The German Mind

I

BEFORE THE WAR

WHILE Bismarck was at the helm — until 1890 — the German people did not: concern themselves seriously with foreign affairs. The immense and uninterrupted success of Bismarck’s foreign policy, from 1864 to 1891, justified their confidence. They relied absolutely upon his genius.

The surpassing skill of the almost omnipotent ruling Chancellor of the Empire — for the old Kaiser Wilhelm always left the decision to him, the other ministers were only his instruments; the Reichstag majority was pliant, the majority of the people passive — destroyed the German people’s inclination to busy themselves with questions of international politics.

In addition, Germany’s prosperity was developing rapidly. This favorable economic development continued when Wilhelm II came to the throne, and after he separated from Bismarck, in 1890. Util 1914, Germany’s economic life expanded uninterruptedly. The expression frequently used in speeches, ‘Germany needs “a place in the sun,”’ was only talk. As a matter of fact, Germany had her place in the sun. Her national prosperity increased to such an extent that the universal standard of living was rising constantly; although, of course, inequality of incomes caused discontent among certain classes. People are never contented, — fortunately, perhaps, — but so far as external causes were concerned there was no reason to complain that our economic development was checked.

On the other hand, after 1890, full confidence in the conduct of our foreign policy was lacking. The people felt a nervous hand, where formerly they had been accustomed to a firm one. They listened to big words, but missed useful deeds. A feeling of unrest and uncertainty began to spread, although, of course, the masses of the citizens were entirely uncritical. As long as they were not disturbed in their business, they did not worry about the foreign policy of their government.

The Reichstag remained what it had been — thorough, and sometimes even energetic, in questions of domestic policy; superficial and full of confidence in matters of foreign policy. But, outside of the Legislature, groups were formed, which, on their own account and in a particular way, tried to influence foreign policy.

The Pan-German League was formed. The real founder, Karl Peters, — a man as energetic as he was brutal, — had won for Germany the East African colony. His following was not large, but it was very active. It was composed almost entirely of so-called ‘highbrows’ — old officers, professors, writers, and, above all, headmasters. Owing to the fact that he gradually drew about all the teachers of the upper schools into his circle, he acquired an immeasurable influence on the psychology of the young academic generation, which was called upon to take the leading place in civil and national life.

The Pan-German League masqueraded as the successor to Bismarck’s policy, but, from the beginning, traveled a very different road. It had two aims. At times, a national one: it wanted to unite and cleanse the Germans. Therefore, it sought to establish a bond between the Germans of the Empire and the Germans living in the rest of the world. For this reason, it tried to purify the Germans from all alleged foreign elements. It made war against the Jews. It was consciously anti-Semitic.

Then, again, it was imperialistic. It sought a German world-policy. In inseparable connection with its imperial aims stood its militarism. As its intellectual offspring, therefore, we must recognize the Naval League, — with its membership mounting into the hundreds of thousands, — and the Military League. Both leagues were remarkably active in securing new appropriations for the army and navy; in supporting the government when it proposed such appropriations; in attacking it when the appropriations did not seem sufficiently ample. The munitions industry, with its enormous resources, naturally supported this welcome agitation. But it would be wrong to say that material considerations alone had been the chief inspiration of the propaganda of the Pan-Germans and militarists. Idealism, misunderstood and falsely directed, played the leading rôle. At first, to be sure, the material support of interested circles helped on the agitation immensely.

In contrast to the Pan-German League stood the German Peace Society — the first and, at that time, the only organization of German pacifism. It never had more than a few thousand members. The mass of the people saw in the pacifists a small group of possibly brave, but unpractical, Utopians. No one really believed in a serious war-menace; therefore, an opposition organization appeared unnecessary. The universal lack of interest in foreign affairs was an especial obstacle. Widespread elucidation through extensive propaganda could not be undertaken, as financial means were lacking. The well-to-do, almost without exception, were indifferent, to the pacifist movement. Their ambitions were tit les, decorations, patents of nobility — things obtainable only through influence at court; but, at court, pacifism was no recommendation.

The lack of support of the upper classes could, naturally, have been offset by the coöperation of the lower classes. These were the Socialist workers. They were internationally directed and pacifically inclined. But, on the other hand, they were sworn to the dogma of caste-struggle. That separated them from all contact with middle-class organizations. The pacifist was scorned as a dreamer, with whom a real Marxian could have nothing to do; and the class-conscious German laborers all wished to be Marxians. They did not fight the Peace Society, but they opposed it with a superior smile. Scarcely one Social Democrat, at that time, belonged to the German Peace Society.

II

AT THE OUTBREAK OF THE WAR

Shortly before the beginning of the war, Pan-Germanism had become a mighty factor. No party of the Reichstag was entirely committed to it, but in almost every citizen’s party it numbered influential followers, especially among the Conservatives and National Liberals. A large section of the press was at its service. A succession of books appeared, written under its inspiration. Speakers went through the country enlisting sympathy for its ideas.

In the spring of 1914, Professor O. Nippold brought out a very interesting book, entitled German Chauvinism. This rather extensive volume is nothing but a collection of quotations from the speeches and publications of the PanGermans of the year 1913. They all culminated in the glorification of war, in t he preaching of hatred toward ot her nations, in dreams of the expansion of German might. Especially crass was the heckling quoted from the papers and publications of a portion of the Young German movement .

There were certain circles, not numerous, but influential, which, for various reasons, fairly longed for war.

Some saw in war the only way of damning the ever-increasing flow of German laborers toward Socialism. The Reichstag elections of 1912 had given the Social Democrats 111 seats, thereby making them the strongest legislative party. Many people feared that the Social Democrats would gradually win the majority, and then would swing legislation to the side of labor. Through the national promotion of a war, they expected to secure a reaction against the feeling of internationalism inseparably connected with Socialism.

Others longed to secure by means of war an antidote to what, in their opinion, was an ever-increasing tendency toward materialism. They declared that, when a nation enjoyed peace too long, many virtues and ideal aspirations disappeared. Everyone was consumed by the passion for acquiring money and the comforts of life. War was a chalybeate bath, which alone could heal the people spiritually and morally.

Still others argued more temperately, declaring that, with Pan-Germanism in Russia, the thirst for revenge in France, England’s commercial jealousy, the continual buzzing in the Balkans, war was unavoidable sooner or later. If this was so, it was better that the war should come soon; for now the milit ary position of Germany was exceptionally favorable: the deepening of the Channel of the North Baltic Sea, necessary for the German warships, had been accomplished; German finances and German arms were at their best, because of the gigantic appropriations of 1912-13. Russia’s st rategic positions were not yet completed. France had no high-angle artillery. The three-year term of service just agreed upon in France had not yet had time to achieve any practical result. In short, all military chances were, at this moment, on the side of Germany.

In addition, there was the fact that the gigantic military machine of Germany in itself produced a certain warspirit. Under the influence of Herr von Tirpitz we had built an enormous warfleet. There were a number of naval officers who longed to prove that the young German navy equaled the old English. The great General Staff had for decades been working out, to the last detail, mobilization plans and war plans. There were many military men who would have liked to show their people that t he enormous sacrifices for war purposes had not been made in vain. The inventor of a marvelous machine likes to see it work. Officers who, all their lives, had done garrison duty only, must feel that they had missed their opportunity. They knew that everything would work out. Therefore, they were not unwilling to have things come to a head.

The German Government, however, was not anxious for war. Chancellor von Bethmann-Hollweg was anything but a militarist ora Pan-German. But, he was not energetic. He neither dared to oppose the heckling of the Pan-Germans with the necessary severity, nor had he the necessary backbone to require of the Emperor that the civil power be placed above the military power. He did not force the war, but he let the war be forced.

The unfairly severe Viennese ultimatum to Serbia on July 23, 1914,

literally forcing war, struck like a bomb. The Pan-Germans rejoiced. Groups of students and other young people marched through the streets, singing patriotic songs and inciting to war. The Socialist laborers held massmeetings against the war. The citizens, unenlightened and undecided as they almost always are, held their breath, waiting patiently for the development of affairs.

In frenzied haste the events of July twenty-third rushed to the decisive fourth of August. Of all that concerned it, the German public learned only so much as its Government thought wise to impart . And that was passing little, and only what was favorable to home policy and unfavorable to the policy of the other nations involved. In especial, the Germans had no idea that the ultimatum to Serbia had been promulgated with the knowledge and approval of the German Government.

Russia interfered because of the requirements of Pan-Slavic power. And Germany had to remain faithful to her Austro-Hungarian allies. This was the aspect of the affair which the German Government chose to put forward, and in this aspect it was seen by the Germans, who had no idea of the news printed on the other side of the boundaries. To be sure, even the German news would have made a critically inclined person critical. But who was critical at that time? The mere expectation of war had caused a warpsychosis.

When the Reichstag met, on August 4, the vote for t he war credit was a foregone conclusion. The citizens’ parties, equally infected with the nationalistic bacillus, were unitedly for it.

Only t he attitude of the Social Democrats was undecided. As, in numbers, they represented only a minority in the Reichstag, their vote did not matter. All the more, their moral influence counted. A war against the wishes of t he German labor representat ion would, from the beginning, have been a lost cause.

Among the Social Democrats, opinions differed; but when it came to the vote, there were only fourteen ballots against the credit. The balance was turned, not alone by the murder of the French Socialist leader, Jaurès, by a French Nationalist, but more particularly by the hatred of Tsaristic Russia. One recalled that saying of old August Bebel’s — when it came to attacking Russia, then he would shoulder a gun.

The Government had succeeded in convincing some of the Social Democratic leaders that Russia w as the real mischief-maker. The German laborers went gleefully to war, because they believed that the hour had come to settle up with the arch-enemy of the modern labor movement — the Tsarist autocracy.

Unanimously the Reichstag agreed to the war-credit. Even the fourteen dissenting Social Democrats submitted to party discipline, and voted for it. The entire representation of the German people seemed of one accord. The moral effect was tremendous. Whoever might question the good moral right of the German declaration of war surrendered his doubts now. If even the most radical opponents agreed with the Government, the justice of the German cause must be beyond doubt.

I happened to be spending the decisive days at the beginning of the war away from home — in France, England, and Belgium. I returned to Germany only on the fourth of August. My position was different from that of almost all my countrymen. I knew the facts on both sides, and, therefore, from the first day, was of an open mind. The contrast between the feeling without and the feeling within overwhelmed me. In France I had found only fearful anxiety about the possibility of war. In England, a decided disinclination toward participation in war. In Belgium, wild indignation over the breach of neutrality.

And in Germany? There I found a war enthusiasm without parallel. I felt completely isolated. All capacity for criticism had disappeared, not only among the easily swayed youth, not only among the easily influenced man on the street : the most serious, the most skeptical men believed, suddenly, everything that the official Wolff Bureau and the censored press offered them. They believed in the 24 motors which were to carry masses of gold straight through Germany from France to Russia (and in consequence shot a dozen patriotic German chauffeurs whom they mistook for the drivers of the Russian gold-motors). They believed, at that time, that the French had thrown bombs over Nürnberg. Everywhere in Germany were strange aviators, and on that account the people shot, indiscriminately, clouds and German aviators. They believed that the French had poisoned German wells, and even German rivers. In fact, every report spread abroad by the Government, in order to drive a naturally peaceable people into a frenzy of war and hate, was swallowed whole.

I met old Democrats who, only six weeks before, had preached that distrust is the primary virtue of democracy. Of nothing had their distrust been greater than of the information given by the Government and the military party. Now they believed every word that went out from the home office of the Commander-in-Chief of the army. If one dared express the slightest doubt, one ran the risk of being denounced as a traitor by one’s oldest friend, and, at least, of being placed under arrest. It was a spiritual plague. There was nothing to do but to wait until the epidemic died out, or, at least, began to wane. One thought dominated all others: the war will be not only successful, but also very short. In six weeks, entrance into Paris; at Christmastime, return through the Brandenburger Tor. A particularly zealous old general advised the Berlin houseowners, as early as September, 1914, not to rent their windows for the victory parade at profiteer prices.

III

DURING THE WAR

The large majority of the German people, counted on a war of four months, and it lasted more than four years. In spite of this, their spirit remained practically unchanged until the summer of 1918. Only a minority — though a growing one — fell away in the course of the years, had doubts as to the justice of the German cause, grew skeptical about the result, became impatient of the increasing privations, assumed a critical attitude toward the Government, and, finally, took the position that any peace was better than a continuation of the war. The majority persisted in the point of view of August 4, 1914. The exuberance of feeling subsided, it is true. In its place appeared a firm determination to hold out. The people endured suffering, because they were firmly convinced that the end would bring the ‘reward of sacrifice.’ With almost superstitious tenacity, they clung to two sayings uttered by military authorities: ‘Time is working for us,’ and ‘Whoever keeps his nerve longest will win.’

With each new war loan t he Government announced that, if it was only subscribed to sufficiently, it would surely be the last. The people believed this and subscribed to the utmost, some incurring debts in order to subscribe.

And yet, the necessity of a new war loan arose every half-year. But the deceived people were not disillusioned. They subscribed anew, if they possibly could.

From whence came this spirit of firm endurance? For the most part, it was created by the really admirably functioning organization of public opinion. The Germans, as a matter of fact, have a talent for organization. But they brought forth their masterpiece in the organization for influencing the press, created the first day of the war, and continued, and constantly improved, throughout the whole period of the war. Whether this organization was a blessing to the German people is a different question, but as a technical accomplishment, it was unsurpassed.

The press organization was purely military in character. In other words, ‘Ludendorff made public opinion in Germany.’ Twice a week the Press Conference — representatives of all the Berlin papers and the important provincial ones — met in a great hall, to receive information and instructions. The chairman of the Conference was a superior officer. The representat ives of the civil authorities appeared only as subordinate figures. Even the press men were merely the object, not the subject, of the meeting. They could ask questions, but they had no right to demand an answer.

The aim of the conferences was exclusively this: to kindle the determination to hold out and conquer. ‘Lying is now a patriotic duty.’ That was the leitmotiv of everything.

The large majority of the press representatives supported from conviction any measure of the Commander-inChief of the army. Open opposition was impossible. Two all-powerful means were at the disposal of the military authorities, to nip every attempt at opposition in the bud — censorship and arrest. It must never be forgotten that, during the whole war, in Germany, the civil authorities were subordinated to the military. The civil aut horities were only tools of the military authorities, bound to absolute obedience. The whole country was in a state of siege and was divided into military districts. The chiefs of these districts had the rights of a sovereign. To be sure, they could be removed by the Emperor; but so long as they held office, they were absolute masters in their departments.

The censorship concerned itself ostensibly only with military affairs. By a liberal interpretation, however, all political matters — even theatrical criticisms and announcements — were included in the censorship, as necessary for the conduct of the war. The newspapers which did not submit unconditionally could be commanded to stop publication indefinitely. There was no redress. In the latter part of the war, this state of affairs was, to be sure, ameliorated by some legal guaranties. But these remained on paper. The well-known Communist, Rosa Luxemburg, for instance was locked up for years, until the Revolution, without its being possible to accuse her even of a misdemeanor.

Most people are politically the result of their daily newspaper-reading. And as, during the war, with increasingly few exceptions, all newspapers published only what the Commander-in-Chief of the Army wished to have printed, it is not surprising that almost all Germans went through thick and thin under the domination of the Commander-in-Chief.

The War Press Bureau recognized as its chief task the support of the spirit of August 4, 1914. To that, according to its conception, belonged two essentials — Hate and Hope. The object of hatred varied. Sometimes it was the Russians, of whose atrocities in East Prussia the most exaggerated reports were spread. Sometimes it was t he Italians, or Rumanians, whose treachery was represented as the epitome of depravity. Sometimes it was the Americans, whose chief characteristic was dubbed hypocrisy. The French got off most easily, while the English were the constant object of the bitterest enmity. There were many officers who called them only the Baralongs.

It was hard to keep up the hope of ultimate victory, as disappointments multiplied. But much was accomplished by concealing the unfavorable news, or minimizing it, and by exaggerating what was favorable. It was forbidden to give the totals of war-losses. No news of sunken U-boats could be made public. Statistics of health-conditions, of increase in death-rates and decrease in birt hs, were forbidden. Forced retreats were represented as strategic movements.

Above all, it was necessary, whenever one great hope was shattered, to produce a new one as a will-o’-the-wisp on the horizon. When the Holy War of Islam against England proved a mistake, the starvation of England by the U-boat war must take its place. When the help of Poland proved to be madness, they counted on the Russian Revolution. When hunger in Germany, in spite of all optimism, became more acute, people were hypnotized by the tale that the ‘Bread Peace’ with the Ukraine would fill the hungry mouths.

When the Americans, in spite of the word of the Prime Minister that they could neither swim nor fly, came in greater numbers to Europe, the people were told that the great spring offensive of Ludendorff would bring the final victory, before the Americans could be put into action. There was always a new and enticing mirage.

And the German people believed because they had blind faith in Hindenburg. The victor of Tannenberg had been crowned since September, 1914, with t he halo of a demi-god. Doubt of him was regarded as treachery — almost as blasphemy.

The number of pacifists increased during the war, but only very slowly, for every possibility of proving its contention was taken away from pacifism. The old pacifist organization, the German Peace Society, was crippled soon after the beginning of the war by military enactment.

The newly established League of the New Fatherland, to which Socialist leaders and radical civil intellectuals belonged, disclosed an intense activity in the spring of 1915. It even created, at a convention at The Hague, the possibility of negotiations between Germany and England. But just because it threatened to become influential, every activity of speech and writing was forbidden it. The same thing happened to the newly established Centre for the Rights of the People. This, too, was soon condemned to a fictitious existence. Mere membership in it was a danger.

The suppression of every legal opposition created an illegal one, which came from both sides. The extreme PanGermans were dissatisfied with Chancellor Bethmann because he did not agree to their annexation plan. The extreme pacifists demanded from the Government the open acknowledgment of an arbitration peace without annexations and contributions, and no longer believed the fairy-tale of the enforced war and an attacked Germany. A thi rd group displayed a radical Socialistic trend, which, according to the Russian pattern, was working toward a revolulion. Under the inspiration of all three groups, secret writings appeared, which were followed up by the civil government, while the military departments often favored secretly, or even openly, the Pan-German propaganda.

When, in the summer of 1917, widening circles realized the failure of the increased U-boat war, a certain opposition to the omnipotence of the military government appeared for t he first time in Parliament . It expressed itself in the acceptance of the so-called peace resolutions. The independent Social Democracy, which refused the war loans, gained adherents among the people. Increasing want on one side, and the immense gains of the war profiteers on the other, caused widespread dissatisfaction.

A certain discontent arose in the army — less because of the length of the war, which was endured with touching patience, than because of conditions within the service. Young upstart officers became the superiors of old reserves of forty-five years and more. Old fathers of families had to remain away from their families and business, while strong young men, because of their connections or money, were exempt at home. The soldiers at the front were poorly nourished, while the officers in the rear could lead a care-free, gluttonous existence. Outwardly discipline still held; inwardly it was gone — with the moral resistance of the great masses. The people began to listen rather to Wilson’s messages than to the Emperor’s speeches.

The second battle of the Marne, in the summer of 1918, was not alone a military defeat, but also the expression of the fact that the German people were no longer capable, physically or morally, of continuing the war. They had accomplished almost the superhuman in patient waiting. Now they had reached the end of their strength.

IV

THE COLLAPSE

The German people approached the great spring offensive of 1918 with unbounded faith in victory. The Russian opponent in the East, through the peace treaty of Brest-Litovsk, concluded in February, was done away. Immense numbers of troops were thus released. Everything could be concentrated in the West. Purposely the Government, as well as the Chief Command, spread the belief among the people and the army that the offensive was so well prepared that it could not fail. It must immediately lead to the occupation of Paris and the driving of the English across the Channel. Then the war on the Continent would cease, and peace be shortly assured. The people and the army hoped anew. The spirit almost recalled that of August, 1914.

The first reports of victory in March awakened stormy enthusiasm, boundless expectation, and unlimited demands for annexation. Then suddenly the offensive broke. The public was taken aback. TheChief Command soothed it: ‘This is only a breathing-spell. Final victory is assured.’

New victories followed; a new pause. The breathing-spells grew longer. The public became somewhat uneasy. St ill, things were going forward, even if with interruptions.

In the middle of July came t he first great defeat. Foch’s reserve army, which the Chief Command had reported as annihilated, appeared suddenly in overwhelming force on the flank of the German army, brought it first to a standstill, then caused it to give way, back over the Marne. The retreat, began.

The greater the expectations had been in the spring, the more fatally the disappointment in summer reacted — especially in the army itself; for there one was closer to events than in t he interior of Germany, where the censorship could still stifle the truth somewhat. The soldiers became enraged. They felt themselves deceived and betrayed. They had been induced to make the supreme effort by promises of certain victory. Now they saw themselves retreating — not because they had failed in bravery, but simply because the enemy was stronger, and, above all, better armed. They had themselves read that their leaders had announced the annihilation of Foch’s army of reserve, and now it appeared that this announcement was a fraud. They simply lost their belief in Hindenburg and Ludendorff, and because they did not believe in their leaders any longer, they did not believe in the possibility of victory. But if victory were impossible, then there was only one watchword for them: ‘Now no further useless sacrifices, but peace at any price.’

That was the temper of the army in 1918. Every letter that went home, every soldier on furlough who came to his home-town, carried this word with him. Without let or hindrance, soldiers declared aloud, on the trains or in the public houses, that there would not be another winter campaign.

After the war, the Pan-Germans spread the report abroad that ‘a dagger-thrust from behind’ had assassinated the victorious front. Nearly all nationalistic Germans believed this fairy-tale. It became the nucleus of all reactionary propaganda intended to discredit the Revolut ion, and to represent it as the real cause of the defeat.

And yet the Pan-German assertion was demonstrably untrue. To be sure, there was a group of radical laborers who had been working secretly, under the influence of Moscow, toward a revolution; but so few people were involved, that a nation of sixty millions and an army of nearly ten millions could never have been seriously affected by it. No, the military defeat was not the result of the Revolution, but t he Revolution was the result of the military defeat. The desire to make an end first broke out in the army. From the army it spread to the home. The troops, of course, began the Revolution, not the laborers — though not the troops at the front, it is true, but the sailors at Kiel. At the front, this new attitude showed itself only in the passivity which took the place of four years of intense activity.

From August on, leaders and Government became uncertain. They felt that the war was lost; that all that mattered was to ratify a half-way endurable peace. They noticed the growing dissatisfaction and restlessness of the army and the people. But they believed that they could cure this distemper with simple remedies.

At last, they approached the reforms long demanded by the people: the introduction of democratic suffrage in Prussia, parliamentarization of the government; the subordination of the military power to the civil power. Prince Max von Baden, who was considered a liberal non-partisan, was appointed Chancellor, to carry out these reforms.

It was too late. That which, a short year before, would have worked wonders, now proved to be but a straw in the wind.

People and army, at this moment, cared nothing at all for internal political reforms. They wanted only one thing — PEACE — instant peace! And the chief obstacle to instant peace was incarnate for them in the person of Wilhelm II. They had inferred from Wilson’s messages that he would not negotiate with the representatives of an autocratic system. Universally it was understood that Wilson, on whom all hopes of peace centred, would procure peace for a democratic Germany, but never for the Germany of the Emperor.

Excitement in the country grew. The rigor of the censorship had to be relaxed. The necessity of Wilhelm’s abdication was eagerly discussed. Even the Government recognized that this abdication offered the only possibility for the maintenance of quiet. Wilhelm alone remained deaf to the wishes of the people, and the Government was not brave enough to press him strongly.

Then came what had to come.

In the first days of November the mutinous sailors had taken possession of the city and harbor of Kiel. They had mutinied because they had learned t hat they were to go forth to a meaningless last sea-fight with England. They, the most radical and most active element in the German forces, felt no desire to crown a lost war with the useless loss of their own lives. They preferred to depose their officers, and seize the power themselves.

Thanks to the censorship, at first only a little of the news from Kiel filtered through to the rest of the country. Gradually, however, it sifted through everywhere — finally it even reached Berlin.

On the eighth of November, I was asked at noon, by telephone, to preside at a meeting of all the laborers of the Wireless companies. It was an enormous meeting. Similar meetings were held by the employees of all great factories. The purpose of all these gatherings was to ensure unanimous action of the workers for the next day. Everywhere the slogan was adopted: ‘If the abdication of the Emperor is reported in the morning papers, then work will be conducted as usual. If not, then a general strike!’

On the ninth of November, early in the morning, the Emperor had not yet abdicated, as desired. Therefore, the factories remained empty. With closed ranks, hundreds of thousands of laborers moved from the suburbs to the heart of the city. The available troops in Berlin and the vicinity were sent to meet them. But when the laborers and the troops met, they fraternized. The officers recognized their own helplessness, and disappeared.

While Wilhelm was fleeing from the front to Holland, in a motor-car, his former capital had passed over into the possession of the laborers and soldiers, without any bloodshed. No Monarchist dared resist. But not a hair of a Monarchist was harmed.

The citizens watched the unaccustomed spectacle of the Revolution curiously. They took no part in it, but they were not hostile to it. The laborers and soldiers alone w ere the actors in this peaceful drama. They gave expression to their newly acquired power by immediately organizing Labor-andSoldier Councils.'

On the afternoon of November 9, the Social Democratic leader, Scheidemann, whom Prince Max von Baden had appointed Chancellor, announced officially from the Reichstag the German Republic. The controlling power went to the six popular delegates, Scheidemann, Ebert, Landsberg, Haase, Dittman, and Barth: three Majority, Socialists and three independent Social Democrats.

V

AFTER THE WAR

If an election had been held directly after November 9, the result would have been an overwhelming Socialistic majority. Not only the laborers, but even the peasants, the bourgeoisie, and, above all, the soldiers, would have almost unanimously voted ‘Red.’ Everywhere there was tumultuous joy at the thought that at last the war was at an end, and the upholders of the war-system had been overthrown. Credit for it was given to Social Democracy. Thanks were given to that party. Reliance was placed in it.

A few weeks were sufficient to bring about a change of heart in important circles. The Government was crippled, because the two Socialistic parties, instead of uniting, were generally working against each other. In the council of the delegates of the people, where they were equally strong, the three votes of the one often neutralized the three votes of the other. Besides, there were, so to speak, two governments: in addition to the six delegates of the people, there were the Labor-and-Soldier Councils, whose chiefs considered themselves, as having rights not only equal to those of the delegates, but, possibly, even superior. And, above all, the Communists were outside of the Government. Their leader, Karl Liebknecht, had refused to join. Hypnotized by the Russian example, they had fought against a Constitutional National Assembly and for the introduction of the Soviet system. They were not numerous, but they were active and noisy.

The Revolution had taken place almost without bloodshed. But in December, and in the beginning of January, 1919, there were bloody street fights, especially in Berlin; not between revolution and reaction, — the reactionaries were at that time, as a body, in hiding, — but between the revolutionary government and the ultra-revolut ionaries on the Left. The responsibility for the bloodshed, will not be inquired into here. The result of it was undoubtedly, on the one hand, the withdrawal of the independent Social Democrats from the government; on the other, the turning of most of the citizens and peasants from Social Democracy. For a while after the ninth of November the peasants and citizens had sympathized with the Social Democrats, not from logical considerations, but because of emotional excitement. When their fantastic hopes were not at once fulfilled, but when, on the contrary, every few days the papers were full of bloodshed and destruction, they decided to formulate a citizens’ ticket.

The election to the National Assembly on the nineteenth of January showed, to be sure, that Social Democracy was the strongest party in Germany, but it revealed a citizens’ majority.

Up to the present this fundamental attitude of the German people has continued. Social Democracy has remained, in spite of all variations at the different elections, the strongest party; but even with the addition of the other Socialistic parties, it has never been able to secure a majority.

According to human judgment, Socialism has no prospect of attaining a majority in Germany in the immediate future, and, thereby, the balance of power. Above all, of course, Bolshevism has no chance. Perhaps outsiders have believed in a Bolshevistic menace threatening Germany, and from Germany the whole world. But this conclusion does not do justice to the facts. The boasts of German Communists and the delirium of the reactionaries were taken too seriously. Both sides — the extreme Left, as well as the extreme Right — had an interest in exaggeration. The one painted everything in rosiest hues, to give courage to its adherents; the other represented everything in darkest colors, in order to drive the anxious citizens and peasants into the alleged sole refuge of the Monarchistic reaction.

As a matter of fact, the main body of German laborers is by nature immune to the Bolshevist infection. The Russian is a mystic, susceptible to Tolstoyan trains of thought, passive, fatalistic, inclined to subordinate himself blindly to a higher power — whether it be called Tsarism or Soviet dictatorship. The German laborer is a Rationalist — active, critical (if not under a war-psychosis), trained by decades of party work and guild work; Utopian, perhaps, in his plans, but fundamentally politic in his practical activity. He uses, perhaps, in public speeches the phrase, ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’; but in reality he clings to nothing so much as freedom of speech and of writing.

The impotence of German Communism showed itself most clearly when the attempt was made at Eastertide, 1921, to organize a revolt in middle Germany. Scarcely a few tens of thousands of laborers answered the call to arms. All the rest of Germany remained quiet. The uprising did not, however, harm capital at all — it harmed only the Communist party itself, which, since that time, has not been free from internal strife. It is in complete collapse. The strength of its propaganda is crippled as much from this cause as by the development in Russia. German laborers used to like to hear from Russia the news that there masters had become slaves, and slaves masters. But since they know that (apart from the new Soviet aristocracy) the alleged ruling laborers in Russia are worse off to-day than ever before, and that, besides, Russia is to-day the least free of governments, they have recovered from all illusions about the so-called panacea of the Soviet system. The reports of the numerous German laborers and labor representatives, who went to Russia as optimists and returned as pessimists, were the greatest, aids to disillusionment.

There is no Bolshevist menace for Germany. But there is a very real reactionary danger. Wilhelm II is dethroned, but Wilhelmism is far from being destroyed.

If a plebiscite were held in Germany to-day, on the question, Monarchy or Republic? it is very doubtful what the result would be. It is certain that the Socialistic laborers are all Republicans. But they comprise only about twofifths of the population. In opposition to them, as a great Monarchistic body, stand the great landowners, the great manufacturers, and the great financiers, the headmasters, the professors, the students, higher officials, and old officers — considerable in numbers, but chiefly to be reckoned with on account of their powerful financial, agricultural, and social influence. Consider that a man like Hugo Stinnes alone controls sixty publications. The decision would lie with the non-Socialist workingmen, peasants, and middle classes which stand between the Socialists and working men who are Republicans by conviction and the upper classes who are equally pronounced Royalists. This middle stratum is neither Republican nor Royalist. Politically it is quite inactive. When the situation is doubtful, it is apt to line up with the stronger party. Neither an attack on the Republic, nor a defense of it, can be expected from this direction. To-day it inclines probably more toward the monarchy than toward the Republic — in the first place, because the newspapers which it reads are overwhelmingly anti-Republican, and again because it compares the agricultural conditions to-day (especially taxes and prices) with those of 1914, and says, ‘Conditions were better under Wilhelm.’ These unpolitical people are simply not used to political logic. They make the trustee in bankruptcy responsible for the failure.

Except for two considerations, then, the German Republic might be considered in great danger.

The German Monarchists have no universally acknowledged candidate. Neither Wilhelm II nor the Crown Prince is high enough in favor among the Monarchist leaders. The manner in which they, as officers, in 1918, sought their own safety first, abroad, robbed them of all prestige — especially with the old officers. The Monarchists confine themselves, therefore, to a general Monarchist agitation, not designating definitely the personal subject of this agitation. That, however, makes the agitation absolutely futile, and takes popular strength away from it.

One thing, above all, is to be remembered: the Monarchists are afraid of the united opposition of the Socialist labor party. It is possible to break up these laborers into parties. They are united in their guilds, which include eight millions of members; and these guilds are united when it comes to the defense of the Republic. When a Monarchist restoration was attempted by the Kapp Putsch, in March, 1920, a general strike disposed of the conspirators in five days. This lesson has not been forgotten by the Monarchists.

The danger that Monarchism might attain its real aim is less imminent than that it might fill the Republic with a militaristic nationalistic spirit by its activities. The same circles that are consciously anti-Republican are also consciously anti-pacific. They do not believe in international reconciliation. They do not want it. They know very well that Germany cannot make war to-day, but they wish to keep up the war-spirit in the people, or, in so far as it no longer exists, to reawaken it. They preach hate and hope and revenge.

With the masses of the laborers they accomplish nothing. In immense demonstrations held in two hundred German cities, on July 31, 1921, the laborers announced their wish: Never again war! But they have a decided influence on many unpolitical elements, and especially on the youth of the upper schools. Other circumstances help them — many provisions of the Versailles Peace Treaty, which are found to be unjust, or even unbearable; the non-participation of Germany in the League of Nations; the favoring of the Poles through the French; the military occupation of the Rhine territory. France has become the chief object of hatred, while the United States, through the work of the Quakers, has become almost popular, and Lloyd George is considered a clever business man, with whom one can easily come to an understanding.

Nationalism and pacifism (the latter upheld principally by the Socialistic masses) are struggling together in Germany. To secure for pacifism the ultimate victory is, of course, in the first place, the task of the German people itself. The problem of the German pacifist, however, the satisfactory solution of which belongs to all humanity, can be materially simplified by the adoption of a correct and in particular a psychologically judicious policy by all the countries with which Germany was once at war.