stability and peace, globally “Europe has lost its primacy, and perhaps that is what most Europeans find hardest to accept” (403).  From the beginning of his book, Judt tells readers that his is a “history of Europe’s reduction” (7), but Europe’s loss of relative political and military dominance in the world is not portrayed in a negative light.  In fact, he concludes by stating that, In spite of the horrors of their recent past – and in large measure because of them – it was Europeans who were now uniquely placed to offer the world some modest advice on how to avoid repeating their own mistakes” (800).  Again, this highlights Judt’s emphasis on the stabilizing and educational role Europe’s violent past can play in today’s effort to create a stabile and peaceful Europe.

These books offer three different ways of conceptualizing modern European history.  Mazower holds Europe’s divisions, competition, and violence as paramount, stating that, “The “Europe” of the European Union may be a promise or a delusion, but it is not a reality” (xiv).  Ultimately he argues that Europeans will only find lasting stability by giving up on the effort to define a single, unifying “European” identity.  “If Europeans can give up their desperate desire to find a single workable definition of themselves…they may come to terms more easily with the diversity and dissension which will be as much their future as their past” (403).  Wasserstein claims that, “Civilization and barbarism walked hand in hand in Europe in the course of the past century.  They were not polar opposites, but…locked together in a dialectical relationship” (793).  But while Wasserstein mentions this coexistence at the beginning and end of his narrative, readers may question if he feels that barbarism and civilization really coexisted, or if Europe’s twentieth century can be viewed as a transition from barbarism to civilization.  And lastly, Judt believes that the new “European” model can only be successful if it’s based on accepting Europe’s violent past.

[1] Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Extremes: A History of the World, 1914-1991. New York: Random House, 1994.

Books under review: 

Mazower, Mark. Dark Continent: Europe’s Twentieth Century. New York: Vintage, 2000.

Wasserstein, Bernard. Barbarism and Civilization: A History of Europe in Our Time. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007.

Judt, Tony. Postwar: A History of Europe Since 1945. New York: Penguin Press, 2005.

For more books on modern European history, see my full list of book reviews. 

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the Hitler of History

John Lukacs, The Hitler of History (New York:  Alfred A. Knopf, 1998).


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            There is no shortage of historical literature on the Third Reich, and biographies of Adolf Hitler abound.  John Lukacs’s The Hitler of History is, as he makes abundantly clear, not another biography of Hitler; it is, as the title suggests, a history of the history of Hitler.  Lukacs provides a historiographical review of the different biographies of Hitler, gleaning from them patterns in the interpretations of Hitler’s life in order to answer certain questions that he feels have remained inadequately answered.

Lukacs begins his book with an impressive overview of the Hitler biographies that he feels contributed the most to the understanding of Hitler.  His mastery of the topic and the reviewed books is remarkable and is made evident not only in the body of his book, but in the meticulously precise footnotes, as well.  Lukacs’s review extends to over fifteen biographies of Hitler and begins with what he feels to be the “first substantial” Hitler biography, written by Konrad Heiden in 1936.  While he provides commentary on many more works, his focus (in the historiographical chapter and throughout the book) is primarily on a handful of biographies, namely those written by Andreas Hillgruber in 1965, Ernst Deuerlein in 1969 (which Lukacs considers the “best short biography of Hitler”), Percy Ernst Schramm in 1971, Joachim Fest in 1973 (the “best long biography”), John Toland in 1977 (the first “big biography” by an American), David Irving in 1977 (which receives criticism from Lukacs for rehabilitating Hitler), Rainer Zitelman in 1987, and Ian Kershaw in 1991.

After this review, Lukacs shows that during “the last fifty years many Germans did not want to think much about Hitler.  But many of their historians did” (40).  This discussion among German historians led to a dispute known as the Historikerstreit, or “Historian’s Controversy.”  This Historikerstreit was sparked by conservatives Ernst Nolke, who essentially argued that Auschwitz was not conceivable without the prior existence of the Soviet gulags, and Andreas Hillgruber, who presented the “two war theory,” which stated that in one perspective, Hitler’s war with the West, while regrettable, was a “normal war.”  Hitler’s war with Soviet Russia, on the other hand, should be seen as a separate war, a war for the defense of Western civilization against the onslaught of Communism.  While Lukacs acknowledges particular contributions made by these historians, he ultimately condemns such interpretations as rehabilitation of Nazi Germany (if not directly Hitler himself).

Lukacs also addresses the issue of historians’ handling of Hitler’s statesmanship.  Ultimately, Lukacs argues that Hitler deserves more credit as a strategist (both politically and even militarily) than has been traditionally given to him.  Perhaps most shocking from this chapter is Lukacs’s assertion that once Hitler realized that a total victory over his enemies was no longer possible, his new goal became to bring his enemies to a point where they would have to deal with him on his own terms.  Such a view of a Hitler willing to revaluate his plans stands in contrast to the view of Hitler as an unyielding ideologue portrayed by many of his biographers.

Lukacs’s book also attempts to humanize Hitler.  Lukacs argues, as have other historians, that labeling Hitler as “evil,” removes all responsibility for his actions.  Throughout the book, he stresses the duality of Hitler’s personality in order to show that Hitler was, in fact, human: “there were dualities in Hitler himself.  That, too, is a normal condition” (101), “Those are formative years in any man’s life” (55), and “there were instances when he, like every other human being…had to adjust” (130).

Lukacs’s strongest argument comes in his handling of whether Hitler should be considered a reactionary or a revolutionary.  He points out that many people have been reluctant to label anything to do with Hitler as “revolutionary.”  However, he defines a reactionary as someone who wants to turn history backward, or return to a previous point in time, and a revolutionary as someone who looks to the future, as an advocate of progress (76).  Lukacs then points out how Hitler strove for a radical break with the Modern Age.  This new age resembled the “tyranny of the majority” predicted by Tocqueville, but Lukacs stresses that by utilizing the power of the masses, Hitler had established a new type of democracy, a “tyranny through the majority” (117), and this new power, which gained its legitimacy from the “will of the German Volk” was revolutionary.  In fact, Lukacs states that, because of this change in the relationship of power, “In the Hitler movement Germany experienced its only genuine revolution” (108) and asserts in his conclusion that Hitler “was the greatest revolutionary of the twentieth century” (258).

Lukacs guides the readers through these topics and others with ease.  His style is both conversational and inviting to readers.  Any critique of the book cannot be leveled against his knowledge of the subject matter, but instead against his handling of particular issues.  While he makes it clear that this is not a history of Hitler and that his purpose is not to discuss details in length, Lukacs sometimes makes sweeping or definitive remarks and then simply moves on without first adequately substantiating his statement.  For example, he explains Hitler’s seemingly irrational declaration of war on the United States, a matter that he admits has baffled historians for years, simply as Hitler’s loyalty to the treaty he had with Japan (154).  Also, Lukacs’s argument that Hitler was more nationalistic than racist, highlighted by Hitler’s quote that “there is no such thing as the Jewish race,” (123) may leave readers wanting further explanation.  Furthermore, whereas Lukacs is careful to define the many terms he uses throughout the book, his harshest criticism of other authors is that they are engaging in a rehabilitation of Hitler; he does this without ever providing a clear definition of what he means by “rehabilitation.”

Overall, Lukacs’s book is a significant contribution to Hitler studies and also sheds light on the relationship between history and biography.  It perhaps raises more questions than it does provide definitive answers; however, it does not seem likely that Lukacs would regard this as something negative, because as he said, history “is not the pure truth but the pursuit of truth” (223).

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