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Cover photograph: Hitler during the party congress of the NSDAP, 1935.
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ALSO BY BENJAMIN CAR TER HETT

To everyone who fights for freedom, human rights, democracy, peace, and tolerance.

And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

Matthew 25:40

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Prince Max von Baden (1867–1929): Hereditary prince of the Grand Duchy of Baden and chancellor of the German Reich in October and November 1918.

Max Bauer (1869–1929): Colonel, artillery expert, and staff officer before and during the First World War. Adviser on politics and economics to General Erich Ludendorff. First author to formulate the “stab in the back” myth, in early 1919.

Herbert von Bose (1893–1934): An intelligence officer and conservative activist who became press secretary to Vice-Chancellor Papen in 1933 and 1934.

Otto Braun (1872–1955): Social Democratic politician and prime minister of Prussia most of the time from 1920 to 1932, and then with limited powers until early 1933.

Aristide Briand (1862–1932): French politician, prime minister on a number of occasions, and foreign minister from 1925 to 1932. Worked with Gustav Stresemann to bring peace and Franco-German reconciliation.

Heinrich Brüning (1885–1970): One of the leaders of the Catholic Center Party in the Weimar Republic and one of the republic’s most important statesmen. Chancellor from March 1930 to May 1932.

Rudolf Diels (1900–1957): A Prussian civil servant, recruited to the police section of the Prussian interior ministry in 1931 to prepare reports on Communist violence. In 1932 he shifted his allegiance, first to Papen and then to the Nazis. Named head of the Prussian secret police, which, by 1933, grew into the Gestapo, he was forced out in the spring of 1934.

Friedrich Ebert (1871–1925): Leader of the Social Democratic Party of Germany during the First World War. First head of the government after the German Revolution of 1918, or “November Revolution,” and president of the Weimar Republic from 1919 to 1925.

André François-Poncet (1887–1978): French ambassador to Germany from 1931 to 1938.

Wilhelm Frick (1877–1946): One of the earliest Nazi activists. Interior minister under Hitler from 1933 to 1943.

Joseph Goebbels (1896–1945): Head of the Nazi Party in Berlin from 1926 to 1945. Propaganda director for the Nazi Party from 1930 and minister of popular enlightenment and propaganda from 1933. A highly talented propagandist and one of the most intelligent of Hitler’s inner circle, he is said to be the only one Hitler found a stimulating conversationalist.

Hermann Göring (1893–1946): One of Hitler’s first followers and part of the Nazi inner circle. Speaker of the Reichstag in 1932, and then both Reich “minister without portfolio” and Prussian interior minister in 1933.

Wilhelm Groener (1867–1939): A staff officer during the First World War and, in 1918, Erich Ludendorff’s replacement as first quartermaster general. Served as defense minister from 1928 to 1932 and also as interior minister from 1931 to 1932. Kurt von Schleicher was his particular protégé.

Franz Gürtner (1881–1941): Bavarian politician and member of the German National People’s Party. Minister of justice in the cabinets of Franz von Papen and Kurt von Schleicher from 1932 to 1933 and then under Hitler until 1941.

Kurt von Hammerstein-Equord (1878–1943): A senior military officer who was commander in chief of the German Army from 1930 to 1934. An anti-Nazi, he was eventually forced out of his command.

Konrad Heiden (1901–1966): Social Democratic journalist. Went into exile in France and the United States after 1933 and wrote the first important biography of Hitler.

Wolf-Heinrich Count von Helldorff (1896–1944): Scion of an aristocratic Saxon family, commander of the Berlin Sturmabteilung, or SA, in 1931, and then police chief of Potsdam (1933–1935) and Berlin (1935–1944) under the Nazis. Gravitated toward the resistance as early as 1938, and was executed following the failure of the Valkyrie plot in 1944.

Heinrich Himmler (1900–1945): Commander of the Schutzstaffel, or SS, starting in 1929, at a time when it was a small corps of bodyguards within the larger SA. Transformed the SS into the most powerful organization in Nazi Germany, one that eventually encompassed all police and security services, some of the armed forces, and some important economic institutions.

Oskar von Hindenburg (1883–1960): Army officer and son of field marshal and German president Paul von Hindenburg. A friend and regimental comrade of Kurt von Schleicher, Oskar was one of his father’s most influential advisers during the last years of the Weimar Republic. Due to his educational and intellectual limitations, he was known to insiders as “the son not foreseen in the constitution.”

Paul von Hindenburg (1847–1934): Career army officer who retired in 1911 but was recalled to service at the outbreak of the First World War. Credited with the crucial victory of the Battle of Tannenberg in 1914, saving East Prussia from Russian invasion. Commander in chief of the German Army from 1916 to 1919. Elected president of the German Reich in 1925 and reelected in 1932. Appointed Adolf Hitler chancellor in January 1933.

Adolf Hitler (1889–1945): Leader of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party from 1920 to 1945. Led Beer Hall Putsch in Munich in 1923. Author of Mein Kampf. Chancellor of Germany from 1933 and “Chancellor and Führer” from 1934 to 1945.

Alfred Hugenberg (1865–1951): Industrialist, media magnate, and leader of the right-wing German National People’s Party after 1928. Served briefly in Hitler’s cabinet in 1933.

Edgar Julius Jung (1894–1934): Right-wing, “young conservative” intellectual and political activist. Known for his critique of democracy, The Rule of Inferiors (1927). Speechwriter for Franz von Papen in 1933 and 1934, he was at the heart of the resistance activities run from Papen’s office.

Erich Ludendorff (1865–1937): Senior army officer, first quartermaster general of the army from 1916 to 1918. One of the architects of the “stab in the back” myth, he was the most important theorist of “total war” and its meaning for a “totalitarian state.”

Karl Mayr (1883–1945): Staff officer and immediate superior of Adolf Hitler in 1919. Ordered Hitler to become involved with the German Workers’ Party.

Otto Meissner (1880–1953): State secretary in the office of the president under Friedrich Ebert and Paul von Hindenburg, and continuing under Hitler.

Hermann Müller (1876–1931): Social Democratic politician, chancellor in 1920 and from 1928 to 1930, when he led a “ great coalition” that was the last fully parliamentary government of the Weimar Republic.

Eugen Ott (1889–1977): Staff officer in the defense ministry under Kurt von Schleicher. In late 1932, he prepared a crucial report on a war game showing that the army would be overwhelmed by a simultaneous Nazi and Communist uprising and a foreign invasion.

Franz von Papen (1879–1969): Army officer before and during the First World War and Center Party politician. Chancellor in 1932 and vice-chancellor under Hitler in 1933 and 1934. Thereafter, ambassador to Austria and Turkey until 1945.

Ernst Röhm (1887–1934): Professional army officer who was an early follower of Hitler and one of Hitler’s few friends. Commander of the SA from 1930 to 1934.

Alfred Rosenberg (1893–1946): German émigré from Estonia. An early activist with the Nazi Party, he was known as the Nazis’ philosopher. He was the author of The Myth of the Twentieth Century and editor of the Nazis’ newspaper, the Völkischer Beobachter (Nationalist Observer).

Kurt von Schleicher (1882–1934): Career army officer. Head of the army’s ministerial office for liaison with politicians from 1928 and influential adviser to Paul von Hindenburg. Defense minister in 1932 and chancellor from December 1932 to January 1933.

Carl Schmitt (1888–1985): Right-wing jurist and political theorist, important adviser to Kurt von Schleicher and Franz von Papen, and then known as the “crown jurist” of the Third Reich.

Carl Severing (1875–1952): Social Democratic politician. Prussian interior minister from 1920 to 1926 and from 1930 to 1932, Reich interior minister from 1928 to 1930.

Gregor Strasser (1892–1934): Nazi activist, organizer, and political strategist, he broke with Hitler in December 1932.

Gustav Stresemann (1878–1929): Leader of the German People’s Party, chancellor in 1923, and foreign minister from 1923 to 1929. Generally held to be Weimar’s greatest statesman, he worked with Aristide Briand to bring Germany back into the European and world community.

Fritz Günther von Tschirschky (1900–1980): Scion of an aristocratic Silesian family, he was “adjutant” and intelligence adviser to Franz von Papen in 1933 and 1934 and one of the central figures in the resistance activities run from Papen’s office.

IMPORTANT POLITICAL PARTIES IN THE WEIMAR REPUBLIC

Communist Party of Germany (Kommunistische Partei Deutschlands): Dedicated to the overthrow of the existing social, political, and economic order, it was generally the party of the unemployed, unskilled, and poorest industrial workers. It was particularly strong in major cities such as Berlin and Hamburg, and subject to firm control by the Comintern (Communist International), and thus by Joseph Stalin’s regime in the Soviet Union.

Independent Social Democratic Party of Germany (Unabhängige Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands, “the Independents”): A faction of the Social Democratic Party that split off during the First World War to oppose continued support for and funding of the war effort, it had a base in more radical workers and left-wing intellectuals. After 1922, most of its members either returned to the Social Democrats or joined the Communists, and the party ceased to be significant.

Social Democratic Party of Germany (Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands): Formed in 1875, it is the longest continuously active German political party. Its leaders became the leaders of Germany through the Revolution of 1918, and it was the party most firmly committed to the democratic republic, although after 1920, it did not often serve in national administrations. Its base was in skilled and unionized workers, and from 1912 to 1932 it was the largest political party in Germany in both membership and Reichstag deputies.

German Democratic Party (Deutsche Demokratische Partei): Growing out of the prewar left-liberals and committed to democracy and civil liberties, it represented intellectuals, independent professionals, and small business. It was very successful in the first Weimar election in 1919 but thereafter quickly lost support. It moved to the right after 1930 and changed its name to the “State Party” (Staatspartei) but became all but irrelevant, earning 1 percent of the vote in the last elections.

Center Party (Zentrum): The party that represented most German Catholics, it occupied the ideological center ground and was the indispensable party in the Weimar Republic, involved in all administrations until 1932 and providing most of the chancellors. One of the committed democratic parties, it moved to the right in the last years of the republic.

Bavarian People’s Party (Bayerische Volkspartei): The Bavarian sister of the Center Party, similarly a party meant to represent Catholics. Bavaria has historically sought greater autonomy within Germany, and the Bavarian People’s Party was accordingly more interested in federalism and considerably more conservative than its national sister: it backed Paul von Hindenburg for president in 1925 against the Center’s candidate Wilhelm Marx.

German People’s Party (Deutsche Volkspartei): A right-liberal party with a base particularly in big business, important largely because its leader, Gustav Stresemann, was one of the leading statesmen of the Weimar Republic, serving as chancellor in 1923 and foreign minister from 1923 to 1929.

German National People’s Party (Deutschnationale Volkspartei, “German Nationals”): Formed in 1918 out of a merger of the prewar German Conservatives, Free Conservatives, and various antisemitic parties, it was the establishment right-wing party, representing aristocratic landlords, army officers, senior civil servants, and some sections of big business. Through the 1920s, the German Nationals were divided over whether they should pragmatically accept the republic, but after Alfred Hugenberg became leader in 1928, they turned increasingly to fundamental opposition.

National Socialist German Workers’ Party (Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, “the Nazis”): Emerging from the German Workers’ Party that was formed in 1919, it was a fringe party until the late 1920s, when it began to win significant support, first in Protestant rural areas. When Adolf Hitler took over as the party’s leader in 1920, he added “National Socialist” to its name. From July 1932, it was the largest German political party, and from July 1933, it was the only legal political party until the end of the Second World War.

The first signs of something happening come a few minutes past nine o’clock on an icy winter evening in Berlin. Hans Flöter, a theology student, is walking home from an evening of study at the State Library on Unter den Linden. Crossing the square in front of the massive Reichstag, he hears a window breaking. Flöter alerts Karl Buwert, a police officer walking his beat in front of the building. Civic duty done, Flöter continues on his way home. Werner Thaler, a typesetter at the Nazi newspaper the Völkischer Beobachter (Nationalist Observer), also approaches Buwert: moving closer to the building and looking through a first-floor window, the two men think they see someone inside carrying a torch. Buwert fires his revolver at the glow, but without much result.

Alarming news keeps coming. A young man wearing high military-style boots and a black coat appears at the Brandenburg Gate police station at 9:15 to report that the Reichstag is on fire. The police carefully note the time and the message, but in the excitement, they forget to take the man’s name. His identity remains a mystery to this day. Within a few minutes the glow of flames is clearly visible through the glass cupola over the Reichstag’s plenary chamber. At 9:27 the chamber explodes. Firefighters and police find themselves faced with a catastrophic fire at the heart of the building.

Two minutes before this, the police have arrested a strange young man lurking in a corridor near the burning chamber. His papers show that he is Marinus van der Lubbe, journeyman mason, age twenty-four, of Leiden, Holland. Van der Lubbe is naked to the waist and sweating profusely. He gladly confesses to being the arsonist. No one at the time thinks he could be the only one.

The firefighters rush to work, drawing water from the nearby River Spree as well as from hydrants around the building. They are able to train their hoses on the burning chamber from all sides. With the hoses in place, the blaze is brought under control within seventy-five minutes.

Even as the fire is spreading, Germany’s leaders arrive at the Reichstag. The first is Hermann Göring, the Nazi interior minister of the state of Prussia. A few minutes later, a black Mercedes limousine delivers the new chancellor, Adolf Hitler, and his chief propagandist, Joseph Goebbels. The urbane, aristocratic vice-chancellor Franz von Papen is there, immaculately dressed as always, and seemingly unruffled. Rudolf Diels, the handsome thirty-two-year-old chief of the secret police, was disturbed while on a date (“a most unpolice-like rendezvous,” as he will later put it) at the elegant Café Kranzler on Unter den Linden.¹ As Diels tells it, he arrives in time to hear a tirade from the new chancellor. Hitler already seems to know who has set the fire.² Standing on a balcony looking over at the burning chamber, his face reflecting the glow of the flames, the chancellor rages, “There will be no mercy now … Every Communist official will be shot where he is found. The Communist deputies must be hanged this very night!”

Soon, Göring puts out an official press release reflecting Hitler’s wishes. After describing the extensive damage to the building, Göring’s statement calls the fire “the most monstrous Bolshevik act of terror in Germany to date,” and the “beacon for a bloody uprising and civil war.”³

But a dramatically different explanation begins to spread just as quickly as the official story. It is not yet midnight when an Austrian reporter named Willi Frischauer, Berlin correspondent for the Wiener Allgemeine Zeitung (Vienna General News), cables his paper: “There can be little doubt that the fire which is consuming the Reichstag was the work of hirelings of the Hitler Government.”⁴ Frischauer thinks that these “hirelings” probably made their way into the Reichstag through a tunnel connecting the building to the official residence of the speaker of the Reichstag. The speaker of the Reichstag is Hermann Göring.

Reporters tell stories about crimes. Governments make arrests. Even as the firefighters struggle with the burning chamber, two separate waves of arrests begin. The Berlin police, working from carefully prepared lists, begin rounding up Communists, pacifists, clergymen, lawyers, artists, writers—anyone at all whom they judge likely to be hostile to the Nazis. The police bring their prisoners to Berlin’s police headquarters at Alexander-platz and book them, everything proper and official. At the same time, though, the Nazi Stormtroopers of Berlin carry out an arrest action of their own. The Stormtroopers have lists, too, but they do not register their prisoners officially. They bring them to abandoned basements, warehouses, even a water tower, where the prisoners are beaten and tortured in a hundred different ways, in many cases killed. Soon Berliners have a new name for these places: “wild concentration camps.”

It is Monday, February 27, 1933. We might say it is the last night of the Weimar Republic, the last night of German democracy.

WHEN THE REICHSTAG burned, Adolf Hitler had been chancellor of the German Reich for precisely four weeks. He had come to office in a constitutionally legitimate, even democratic way. His party had emerged from two elections in the previous year with the largest number of seats in the Reichstag, Germany’s parliament. At the end of January, Germany’s president, the venerable eighty-five-year-old field marshal Paul von Hindenburg, had reluctantly but properly called on Hitler to take on the chancellorship and form a cabinet. Hindenburg had reserved for himself the appointment of ministers to the key portfolios of defense and foreign affairs, and it was also part of the deal that Franz von Papen, who had briefly been chancellor in 1932, would serve under Hitler as vice-chancellor. Papen was Hindenburg’s protégé, despite being Catholic—a faith with which the resolutely Lutheran field marshal was far from comfortable.

Hitler’s new cabinet came into office on January 30 looking much like other administrations of the democratic Weimar Republic, if a bit more oriented to the right than even Papen’s “cabinet of barons” of the previous year. Hitler’s government was still a coalition, with key ministries being held by representatives of the establishment right-wing German National People’s Party and the conservative veterans’ organization the Steel Helmet, with a sprinkling of nonpartisan establishment figures. Apart from Hitler himself, the Nazis held only two other cabinet positions: the veteran Nazi activist Wilhelm Frick was Reich interior minister, and Hitler’s right-hand man, Hermann Göring, was minister without portfolio (a member of cabinet without departmental responsibility). At the time, few people appreciated the crucial importance of one detail: Göring also became the interior minister of the giant state of Prussia, which comprised three-fifths of Germany’s land and people. Prussia had fifty thousand men in its state police forces, making the Prussian police half the size of the German Army.⁵

To almost all seasoned observers, Hitler’s political position on January 30 looked weak. It was designed to be weak. Like the three chancellors before him, he had been put into office by a small circle of powerful men who had Hindenburg’s ear. They sought to take advantage of Hitler’s demagogic gifts and mass following to advance their own agenda. They knew that without someone like Hitler to serve as a front man, they, and their goals, stood no chance of anything more than minuscule electoral support. They assumed they had Hitler squarely under control. Why should they not? These were men such as Vice-Chancellor von Papen and President von Hindenburg, aristocrats bred to leadership and army officers experienced in command. Hitler was the nameless son of a minor Austrian customs official, with little formal education. He made grammatical mistakes in his mother tongue. In four years of almost continuous service on the Western Front, he had never risen above the rank of private first class (Gefreiter) because, as one of his officers explained later, he was judged to lack the leadership qualities of a sergeant. Mingling class, rank, and North German prejudices, Hindenburg referred to Hitler contemptuously as “the Bohemian private.” Sure, Hitler could excite lower-class mobs at a rally or a beer hall, but he was not a gentleman. He could not possibly govern.

This was a view held with remarkable unanimity across the German political spectrum. “We have hired him,” Papen wrote confidently of Hitler.⁶ “In a few months we will have pushed him so far into the corner that he will squeak.” The independent Nationalist politician Gottfried Treviranus wrote years later that everyone he knew expected Hitler to “exhaust himself on the phalanx of Hindenburg, the army, and the constitution.”⁷ Friedrich Stampfer, editor in chief of the Social Democratic paper Vorwärts (Forward), asked a foreign correspondent if he seriously believed that “this roaring gorilla can govern,” adding that Hitler’s government would last no longer than three weeks.⁸ A young carpenter and furniture maker named Max Fürst—whose political sympathies were far to the left and whose roommate, the radical lawyer Hans Litten, had earned notoriety by cross-examining Hitler in a Berlin courtroom two years before—thought that “it probably couldn’t get any worse than the Papen administration.”⁹

Everyone knew, of course, about the intemperate tone of Hitler’s rhetoric. In his speeches and in his rambling memoir Mein Kampf, he had raged against “the Jews” and “the Marxists.” The men who had put together Germany’s new democracy after the Armistice of 1918 were nothing but “November criminals,” whose peace settlement was a betrayal of the German nation and its heroic army. Hitler had spoken openly about the need of a war to conquer Lebensraum, or “living space,” in “the east.” Especially in the most recent years, his movement had meted out brutal violence to its opponents, and Hitler had threatened still more if he were to come into power. “Heads will roll in the sand,” he had told a court, testifying under oath in 1930 at the sedition trial of three army officers who were also Nazi activists.¹⁰

But power always made radical leaders act reasonably, didn’t it? This was an almost universal experience in political life. In 1933, after fifteen years of political responsibility, Germany’s Social Democrats were a pale, timid shadow of their revolutionary pre-1914 selves. And they were dramatically less popular with the electorate, their vote share in national elections having fallen from nearly 39 percent in 1919 to 20 percent in 1932. President Hindenburg’s inner circle calculated that bringing the Nazis into the government would do to Hitler’s party precisely what the Weimar Republic had done to the Social Democrats. In early 1933, many Germans shared this assumption. One well-connected and thoughtful observer, surprised by the moderation of Hitler’s first speech as chancellor, wondered if “the Chancellor Hitler might think differently than the vote-catcher Hitler did?”¹¹

Yet even the first weeks of Hitler’s chancellorship provided more to worry about than Papen’s government had ever offered. There was more violence, not least from the Nazi Stormtroopers the new government had recruited en masse into the police forces. Opposition newspapers and political events were closed down. It became increasingly difficult for other political groups to campaign at all. Yet it was the Reichstag fire that truly changed the course of events.

Hitler’s cabinet met at eleven o’clock the morning after the fire. Reich interior minister Frick presented a text bearing the title “Decree of Reich President von Hindenburg for the Protection of People and State,” known informally ever after as the “Reichstag Fire Decree.” The decree expressed Hitler’s theory that the Reichstag fire marked the start of a Communist uprising.¹² The state needed emergency powers to defend itself. The decree suspended the civil liberties contained in the German constitution, legalizing the imprisonment without trial of anyone the regime deemed a political threat and effectively abolishing freedom of speech, assembly and association, confidentiality of the post and telegraphic communications, and security from warrantless searches. It also gave the Reich government the power to replace any federal state administration if “the necessary measures are not enacted for the reestablishment of public security and order.” The cabinet approved the decree, and later that day, Hindenburg signed it into law.

This decree was, in the words of the distinguished legal scholar Ernst Fraenkel, the “constitutional charter” of Hitler’s Reich. It was the legal basis for all the arrests and deportations, for the concentration camps and the infamous secret police, the Gestapo. It also allowed the Nazis effectively to abolish Germany’s federal system and extend their rule over all the states of the union. For most Germans alive in 1933, the Reichstag fire and the decree marked a crucial turning point. Walter Kiaulehn, a seasoned Berlin reporter, concluded an elegiac book about his native city written after the war with the words, “First the Reichstag burned, then the books, and soon the synagogues.¹³ Then Germany began to burn, England, France and Russia …”

This is one of the great questions in all of human history. For we know too well the consequences of Hitler’s ascent to the chancellorship: the most devastating war the world had yet seen, accompanied by a campaign of mass murder so sweeping and unprecedented that legal scholar Raphael Lemkin had to coin a new word for it: genocide.

The question of how this could happen takes on a special, agonizing force against the background out of which Hitler and Nazism grew: the Germany of Weimar. Here, surely, was some kind of apex of human civilization. The 1919 constitution of the Weimar Republic created a state-of-the-art modern democracy, with a scrupulously just proportional electoral system and protection for individual rights and freedoms, expressly including the equality of men and women. Social and political activists fought, with considerable success, for even more. Germany had the world’s most prominent gay rights movement. It was home to an active feminist movement that, having just won the vote, was moving on to abortion rights. Campaigns against the death penalty had been so successful in Germany that, in practice, the ax was never used. At the beginning of the Republic, workers had won the eight-hour day with full pay. Jews from Poland and Russia were drawn to Germany’s tolerance and openness.

Germany led the world in more than politics and social activism. Even before 1914, Pablo Picasso had told a friend that if he had a son who wanted to paint, he would send him to Munich for training, not to Paris. Germany’s Expressionist and “New Realist” painters (Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Emil Nolde, George Grosz, Otto Dix) were producing some of the most exciting and troubling art of the age. The Bauhaus school turned out architects and designers whose ideas still influence their fields today. If you cared about music, no country could rival Germany’s remarkable orchestras, ensembles, and soloists. And here, too, Germans were making the future, whether in the difficult classical works of Richard Strauss and Paul Hindemith, or in the exciting modern hybrids of Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill. Movies? Berlin could claim to be a second Hollywood, and with directors such as Fritz Lang, G. W. Pabst, or F. W. Murnau, one that worked at a higher artistic level than the American original. The presence of writers like Alfred Döblin, Franz Kafka (who took up residence in Germany at the end of his life), and brothers Thomas and Heinrich Mann meant that Germany could match any other country in literature as well.

Germany’s reputation in science and scholarship was unrivalled. In the 1920s, around a third of the world’s physics journals were written in German, and of course Albert Einstein held a professorship at the University of Berlin while his friend, the Nobel Prize–winning chemist Fritz Haber, directed the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Physical Chemistry and Electrochemistry in the suburb of Dahlem. It was probably the excellence of German science and German universities that explained why the country led the world in industries such as chemicals and pharmaceuticals, and competed strongly with American cars for quality if not quantity.

If Germany had long prided itself on being the “land of poets and thinkers,” then in the 1920s it seemed to surpass even itself. And yet somehow, out of this enlightened, creative, ultramodern democracy, grew the most evil regime in human history. Hitler’s Reich utterly destroyed the creativity of Weimar, and destroyed it permanently. Many Germans still mourn what they have lost. “The uncertain Germans do not frighten Europe any longer, but nor do they fascinate anyone,” the publisher Wolf Jobst Siedler lamented in 2000.¹⁴ We still puzzle over how this could have happened. That barbarism could issue from high civilization seems to confound our deepest beliefs and intuitions.

Hitler’s Germany is unique among all regimes in human history in at least one respect: serious historians are unanimous in judging it a catastrophe with no redeeming features. There is no other regime, not even the Soviet Union under Joseph Stalin, that can claim such a dubious distinction. But that is also where agreement ends. Hitler’s Germany is a kind of historical Rorschach test: we project onto it whatever we believe to be the worst conceivable political features. What you think those might be depends on who you are. Not everyone sees it the same way. This kind of projection affects explanations of how Hitler’s regime came about, and this means that historians have always offered contradictory narratives of the fall of the Weimar Republic.

Was the problem with Germany in 1933 that it was not democratic enough or that it was too democratic? Did Nazism happen because of unchecked elite power or because the German masses were incapable of functioning as responsible citizens? Were the Nazis mired in the past, or were they dangerously modern? Was Nazism a specifically German problem or a manifestation of a wider crisis? Is this a case of history being made by a few “great men,” or were deep structural factors at work in bringing Hitler to power? Were Christians, especially German evangelical Christians, a critical support group for the Nazis, or did Hitler’s rise come in the teeth of traditional Lutheran, Calvinist, and Catholic German values? Was Hitler’s rise inevitable—the great British historian A. J. P. Taylor once called it as surprising as a river flowing into the sea—or was it so chancy and unlikely that it almost didn’t happen?

Ever since 1933, historians, philosophers, lawyers, psychologists, politicians, artists, writers, musicians, socially critical comedians, and many others have sought to explain Hitler’s rise. Their answers have piled up. Most are enlightening. Why return to this problem again? What is still to be said?

First, historical knowledge works like a slow accretion of sediment. There is always a new layer being added. This is especially true of German history in the twentieth century. So much critical source material was held for so long in inaccessible archives, especially in the former East Germany and the Soviet Union, that the end of the Cold War brought major advances in what we know about the Nazi era. Historians are still finding, working through, and digesting these newly available materials.

One of the results of this process has been that much of what we thought we knew about Nazi Germany appears now as the residue of Nazi propaganda, or of the years just after World War II. In the late 1940s and early ’50s, thousands of important players in Hitler’s Reich needed to retell and reshape their stories in order to survive war crimes trials and “denazification” proceedings. Many distinguished scholars have held to the idea that Hitler was somehow an “unperson,” a “man without qualities,” never really alive unless he was addressing a rally.¹⁵ This is nothing but an unconscious reflection of the Nazis’ propaganda notion that Hitler sacrificed all personal life to devote himself to his people.

Generational change is also a part of the story. In each era, we see the past differently, according to how we see ourselves and our own experiences. One era will notice things about the past that another will not. This is one reason that history is, and has to be, constantly rewritten.

In the 1990s, for instance, we basked in the glow of the end of the Cold War and the seemingly final triumph of democracy and liberal capitalism. Today, much has changed in our world. We are more worried about “globalization” and the stimulus it has given to right-wing populism. The bloom is off the revolutionary rose of 1989–1991, and the instabilities of the post–Cold War order are much more apparent. We are beset by an international refugee crisis and deeply aware of the myriad political problems it can cause. We have seen a new kind of terrorism take center stage across much of the world. All this means that, in many ways, our time more closely resembles the 1930s than it does the 1990s.

It is time, then, to tell the story of the fall of Weimar and the rise of Hitler in a new way. This book will put German affairs into their international context and examine their international influences. The Nazis, like other authoritarian but populist movements of their time, were a response to an overwhelming triumph of global liberal capitalism at the end of the Great War.¹⁶ The postwar Anglo-American order had linked doctrines of financial austerity (symbolized by the payment of debts and reparations and the return to the gold standard) with the stability of democracy itself. Political logic pushed opponents of austerity to become opponents of liberal democracy as well. The Nazis responded to other disruptions of the world they lived in, most of them traceable to the war. How should national borders be squared with ethnic identification? How should countries manage the rights of minorities? What should be done with refugees and other migrants?

If they were fundamentally a protest reaction against globalization and its consequences, the Nazis were themselves also shaped by general European and global trends. They drew consciously on influences from Russia, Italy, and Turkey, from the British Empire and the United States. Even the violence and terror of their Stormtroopers were tied to broader influences.

The Nazis would have been unthinkable without the First World War. In part, this was because so many Nazi leaders and activists had served in the trenches, become accustomed to violence, and were unable to settle down to civilian life. But the actual experience of combat was not what most heavily influenced the politics of the Weimar Republic. It was the way Germans came to remember the war’s beginning and the war’s end that really counted. The beginning and end, August 1914 versus November 1918, brilliant summer versus gray autumn, ecstatic unity versus bitter division, dreams of victory versus the reality of catastrophic defeat—these concepts ran through nearly everything that happened in Weimar and fundamentally shaped the way Germans thought about their political life. It is not an exaggeration to say that the answer to all questions about Weimar lies somewhere in the First World War.

The global situation and the legacy of the war help explain why the Nazis could find a wide popular following in Germany. But a wide following—around a third of the electorate before 1933—could never by itself have put Hitler in power. For that, Hitler had to win over the conservative establishment: above all President Paul von Hindenburg and his advisers, and the army, which held the keys to power. These conservatives could have stopped Hitler in his tracks. Instead, they chose to use him, although the Nazi-conservative alliance was always an awkward one.

This is where the individual personalities in the story become important. After 1930, German politics became increasingly deadlocked. It was impossible to assemble a stable majority in the Reichstag to pass legislation and support an administration. By the middle of 1932, the Nazis and the Communists, the two parties most committed to the destruction of the democratic system, together held a majority of Reichstag seats. But they came from opposite ends of the political spectrum and could never work together. President von Hindenburg and the chancellors he appointed bypassed the Reichstag. They relied on the emergency powers provision of the Weimar constitution to govern through executive orders. This meant that a small group of leaders could wield unusual power, and their individual goals and quirks took on a much greater significance.

President von Hindenburg, born in 1847, was a man of a different time: a Prussian aristocrat, Germany’s most revered soldier, a devout Lutheran with a deep suspicion of Catholics and a loathing for Social Democrats. The constitution gave him the power to hire and fire chancellors, and from the time of his election to the presidency in 1925, he looked for ways to move the Republic politically to the right while preserving his reputation as a German hero and unifier.

Among Hindenburg’s closest and most influential advisers was another military man, General Kurt von Schleicher. Schleicher was the head of the army’s “Ministerial Office,” which in practice meant he was the army’s main political lobbyist. No one was ever quite sure what they were getting with Schleicher. He was sarcastic, devious, a schemer, always up to something, although that “something” was often mysterious. In reality, Schleicher, like Hindenburg, sought to create a more authoritarian and military regime out of Weimar’s democracy. In the critical years from 1929 through 1932, it was Schleicher above all who made and unmade chancellors and administrations, and who played a crucial role in the Republic’s downward spiral.

Schleicher’s foil was the man who held the Weimar chancellorship for the longest continuous term: the Catholic union official and economist Heinrich Brüning. Where Schleicher was witty, flippant, and inscrutable, Brüning was earnest and solemn, a cool rationalist who struggled to grasp the irrationality of the world he was forced to confront. It was Brüning’s fate to be chancellor during the worst years of the Great Depression, from 1930 to 1932. But finding a way out of the Depression was not Brüning’s goal. He wanted to return Germany to full sovereignty. This meant getting out from under the burden of reparation payments that the 1919 Treaty of Versailles had imposed. To achieve this end, Brüning was willing to make Germany’s economic crisis even worse.

Brüning’s successor as chancellor was Franz von Papen, another former army officer and aristocrat, whose résumé in public life did not extend beyond ownership of a newspaper and back-bench service in the Prussian state parliament. Papen had served in the cavalry, and riding a horse was probably his outstanding skill. For this he was widely known as “the gentleman jockey.” Papen was an elegant dresser, a charming conversationalist, and a fluent French speaker who wanted to see better Franco-German relations. Even his closest supporters would never have claimed that he possessed the gravitas of Brüning. Yet, after a few months in office, he grew to enjoy the privileges of power. In the end, it was his rage at losing power and his injured vanity that set up the last act in the downfall of Weimar democracy.

And, of course, there was Adolf Hitler. Hitler is a strong candidate for the most historically important individual of the twentieth century. But he is frequently misunderstood. In 1919, when he entered politics, Hitler had no experience and seemingly no gifts. For the next fourteen years he was constantly mocked and underestimated. He looked like a waiter in a railway station restaurant, people said, or a hairdresser. Structural factors in the economy and international affairs did much to make Nazism possible, but why did the context pick this man, of all people, to rise to such unprecedented power?

Certainly, Hitler brought some unusual talents to the game. He had a rare ability to captivate a crowd with his voice. Much less obvious to contemporaries was his uncanny intuition, his ability to read what people felt and wanted to hear, and to predict what they would do next. He was a skilled actor who could modify his behavior to fit the moment and the audience. He, like several of the people in his inner circle, was a clever political strategist who could see the ways in which the Nazis might come to power—and just as important, the ways they couldn’t—and plan accordingly.

But even these talents cannot fully explain Hitler’s success. The key to understanding why many Germans supported him lies in the Nazis’ rejection of a rational, factual world. Hitler himself, in the words of his biographer Joachim Fest, was “always thinking the unthinkable,” and “in his statements an element of bitter refusal to submit to reality invariably emerged.” The realities that Germans faced after 1918 were all but unacceptable: a lost war that had cost the nation almost two million of her sons, a widely unpopular revolution, a seemingly unjust peace settlement, and economic chaos accompanied by huge social and technological change. Millions of Germans retreated into conspiracy theories: that a “stab in the back” (Dolchstoss, literally, “a dagger thrust”), not straightforward military defeat, had ended the war; or that they were beset by conspiratorial cliques of Communists, capitalists, Jews, and Freemasons. Hitler could give voice to this flight from reality as could no other German politician of his time.

Hostility to reality translated into contempt for politics, or, rather, desire for a politics that was somehow not political: a thing that can never be. The workings of democracy seen up close—the necessary deal-making, favors, compromises—are seldom inspiring. The Weimar Republic was certainly no exception. A large number of political parties, each representing well-defined social interests, competed for power and the spoils of power, compromising and making deals when they could. Often enough they could not, so the turnover of administrations was rapid: twenty-one in fourteen years. For a democracy to work, all parties have to acknowledge that they have at least some minimal common ground and that compromises are both possible and necessary. By the 1930s, however, there was very little of this spirit left as German society grew ever more bitterly divided. Defenders of the Republic often seemed like little more than defenders of a corrupt system.¹⁷ Opponents of democracy, preaching an “antipolitics” of unity and resurrection, could look like they were operating on higher moral ground. Hitler was thrilled when the racist theorist Houston Stewart Chamberlain called him “the opposite of a politician.”¹⁸ The Nazi code word for the Weimar Republic was the system. It was a short step from this contempt for “the system” to the belief that a providential leader could lift the nation out of its soulless dead end. This was Hitler’s appeal from the beginning to the end. Not to everyone, of course—the divisions in German society never went away. But Hitler’s message convinced as many Germans as he needed it to.

There was nothing the Nazis did in the years after 1933 that was not prefigured in their rise to power. Shrewd observers could see what was coming: “Dictatorship, abolition of the parliament, crushing of all intellectual liberties, inflation, terror, civil war,” wrote the novelist Friedrich Franz von Unruh in 1931, in an acclaimed series of articles for the newspaper the Frankfurter Zeitung (Frankfurt News).¹⁹²⁰

CONTENTS

ALSO BY BENJAMIN CAR TER HETT

CAST OF CHARACTERS

IMPORTANT POLITICAL PARTIES IN THE WEIMAR REPUBLIC