Between Fanaticism and Terror: Hitler, Stalin and The Noise of Time

During WWII much of Europe was caught in a vice between fanaticism and terror; between Hitler and Stalin. The plight of tens of millions of people falling victim to Stalinism on the one hand and Fascism on the other is eloquently captured by Gustaw Herling, a Polish prisoner in the Soviet Union: “I think with horror and shame of a Europe divided into two parts by the line of the Bug, on one side of which millions of Soviet slaves prayed for liberation by the armies of Hitler, and on the other millions of victims of German concentration camps awaited deliverance by the Red Army as their last hope” (A World Apart, 175-76). The similarities between these two evil dictators obsessed with acquiring unlimited power are far greater than their differences. Yet it’s worth noting that the two tyrants selected their targets differently. Stalin’s purges covered every segment of Soviet society, almost indiscriminately: the Communist party; the Politburo; even the army, navy and air force during a period of time when preparations for war should have been a priority.

Julian Barnes, winner of the Man Booker Prize in 2011, describes the arbitrary nature of Stalin’s Great Terror in his biographical novel about the composer Dimitri Shostakovich, The Noise of Time (New York and London: Knopf, 2016). Tellingly, the title phrase is borrowed from Osip Mandelstam’s memoirs, who himself died in a transit camp during the Great Terror of 1938. In personalizing the plight of millions by focusing on the tribulations of a single life—particularly that of a famous musician—Barnes illustrates that nobody was immune to Stalin’s subjugating power. Even the great Soviet General and Chief of Staff, Mikhail Tukhachevsky, the composer’s patron, fell victim to Stalin’s paranoia during the purge of the military in June 1937.

By some miracle or good fortune, Shostakovich’s life is spared by Stalin. But the composer’s reputation isn’t, rising and falling with the vicissitudes of the Soviet regime, which the narrator calls “the Power”. In 1936, Shostakovich suffers a humiliating reprimand for his opera Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District, deemed by Pravda, the official Soviet newspaper and propaganda mouthpiece, to be representative of the “fidgety, neurotic music” of the bourgeoisie. Although later Stalin personally calls the composer on the phone and undoes some of the damage to his reputation, Shostakovich, along with millions of Soviet citizens, lives in constant fear of the dictator’s arbitrary—and often fatal–displays of power.

Success and failure have a way of boiling down to the same thing in totalitarian regimes, which subsume artistic merit to ideological whims and injunctions. Even after Stalin’s death, during Nikita Khrushchev’s milder authoritarian regime, when the composer is pressured to join the Communist Party in order to become the Chairman of the Russian Federation Union of Composers, Shostakovich feels almost as humiliated and harangued as he did when he was vilified by Stalin’s acolytes in Pravda. In channeling the character of Shostakovich so compellingly and revealing with a keen sense of irony the arbitrary nature of Soviet totalitarianism, Barnes depicts its inner workings as well as those who had suffered its effects first-hand: authors such as Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Eugenia Ginzburg.

By way of contrast to Stalin’s arbitrary purges, Hitler honed in on one main target: the Jews. His single-minded focus on destroying the Jewish people could only be called, in his own words, “fanaticism”. He remarked: “Any violence which does not spring from a firm spiritual base will be wavering and uncertain. It lacks the stability which can only rest in a fanatical outlook” (Mein Kampf, 171). There are many hypotheses concerning what might have caused Hitler’s hatred of the Jews, ranging from psychological to sociological and biographical explanations. These speculations, however, only make sense in hindsight. Nothing in Hitler’s adolescence, when pathology usually shows up, gave any obvious signs of the tremendous anti-Semitic hatred that would later dominate his life.

Biographers state that Hitler was a mediocre student, receiving poor grades in physics, mathematics and German. He performed better in art, but wasn’t original. As a young man, he pursued his floundering artistic career in Vienna for about six years. Some state that Hitler’s anti-Semitism grew out of his frustration with being rejected by the prestigious Vienna Art Academy. They surmise that he blamed his failure on the Jews. While there may be some truth in this conjecture, there’s evidence to the contrary as well. Hitler continued to sell his art and make a living from its sales, supplemented by funds from his family. Interestingly, as Raul Hilberg points out, “Apparently, two of the [art] dealers were Jews” (Perpetrators, Victims, Bystanders, 4).

WWI seems to have been a major turning point in Hitler’s life. But even then nobody could have guessed that this mediocre soldier would rise to absolute power and wield death and destruction throughout Europe. Hitler was decorated the Iron Cross First Class during the war, but only the second or third time that he was recommended for it: incidentally, by a Jew (Lieutenant Gutmann). At the end of WWI, Hitler was gassed and spent a considerable period of time recuperating in a military hospital. There he had time to contemplate what might have brought about the humiliating defeat of Germany in WWI. After the war, Hitler took a course in Pan-Germanism and became more radicalized in his anti-Semitism. Adolf Gemlich, a German army soldier wrote Hitler a letter asking him about the importance of the “Jewish Question”. Hitler wrote Gemlich a response that prefigured the major themes of Mein Kampf, his autobiographical treatise written in prison and published in 1925-26. He distinguished between an anti-Semitism based on reason, or what he called a “rational” and “scientific” anti-Semitism, which would have staying power, and an anti-Semitism based on emotion, manifested by pogroms. Only the former, he stipulated, could efface the Jews from the face of the Earth. (For more information on Hitler’s letter, see the Jewish Virtual Library, https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/adolf-hitler-s-first-antisemitic-writing)

This letter, and particularly the delineation of a systematic and “scientific” anti-Semitism, earned Hitler a reputation on the “Jewish Question” among anti-Semitic radicals opposed to the Weimar Republic. So to return to our earlier question: why did Hitler target the Jews as the main scapegoat and object of his vitriol? He offers a direct answer to this question in Mein Kampf:

 

“The art of leadership as displayed by really great popular leaders in all ages, consists in consolidating the attention of the people against a single adversary… Where there are various enemies…it will be necessary to block them all together as forming one solid front, so that the mass of followers in a popular movement may see only one common enemy against whom they have to fight. Such uniformity intensifies their belief in their own cause and strengthens their feeling of hostility towards the opponent” (Mein Kampf, 110).

 

This statement reflects the cold and calculated reasoning Hitler alluded to as early as the note of 1919. He targeted the Jews as his scapegoats and victims for strategic reasons. Hitler’s explicit intent was to simplify the root of Germany’s social and economic problems to the Jews—considered outsiders in most European countries–and coalesce all forces and people against this common enemy. His choice wasn’t primarily a matter of genuine emotion, nor only of pathological hatred. As for Stalin during the Great Terror, it was primarily the product of an insatiable and malicious will to power. This answer–which boils down to power for its own sake–could have never offered a satisfactory response to the question scribbled by victims on cell walls, in prisons, concentration camps and gulags; a question which still echoes to this day: “Zachto—Why?”

Claudia Moscovici, psychopathyawareness

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