Childers’ Nazi Voter as an Historiographical Turning Point

15 04 1999

In attempting to understand the causes of the Nazi seizure of power, historians must inevitably confront how this party was able to achieve the mass appeal and electoral support that rocketed them into office. As with most other subjects related to the Nazis, contentious debates abound over which social groups or classes were the critical votes for the Nazis in 1933 and why. Early disputes were, as one may expect, between Marxists and liberals and were rooted in the political tensions of the Cold War [Stachura, 15-8]; it was not until the 1970s that historians managed to move into less ideologically charged (yet no less contentious) discussions of the subject. The primary debate surfacing in the early 1980’s was whether the lower-middle class was the key social group in the Nazi success. In response to this debate came Thomas Childers’ 1983 The Nazi Voter which has emerged during the decade and a half since as the primary synthesis of thought on the subject. Other historians, however, have continued to conduct research in this area and, although, as this paper will argue, Childers has answered satisfactorily the question of who voted for Hitler, any new synthesis in this area will have to significantly refine his methodology and conclusions on the question of why people voted for Hitler. This paper will proceed by first situating The Nazi Voter within the context of early 1980’s historiography, then describing the book’s methodology and results, and finally discussing how a new synthesis might refine Childers’ work in light of new research.

In his historiographical summary, Peter Stachura supports the traditional stance that the lower-middle class was the key social group in the Nazi success, a view flawed for two reasons. First, Stachura consistently looks at Nazi members to determine what classes the Nazis drew upon the most; while this is certainly generally important, the Nazi membership was not a microcosm of the Nazi voters, so we cannot draw any conclusions about the Nazi voter from evidence concerning Nazi members. Second, Stachura suffers from the same analytical problems that William Allen noticed most historians who argue his stance face. Namely, definitions of different classes are based on the false premise that class in Germany was defined solely by income level and not by more subjective standards. Allen instead posits that Germans only defined class more on cultural ideological grounds such that, for example, a civil servant earning a lower-middle class income views himself in the upper-middle class by the sophisticated nature of his work and associations with elites. Thus, we see that the three leaders of the ‘”‘lower-class’”‘ Socialist movement in Northeim were all from the middle class. Allen also argues that Germans found other groupings besides class by which they organized themselves, such as religion, a fact attested to by the fact that Catholics by and large stayed away from voting for Nazis, no matter what their class [Allen, 57].

Although Allen attributes the initial questioning of the lower-middle class thesis to Hamilton, Who Voted for Hitler? has its own flaws. Hamilton’s main argument is that the upper-middle class was the key vote in the Nazi elections, which obviously does not break down class analysis any more than Stachura and his supporters do [Allen, 56-9]. An explanation for Hamilton’s weaknesses may lie in his methodological approach, which Childers criticizes extensively without actually invoking Hamilton’s name in the main text. Childers accuses past historians of limiting their electoral analyses to the 1930-2 elections and looking only at a few local election results [Childers, 6-7] disabling historians like Hamilton from appreciating the shifting Nazi support within the ‘upper-middle class’ over time and achieving a broad empirical foundation for their findings.

Childers not only deals with these analytical and methodological issues surrounding who voted for Hitler, but also expands his approach to meticulously seek out the reasons for voting Nazi. He deals with methodological limitations by looking at elections starting with 1924 from nearly half of the Weimar Republic’s communities. He also partially addresses Allen’s call for more subjective social divisions by splitting up the electorate into more occupationally defined groupings as opposed to a strictly wealth-based class organization. To advance his work into the realm of motivations he goes beyond analysis of electoral results and census data by examining campaign literature, print media, the ‘Abel collection’ of Nazis’ essays, and interest group publications in an attempt to describe why the various aforementioned groups may or may not have voted for the Nazis. As one might expect, Childers’ thorough and expansive approach led him to considerably refined conclusions.

The first set of such conclusions, arising from his electoral and census data, concern the trends of different occupational classes’ voting patterns. In particular, he finds that the ‘Old Middle Class,’ which included artisans, shopkeepers, and agrarians, consistently voted for the Nazi party. The support of the ‘New Middle Class,’ which included people in occupations unique to modern economies, was divided between white collar workers who voted for the Nazis in far proportionately much less than the more elitist civil servants. Civil servants, however, were at first reluctant to vote for the Nazi party and did not show their support until the very final elections, a detail that Hamilton misses with his limited time scope of analysis. Although they established a not insignificant part in the Nazi electorate, the working class was definitely underrepresented at the polls. Finally, the ‘Rennermittelstand,’ which included pensioners, rentiers, widows, and veterans, comprised a critical swing vote for the Nazis, supporting them mostly in times of economic worry as their lives depended upon financial support from the state.

Childers’ second set of conclusions arose from his marked attempt to determine the motivations of Nazi voters going to the polls. He noted that, although propaganda was increasingly attuned to local trends, it garnered a sense of national unity in that it confronted people everywhere and in that the national party maintained strict control over propaganda production such that local polities could not diverge from the unified presentation too much. More importantly, the Nazis conducted a critical shift in their propaganda strategy, turning their attention away from their previously held ‘urban strategy,’ which focused on winning workers away from the left, to trying to gain support from the middle classes. Of extreme importance, according to Childers, is that this shift never abandoned the idea of maintaining a substantial base of worker support, making the Nazi party the first to attempt to transcend class divisions. Suave political maneuvering, such as Hitler’s decision to campaign for President, augmented this propaganda, in that it increased his visibility and credibility and gave the propaganda machine a chance to practice its operation [Childers, 195-201]. Thus Childers leaves us with a strong impression of the potency of Nazi party actions in winning over voters.

Yet Childers is careful to not give too much credit to the Nazi propaganda machine for the party’s electoral success; perhaps most favorable to Childers conclusions is not his own extensive work, but rather how he situates his findings in the greater context of the Weimar Republic’s social structure and political economy. Indeed, the Nazi vote was garnered in a period when current economic policy, under the auspices of the Bruning cabinet, were pushing Germany deeper into depression [Berghahn, 115-8]. The political arena was going through problems of its own, as the typically strong parties faltered and splinter parties proliferated without end, creating a situation unconducive to political bargaining or coalition building. Potential alternatives to the Nazis failed to perform, opening a space in the political spectrum for the expansion of the Nazi party. Under these conditions, the dynamic power of the Nazi propaganda and its ability to muster a cross-class coalition of support in the name of radical (though largely rhetorical) solutions became very appealing. Childers concludes that ‘”‘the NSDAP’s heightened focus on the middle-class voter coincided with the onset of the depression, and as economic conditions deteriorated, the Nazis achieved significant breakthroughs into each of the major elements of the Mittelstand’”‘ [Childers, 262].

The absence of a new synthesis about the Nazi voter since Childers’ 1983 book does not mean that we cannot look critically at his work. The main weakness of The Nazi Voter is its overreliance on campaign literature, which causes two specific problems. First, though he departs from previous oversimplified divisions between the upper and lower middle classes, Childers still suffers from a somewhat artificial division of voters into occupational groups. Although Childers’ rightly argues that campaign literature ‘”‘from the Nazis to the Communists’”‘ was written largely in a language that divided people by occupation [Childers, 10], the campaign literature does not necessarily reflect how people actually think of themselves. Even if it can proclaim some accuracy in this regard, that accuracy is limited to those who are generally assimilated to a modern way of life; in other words, those people who would actually read and pay attention to such media. Thus, those who sought more personalized reasons for voting Nazi may not actually see themselves in occupational terms. This analysis leads us to our second problem with Childers’ overreliance on campaign literature: it indicates the populace’s mentality only through the eyes of political leaders, thus limiting our ability to truly understand the motivations of the Nazi voter.

Fortunately, other research has dealt with these issues and should be incorporated thoughtfully into any new synthesis concerning Nazi support. To start with, although Childers’ occupational divisions are useful, they are limited. He himself suggests as much: ‘”‘Each new category contains some anomalous elements that cannot be isolated and removed’”‘ [274]. Moreover, other divisions that Childers ignores have proven important in research on this subject. Heberle’s regional study on Schleswig-Holstein suggests looking at geographic variations within occupations. He points out that farmer politics, all grouped under the Old Middle Class in Childers’ work, were considerably different in each of three different geographic sectors of Germany [39]. We must be careful not to expect too much from a reorganization of electoral data. Although new research has begun to look at divisions even smaller than occupations, such as Koshar’s examinations of local social groups, or Stammtisch, determining the electoral behavior of such groups based upon poll data would lead to only limited results. In many cases already, the statistical significance of Childers’ findings is limited enough; adding even more subdivisions to his local profiles would likely eliminate the significance of his results altogether.

Further research has also expanded our understanding of why people supported the Nazis; I provide three examples. First, Berghahn argues that violence was crucial in cowing people into supporting the Nazi cause [Berghahn, 128-32]. Other historians have pointed out that some people may have actually been attracted to violence and militarized activity which ‘”‘interplayed with local conflicts and neighborhood tensions that had little to do with ideological pronouncements of party agitators’”‘ [Koshar 1987, 19]. Second, Kosher has addressed individual motives for turning to the Nazis. His comments on Nazi joiner (and presumably voter) provide some insight into the very personal nature of such as decision:

“Like so many Nazi Party activists, Krawielitzki fell ‘between the classes’ of Weimar Germany … He was attracted to National Socialism because it offered him an outlet for his talents and leadership ambitions, but above all because it gave political meaning to the uncertainty of his social existence” [Koshar 1986, 26].

Third, much of Koshar’s research points to the importance of word-of-mouth in getting people to vote for the Nazis. According to Koshar, many early Nazi party members were also members of multiple local social organizations like hunting clubs and drinking franchises, giving them vast access to a large number of people. This observation cannot be made using campaign literature because Nazis did not actively practice ‘”‘conspiratorial … infiltration’”‘ into these groups. Rather, their professed apoliticism happened to attract those who, generally uninterested in political sociability, found their public ties to others through extensive networks of other non-political organizations [Koshar 1987, 21].

As a final broad criticism, Childers’ statistical methods also impose a serious limitation on our understanding of the rise of the Nazis. Using linear regressions between both support for the Nazis and economic conditions, the ultimate implication of Childers’ findings is that more propaganda alongside more societal turmoil would have led to greater electoral breakthroughs for the Nazis among the middle classes. However, increasingly traumatic circumstances do not necessarily lead inexorably to support for the illusions and rhetoric of fascism. Paxton points out that only the middle class’s fears of disorder and turmoil, ungrounded in conditions that actually force them to transform their daily lifestyles, lead to an acceptance of fascism. Were the effects of chaos truly felt by all, then real alterations in society through an active transformation of daily life would be sought. Such was the case in Hamburg, where productivity actually increased after being ravaged by US bombers. Koshar agrees: ‘”‘the economic difficulties of Weimar were so harsh that they hindered the building of bourgeois loyalty to the new state, but they were not serious enough to undercut anti-system opposition’”‘ [Koshar 1986, 19]. Thus, we see that had societal turmoil actually been any greater in Germany, the Nazis might not have been as successful as they were. Childers’ regressions should be redesigned to test this hypothesis by allowing for the possibility of non-linear relationships between variables.

In conclusion, Childers’ The Nazi Voter resolves with finality issues about whether the lower- or upper-middle classes were the key to the Nazi electoral success and the methodological limitations of previous studies through an extensive look at a variety of sources and a reorganization of societal groupings along occupational as opposed to strictly class lines. However, a new synthesis could go farther in its refining definitions of social groups, look deeper into the real and illusory motivations of the Nazi Voter by examining more than just campaign literature, and examine the possibility of reworking Childers’ regressions with an eye for the possibility of a slight drop-off in Nazi support under extreme economic conditions.

Notes

1 My criticisms are not necessarily of Stachura. His writing in The Nazi Machtergreifung to some extent can be seen merely as a summary of the work that preceded him, notably not including Hamilton’s book which questioned many of his conclusions. His harsh assessments of many others’ work, however, indicate that his writing is slighly more than a ’summary’ and does make him open to some criticism.

2 In particular, as Childers points out, Nazi members were younger. Civil servants were also banned from joining the Nazi party, explaining why historians could have overlooked their importance in aiding the Nazi seizure of power.

3 Indeed, Allen’s exceedingly frequent references to Hamilton’s footnotes seems to imply that Allen’s arguments are inspired more by these side thoughts than by Hamilton’s overall approach

4 He mentions him in the footnotes on pages 261-2. My esteemed Professor Judson has suggested that the subtlety of these criticisms directed at Hamilton are due to the fact that upon The Nazi Voter’s publishing, Hamilton and Childers were in competition with each other, and it was unclear whose work would attain historical primacy.

5 Childers argues that a vote for the DSP (German Democratic Party), which held many of the same ideological stances as the Nazis but still clung to the ideal of parliamentary government, was ‘worth nothing.’ The DVP (German People’s Party), espousing a volkisch rhetoric similar to the Nazis, ended up dividing themselves as they tried to snag membership from both the SDP (Socialists) and the DNVP (conservative right) [204-6].

6 This would obviously exclude illiterate people.

7 Interestingly, Childers does refer to Heberle’s work, criticizing it for not subdividing social groups enough, but does not pay attention to Heberle’s own inter-regional comparisons [273].

8 Not only would more subdivisions decrease the average data available for each subdivision thus diminishing the overall testability of correlations, but many subdivisions also would not exist across many communities limiting the potential of a regionally-oriented statistical study with this level of complexity.

9 Childers’ summarizes the foundations of his statistical in Appendix I, explaining the use of the R2 [271-2].

Bibliography

Abraham, David. The Collapse of the Weimar Republic: Political Economy & Crisis, New York: Holmes & Meier, 1986.

Allen, William S. ‘”‘Farewell to Class Analysis,’”‘ Central European History, XVII, No. 1, March 1984, pgs. 54-63.

Berghahn, V.R. Modern Germany, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987.

Childers, Thomas. The Nazi Voter: The Social Foundations of Fascism in Germany, 1919-1933, Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1983.

Hanawalt, Emily. ‘”‘Blame It on the Medication,’”‘ seminar paper, 1999.

Koshar, Rudy. ‘”‘From Stammtisch to Party: Nazi Joiners and the Contradictions of Grassroots Fascism in Weimar Germany,’”‘ Journal of Modern History, LIX, 1987.

Koshar, Rudy. ‘”‘Contentious Citadel: Bourgeois Crisis and Nazism in Marburg/Lahn, 1880-1933,’”‘ in The Formation of the Nazi Constituency 1919-1933, edited by Thomas Childers, Totowa: Barnes & Noble Books, 1986.

Orlow. ‘”‘The Historiography,’”‘ Central European History, XVII, No. 1, March 1984.

Paxton, Bobbio. Vichy France: Old Guard and New Order, 1940-1944, 1972.

Stachura, Peter. ‘”‘The Nazis, the Bourgeoisie and the Workers During the Kampfzeit,’”‘in The Nazi Machtergreifung, edited by Peter Stachura, London: George Allen & Unwin, 1983.


Chris Flood
Spring 1999
Fascist Europe





History as Art

1 12 1997

Originally written for Professor Timothy Burke’s class, The History of Africa During the Slave Trade and continued from a previous post.

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Is “the truth” an ideal that can be expected out of history as it is out of science? The use of scientific methodologies and attitudes is flawed for two basic theoretical reasons.

  1. Human nature, which plays the central role in the creation of history, can by no means be explained in a rational or systematic way. Second, the information a historian gathers is quite different from the data a scientist gathers because, invariably, historians are dealing with events that have already occurred; they cannot set up experiments to see what would happen under specified conditions. These hindrances to the use of the scientific method manifested themselves in many ways in Beach and Vansina’s books.  That human nature is not entirely rational indicts the use of “postulates” in the study of history; because humans are not entirely rational beings, historians cannot make generalizations that will hold in all cases. Simply proving one historical generalization false will suffice to prove this fallacy and the irrationality of human nature: take Beach’s assumption that all rulers base their power on their ability to kill those under their power. The modern government of the United States, only one of countless examples, does not possess power over its citizens due to a constant reminder of death, but rather by many other subtler methods. For example, public schools teach a history of the United States that ingrains democratic ideals and patriotism in its students, which can often be more binding than the threat of death, as shown by the many individuals who volunteer their lives in military service for this country.
  2. The second fundamental problem, that historians cannot control or see first-hand what they are studying, manifests itself in the methods historians use to extract information about the past, which are almost always flawed in some way. Archaeological evidence is limited because usually only metal or stone implements remain to be dug up, although many societies made extensive use of organic materials. As I did in my last paper, Beach indicts the use of oral traditions without documentation to back them up [Beach, 60]. Beach also problematizes the use of colonial documents [Beach, 88]. Vansina’s use of linguistic evidence is also questionable because his thesis that the Bantu-speaking groups were interconnected contradicts the isolation necessary to make meaningful linguistic distinctions.

Of course, Beach and Vansina try to deal with the problems of their sources in order to create a coherent understanding of the past, but they will never be able to avoid the fundamental theoretical flaw of using scientific methods and assumptions. One method they use is to check evidence against other evidence. If the sources of evidence agree, then they probably portray the truth accurately. For example, Beach justifies the accuracy of oral traditions [Beach, 54-55, 59], but this accuracy is contingent upon the existence of Portuguese documentation to back it up [Beach, 60].

When evidence is in conflict, however, the historian is hard pressed to determine which source to use. Sometimes it may be possible to determine that one particular source is biased and therefore give more weight to the testimony of other sources. Such determinations, however, are risky and subject to biases of the historian himself. For example, Beach, who criticizes both oral traditions and Portuguese documentation as sources, nonetheless gives Portuguese documents more weight than oral traditions, as shown by his complete dismissal of oral traditions that are not backed up by documentation on the one hand while he continually refers to Portuguese documentation, albeit with extensive criticism, on the other.

Finally, what if all the sources are biased? In this situation, the historian must decide either to ignore all the sources or to somehow determine the most likely version of the truth. Beach, unfortunately, chooses the former. For example, when determining the actual size of the Mutapa state, Beach cites several sources that all agree that the Mutapa state was been extensive and powerful. However, according to Beach, all the sources are biased and, without any “definite evidence” he concludes that “the Mutapa state itself turns out to be much smaller than the old, hazy claims of ‘empire,’ but still of fair size” [Beach, 114-5]. There is no rational, “correct” choice between accepting or forsaking what all “biased” sources agree to be the truth. It is entirely plausible that the Mutapa state was indeed an “empire” as numerous sources described it, and, even if Chingowo did not pay tribute to the Mutapa state, the fact that three African sources, including a Chingowo medium himself, reveals that there may have at least been the impression that Mutapa had power over Chingowo, a control not articulated by money.

Thus, despite the historian’s attempts to scientifically rationalize their methodology the fact that there is no absolute truth in history is inevitably unescapable. This fact is epitomized in leaders who use “history” to shape what their people view as their heritage and manipulate what people already know and feel about their past for their own political power. In Vansina’s work alone, history has combined studies from climatology to linguistics in a search to learn more about our past. Clearly there are many Histories and many approaches to History as a study. Perhaps Patrick Manning sums it up best in his book Slavery and African Life:

“No historian, in presenting a picture of the past, can avoid sketching a distorted image for it is not possible … to reproduce the full drama of the past. Perhaps it is better, rather than speak of distortion, to say that every historian constructs a portrait of the past. For as surely as a painter is restricted to two dimensions in representing the three dimensions of life, a historian is prevented from representing the dimension of time in the exact form it took in the real world of history” [Manning, 38].

So, just as art has become a polar opposite to science today in the postmodern world, the study of history would do well to take advantage of its position as a discipline somewhere in between art and science rather than trying to force itself into the strict and systematic scientific approach.





History as a Science

1 12 1997

Originally written for Professor Timothy Burke’s class, The History of Africa During the Slave Trade.

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Over four hundred years ago, Leonardo da Vinci, is known today first and foremost as one of the great Renaissance artists, although he was a part of a much greater revolution of scientific thought. The first to draw “exploded diagrams,” Leonardo’s detailed sketches approached the observation of life in a revolutionary manner, dissecting what we see as complex and, in his time, nearly impossible to understand, into simple parts. It is in this manner that the great scientists that followed Leonardo and his contemporaries developed their understanding of the world around them. With systematic and controlled study backed up by facts and observation, these scientist believed that everything could be understood and explained in a reasonable and rational manner. The generations that followed the first scientists were able to build upon the work of their predecessors only with their meticulous documentation of results from their experiments, and these scientists in turn carefully recorded their work for the next generation; at least, that was the goal in the new generation-spanning systematic study of the natural world. Scientists learned that certain natural laws governed the way the world operates; mathematicians call such fundamental laws “postulates.” Of course, there were errors and false theories; scientists could refute just as well as justify one another’s work. Always, however, were there references to each others work, good or bad, in a continuing effort to reaffirm the scientific system. Just as the scientific revolution can find its roots in another discipline that has nearly become science’s polar opposite in the modern world so has science influenced and initiated many other disciplines. In many cases, the differences between some of these disciplines and science, however, make the application of scientific methods and assumptions problematic in many cases. This paper will reveal how David Beach’s The Shona and Zimbabwe 900 – 1850 and Jan Vansina’s Paths in the Rainforests: Toward a History of Political Tradition in Equatorial Africa use this scientific approach for their historical studies of Africa and, later, what problems it causes.

Beach and Vansina both approach their information like scientists in four ways.

  1. Beach and Vansina follow the scientific concept that a whole can be understood by looking at each of its parts. The simple fact that they are writing books that are divided into parts, chapters, and sections attest to the influence of this scientific rationale in their work. More unique to their work, however, is the fact that they both divide the areas they are studying into smaller regions for the sake of their writing. In Chapter Two, Beach divides the Shona region into eastern, western, and two central regions. Similarly, Chapters Five and Six in Vansina’s book are entirely divided into regional studies.
  2. Both approach their work with the expectation that hard facts will prove points and forge their conclusions and theories. Therefore, they actively search for information and discuss the facts that they discover in their books extensively. Opening Vansina’s book to a random page will likely reveal a map of carefully plotted data used in his study. Beach also, for example, exhibits his quest for facts in his intense focus on placing events at certain dates.
  3. Both Beach and Vansina take for granted certain historical phenomenon, much as a scientist utilizes postulates. One such all-encompassing postulate from Vansina is “Ideas always accompany trade,” which he uses to conclude that “trade has been a major avenue for stimulating innovation and diffusion” [Vansina, 94] after the arrival of Bantu speakers in central Africa. Beach is even more sweeping in his generalizations, stating, for example, “like practically everybody else in the world, the Shona do not like to admit having dispossessed anybody in taking over land” [Beach, 59]. Another such generalization came later when he states “Like all rulers, the Shona rulers’ power depended ultimately upon their power to kill their subjects and others who defied them” [Beach, 104].
  4. Beach and Vansina also see themselves as building upon, using, and working within a system that includes many other historians, just as a scientist develops theories that build upon his predecessors’ work and records his own work for others to continue. Simply that Beach and Vansina have written volumes to record their work speaks to this fact. More revealingly, both authors consistently use the concepts of others as jumping off points for their own discussions, usually “dispelling myths” conceived of by their predecessors. At the beginning of his discussion in Chapter Two, Vansina devotes a section to “Mythical Jungles and True Rainforests” in order to dismiss any false notions the reader might have acquired [Vansina, 39-46]. To begin Chapter Three, Vansina develops careful definitions between “physical” and “collective” realities because “the confusion between physical and cognitive reality has led to grievous error in the past” [Vansina, 72]. Finally, Vansina writes Chapter Four, in which he develops his theories of how the Bantu-speaking peoples “invented” lineages and emphasizes the importance of sacred emblems [Vansina, 101-128]. These three chapters taken together also serve as a jumping point into the rest of the book in which Vansina conducts the regional analyses described above, having shaped what preconceptions and theories the reader will take into the remainder of Vansina’s work. Beach concludes this chapter with another redressing of myth by explaining how the current understanding of Karanga expansion “is not supported by the archaeological evidence, and is contradicted by both the documents and what is known of Shona society from about 1490 to the present” [Beach, 81] and provides his own explanation. Chapter Three begins with another correction to the historical mindset by explaining that “to look at nineteenth-century Shona society … and project this picture backwards … is to risk falling into one of the most deadly traps laid for historians, for few societies remain unchanged over such a long period, and the Shona are no exception” [Beach, 87]. Chapter Four, as might be predicted, also begins with the discussion of the historical fallacy of referring to the Mutapa state as an “empire” [Beach, 113]. It should be clear that near Beach nor Vansina can resist presenting their research in a “groundbreaking” manner, showing it to be a constructive step in a continuing search for the truth.

Continued…