POLITICS
AS
A VOCATION
MAX WEBER
POLITICS AS A VOCATION
BY
MAX WEBER
REPRINTED FROM MAX WEBER: ESSAYS IN SOCIOLOGY TRANSLATED, EDITED, AND WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY H. H. GERTH and C. WRIGHT MILLS
NEW YORK OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
1946
inoulin digital editions
2014
Politics as a Vocation
('Politik als Beruf,' Gesammelte Politische Schriften (Miinchen, 1921), pp. c396-4>50. Originally a speech at Munich University, 1918, published in 1919 by Duncker & Humblot, Munich.)
THIS lecture, which I give at your request, will necessarily disap- point you in a numher of ways. You will naturally expect me to take a position on actual prohlems of tire day. But that will be the case only in a purely formal way and toward tire end, when I shall raise certain questions concerning tire significance of political action in the whole way of life. In today's lecture, all questions that refer to what policy and what content one should give one's political activity must be eliminated. For such questions have nothing to do with the general question of what politics as a vocation means and what it can mean. Now to our subject matter.
What do we understand by politics? The concept is extremely broad and comprises airy kind of independent leadership in action. One speaks of tire currency policy of tire banks, of tire discounting policy of tire Reichsbank, of tire strike policy of a trade union; one may speak of tire educational policy of a municipality or a township, of tire policy of tire president of a voluntary association, and, finally, even of tire policy of a prudent wife who seeks to guide her hus- band. Tonight, our reflections are, of course, not based upon such a broad concept. We wish to understand by politics only tire leader- ship, or tire influencing of tire leadership, of a political association, hence today, of a state.
But what is a 'political' association from tire sociological point of view? What is a 'state'? Sociologically, the state cannot be defined in terms of its ends. There is scarcely any task that some political asso- ciation has not taken in hand, and there is no task that one could say has always been exclusive and peculiar to those associations which are designated as political ones: today tire state, or historically, those associations which have been tire predecessors of tire modern state. Ultimately, one can define tire modern state sociologically only in terms of tire specific means peculiar to it, as to every political associ- ation, namely, the use of physical force.
'Every state is founded on force,' said Trotsky at Brest-Litovsk. That is indeed right. If no social institutions existed which knew tire use of violence, then tire concept of 'state' would be eliminated, and a condition would emerge that could be designated as 'anarchy,' in the specific sense of this word. Of course, force is certainly not the normal or tire only means of tire state— nobody says that— but force is a means specific to tire state. Today tire relation between tire state and violence is an especially intimate one. In the past, the most va- ried institutions— beginning with tire sib— have known the use of physical force as quite normal. Today, however, we have to say that
POLITICS AS A VOCATION
a state is a human community that (successfully) claims the monopo- ly of the legitimate use of physical force within a given territory. Note that 'territory' is one of the characteristics of the state. Specifi- cally, at the present time, the right to use physical force is ascrihed to other institutions or to individuals only to the extent to which the state permits it. The state is considered the sole source of the 'right' to use violence. Hence, 'politics' for us means striving to share pow- er or striving to influence the distribution of power, either among states or among groups within a state.
This corresponds essentially to ordinary usage. When a question is said to be a 'political' question, when a cabinet minister or an offi- cial is said to he a 'political' official, or when a decision is said to he 'politically' determined, what is always meant is that interests in the distribution, maintenance, or transfer of power are decisive for ans- wering die questions and determining the decision or the official's sphere of activity. He who is active in politics strives for power either as a means in serving other aims, ideal or egoistic, or as 'power for power's sake,' that is, in order to enjoy the prestige-feeling that pow- er gives.
Like the political institutions historically preceding it, the state is a relation of men dominating men, a relation supported by means of legitimate (i.e. considered to be legitimate) violence. If the state is to exist, die dominated must obey die authority claimed by die powers that be. When and why do men obey? Upon what inner justifica- tions and upon what external means does this domination rest?
To begin with, in principle, there are three inner justifications, hence basic legitimations of domination.
First, die authority of die 'eternal yesterday,' i.e. of the mores sanctified through die unimaginably ancient recognition and habitual orientation to conform. This is 'traditional' domination exercised by the patriarch and die patrimonial prince of yore.
There is die authority of tire extraordinary and personal gift of grace (charisma), the absolutely personal devotion and personal con- fidence in revelation, heroism, or other qualities of individual lea- dership. This is 'charismatic' domination, as exercised by tire prophet or— in tire field of politics— by tire elected war lord, tire ple- biscitarian ruler, tire great demagogue, or tire political party leader.
Finally, there is domination by virtue of 'legality,' by virtue of tire belief in the validity of legal statute and functional 'competence' based on rationally created rules. In this case, obedience is expected in discharging statutory obligations. This is domination as exercised by the modern 'servant of tire state' and by all those bearers of pow- er who in this respect resemble him.
It is understood that, in reality, obedience is determined by high- ly robust motives of fear and hope— fear of tire vengeance of magical powers or of tire power-holder, hope for reward in this world or in tire beyond— and besides all this, by interests of tire most varied sort.
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POLITICS AS A VOCATION
Of this we shall speak presently. However, in asking for the 'legiti- mations' of this ohedience, one meets with these three 'pure' types: 'traditional,' 'charismatic,' and 'legal.'
These conceptions of legitimacy and their inner justifications are of very great significance for the structure of domination. To be sure, the pure types are rarely found in reality. But today we cannot deal with the highly complex variants, transitions, and combinations of these pure types, which problems belong to 'political science.' Here we are interested above all in the second of these types: domi- nation by virtue of the devotion of those who obey the purely per- sonal 'charisma' of the 'leader.' For this is the root of the idea of a calling in its highest expression.
Devotion to the charisma of the prophet, or the leader in war, or to the great demagogue in the ecclesia or in parliament, means that the leader is personally recognized as the innerly 'called' leader of men. Men do not obey him by virtue of tradition or statute, but be- cause they believe in him. If he is more than a narrow and vain ups- tart of die moment, the leader lives for his cause and 'strives for his work." The devotion of his disciples, his followers, his personal par- ty friends is oriented to his person and to its qualities.
Charismatic leadership has emerged in all places and in all his- torical epochs. Most importantly in the past, it has emerged in the two figures of the magician and the prophet on the one hand, and in the elected war lord, the gang leader and condotierre on the other hand. Political leadership in the form of the free 'demagogue' who grew from the soil of the city state is of greater concern to us; like the city state, the demagogue is peculiar to the Occident and espe- cially to Mediterranean culture. Furthermore, political leadership in the form of the parliamentary 'party leader' has grown on the soil of the constitutional state, which is also indigenous only to the Occi- dent.
These politicians by virtue of a 'calling,' in the most genuine sense of the word, are of course nowhere the only decisive figures in the crosscurrents of the political struggle for power. The sort of aux- iliary means that are at their disposal is also highly decisive. How do the politically dominant powers manage to maintain their domina- tion? The question pertains to any kind of domination, hence also to political domination in all its forms, traditional as well as legal and charismatic.
Organized domination, which calls for continuous administra- tion, requires that human conduct be conditioned to obedience to- wards those masters who claim to be the bearers of legitimate pow- er. On the other hand, by virtue of this obedience, organized domi- nation requires the control of those material goods which in a given case are necessary for the use of physical violence. Thus, organized domination requires control of the personal executive staff and the material implements of administration.
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POLITICS AS A VOCATION
The administrative staff, which externally represents the organi- zation of political domination, is, of course, like any other organiza- tion, hound by obedience to the power-holder and not alone by the concept of legitimacy, of which we have just spoken. There are two other means, both of which appeal to personal interests: material reward and social honor. The fiefs of vassals, the prebends of patri- monial officials, tire salaries of modern civil servants, tire honor of knights, tire privileges of estates, and tire honor of tire civil servant comprise their respective wages. The fear of losing them is tire final and decisive basis for solidarity between tire executive staff and tire power-holder. There is honor and booty for tire followers in war; for the demagogue's following, there are 'spoils'— that is, exploitation of the dominated through the monopolization of office— and there are politically determined profits and premiums of vanity. All of these rewards are also derived from the domination exercised by a cha- rismatic leader.
To maintain a dominion by force, certain material goods are re- quired, just as with an economic organization. All states may be clas- sified according to whether they rest on tire principle that tire staff of men themselves own tire administrative means, or whether tire staff is 'separated' from these means of administration. This distinction holds in tire same sense in which today we say that tire salaried em- ployee and tire proletarian in tire capitalistic enterprise are 'sepa- rated' from tire material means of production. The power-holder must be able to count on tire obedience of tire staff members, offi- cials, or whoever else they may be. The administrative means may consist of money, building, war material, vehicles, horses, or what- not. The question is whether or not the power-holder himself di- rects and organizes tire administration while delegating executive power to personal servants, hired officials, or personal favorites and confidants, who are non-owners, i.e. who do not use the material means of administration in their own right but are directed by the lord. The distinction runs through all administrative organizations of tire past.
These political associations in which the material means of ad- ministration are autonomously controlled, wholly or partly, by the dependent administrative staff may be called associations organized in 'estates' The vassal in the feudal association, for instance, paid out of his own pocket for the administration and judicature of tire district enfeoffed to him. He supplied his own equipment and pro- visions for war, and his subvassals did likewise. Of course, this had consequences for tire lord's position of power, which only rested upon a relation of personal faith and upon tire fact that tire legitima- cy of his possession of the fief and tire social honor of tire vassal were derived from tire overlord.
However, everywhere, reaching back to tire earliest political formations, we also find the lord himself directing tire administra-
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tion. He seeks to take the administration into his own hands by hav- ing men personally dependent upon him: slaves, household officials, attendants, personal 'favorites,' and prebendaries enfeoffed in kind or in money from his magazines. He seeks to defray the expenses from his own pocket, from the revenues of his patrimonium; and he seeks to create an army which is dependent upon him personally because it is equipped and provisioned out of his granaries, maga- zines, and armories. In the association of 'estates,' die lord rules witii die aid of an autonomous 'aristocracy' and hence shares his domination witii it; die lord who personally administers is supported eidier by members of his household or by plebeians. These are propertyless strata having no social honor of dieir own; materially, diey are completely chained to him and are not backed up by any competing power of dieir own. All forms of patriarchal and patri- monial domination, Sultanist despotism, and bureaucratic states be- long to diis latter type. The bureaucratic state order is especially im- portant; in its most rational development, it is precisely characteristic of die modern state.
Everywhere the development of the modern state is initiated dirough die action of die prince. He paves the way for die expropri- ation of the autonomous and 'private' bearers of executive power who stand beside him, of diose who in their own right possess the means of administration, warfare, and financial organization, as well as politically usable goods of all sorts. The whole process is a com- plete parallel to die development of the capitalist enterprise dirough gradual expropriation of the independent producers. In die end, the modern state controls die total means of political organization, which actually come togedier under a single head. No single official personally owns die money he pays out, or die buildings, stores, tools, and war machines he controls. In die contemporary 'state'— and diis is essential for the concept of state— die 'separation' of die administrative staff, of die administrative officials, and of die work- ers from die material means of administrative organization is com- pleted. Here die most modern development begins, and we see widi our own eyes the attempt to inaugurate die expropriation of diis ex- propriator of die political means, and therewidi of political power.
The revolution [of Germany, 1918] has accomplished, at least in so far as leaders have taken die place of die statutory audiorities, this much: die leaders, dirough usurpation or election, have attained control over die political staff and the apparatus of material goods; and diey deduce dieir legitimacy— no matter widi what right— from the will of the governed. Whedier the leaders, on die basis of diis at least apparent success, can rightfully entertain die hope of also carry- ing dirough die expropriation within die capitalist enterprises is a different question. The direction of capitalist enterprises, despite far- reaching analogies, follows quite different laws than diose of political administration.
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Today we do not take a stand on diis question. I state only die purely conceptual aspect for our consideration: die modern state is a compulsory association which organizes domination. It has heen successful in seeking to monopolize die legitimate use of physical force as a means of domination widrin a territory. To this end die state has comhined die material means of organization in die hands of its leaders, and it has expropriated all autonomous functionaries of estates who formerly controlled diese means in dieir own right. The state has taken dieir positions and now stands in die top place.
During diis process of political expropriation, which has oc- curred witii varying success in all countries on eardi, 'professional politicians' in another sense have emerged. They arose first in the service of a prince. They have been men who, unlike die charismat- ic leader, have not wished to be lords themselves, but who have en- tered die sendee of political lords. In the struggle of expropriation, they placed themselves at die princes' disposal and by managing the princes' politics they earned, on die one hand, a living and, on the other hand, an ideal content of life. Again, it is only in die Occident diat we find diis kind of professional politician in die service of powers other than the princes. In the past, they have been the most important power instrument of the prince and his instrument of po- litical expropriation.
Before discussing 'professional politicians' in detail, let us clarify in all its aspects the state of affairs dieir existence presents. Politics, just as economic pursuits, may be a man's avocation or his vocation. One may engage in politics, and hence seek to influence the distri- bution of power within and between political structures, as an 'occa- sional' politician. We are all 'occasional' politicians when we cast our ballot or consummate a similar expression of intention, such as applauding or protesting in a 'political' meeting, or delivering a 'po- litical' speech, etc. The whole relation of many people to politics is restricted to this. Politics as an avocation is today practiced by all diose party agents and heads of voluntary political associations who, as a rule, are politically active only in case of need and for whom politics is, neither materially nor ideally, 'dieir life' in die first place. The same holds for diose members of state counsels and similar deliberative bodies that function only when summoned. It also holds for radier broad strata of our members of parliament who are politi- cally active only during sessions. In die past, such strata were found especially among die estates. Proprietors of military implements in dieir own right, or proprietors of goods important for the adminis- tration, or proprietors of personal prerogatives may be called 'es- tates.' A large portion of them were far from giving dieir lives wholly, or merely preferentially, or more than occasionally, to die service of politics. Rather, diey exploited dieir prerogatives in die interest of gaining rent or even profits; and diey became active in die service of political associations only when die overlord of dieir status-equals
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especially demanded it. It was not different in the case of some of the auxiliary forces which the prince drew into the struggle for the creation of a political organization to be exclusively at his disposal. This was the nature of die Rate von Hans aus [councilors] and, still further back, of a considerable part of the councilors assembling in the 'Curia' and other deliberating bodies of the princes. But these merely occasional auxiliary forces engaging in politics on the side were naturally not sufficient for the prince. Of necessity, the prince sought to create a staff of helpers dedicated wholly and exclusively to serving him, hence making this their major vocation. The structure of the emerging dynastic political organization, and not only this but the whole articulation of the culture, depended to a considerable degree upon the question of where the prince recruited agents.
A staff was also necessary for those political associations whose members constituted themselves politically as (so-called) 'free' communes under the complete abolition or the far-going restriction of princely power.
They were 'free' not in the sense of freedom from domination by force, but in the sense that princely power legitimized by tradition (mostly religiously sanctified) as tire exclusive source of all authority was absent. These communities have their historical home in the Occident. Their nucleus was the city as a body politic, tire form in which the city first emerged in the Mediterranean culture area. In all these cases, what did the politicians who made politics their major vocation look like?
There are two ways of making politics one's vocation: Either one lives 'for' politics or one lives 'off politics. By no means is this con- trast an exclusive one. The rule is, rather, that man does both, at least in thought, and certainly he also does both in practice. He who lives 'for' politics makes politics his life, in an internal sense. Either he enjoys the naked possession of the power he exerts, or he nou- rishes his inner balance and self-feeling by tire consciousness that his life has meaning in the service of a 'cause.' In this internal sense, every sincere man who lives for a cause also lives off this cause. The distinction hence refers to a much more substantial aspect of tire matter, namely, to tire economic. He who strives to make politics a permanent source of income lives 'off politics as a vocation, whe- reas he who does not do this lives 'for' politics. Under the domin- ance of the private property order, some— if you wish— very trivial preconditions must exist in order for a person to be able to live 'for' politics in this economic sense. Under normal conditions, the politi- cian must be economically independent of the income politics can bring him. This means, quite simply, that the politician must be wealthy or must have a personal position in life which yields a suffi- cient income.
This is the case, at least in normal circumstances. The war lord's following is just as little concerned about the conditions of a normal
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economy as is die street crowd following of die revolutionary hero. Bodi live off booty, plunder, confiscations, contributions, and die imposition of worthless and compulsory means of tender, which in essence amounts to die same tiling. But necessarily, diese are ex- traordinary phenomena. In everyday economic life, only some wealdi serves die purpose of making a man economically indepen- dent. Yet diis alone does not suffice. The professional politician must also be economically 'dispensable,' diat is, his income must not depend upon the fact that he constandy and personally places his ability and diinking entirely, or at least by far predominandy, in die service of economic acquisition. In die most unconditional way, the rentier is dispensable in this sense. Hence, he is a man who receives completely unearned income. He may be die territorial lord of die past or die large landowner and aristocrat of die present who receives ground rent. In Antiquity and die Middle Ages they who received slave or serf rents or in modern times rents from shares or bonds or similar sources— these are rentiers.
Neidier die worker nor— and this has to be noted well— die entre- preneur, especially the modern, large-scale entrepreneur, is eco- nomically dispensable in this sense. For it is precisely the entrepre- neur who is tied to his enterprise and is dierefore not dispensable. This holds for die entrepreneur in industry far more dian for the entrepreneur in agriculture, considering die seasonal character of agriculture. In die main, it is very difficult for the entrepreneur to be represented in his enterprise by someone else, even temporarily. He is as littie dispensable as is die medical doctor, and die more emi- nent and busy he is die less dispensable he is. For purely organiza- tional reasons, it is easier for die lawyer to be dispensable; and dierefore the lawyer has played an incomparably greater, and often even a dominant, role as a professional politician. We shall not con- tinue in diis classification; rather let us clarify some of its ramifica- tions.
The leadership of a state or of a party by men who (in the eco- nomic sense of die word) live exclusively for politics and not off pol- itics means necessarily a 'plutocratic' recruitment of die leading po- litical strata. To be sure, this does not mean that such plutocratic leadership signifies at die same time that the politically dominant strata will not also seek to live 'off politics, and hence diat die do- minant stratum will not usually exploit dieir political domination in their own economic interest. All that is unquestionable, of course. There has never been such a stratum that has not somehow lived 'off politics. Only diis is meant: diat the professional politician need not seek remuneration direcdy for his political work, whereas every politician without means must absolutely claim diis. On the other hand, we do not mean to say diat the propertyless politician will pursue private economic advantages dirough politics, exclusively, or even predominandy. Nor do we mean diat he will not diink, in the
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first place, of 'the subject matter.' Nothing would be more incorrect. According to all experience, a care for the economic 'security' of his existence is consciously or unconsciously a cardinal point in the whole life orientation of the wealthy man. A quite reckless and un- reserved political idealism is found if not exclusively at least predo- minantly among those strata who by virtue of their propertylessness stand entirely outside of the strata who are interested in maintaining the economic order of a given society. This holds especially for ex- traordinary and hence revolutionary epochs. A non-plutocratic re- cruitment of interested politicians, of leadership and following, is geared to the self-understood precondition that regular and reliable income will accrue to those who manage politics.
Either politics can be conducted 'honorifically' and then, as one usually says, by 'independent,' that is, by wealthy, men, and especial- ly by rentiers. Or, political leadership is made accessible to property- less men who must then be rewarded. The professional politician who lives 'off politics may be a pure 'prebendary' or a salaried 'offi- cial.' Then the politician receives either income from fees and per- quisites for specific services— tips and bribes are only an irregular and formally illegal variant of this category of income— or a fixed in- come in kind, a money salary, or both. He may assume the charac- ter of an 'entrepreneur,' like the condottiere or the holder of a farmed-out or purchased office, or like the American boss who con- siders his costs a capital investment which he brings to fruition through exploitation of his influence. Again, he may receive a fixed wage, like a journalist, a party secretary, a modern cabinet minister, or a political official. Feudal fiefs, land grants, and prebends of all sorts have been typical, in the past. With the development of the money economy, perquisites and prebends especially are the typical rewards for the following of princes, victorious conquerors, or suc- cessful party chiefs. For loyal sendees today, party leaders give offic- es of all sorts— in parties, newspapers, co-operative societies, health insurance, municipalities, as well as in the state. All party struggles are struggles for the patronage of office, as well as struggles for ob- jective goals.
In Germany, all struggles between the proponents of local and of central government are focused upon the question of which pow- ers shall control the patronage of office, whether they are of Berlin, Munich, Karlsruhe, or Dresden. Setbacks in-participating in offices are felt more severely by parties than is action against their objective goals. In France, a turnover of prefects because of party politics has always been considered a greater transformation and has always caused a greater uproar than a modification in the government's program— the latter almost having the significance of mere verbiage. Some parties, especially those in America since the disappearance of the old conflicts concerning the interpretation of the constitution, have become pure patronage parties handing out jobs and changing
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their material program according to die chances of grabbing votes.
In Spain, up to recent years, the two great parties, in a conven- tionally fixed manner, took turns in office by means of 'elections,' fabricated from above, in order to provide their followers with offic- es. In die Spanish colonial territories, in die so-called 'elections,' as well as in die so-called 'revolutions,' what was at stake was always die state bread-basket from which die victors wished to be fed.
In Switzerland, die parties peacefully divided die offices among themselves proportionately, and some of our 'revolutionary' consti- tutional drafts, for instance die first draft of die Badenian constitu- tion, sought to extend diis system to ministerial positions. Thus, the state and state offices were considered as pure institutions for the provision of spoilsmen.
Above all, die Cadiolic Center party was endiusiastically for diis draft. In Badenia, the part}', as part of die party platform, made the distribution of offices proportional to confessions and hence widiout regard to achievement. This tendency becomes stronger for all par- ties when the number of offices increase as a result of general bu- reaucratization and when die demand for offices increases because diey represent specifically secure livelihoods. For dieir followings, the parties become more and more a means to die end of being provided for in this manner.
The development of modern officialdom into a highly qualified, professional labor force, specialized in expertness dirough long years of preparatory training, stands opposed to all these arrange- ments. Modern bureaucracy in die interest of integrity has devel- oped a high sense of status honor; widiout diis sense die danger of an awful corruption and a vulgar Philistinism direatens fatally. And widiout such integrity, even the purely technical functions of the state apparatus would be endangered. The significance of die state apparatus for the economy has been steadily rising, especially widi increasing socialization, and its significance will be furdier aug- mented.
In die United States, amateur administration dirough booty poli- ticians in accordance widi die outcome of presidential elections re- sulted in die exchange of hundreds of diousands of officials, even down to die mail carrier. The administration knew nodiing of the professional civil-servant-for-life, but diis amateur administration has long since been punctured by die Civil Sendee Reform. Purely tech- nical, irrefrageable needs of the administration have determined diis development.
In Europe, expert officialdom, based on die division of labor, has emerged in a gradual development of half a diousand years. The Italian cities and seigniories were die beginning, among die monar- chies, and die states of the Norman conquerors. But the decisive step was taken in connection widi die administration of die finances of die prince. Widi the administrative reforms of Emperor Max, it
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can be seen how hard it was for the officials to depose successfully of the prince in this field, even under the pressure of extreme emer- gency and of Turkish rule. The sphere of finance could afford least of all a ruler's dilettantism— a ruler who at drat time was still above all a knight. The development of war technique called forth die expert and specialized officer; die differentiation of legal procedure called fordi die trained jurist. In diese diree areas— finance, war, and law- expert officialdom in die more advanced states was definitely trium- phant during die sixteenth century. Widi die ascendancy of princely absolutism over the estates, there was simultaneously a gradual abdi- cation of die prince's autocratic rule in favor of an expert official- dom. These very officials had only facilitated the prince's victory over the estates.
The development of die 'leading politicians' was realized along widi die ascendancy of the specially trained officialdom, even if in far less noticeable transitions. Of course, such really decisive advis- ers of die princes have existed at all times and all over die world. In die Orient, die need for relieving die Sultan as far as possible from personal responsibility for the success of the government has created the typical figure of die 'Grand Vizier.' In die Occident, influenced above all by die reports of die Venetian legates, diplomacy first be- came a consciously cultivated art in die age of Charles V, in Machia- velli's time. The reports of die Venetian legates were read widi pas- sionate zeal in expert diplomatic circles. The adepts of diis art, who were in the main educated humanistically, treated one anodier as trained initiates, similar to die humanist Chinese statesmen in die last period of die warring states. The necessity of a formally unified guidance of the whole policy, including diat of home affairs, by a leading statesman finally and compellingly arose only dirough consti- tutional development. Of course, individual personalities, such as advisers of die princes, or radier, in fact, leaders, had again and again existed before dien. But die organization of administrative agencies even in the most advanced states first proceeded along oth- er avenues. Top collegial administrative agencies had emerged. In dieory, and to a gradually decreasing extent in fact, they met under die personal chairmanship of die prince who rendered die decision. This collegial system led to memoranda, counter-memoranda, and reasoned votes of die majority and die minority. In addition to the official and highest audiorities, die prince surrounded himself with purely personal confidants— die 'cabinet'— and dirough diem ren- dered his decisions, after considering the resolutions of die state counsel, or whatever else the highest state agency was called. The prince, coming more and more into die position of a dilettante, sought to extricate himself from die unavoidably increasing weight of the experdy trained officials dirough die collegial system and the cabinet. He sought to retain die highest leadership in his own hands. This latent struggle between expert officialdom and autocratic rule
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existed everywhere. Only in die face of parliaments and die power aspirations of party leaders did die situation change. Very different conditions led to die externally identical result, diough to he sure widi certain differences. Wherever die dynasties retained actual power in their hands— as was especially die case in Germany— die interests of die prince were joined widi those of officialdom against parliament and its claims for power. The officials were also interest- ed in having leading positions, tiiat is, ministerial positions, occupied hy dieir own ranks, dius making diese positions an object of die offi- cial career. The monarch, on his part, was interested in being able to appoint die ministers from die ranks of devoted officials according to his own discretion. Bodi parties, however, were interested in see- ing die political leadership confront parliament in a unified and so- lidary fashion, and hence in seeing die collegial system replaced by a single cabinet head. Furdiermore, in order to be removed in a pure- ly formal way from the struggle of parties and from party attacks, the monarch needed a single personality to cover him and to assume responsibility, tiiat is, to answer to parliament and to negotiate widi die parties. All diese interests worked together and in die same di- rection: a minister emerged to direct die officialdom in a unified way.
Where parliament gained supremacy over die monarch— as in England— the development of parliamentary power worked even more strongly in die direction of a unification of the state apparatus. In England, die 'cabinet,' widi die single head of Parliament as its 'leader,' developed as a committee of die party which at die time controlled die majority. This party power was ignored by official law but, in fact, it alone was politically decisive. The official collegial bo- dies as such were not organs of die actual ruling power, the party, and hence could not be die bearers of real government. The ruling party required an ever-ready organization composed only of its ac- tually leading men, who would confidentially discuss matters in or- der to maintain power widiin and be capable of engaging in grand politics outside. The cabinet is simply this organization. However, in relation to die public, especially die parliamentary public, die party needed a leader responsible for all decisions— die cabinet head. The English system has been taken over on die Continent in die form of parliamentary ministries. In America alone, and in die democracies influenced by America, a quite heterogeneous system was placed into opposition widi this system. The American system placed die directiy and popularly elected leader of die victorious party at the head of the apparatus of officials appointed by him and bound him to the consent of 'parliament' only in budgetary and legislative mat- ters.
The development of politics into an organization which de- manded training in the struggle for power, and in die mediods of diis struggle as developed by modern party policies, determined the
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separation of public functionaries into two categories, which, howev- er, are by no means rigidly but nevertheless distinctly separated. These categories are 'administrative' officials on the one hand, and 'political' officials on the other. The 'political' officials, in tire ge- nuine sense of tire word, can regularly and externally be recognized by tire fact that they can be transferred any time at will, that they can be dismissed, or at least temporarily withdrawn. They are like the French prefects and the comparable officials of other countries, and this is in sharp contrast to the 'independence' of officials with judi- cial functions. In England, officials who, according to fixed conven- tion, retire from office when there is a change in tire parliamentary majority, and hence a change in the cabinet, belong to this category. There are usually among them some whose competence includes tire management of tire general 'inner administration.' The political element consists, above all, in the task of maintaining 'law and or- der' in the country, hence maintaining the existing power relations. In Prussia these officials, in accordance with Puttkamer's decree and in order to avoid censure, were obliged to 'represent the policy of tire government.' And, like the prefects in France, they were used as an official apparatus for influencing elections. Most of the 'political' officials of the German system— in contrast to other countries— were equally qualified in so far as access to these offices required a uni- versity education, special examinations, and special preparatory ser- vice. In Germany, only tire heads of tire political apparatus, tire mi- nisters, lack this specific characteristic of modern civil service. Even under the old regime, one could be tire Prussian minister of educa- tion without ever having attended an institution of higher learning; whereas one could become Vortragender Rat, 1 in principle, only on the basis of a prescribed examination. The specialist and trained Dezernent* and Vortragender Rat were of course infinitely better informed about tire real technical problems of the division than was their respective chief— for instance, under Althoff in the Prussian ministry of education. In England it was not different. Consequently, in all routine demands tire divisional head was more powerful than tire minister, which was not without reason. The minister was simply the representative of tire political power constellation; he had to represent these powerful political staffs and he had to take measure of the proposals of his subordinate expert officials or give them di- rective orders of a political nature.
After all, tilings in a private economic enterprise are quite simi- lar: the real 'sovereign,' the assembled shareholders, is just as little influential in tire business management as is a 'people' ruled by ex- pert officials. And the personages who decide the policy of the en- terprise, the bank-controlled 'directorate,' give only directive eco- nomic orders and select persons for tire management without them- selves being capable of technically directing tire enterprise. Thus the present structure of the revolutionary state signifies nothing new in
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principle. It places power over the administration into the hands of absolute dilettantes, who, by virtue of their control of the machine- guns, would like to use expert officials only as executive heads and hands. The difficulties of die present system lie elsewhere dian here, but today diese difficulties shall not concern us. We shall, rather, ask for die typical peculiarity of the professional politicians, of die 'leaders' as well as their followings. Their nature has changed and today varies greatly from one case to another.
We have seen that in die past 'professional politicians' devel- oped through die struggle of die princes with the estates and that they served the princes. Let us briefly review die major types of these professional politicians.
Confronting die estates, the prince found support in politically exploitable strata outside of die order of die estates. Among die lat- ter, there was, first, die clergy in Western and Lastern India, in Buddhist China and Japan, and in Lamaist Mongolia, just as in the Christian territories of die Middle Ages. The clergy were technically useful because they were literate. The importation of Brahmins, Buddhist priests, Lamas, and die employment of bishops and priests as political counselors, occurred with an eye to obtaining administra- tive forces who could read and write and who could be used in the struggle of die emperor, prince, or Khan against die aristocracy. Un- like die vassal who confronted his overlord, die cleric, especially the celibate cleric, stood outside die machinery of normal political and economic interests and was not tempted by die struggle for political power, for himself or for his descendants. By virtue of his own sta- tus, die cleric was 'separated' from die managerial implements of princely administration.
The humanistically educated literati comprised a second such stratum. There was a time when one learned to produce Latin speeches and Greek verses in order to become a political adviser to a prince and, above all things, to become a memorialist. This was the time of die first flowering of die humanist schools and of the princely foundations of professorships for 'poetics.' This was for us a transitory epoch, which has had a quite persistent influence upon our educational system, yet no deeper results politically. In East Asia, it has been different. The Chinese mandarin is, or rather orig- inally was, what the humanist of our Renaissance period approx- imately was: a literator humanistically trained and tested in die lan- guage monuments of the remote past. When you read die diaries of Li Hung Chang you will find that he is most proud of having com- posed poems and of being a good calligrapher. This stratum, with its conventions developed and modeled after Chinese Antiquity, has determined the whole destiny of China; and perhaps our fate would have been similar if die humanists in their time had had die slightest chance of gaining a similar influence.
The third stratum was the court nobility. After the princes had
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succeeded in expropriating political power from the nobility as an estate, they drew the nobles to the court and used them in their po- litical and diplomatic service. The transformation of our educational system in the seventeenth century was partly determined by the fact that court nobles as professional politicians displaced the humanist literati and entered the service of the princes.
The fourth category was a specifically English institution. A pa- trician stratum developed there which was comprised of the petty nobility and tire urban rentiers; technically they are called tire 'gen- try.' The English gentry represents a stratum that tire prince original- ly attracted in order to counter the barons. The prince placed the stratum in possession of the offices of 'self-government,' and later he himself became increasingly dependent upon them. The gentry maintained the possession of all offices of local administration by taking them over without compensation in tire interest of their own social power. The gentry has saved England from tire bureaucratiza- tion which has been the fate of all continental states.
A fifth stratum, tire university-trained jurist, is peculiar to tire Occident, especially to tire European continent, and has been of decisive significance for tire Continent's whole political structure. The tremendous after-effect of Roman law, as transformed by the late Roman bureaucratic state, stands out in nothing more clearly than tire fact that everywhere tire revolution of political management in tire direction of tire evolving rational state has been borne by trained jurists. This also occurred in England, although there the great national guilds of jurists hindered tire reception of Roman law. There is no analogy to this process to be found in any area of the world.
All beginnings of rational juristic drinking in tire Indian Minranr- sa School and all further cultivation of tire ancient juristic thinking in Islam have been unable to prevent tire idea of rational law from be- ing overgrown by theological forms of thought. Above all, legal trial procedure has not been fully rationalized in tire cases of India and of Islanrisnr. Such rationalization has been brought about on the Continent only through tire borrowing of ancient Roman jurispru- dence by tire Italian jurists. Roman jurisprudence is tire product of a political structure arising from the city state to world domination— a product of quite unique nature. The usus modernus of the late me- dieval pandect jurists and canonists was blended with theories of natural law, which were born from juristic and Christian thought and which were later secularized. This juristic rationalism has had its great representatives among tire Italian Podesta, tire French crown jurists (who created tire formal means for tire undermining of the rule of seigneurs by royal power), among tire canonists and tire theo- logians of tire ecclesiastic councils (drinking in terms of natural law), among the court jurists and academic judges of tire continental princes, among tire Netlrerland teachers of natural law and the mo-
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narchomachists, among die English crown and parliamentary jurists, among die noblesse de robe of die French Parliament, and finally, among die lawyers of the age of die French Revolution.
Widiout diis juristic rationalism, die rise of the absolute state is just as littie imaginable as is the Revolution. If you look dirough die remonstrances of die French Parliaments or dirough die cahiers of die French Estates-General from the sixteendi century to die year 1789, you will find everywhere the spirit of the jurists. And if you go over die occupational composition of die members of die French Assembly, you will find diere— aldiough die members of die Assem- bly were elected dirough equal franchise— a single proletarian, very few bourgeois enterprisers, but jurists of all sorts, en masse. Without diem, die specific mentality diat inspired diese radical intellectuals and dieir projects would be quite inconceivable. Since die French Revolution, the modern lawyer and modern democracy absolutely belong togedier. And lawyers, in our sense of an independent status group, also exist only in the Occident. They have developed since die Middle Ages from die Fiirsprech of die formalistic Germanic legal procedure under die impact of die rationalization of die trial.
The significance of die lawyer in Occidental politics since die rise of parties is not accidental. The management of politics through parties simply means management dirough interest groups. We shall soon see what that means. The craft of die trained lawyer is to plead effectively die cause of interested clients. In this, the lawyer is supe- rior to any 'official,' as die superiority of enemy propaganda [Allied propaganda 1914-18] could teach us. Certainly he can advocate and win a cause supported by logically weak arguments and one which, in diis sense, is a 'weak' cause. Yet he wins it because technically he makes a 'strong case' for it. But only the lawyer successfully pleads a cause diat can be supported by logically strong arguments, dius han- dling a 'good' cause 'well.' All too often die civil servant as a politi- cian turns a cause diat is good in every sense into a 'weak' cause, dirough technically 'weak' pleading. This is what we have had to ex- perience. To an outstanding degree, politics today is in fact con- ducted in public by means of die spoken or written word. To weigh die effect of die word properly falls within die range of die lawyer's tasks; but not at all into diat of the civil servant. The latter is no de- magogue, nor is it his purpose to be one. If he neverdieless tries to become a demagogue, he usually becomes a very poor one.
According to his proper vocation, die genuine official— and diis is decisive for die evaluation of our former regime— will not engage in politics. Radier, he should engage in impartial 'administration.' This also holds for the so-called 'political' administrator, at least of- ficially, in so far as die raison d'etat, diat is, die vital interests of die ruling order, are not in question. Sine ira et studio, 'widiout scorn and bias,' he shall administer his office. Hence, he shall not do pre- cisely what the politician, the leader as well as his following, must
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always and necessarily do, namely, fight.
To take a stand, to be passionate— ha et studium—is die politi- cian's element, and above all die element of die political leader. His conduct is subject to quite a different, indeed, exacdy die opposite, principle of responsibility from diat of die civil servant. The honor of die civil servant is vested in his ability to execute conscientiously the order of die superior audiorities, exactly as if the order agreed widi his own conviction. This holds even if the order appears wrong to him and if, despite die civil servant's remonstrances, die autiiority insists on die order. Widiout diis moral discipline and self-denial, in the highest sense, die whole apparatus would fall to pieces. The honor of die political leader, of die leading statesman, however, lies precisely in an exclusive personal responsibility for what he does, a responsibility he cannot and must not reject or transfer. It is in die nature of officials of high moral standing to be poor politicians, and above all, in the political sense of die word, to be irresponsible poli- ticians. In this sense, they are politicians of low moral standing, such as we unfortunately have had again and again in leading positions. This is what we have called Beamtenherrschaft [civil-sendee rule], and truly no spot soils die honor of our officialdom if we reveal what is politically wrong with the system from die standpoint of success. But let us return once more to die types of political figures.
Since die time of die constitutional state, and definitely since democracy has been established, the 'demagogue' has been die typi- cal political leader in die Occident. The distasteful flavor of the word must not make us forget that not Cleon but Pericles was the first to bear die name of demagogue. In contrast to die offices of ancient democracy diat were filled by lot, Pericles led die sovereign Ecclesia of die demos of Athens as a supreme strategist holding the only elective office or without holding any office at all. Modern de- magoguery also makes use of oratory, even to a tremendous extent, if one considers die election speeches a modern candidate has to deliver. But die use of die printed word is more enduring. The polit- ical publicist, and above all die journalist, is nowadays the most im- portant representative of die demagogic species.
Widiin die limits of this lecture, it is quite impossible even to sketch the sociology of modern political journalism, which in every respect constitutes a chapter in itself. Certainly, only a few tilings concerning it are in place here. In common with all demagogues and, by die way, widi die lawyer (and die artist), die journalist shares the fate of lacking a fixed social classification. At least, this is die case on die Continent, in contrast to die English, and, by the way, also to former conditions in Prussia. The journalist belongs to a sort of pa- riah caste, which is always estimated by 'society' in terms of its etiii- cally lowest representative. Hence, die strangest notions about jour- nalists and dieir work are abroad. Not everybody realizes diat a real- ly good journalistic accomplishment requires at least as much 'ge-
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nius' as any scholarly accomplishment, especially hecause of the ne- cessity of producing at once and 'on order,' and hecause of the ne- cessity of being effective, to be sure, under quite different conditions of production. It is almost never acknowledged that the responsi- bility of die journalist is far greater, and that the sense of responsibil- ity of every honorable journalist is, on the average, not a bit lower than that of the scholar, but rather, as the war has shown, higher. This is because, in the very nature of the case, irresponsible journa- listic accomplishments and their often terrible effects are remem- bered.
Nobody believes that the discretion of any able journalist ranks above the average of other people, and yet that is the case. The quite incomparably graver temptations, and the other conditions that ac- company journalistic work at the present time, produce those results which have conditioned the public to regard the press with a mixture of disdain and pitiful cowardice. Today we cannot discuss what is to be done. Here we are interested in the question of the occupational destiny of the political journalist and of his chance to attain a posi- tion of political leadership. Thus far, the journalist has had favorable chances only in the Social Democratic party. Within the party, edi- torial positions have been predominantly in the nature of official positions, but editorial positions, have not been the basis for posi- tions of leadership.
In the bourgeois parties, on the whole, the chances for ascent to political power along this avenue have rather become worse, as compared with those of the previous generation. Naturally every politician of consequence has needed influence over the press and hence has needed relations with the press. But that party leaders would emerge from the ranks of the press has been an absolute ex- ception and one should not have expected it. The reason for this lies in the strongly increased 'indispensability' of the journalist, above all, of tire propertyless and hence professionally bound jour- nalist, an indispensability which is determined by tire tremendously increased intensity and tempo of journalistic operations. The neces- sity of gaining one's livelihood by tire writing of daily or at least weekly articles is like lead on tire feet of tire politicians. I know of cases in which natural leaders have been permanently paralyzed in their ascent to power, externally and above all internally, by this compulsion. The relations of the press to tire ruling powers in tire state and in tire parties, under tire old regime [of tire Kaiser], were as detrimental as they could be to tire level of journalism; but that is a chapter in itself. These conditions were different in tire countries of our opponents [tire Allies]. But there also, and for all modern states, apparently tire journalist worker gains less and less as tire capitalist lord of tire press, of the sort of 'Lord' Northcliffe, for instance, gains more and more political influence.
Thus far, however, our great capitalist newspaper concerns,
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which attained control, especially over the 'chain newspapers,' with 'want ads,' have heen regularly and typically the hreeders of political indifference. For no profits could he made in an independent poli- cy; especially no profitahle benevolence of the politically dominant powers could be obtained. The advertising business is also the ave- nue along which, during the war, the attempt was made to influence the press politically in a grand style— an attempt which apparently it is regarded as desirable to continue now. Although one may expect the great papers to escape this pressure, the situation of the small ones will be far more difficult. In any case, for the time being, the journalist career is not among us, a normal avenue for the ascent of political leaders, whatever attraction journalism may otherwise have and whatever measure of influence, range of activity, and especially political responsibility it may yield. One has to wait and see. Perhaps journalism does not have this function any longer, or perhaps jour- nalism does not yet have it. Whether the renunciation of the prin- ciple of anonymity would mean a change in this is difficult to say. Some journalists— not all— believe in dropping principled anonymity. What we have experienced during the war in the German press, and in the 'management' of newspapers by especially hired personages and talented writers who always expressly figured under their names, has unfortunately shown, in some of the better known cases, that an increased awareness of responsibility is not so certain to be bred as might be believed. Some of the papers were, without regard to party, precisely the notoriously worst boulevard sheets; by dropping ano- nymity they strove for and attained greater sales. The publishers as well as the journalists of sensationalism have gained fortunes but cer- tainly not honor. Nothing is here being said against the principle of promoting sales; the question is indeed an intricate one, and the phenomenon of irresponsible sensationalism does not hold in gen- eral. But thus far, sensationalism has not been the road to genuine leadership or to the responsible management of politics. How con- ditions will further develop remains to be seen. Yet the journalist career remains under all circumstances one of the most important avenues of professional political activity. It is not a road for every- body, least of all for weak characters, especially for people who can maintain their inner balance only with a secure status position. If the life of a young scholar is a gamble, still he is walled in by firm status conventions, which prevent him from slipping. But the journalist's life is an absolute gamble in every respect and under conditions that test one's inner security in a way that scarcely occurs in any other situation. The often bitter experiences in occupational life are per- haps not even the worst. The inner demands that are directed pre- cisely at the successful journalist are especially difficult. It is, indeed, no small matter to frequent the salons of the powerful on this earth on a seemingly equal footing and often to be flattered by all because one is feared, yet knowing all the time that having hardly closed the
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door die host has perhaps to justify hefore his guests his association widi the 'scavengers from die press.' Moreover, it is no small matter diat one must express oneself prompdy and convincingly ahout tiiis and diat, on all conceivable problems of life— whatever die 'market' happens to demand— and tiiis without becoming absolutely shallow and above all without losing one's dignity by baring oneself, a tiling which has merciless results. It is not astonishing that there are many journalists who have become human failures and worthless men. Rather, it is astonishing that, despite all this, this very stratum in- cludes such a great number of valuable and quite genuine men, a fact tiiat outsiders would not so easily guess.
If the journalist as a type of professional politician harks back to a rather considerable past, die figure of die party official belongs on- ly to the development of die last decades and, in part, only to recent years. In order to comprehend die position of tiiis figure in histori- cal evolution, we shall have to turn to a consideration of parties and party organizations.
In all political associations which are somehow extensive, that is, associations going beyond die sphere and range of die tasks of small rural districts where power-holders are periodically elected, political organization is necessarily managed by men interested in die man- agement of politics. This is to say that a relatively small number of men are primarily interested in political life and hence interested in sharing political power. They provide themselves widi a following through free recruitment, present themselves or their proteges as candidates for election, collect the financial means, and go out for vote -grabbing. It is unimaginable how in large associations elections could function at all without tiiis managerial pattern. In practice tiiis means the division of die citizens with the right to vote into political- ly active and politically passive elements. This difference is based on voluntary attitudes, hence it cannot be abolished through measures like obligatory voting, or 'occupational status group' representation, or similar measures that are expressly or actually directed against tiiis state of affairs and die rule of professional politicians. The active leadership and dieir freely recruited following are die necessary elements in the life of any party. The following, and dirough it the passive electorate, are necessary for the election of the leader. But the structure of parties varies. For instance, the 'parties' of the me- dieval cities, such as those of die Guelfs and the Ghibellines, were purely personal followings. If one considers various tilings about these medieval parties, one is reminded of Bolshevism and its So- viets. Consider the Statute della perte Guelfa, the confiscations of the Nobili's estates— which originally meant all those families who lived a chivalrous life and who dius qualified for fiefs— consider die exclusion from office-holding and die denial of die right to vote, die inter-local party committees, die strictly military organizations and the premiums for informers. Then consider Bolshevism widi its
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strictly sieved military and, in Russia especially, informer organiza- tions, the disarmament and denial of the political rights of the 'bour- geois,' that is, of the entrepreneur, trader, rentier, clergyman, des- cendants of the dynasty, police agents, as well as the confiscation policy.
This analog}' is still more striking when one considers diat, on die one hand, die military organization of die medieval party consti- tuted a pure army of knights organized on the basis of die registered feudal estates and that nobles occupied almost all leading positions, and, on die other hand, that die Soviets have preserved, or rather reintroduced, the highly paid enterpriser, die group wage, the Tay- lor system, military and workshop discipline, and a search for for- eign capital. Hence, in a word, the Soviets have had to accept again absolutely all die tilings that Bolshevism had been fighting as bour- geois class institutions. They have had to do this in order to keep the state and the economy going at all. Moreover, the Soviets have reins- tituted die agents of the former Ochrana [Tsarist Secret Police] as the main instrument of their state power. But here we do not have to deal with such organizations for violence, but rather with profes- sional politicians who strive for power through sober and 'peaceful' party campaigns in the market of election votes.
Parties, in the sense usual with us, were at first, for instance in England, pure followings of the aristocracy. If, for any reason what- ever, a peer changed his party, everybody dependent upon him likewise changed. Up to the Reform Bill [of 1832], the great noble families and, last but not least, the king controlled the patronage of an immense number of election boroughs. Close to these aristocrat- ic parties were the parties of notables, which develop everywhere with the rising power of the bourgeois. Under the spiritual leader- ship of die typical intellectual strata of the Occident, the propertied and cultured circles differentiated themselves into parties and fol- lowed them. These parties were formed partly according to class interest, partly according to family traditions, and partly for ideologi- cal reasons. Clergymen, teachers, professors, lawyers, doctors, apo- thecaries, prosperous farmers, manufacturers— in England the whole stratum that considered itself as belonging to the class of gentle- men—formed, at first, occasional associations at most local political clubs. In times of unrest the petty bourgeoisie raised its voice, and once in a while the proletariat, if leaders arose who, however, as a rule did not stem from their midst. In this phase, parties organized as permanent associations between localities do not yet exist in the open country. Only the parliamentary delegates create the cohesion; and die local notables are decisive for the selection of candidates. The election programs originate partly in the election appeals of the candidates and partly in the meetings of the notables; or, they origi- nate as resolutions of the parliamentary party. Leadership of the clubs is an avocation and an honorific pursuit, as demanded by the
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occasion.
Where clubs are absent (as is mostly the case), the quite form- less management of politics in normal times lies in the hands of tire few people constantly interested in it. Only the journalist is a paid professional politician; only tire management of the newspaper is a continuous political organization. Besides the newspaper, there is only tire parliamentary session. The parliamentary delegates and tire parliamentary party leaders know to which local notables one turns if a political action seems desirable. But permanent associations of tire parties exist only in the large cities with moderate contributions of tire members and periodical conferences and public meetings where the delegate gives account of tire parliamentary activities. The party is alive only during election periods.
The members of parliament are interested in tire possibility of interlocal electoral compromises, in vigorous and unified programs endorsed by broad circles and in a unified agitation throughout the country. In general these interests form the driving force of a party organization which becomes more and more strict. In principle, however, tire nature of a party apparatus as an association of no- tables remains unchanged. This is so, even though a network of lo- cal party affiliations and agents is spread over the whole country, in- cluding middle-sized cities. A member of tire parliamentary party acts as tire leader of tire central party office and maintains constant correspondence with tire local organizations. Outside of tire central bureau, paid officials are still absent; thoroughly 'respectable' people head tire local organizations for tire sake of tire deference which they enjoy anyway. They form tire extra-parliamentary 'notables' who ex- ert influence alongside tire stratum of political notables who happen to sit in parliament. However, tire party correspondence, edited by tire party, increasingly provides intellectual nourishment for tire press and for tire local meetings. Regular contributions of tire mem- bers become indispensable; a part of these must cover tire expenses of headquarters.
Not so long ago most of tire German party organizations were still in this stage of development. In France, the first stage of party development was, at least in part, still predominant, and the organi- zation of tire members of parliament was quite unstable. In tire open country, we find a small number of local notables and programs drafted by tire candidates or set up for them by their patrons in spe- cific campaigns for office. To be sure, these platforms constitute more or less local adaptations to tire resolutions and programs of the members of parliament. This system was only partially punc- tured. The number of full-time professional politicians was small, consisting in the main of the elected deputies, tire few employees of headquarters, and tire journalists. In France, the system has also in- cluded those job hunters who held 'political office' or, at tire mo- ment, strove for one. Politics was formally and by far predominantly
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an avocation. The number of delegates qualifying for ministerial of- fice was also very restricted and, because of their position as no- tables, so was the number of election candidates.
However, the number of those who indirectly had a stake in the management of politics, especially a material one, was very large. For, all administrative measures of a ministerial department, and especially all decisions in matters of personnel, were made partly with a view to their influence upon electoral chances. The realiza- tion of each and every kind of wish was sought through tire local delegate's mediation. For better or for worse tire minister had to lend his ear to this delegate, especially if tire delegate belonged to the minister's majority. Hence everybody strove for such influence. The single deputy controlled tire patronage of office and, in general, any kind of patronage in his election district. In order to be re- elected the deputy, in turn, maintained connections with tire local notables.
Now then, the most modern forms of party organizations stand in sharp contrast to this idyllic state in which circles of notables and, above all, members of parliament rule. These modern forms are tire children of democracy, of mass franchise, of tire necessity to woo and organize tire masses, and develop the utmost unity of direction and tire strictest discipline. The rule of notables and guidance by members of parliament ceases. 'Professional' politicians outside tire parliaments take the organization in hand. They do so either as 'en- trepreneurs'—the American boss and tire English election agent are, in fact, such entrepreneurs— or as officials with a fixed salary. For- mally, a fargoing democratization takes place. The parliamentary party no longer creates the authoritative programs, and the local no- tables no longer decide the selection of candidates. Rather assem- blies of tire organized party members select tire candidates and dele- gate members to tire assemblies of a higher order. Possibly there are several such conventions leading up to the national convention of the party. Naturally power actually rests in tire hands of those who, within the organization, handle the work continuously. Otherwise, power rests in tire hands of those on whom tire organization in its processes depends financially or personally— for instance, on the Maecenases or the directors of powerful political clubs of interested persons (Tammany Hall). It is decisive that this whole apparatus of people— characteristically called a 'machine' in Anglo-Saxon coun- tries—or rather those who direct tire machine, keep tire members of tire parliament in check. They are in a position to impose their will to a rather far-reaching extent, and that is of special significance for the selection of tire party leader. The man whom tire machine fol- lows now becomes tire leader, even over tire head of tire parliamen- tary party. In other words, the creation of such machines signifies tire advent of plebiscitarian democracy.
The party following, above all tire party official and party entre-
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preneur, naturally expect personal compensation from the victory of their leader— that is, offices or other advantages. It is decisive that they expect such advantages from their leader and not merely from the individual member of parliament. They expect that die dema- gogic effect of the leader's personality during the election light of the party will increase votes and mandates and thereby power, and, the- reby, as far as possible, will extend opportunities to their followers to find die compensation for which they hope. Ideally, one of their mainsprings is tire satisfaction of working with loyal personal devo- tion for a man, and not merely for an abstract program of a party consisting of mediocrities. In this respect, the 'charismatic' element of all leadership is at work in the party system.
In very different degrees this system made headway, although it was in constant, latent struggle with local notables and the members of parliament who wrangled for influence. This was tire case in tire bourgeois parties, first, in the United States, and, then, in tire Social Democratic party, especially of Germany. Constant setbacks occur as soon as no generally recognized leader exists, and, even when he is found, concessions of all sorts must be made to tire vanity and the personal interest of the party notables. The machine may also be brought under tire domination of tire party officials in whose hands tire regular business rests. According to tire view of some Social Democratic circles, their party had succumbed to this 'bureaucrati- zation.' But 'officials' submit relatively easily to a leader's personality if it has a strong demagogic appeal. The material and tire ideal inter- ests of tire officials are intimately connected with the effects of party power which are expected from tire leader's appeal, and besides, inwardly it is per se more satisfying to work for a leader. The ascent of leaders is far more difficult where tire notables, along with the of- ficials, control tire party, as is usually tire case in tire bourgeois par- ties. For ideally the notables make 'their way of life' out of tire petty chairmanships or committee memberships they hold. Resentment against the demagogue as a homo novus, the conviction of the supe- riority of political party 'experience' (which, as a matter of fact, ac- tually is of considerable importance), and tire ideological concern for the crumbling of tire old party traditions— these factors determine the conduct of die notables. They can count on all tire traditionalist elements within the party. Above all, tire rural but also the petty bourgeois voter looks for the name of the notable familiar to him. He distrusts the man who is unknown to him. However, once this man has become successful, he clings to him the more unwavering- ly. Let us now consider, by some major examples, the struggle of the two structural forms— of tire notables and of tire party— and especially let us consider tire ascendancy of tire plebiscitarian form as de- scribed by Ostrogorsky.
First Lngland: there until 1868 the party organization was almost purely an organization of notables. The Tories in the country found
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POLITICS AS A VOCATION
support, for instance, from tire Anglican parson, and from tire schoolmaster, and above all from tire large landlords of tire respec- tive county. The Whigs found support mostiy from such people as the nonconformist preacher (when drere was one), the postmaster, dre blacksmith, dre tailor, dre ropemaker— drat is, from such artisans who could disseminate political influence because drey could chat widr people most frequently. In tire city the parties differed, pardy according to economics, pardy according to religion, and pardy simply according to tire party opinions handed down in tire families. But always tire notables were the pillars of tire political organization.
Above all drese arrangements stood Parliament, the parties widr the cabinet, and the 'leader,' who was the chairman of dre council of ministers or the leader of tire opposition. This leader had beside him tire 'whip'— tire most important professional politician of tire party organization. Patronage of office was vested in tire hands of the 'whip'; drus tire job hunter had to turn to him and he arranged air understanding widr tire deputies of tire individual election boroughs. A stratum of professional politicians gradually began to develop in tire boroughs. At first tire locally recruited agents were not paid; drey occupied approximately tire same position as our Vertrauens- mknner However, along widr drem, a capitalist entrepreneurial type developed in tire boroughs. This was the 'election agent,' whose ex- istence was unavoidable under England's modern legislation which guaranteed fair elections.
This legislation aimed at controlling tire campaign costs of elec- tions and sought to check tire power of money by making it obliga- tory for tire candidate to state tire costs of his campaign. For in Eng- land, tire candidate, besides straining his voice— far more so dran was formerly tire case widr us [in Germany]— enjoyed stretching his purse. The election agent made tire candidate pay a lump sum, which usually meant a good deal for tire agent. In tire distribution of power in Parliament and tire country between tire 'leader' and the party notables, tire leader in England used to hold a very eminent position. This position was based on tire compelling fact of making possible a grand, and drereby steady, political strategy. Neverdreless the influence of the parliamentary party and of party notables was still considerable.
That is about what the old party organization looked like. It was half air affair of notables and half an entrepreneurial organization widr salaried employees. Since 1868, however, tire 'caucus' system developed, first for local elections in Birmingham, dren all over tire country. A nonconformist parson and along with him Joseph Chamberlain brought dris system to life. The occasion for this de- velopment was tire democratization of tire franchise. In order to win the masses it became necessary to call into being a tremendous ap- paratus of apparendy democratic associations. Air electoral associa- tion had to be formed in every city district to help keep tire organiza-
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tion incessantly in motion and to bureaucratize everything rigidly. Hence, hired and paid officials of the local electoral committees in- creased numerically; and, on the whole, perhaps 10 per cent of the voters were organized in these local committees. The elected party managers had the right to co-opt others and were the formal bearers of party politics. The driving force was the local circle, which was, above all, composed of those interested in municipal politics— from which the fattest material opportunities always spring. These local circles were also first to call upon the world of finance. This newly emerging machine, which was no longer led by members of Parlia- ment, very soon had to struggle with the previous power-holders, above all, with the 'whip.' Being supported by locally interested per- sons, the machine came out of the light so victoriously that the whip had to submit and compromise with the machine. The result was a centralization of all power in the hands of the few and, ultimately, of the one person who stood at the top of the party. The whole system had arisen in the Liberal party in connection with Gladstone's ascent to power. What brought this machine to such swift triumph over the notables was the fascination of Gladstone's 'grand' demagog}', the firm belief of the masses in the ethical substance of his policy, and, above all, their belief in the ethical character of his personality. It soon became obvious that a Caesarist plebiscitarian element in poli- tics— die dictator of the battlefield of elections— had appeared on the plain. In 1877 the caucus became active for the first time in national elections, and with brilliant success, for the result was Disraeli's fall at the height of his great achievements. In 1866, the machine was already so completely oriented to the charismatic personality that when the question of home rule was raised the whole apparatus from top to bottom did not question whether it actually stood on Gladstone's ground; it simply, on his word, fell in line with him: they said, Gladstone right or wrong, we follow him. And thus the ma- chine deserted its own creator, Chamberlain.
Such machinery requires a considerable personnel. In England there are about 2,000 persons who live directly off party politics. To be sure, those who are active in politics purely as job seekers or as interested persons are far more numerous, especially in municipal politics. In addition to economic opportunities, for the useful caucus politician, there are the opportunities to satisfy his vanity. To be- come 'J.P.' or even 'M.P.' is, of course, in line with the greatest (and normal) ambition; and such people, who are of demonstrably good breeding, that is, 'gentlemen,' attain their goal. The highest goal is, of course, a peerage, especially for the great financial Maecenases. About 50 per cent of the finances of the party depend on contribu- tions of donors who remained anonymous.
Now then, what has been the effect of this whole system? No- wadays the members of Parliament, with the exception of the few cabinet members (and a few insurgents), are normally nothing better
28
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than well-disciplined 'yes' men. Widi us, in die Reichstag, one used at least to take care of one's private correspondence on his desk, dius indicating that one was active in die weal of die country. Such gestures are not demanded in England; die member of Parliament must only vote, not commit party treason. He must appear when die whips call him, and do what die cabinet or die leader of die opposi- tion orders. The caucus machine in die open country is almost completely unprincipled if a strong leader exists who has the ma- chine absolutely in hand. Therewith the plebiscitarian dictator ac- tually stands above Parliament. He brings die masses behind him by means of die machine and die members of Parliament are for him merely political spoilsmen enrolled in his following.
How does die selection of these strong leaders take place? First, in terms of what ability are diey selected? Next to die qualities of will— decisive all over die world— naturally die force of demagogic speech is above all decisive. Its character has changed since the time speakers like Cobden addressed themselves to die intellect, and Gladstone who mastered die technique of apparently 'letting sober facts speak for themselves.' At die present time often purely emo- tional means are used— the means the Salvation Army also exploits in order to set the masses in motion. One may call die existing state of affairs a 'dictatorship resting on the exploitation of mass emotio- nality.' Yet, die highly developed system of committee work in die English Parliament makes it possible and compelling for every poli- tician who counts on a share in leadership to cooperate in commit- tee work. All important ministers of recent decades have this very real and effective work-training as a background. The practice of committee reports and public criticism of these deliberations is a condition for training, for really selecting leaders and eliminating mere demagogues.
Thus it is in England. The caucus system diere, however, has been a weak form, compared with die American party organization, which brought die plebiscitarian principle to an especially early and an especially pure expression.
According to Washington's idea, America was to be a com- monwealdi administered by 'gentlemen.' In his time, in America, a gentleman was also a landlord, or a man with a college education— this was the case at first. In die beginning, when parties began to or- ganize, die members of die House of Representatives claimed to be leaders, just as in England at die time when notables ruled. The par- ty organization was quite loose and continued to be until 1824. In some communities, where modern development first took place, the party machine was in the making even before the eighteen-twenties. But when Andrew Jackson was first elected President— die election of the western farmers' candidate— die old traditions were overth- rown. Formal party leadership by leading members of Congress came to an end soon after 1840, when the great parliamentarians,
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Calhoun and Webster, retired from political life because Congress had lost almost all of its power to the party machine in die open country. That die plebiscitarian 'machine' has developed so early in America is due to die fact diat diere, and diere alone, the execu- tive— diis is what mattered— die chief of office-patronage, was a Pres- ident elected by plebiscite. By virtue of the 'separation of powers' he was almost independent of parliament in his conduct of office. Hence, as die price of victory, the true booty object of die office- prebend was held out precisely at die presidential election. Through Andrew Jackson die 'spoils system' was quite systematically raised to a principle and die conclusions were drawn.
What does diis spoils system, die turning over of federal offices to die following of die victorious candidate, mean for the party for- mations of today? It means diat quite unprincipled parties oppose one another; diey are purely organizations of job hunters drafting their changing platforms according to the chances of vote-grabbing, changing their colors to a degree which, despite all analogies, is not yet to be found elsewhere. The parties are simply and absolutely fashioned for die election campaign that is most important for office patronage: die fight for die presidency and for die governorships of the separate states. Platforms and candidates are selected at the na- tional conventions of die parties without intervention by congress- men. Hence they emerge from party conventions, die delegates of which are formally, very democratically elected. These delegates are determined by meetings of other delegates, who, in turn, owe their mandate to die 'primaries,' the assembling of die direct voters of the party. In die primaries the delegates are already elected in die name of the candidate for the nation's leadership. Widiin die parties the most embittered fight rages about die question of 'nomination.' Af- ter all, 300,000 to 400,000 official appointments lie in die hands of die President, appointments which are executed by him only with the approval of the senators from the separate states. Hence the senators are powerful politicians. By comparison, however, the House of Representatives is, politically, quite impotent, because pa- tronage of office is removed from it and because die cabinet mem- bers, simply assistants to the President, can conduct office apart from die confidence or lack of confidence of die people. The Presi- dent, who is legitimatized by die people, confronts everybody, even Congress; diis is a result of 'die separation of powers.'
In America, die spoils system, supported in diis fashion, has been technically possible because American culture with its youdi could afford purely dilettante management. Widi 300,000 to 400,000 such party men who have no qualifications to their credit otiier than die fact of having performed good sendees for dieir party, diis state of affairs of course could not exist without enormous evils. A corruption and wastefulness second to none could be tolerated only by a country with as yet unlimited economic opportunities.
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Now then, die boss is die figure who appears in die picture of diis system of die plebiscitarian party machine. Who is die boss? He is a political capitalist entrepreneur who on his own account and at his own risk provides votes. He may have established his first rela- tions as a lawyer or a saloonkeeper or as a proprietor of similar es- tablishments, or perhaps as a creditor. From here he spins his tiireads out until he is able to 'control' a certain number of votes. When he has come this far he establishes contact with die neighbor- ing bosses, and dirough zeal, skill, and above all discretion, he at- tracts die attention of diose who have already furdier advanced in the career, and tiien he climbs. The boss is indispensable to die or- ganization of die party and die organization is centralized in his hands. He substantially provides the financial means. How does he get them? Well, pardy by die contributions of die members, and especially by taxing die salaries of diose officials who came into of- fice dirough him and his party. Furdiermore, there are bribes and tips. He who wishes to trespass with impunity one of die many laws needs die boss's connivance and must pay for it; or else he will get into trouble. But diis alone is not enough to accumulate die neces- sary capital for political enterprises. The boss is indispensable as the direct recipient of die money of great financial magnates, who would not entrust dieir money for election purposes to a paid party official, or to anyone else giving public account of his affairs. The boss, with his judicious discretion in financial matters, is die natural man for diose capitalist circles who finance die election. The typical boss is an absolutely sober man. He does not seek social honor; the 'pro- fessional' is despised in 'respectable society.' He seeks power alone, power as a source of money, but also power for power's sake. In contrast to die English leader, die American boss works in die dark. He is not heard speaking in public; he suggests to die speakers what diey must say in expedient fashion. He himself, however, keeps si- lent. As a rule he accepts no office, except diat of senator. For, since die senators, by virtue of the Constitution, participate in office pa- tronage, die leading bosses often sit in person in this body. The dis- tribution of offices is carried out, in die first place, according to ser- vices done for die party. But, also, auctioning offices on financial bids often occurs and there are certain rates for individual offices; hence, a system of selling offices exists which, after all, has often been known also to die monarchies, die church-state included, of the seventeendi and eighteendi centuries.
The boss has no firm political 'principles;' he is completely un- principled in attitude and asks merely: What will capture votes? Fre- quently he is a radier poorly educated man. But as a rule he leads an inoffensive and correct private life. In his political morals, how r - ever, he naturally adjusts to die average ethical standards of political conduct, as a great many of us also may have done during die hoard- ing period in die field of economic ediics. 5 That as a 'professional'
31
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politician die boss is socially despised does not worry him. That he personally does not attain high federal offices, and does not wish to do so, has the frequent advantage diat extra-party intellects, dius no- tables, may come into candidacy when die bosses believe diey will have great appeal value at die polls. Hence the same old party no- tables do not run again and again, as is die case in Germany. Thus the structure of diese unprincipled parties with their socially des- pised power-holders has aided able men to attain the presidency- men who widi us never would have come to die top. To be sure, the bosses resist an outsider who might jeopardize their sources of money and power. Yet in die competitive struggle to win die favor of the voters, die bosses frequently have had to condescend and accept candidates known to be opponents of corruption.
Thus there exists a strong capitalist party machine, strictly and thoroughly organized from top to bottom, and supported by clubs of extraordinary stability. These clubs, such as Tammany Hall, are like Knight orders. They seek profits solely through political control, especially of the municipal government, which is die most important object of booty. This structure of party life was made possible by die high degree of democracy in die United States— a 'New Country.' This connection, in turn, is the basis for the fact that the system is gradually dying out. America can no longer be governed only by di- lettantes. Scarcely fifteen years ago, when American workers were asked why diey allowed themselves to be governed by politicians whom they admitted they despised, die answer was: 'We prefer hav- ing people in office whom we can spit upon, rather than a caste of officials who spit upon us, as is the case with you.' This was the old point of view of American 'democracy.' Even then, the socialists had entirely different ideas and now the situation is no longer bearable. The dilettante administration does not suffice and die Civil Service Reform establishes an ever-increasing number of positions for life with pension rights. The reform works out in such a way that univer- sity-trained officials, just as incorruptible and quite as capable as our officials, get into office. Even now about 100,000 offices have ceased being objects of booty to be turned over after elections. Rather, the offices qualify their holders for pensions, and are based upon tested qualifications. The spoils system will thus gradually recede into the background and die nature of party leadership is then likely to be transformed also— but as yet, we do not know in what way.
In Germany, until now, the decisive conditions of political man- agement have been in essence as follows:
First, the parliaments have been impotent. The result has been that no man with the qualities of a leader would enter Parliament permanently. If one wished to enter Parliament, what could one achieve diere? When a chancellery position was open, one could tell die administrative chief: 'I have a very able man in my election district who would be suitable; take him.' And he would have con-
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curred with pleasure; but that was about all that a German member of Parliament could do to satisfy his instincts for power— if he pos- sessed any.
To diis must be added die tremendous importance of die trained expert officialdom in Germany. This factor determined die impotence of Parliament. Our officialdom was second to none in die world. This importance of the officialdom was accompanied by the fact diat die officials claimed not only official positions but also cabinet positions for themselves. In the Bavarian state legislature, when the introduction of parliamentary government was debated last year, it was said that if members of die legislature were to be placed in cabinet positions talented people would no longer seek official careers. Moreover, die civil-service administration systematically es- caped such control as is signified by die English committee discus- sions. The administration thus made it impossible for parliaments— widi a few exceptions— to train really useful administrative chiefs from their own ranks.
A third factor is that in Germany, in contrast to America, we have had parties with principled political views who have maintained diat dieir members, at least subjectively, represented bona-fide Wel- tanschauungen. Now dien, the two most important of these parties, the Catholic Centre Party and die Social Democratic party, have, from their inceptions, been minority parties and have meant to be minority parties. The leading circles of die Centre party in die Reich have never concealed dieir opposition to parliamentarian democra- cy, because of fear of remaining in die minority and thus facing great difficulties in placing their job hunters in office as they have done by exerting pressure on die government. The Social Democratic party was a principled minority party and a handicap to die introduction of parliamentary government because the party did not wish to stain itself by participating in the existing bourgeois political order. The fact diat bodi parties dissociated themselves from die parliamentary system made parliamentary government impossible.
Considering all this, what then became of die professional politi- cians in Germany? They have had no power, no responsibility, and could play only a radier subordinate role as notables. In conse- quence, they have been animated anew by the guild instincts, which are typical everywhere. It has been impossible for a man who was not of their hue to climb high in die circle of those notables who made dieir petty positions their lives. I could mention many names from every party, die Social Democratic party, of course, not ex- cepted, diat spell tragedies of political careers because the persons had leadership qualities, and precisely because of these qualities were not tolerated by die notables. All our parties have taken this course of development and have become guilds of notables. Bebel, for instance, was still a leader through temperament and purity of character, however modest his intellect. The fact diat he was a mar-
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tyr, that he never hetrayed confidence in die eyes of die masses, re- sulted in his having the masses absolutely behind him. There was no power in die party diat could have seriously challenged him. Such leadership came to an end, after his death, and the rule of officials began. Trade-union officials, party secretaries, and journalists came to the top. The instincts of officialdom dominated die party— a high- ly respectable officialdom, of rare respectability one may say, com- pared to conditions in odier countries, especially die often corrupti- ble trade-union officials in America. But die results of control by officialdom, which we discussed above, also began in die party.
Since die eighteen-eighties die bourgeois parties have completely become guilds of notables. To be sure, occasionally the parties had to draw on extra-party intellects for advertising purposes, so diat diey could say, 'We have such and such names.' So far as possible, diey avoided letting diese names run for election; only when it was un- avoidable and the person insisted could he run for election. The same spirit prevailed in Parliament. Our parliamentary parties were and are guilds. Every speech delivered from die floor of die Reich- stag is dioroughly censored in die party before it is delivered. This is obvious from dieir unheard-of boredom. Only he who is sum- moned to speak can have die word. One can hardly conceive of a stronger contrast to the English, and also— for quite opposite rea- sons—die French usage.
Now, in consequence of die enormous collapse, which is custo- marily called die Revolution, perhaps a transformation is under way. Perhaps— but not for certain. In die beginning diere were new kinds of party apparatuses emerging. First, diere were amateur apparatus- es. They are especially often represented by students of die various universities, who tell a man to whom diey ascribe leadership quali- ties: we want to do die necessary work for you; carry it out. Second- ly, there are apparatuses of businessmen. It happened diat men to whom leadership qualities were ascribed were approached by people willing to take over die propaganda, at fixed rates for every vote. If you were to ask me honestly which of diese two apparatuses I diink die more reliable, from die purely technical-political point of view, I believe I would prefer die latter. But bodi apparatuses were fast-emerging bubbles, which swiftly vanished again. The existing apparatuses transformed diemselves, but diey continued to work. The phenomena are only symptoms of die fact diat new apparatuses would come about if diere were only leaders. But even die technical peculiarity of proportionate representation precluded dieir ascen- dancy. Only a few dictators of die street crowds arose and fell again. And only die following of a mob dictatorship is organized in a strict- ly disciplined fashion: whence the power of diese vanishing minori- ties.
Let us assume diat all diis were to change; dien, after what has been said above, it has to be clearly realized diat die plebiscitarian
POLITICS AS A VOCATION
leadership of parties entails the 'soullessness' of the following, their intellectual proletarianization, one might say. In order to he a useful apparatus, a machine in the American sense— undisturbed either by the vanity of notables or pretensions to independent views— the fol- lowing of such a leader must obey him blindly. Lincoln's election was possible only through this character of party organization, and with Gladstone, as mentioned before, tire same happened in the caucus. This is simply the price paid for guidance by leaders. How- ever, there is only the choice between leadership democracy with a 'machine' and leaderless democracy, namely, the rule of profession- al politicians without a calling, without the inner charismatic qualities that make a leader, and this means what the party insurgents in the situation usually designate as 'tire rule of tire clique.' For tire time being, we in Germany have only tire latter. For tire future, tire per- manence of this situation, at least in the Reich, is primarily facilitated by the fact that tire Bundesrat will rise again and will of necessity restrict tire power of the Reichstag and therewith its significance as a selective agency of leaders. Moreover, in its present form, propor- tional representation is a typical phenomenon of leaderless democ- racy. This is tire case not only because it facilitates the horse-trading of the notables for placement on tire ticket, but also because in the future it will give organized interest groups tire possibility of compel- ling parties to include their officials in tire list of candidates, thus creating an unpolitical Parliament in which genuine leadership finds no place. Only tire President of tire Reich could become tire safety- valve of tire demand for leadership if he were elected in a plebiscita- rian way and not by Parliament. Leadership on tire basis of proved work could emerge and selection could take place, especially if, in great municipalities, tire plebiscitarian city-manager were to appear on tire scene with tire right to organize his bureaus independently. Such is tire case in the U.S.A. whenever one wishes to tackle corrup- tion seriously. It requires a party organization fashioned for such elections. But tire very petty-bourgeois hostility of all parties to lead- ers, tire Social Democratic party certainly included, leaves the future formation of parties and all these chances still completely in the dark.
Therefore, today, one cannot yet see in any way how tire man- agement of politics as a 'vocation' will shape itself. Even less can one see along what avenue opportunities are opening to which political talents can be put for satisfactory political tasks. He who by his ma- terial circumstances is compelled to live 'off politics will almost al- ways have to consider tire alternative positions of tire journalist or the party official as tire typical direct avenues. Or, he must consider a position as representative of interest groups— such as a trade union, a chamber of commerce, a farm bureau, 7 a craft association, 8 a labor board, an employer's association, et cetera, or else a suitable munic- ipal position. Nothing more than this can be said about this external
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aspect: in common with the journalist, the party official bears the odium of being declasse. 'Wage writer' or 'wage speaker' will unfor- tunately always resound in his ears, even though the words remain unexpressed. He who is inwardly defenseless and unable to find the proper answer for himself had-better stay away from this career. For in any case, besides grave temptations, it is an avenue that may con- stantly lead to disappointments. Now r then, what inner enjoyments can this career offer and what personal conditions are presupposed for one who enters this avenue?
Well, first of all the career of politics grants a feeling of power. The knowledge of influencing men, of participating in power over them, and above all, the feeling of holding in one's hands a nerve fiber of historically important events can elevate the professional politician above everyday routine even when he is placed in formally modest positions. But now the question for him is: Through what qualities can I hope to do justice to this power (however narrowly circumscribed it may be in the individual case)? How can he hope to do justice to the responsibility that power imposes upon him? With this we enter the field of ethical questions, for that is where the problem belongs: What kind of a man must one be if he is to be allowed to put his hand on the wheel of history?
One can say that three pre-eminent qualities are decisive for the politician: passion, a feeling of responsibility, and a sense of propor- tion.
This means passion in the sense of matter-of-factness, of passio- nate devotion to a 'cause,' to tire god or demon who is its overlord. It is not passion in the sense of that inner bearing which my late friend, Georg Simmel, used to designate as 'sterile excitation,' and which was peculiar especially to a certain type of Russian intellectual (by no means all of them!). It is an excitation that plays so great a part with our intellectuals in this carnival we decorate with the proud name of 'revolution.' It is a 'romanticism of the intellectually inter- esting,' running into emptiness devoid of all feeling of objective re- sponsibility.
To be sure, mere passion, however genuinely felt, is not enough. It does not make a politician, unless passion as devotion to a 'cause' also makes responsibility to this cause the guiding star of action. And for this, a sense of proportion is needed. This is tire decisive psychological quality of tire politician: his ability to let realities work upon him with inner concentration and calmness. Hence his dis- tance to things and men. 'Lack of distance' per se is one of tire dead- ly sins of every politician. It is one of those qualities tire breeding of which will condemn tire progeny of our intellectuals to political in- capacity. For tire problem is simply how can warm passion and a cool sense of proportion be forged together in one and tire same soul? Politics is made with tire head, not with other parts of the body or soul. And yet devotion to politics, if it is not to be frivolous intel-
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lectual play but rather genuinely human conduct, can be born and nourished from passion alone. However, that firm taming of the soul, which distinguishes die passionate politician and differentiates him from the 'sterilely excited' and mere political dilettante, is poss- ible only dirough habituation to detachment in every sense of die word. The 'strength' of a political 'personality' means, in die first place, die possession of these qualities of passion, responsibility, and proportion.
Therefore, daily and hourly, the politician inwardly has to over- come a quite trivial and all-too-human enemy: a quite vulgar vanity, the deadly enemy of all matter-of-fact devotion to a cause, and of all distance, in diis case, of distance towards one's self.
Vanity is a very widespread quality and perhaps nobody is en- tirely free from it. In academic and scholarly circles, vanity is a sort of occupational disease, but precisely widi die scholar, vanity— however disagreeably it may express itself— is relatively harmless; in the sense that as a rule it does not disturb scientific enterprise. Widi die politician die case is quite different. He works widi die striving for power as an unavoidable means. Therefore, 'power instinct,' as is usually said, belongs indeed to his normal qualities. The sin against die lofty spirit of his vocation, however, begins where diis striving for power ceases to be objective and becomes purely per- sonal self-intoxication, instead of exclusively entering the serv ice of 'die cause.' For ultimately diere are only two kinds of deadly sins in the field of politics: lack of objectivity and— often but not always identical with it— irresponsibility. Vanity, die need personally to stand in die foreground as clearly as possible, strongly tempts die politician to commit one or both of diese sins. This is more truly the case as the demagogue is compelled to count upon 'effect.' He dierefore is constandy in danger of becoming an actor as well as tak- ing lightiy die responsibility for die outcome of his actions and of being concerned merely widi die 'impression' he makes. His lack of objectivity tempts him to strive for the glamorous semblance of power radier dian for actual pow r er. His irresponsibility, however, suggests diat he enjoy power merely for power's sake without a subs- tantive purpose. Altiiough, or radier just because, power is the un- avoidable means, and striving for power is one of the driving forces of all politics, diere is no more harmful distortion of political force dian die parvenu-like braggart widi power, and die vain self- reflection in die feeling of pow r er, and in general every worship of power per se. The mere 'power politician' may get strong effects, but actually his work leads nowiiere and is senseless. (Among us, too, an ardendy promoted cult seeks to glorify him.) In this, the crit- ics of 'power politics' are absolutely right. From die sudden inner collapse of typical representatives of diis mentality, we can see what inner weakness and impotence hides behind diis boastful but en- tirely empty gesture. It is a product of a shoddy and superficially
37
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blase attitude towards die meaning of human conduct; and it has no relation whatsoever to the knowledge of tragedy with which all ac- tion, but especially political action, is truly interwoven.
The final result of political action often, no, even regularly, stands in completely inadequate and often even paradoxical relation to its original meaning. This is fundamental to all history, a point not to be proved in detail here. But because of this fact, the serving of a cause must not be absent if action is to have inner strength. Exactly what the cause, in the service of which the politician strives for pow- er and uses power, looks like is a matter of faith. The politician may serve national, humanitarian, social, ethical, cultural, worldly, or re- ligious ends. The politician may be sustained by a strong belief in 'progress'— no matter in which sense— or he may coolly reject this kind of belief. He may claim to stand in the sendee of an 'idea' or, rejecting this in principle, he may want to serve external ends of eve- ryday life. However, some kind of faith must always exist. Other- wise, it is absolutely true that the curse of the creature's worthless- ness overshadows even the externally strongest political successes.
With the statement above we are already engaged in discussing the last problem that concerns us tonight: the ethos of politics as a 'cause.' What calling can politics fulfil quite independently of its goals within the total ethical economy of human conduct— which is, so to speak, the ethical locus where politics is at home? Here, to be sure, ultimate Weltanschauungen clash, world views among which in the end one has to make a choice. Let us resolutely tackle this prob- lem, which recently has been opened again, in my view in a very wrong way.
But first, let us free ourselves from a quite trivial falsification: namely, that ethics may first appear in a morally highly compro- mised role. Let us consider examples. Rarely will you find that a man whose love turns from one woman to another feels no need to legitimate this before himself by saying: she was not worthy of my love, or, she has disappointed me, or whatever other like 'reasons' exist. This is an attitude that, with a profound lack of chivalry, adds a fancied 'legitimacy' to the plain fact that he no longer loves her and that die woman has to bear it. By virtue of this 'legitimation,' the man claims a right for himself and besides causing die misfortune seeks to put her in the wrong. The successful amatory competitor proceeds exactly in die same way: namely, die opponent must be less worthy, otherwise he would not have lost out. It is no different, of course, if after a victorious war the victor in undignified self- righteousness claims, 'I have won because I was right.' Or, if some- body under the frightfulness of war collapses psychologically, and instead of simply saying it was just too much, he feels die need of legitimizing his war weariness to himself by substituting die feeling, 'I could not bear it because I had to fight for a morally bad cause.' And likewise with die defeated in war. Instead of searching like old
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women for die 'guilty one' after the war— in a situation in which tire structure of society produced die war— everyone widi a manly and controlled attitude would tell die enemy, 'We lost the war. You have won it. That is now all over. Now let us discuss what conclusions must he drawn according to die objective interests tiiat came into play and what is die main tiling in view of the responsibility towards the future which above all hurdens the victor.' Anything else is un- dignified and will become a boomerang. A nation forgives if its in- terests have been damaged, but no nation forgives if its honor has been offended, especially hy a bigoted self-righteousness. Every new document that conies to light after decades revives the undignified lamentations, the hatred and scorn, instead of allowing die war at its end to be huried, at least morally. This is possible only through ob- jectivity and chivalry and above all only through dignity. But never is it possible through an 'ethic,' which in truth signifies a lack of dignity on both sides. Instead of being concerned about what die politician is interested in, die future and die responsibility towards die future, this ethic is concerned ahout politically sterile questions of past guilt, which are not to be settled politically. To act in this way is politically guilty, if such guilt exists at all. And it overlooks the unavoidable fal- sification of the whole problem, through very material interests: namely, the victor's interest in die greatest possible moral and ma- terial gain; die hopes of die defeated to trade in advantages through confessions of guilt. If anything is 'vulgar,' then, this is, and it is the result of this fashion of exploiting 'ethics' as a means of 'being in the right.'
Now then, what relations do ethics and politics actually have? Have the two nothing whatever to do with one another, as has occa- sionally been said? Or, is die reverse true: that the ethic of political conduct is identical with that of any other conduct? Occasionally an exclusive choice has been believed to exist between die two proposi- tions— either the one or the other proposition must he correct. But is it true that any ethic of the world could establish commandments of identical content for erotic, business, familial, and official relations; for the relations to one's wife, to the greengrocer, the son, the com- petitor, the friend, die defendant? Should it really matter so little for the ethical demands on politics that politics operates with very spe- cial means, namely, power backed up hy violence? Do we not see that the Bolshevik and die Spartacist ideologists bring ahout exactly the same results as any militaristic dictator just hecause they use this political means? In what but the persons of the power-holders and their dilettantism does the rule of the workers' and soldiers' councils differ from die rule of any power-holder of die old regime? In what way does the polemic of most representatives of the presumably new ethic differ from that of the opponents which they criticized, or the ethic of any other demagogues? In their noble intention, people will say, Good! But it is the means about which we speak here, and
POLITICS AS A VOCATION
die adversaries, in complete subjective sincerity, claim, in the very same way, diat dieir ultimate intentions are of lofty character. 'All diey drat take the sword shall perish widi die sword' and fighting is everywhere fighting. Hence, the ediic of die Sermon on die Mount.
By die Sermon on die Mount, we mean the absolute ethic of die gospel, which is a more serious matter dian those who are fond of quoting diese commandments today believe. This ethic is no joking matter. The same holds for diis ediic as has been said of causality in science: it is not a cab, which one can have stopped at one's plea- sure; it is all or nothing. This is precisely die meaning of die gospel, if trivialities are not to result. Hence, for instance, it was said of the wealthy young man, 'He went away sorrowful: for he had great pos- sessions.' The evangelist commandment, however, is unconditional and unambiguous: give what diou hast— absolutely everydiing. The politician will say diat diis is a socially senseless imposition as long as it is not carried out everywhere. Thus the politician upholds taxa- tion, confiscatory taxation, outright confiscation; in a word, compul- sion and regulation for all. The ediical commandment, however, is not at all concerned about diat, and diis unconcern is its essence. Or, take die example, 'turn die odier cheek:' This command is un- conditional and does not question die source of die odier's authority to strike. Except for a saint it is an ediic of indignity. This is it: one must be saindy in everything; at least in intention, one must live like Jesus, die aposties, St. Francis, and dieir like. Then diis ediic makes sense and expresses a kind of dignity; otherwise it does not. For if it is said, in line with die acosmic ediic of love, 'Resist not him diat is evil widi force,' for the politician die reverse proposition holds, 'diou shalt resist evil by force,' or else you are responsible for the evil winning out. He who wishes to follow the ethic of die gospel should abstain from strikes, for strikes mean compulsion; he may join die company unions. Above all tilings, he should not talk of 'revolution.' After all, die ediic of die gospel does not wish to teach diat civil war is the only legitimate war. The pacifist who follows the gospel will refuse to bear arms or will dirow diem down; in Germa- ny this was the recommended ediical duty to end die war and die- rewitii all wars. The politician would say the only sure means to dis- credit die war for all foreseeable time would have been a status quo peace. Then the nations would have questioned, what was diis war for? And dien die war would have been argued ad absurdum, which is now impossible. For die victors, at least for part of them, the war will have been politically profitable. And die responsibility for diis rests on behavior diat made all resistance impossible for us. Now, as a result of the ethics of absolutism, when die period of exhaustion will have passed, the peace will be discredited, not the war.
Finally, let us consider die duty of trudifulness. For die absolute ediic it holds unconditionally. Hence die conclusion was reached to publish all documents, especially diose placing blame on one's own
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country. On the basis of these one-sided publications the confes- sions of guilt followed— and they were one-sided, unconditional, and without regard to consequences. The politician will find that as a result truth will not be furthered but certainly obscured dirough abuse and unleashing of passion; only an all-round methodical in- vestigation by non-partisans could bear fruit; any other procedure may have consequences for a nation that cannot be remedied for decades. But the absolute ethic just does not ask for 'consequences.' That is the decisive point.
We must be clear about the fact that all ethically oriented con- duct may be guided by one of two fundamentally differing and irre- concilably opposed maxims: conduct can be oriented to an 'ethic of ultimate ends' or to an 'ethic of responsibility.' This is not to say that an ethic of ultimate ends is identical with irresponsibility, or that an ethic of responsibility is identical with unprincipled opportunism. Naturally nobody says that. However, there is an abysmal contrast between conduct that follows the maxim of an ethic of ultimate ends— that is, in religious terms, 'The Christian does rightly and leaves the results with the Lord'— and conduct that follows the max- im of an ethic of responsibility, in which case one has to give an ac- count of the foreseeable results of one's action.
You may demonstrate to a convinced syndicalist, believing in an ethic of ultimate ends, that his action will result in increasing the op- portunities of reaction, in increasing the oppression of his class, and obstructing its ascent— and you will not make the slightest impression upon him. If an action of good intent leads to bad results, then, in the actor's eyes, not he but the world, or the stupidity of other men, or God's will who made them thus, is responsible for the evil. How- ever a man who believes in an ethic of responsibility takes account of precisely the average deficiencies of people; as Fichte has correct- ly said, he does not even have the right to presuppose their good- ness and perfection. He does not feel in a position to burden others with the results of his own actions so far as he was able to foresee them; he will say: these results are ascribed to my action. The be- liever in an ethic of ultimate ends feels 'responsible' only for seeing to it that the flame of pure intentions is not quelched: for example, the flame of protesting against the injustice of the social order. To rekindle the flame ever anew is the purpose of his quite irrational deeds, judged in view of their possible success. They are acts that can and shall have only exemplary value.
But even herewith the problem is not yet exhausted. No ethics in the world can dodge the fact that in numerous instances the at- tainment of 'good' ends is bound to the fact that one must be willing to pay the price of using morally dubious means or at least danger- ous ones— and facing the possibility or even the probability of evil ramifications. From no ethics in the world can it be concluded when and to what extent the ethically good purpose 'justifies' the ethically
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dangerous means and ramifications.
The decisive means for politics is violence. You may see the ex- tent of die tension between means and ends, when viewed ethically, from die following: as is generally known, even during the war the revolutionary socialists (Zimmerwald faction) professed a principle diat one might strikingly formulate: 'If we face die choice either of some more years of war and then revolution, or peace now and no revolution, we choose— some more years of war!' Upon the further question: 'What can this revolution bring about?' every scientifically trained socialist would have had die answer: One cannot speak of a transition to an economy that in our sense could be called socialist; a bourgeois economy will re -emerge, merely stripped of the feudal elements and die dynastic vestiges. For this very modest result, they are willing to face 'some more years of war.' One may well say diat even with a very robust socialist conviction one might reject a pur- pose that demands such means. Widi Bolshevism and Spartacism, and, in general, with any kind of revolutionary socialism, it is pre- cisely die same tiling. It is of course utterly ridiculous if die power politicians of die old regime are morally denounced for dieir use of die same means, however justified die rejection of their aims may be.
The ediic of ultimate ends apparently must go to pieces on die problem of die justification of means by ends. As a matter of fact, logically it has only the possibility of rejecting all action that employs morally dangerous means— in theory! In the world of realities, as a rule, we encounter die ever-renewed experience diat die adherent of an ediic of ultimate ends suddenly turns into a chiliastic prophet. Those, for example, who have just preached 'love against violence' now call for die use of force for the last violent deed, which would dien lead to a state of affairs in which all violence is annihilated. In die same manner, our officers told die soldiers before every offen- sive: 'This will be die last one; this one will bring victory and there- with peace.' The proponent of an ediic of absolute ends cannot stand up under die ediical irrationality of die world. He is a cosmic- ediical 'rationalist.' Those of you who know Dostoievski will re- member die scene of die 'Grand Inquisitor,' where die problem is poignandy unfolded. If one makes any concessions at all to die prin- ciple that the end justifies die means, it is not possible to bring an ediic of ultimate ends and an ediic of responsibility under one roof or to decree etiiically which end should justify which means.
My colleague, Mr. F. W. Forster, whom personally I highly es- teem for his undoubted sincerity, but whom I reject unreservedly as a politician, believes it is possible to get around this difficulty by the simple diesis: 'from good conies only good; but from evil only evil follows.' In diat case this whole complex of questions would not ex- ist. But it is radier astonishing diat such a thesis could come to light two thousand five hundred years after die Upanishads. Not only die
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whole course of world history, hut ever}' frank examination of eve- ryday experience points to the very opposite. The development of religions all over the world is determined hy the fact that the oppo- site is true. The age-old prohlem of theodicy consists of the very question of how it is that a power which is said to he at once omni- potent and kind could have created such an irrational world of un- deserved suffering, unpunished injustice, and hopeless stupidity. Ei- ther this power is not omnipotent or not kind, or, entirely different principles of compensation and reward govern our life— principles we may interpret metaphysically, or even principles that forever es- cape our comprehension.
This prohlem— the experience of the irrationality of the world- has heen the driving force of all religious evolution. The Indian doc- trine of karma, Persian dualism, the doctrine of original sin, predes- tination and die deus absconditus, all these have grown out of this experience. Also the early Christians knew full well the world is go- verned by demons and that he who lets himself in for politics, that is, for power and force as means, contracts with diabolical powers and for his action it is not true that good can follow only from good and evil only from evil, but that often the opposite is true. Anyone who fails to see this is, indeed, a political infant.
We are placed into various life -spheres, each of which is go- verned by different laws. Religious ethics have settled with this fact in different ways. Hellenic polytheism made sacrifices to Aphrodite and Hera alike, to Dionysus and to Apollo, and knew these gods were frequently in conflict with one another. The Hindu order of life made each of the different occupations an object of a specific ethical code, a Dharma, and forever segregated one from the other as castes, thereby placing them into a fixed hierarchy of rank. For the man born into it, there was no escape from it, lest he be twice- born in another life. The occupations were thus placed at varying distances from tire highest religious goods of salvation. In this way, the caste order allowed for the possibility of fashioning tire Dharma of each single caste, from those of tire ascetics and Brahmins to those of the rogues and harlots, in accordance with tire immanent and autonomous laws of their respective occupations. War and poli- tics were also included. You will find war integrated into tire totality of life-spheres in tire Bhagavad-Gita, in tire conversation between Krishna and Arduna. 'Do what must be done,' i.e. do that work which, according to tire Dharma of tire warrior caste and its rules, is obligator}? and which, according to tire purpose of tire war, is objec- tively necessary. Hinduism believes that such conduct does not damage religious salvation but, rather, promotes it. When he faced tire hero's death, tire Indian warrior was always sure of Indra's hea- ven, just as was the Teuton warrior of Valhalla. The Indian hero would have despised Nirvana just as much as the Teuton would have sneered at the Christian paradise with its angels' choirs. This
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specialization of ethics allowed for the Indian ethic's quite unbroken treatment of politics by following politics' own laws and even radical- ly enhancing this royal art.
A really radical 'Machiavellianism,' in the popular sense of this word, is classically represented in Indian literature, in the Kautaliya Arthasastra (long before Christ, allegedly dating from Chandragup- ta's time). In contrast with this document Machiavelli's Principe is harmless. As is known in Catholic ethics— to which otherwise Profes- sor Forster stands close— the consilia evangelica are a special ethic for those endowed with the charisma of a holy life. There stands the monk who must not shed blood or strive for gain, and beside him stand the pious knight and the burgher, who are allowed to do so, the one to shed blood, the other to pursue gain. The gradation of ethics and its organic integration into the doctrine of salvation is less consistent than in India. According to the presuppositions of Chris- tian faith, this could and had to be the case. The wickedness of the world stemming from original sin allowed with relative ease the inte- gration of violence into ethics as a disciplinary means against sin and against the heretics who endangered the soul. However, the de- mands of the Sermon on the Mount, an acosmic ethic of ultimate ends, implied a natural law of absolute imperatives based upon reli- gion. These absolute imperatives retained their revolutionizing force and they came upon the scene with elemental vigor during almost all periods of social upheaval. They produced especially the radical pa- cifist sects, one of which in Pennsylvania experimented in establish- ing a polity that renounced violence towards the outside. This expe- riment took a tragic course, inasmuch as with the outbreak of the War of Independence the Quakers could not stand up arms-in- hand for their ideals, which were those of the war.
Normally, Protestantism, however, absolutely legitimated the state as a divine institution and hence violence as a means. Protes- tantism, especially, legitimated the authoritarian state. Luther re- lieved the individual of the ethical responsibility for war and trans- ferred it to the authorities. To obey the authorities in matters other than those of faith could never constitute guilt. Calvinism in turn knew principled violence as a means of defending the faith; thus Calvinism knew the crusade, which was for Islam an element of life from the beginning. One sees that it is by no means a modern disbe- lief born from the hero worship of the Renaissance which poses the problem of political ethics. All religions have wrestled with it, with highly differing success, and after what has been said it could not be otherwise. It is the specific means of legitimate violence as such in the hand of human associations which determines the peculiarity of all ethical problems of politics.
Whosoever contracts with violent means for whatever ends— and every politician does— is exposed to its specific consequences. This holds especially for the crusader, religious and revolutionary alike.
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Let us confidently take the present as an example. He who wants to establish absolute justice on earth by force requires a following, a human 'machine.' He must hold out the necessary internal and ex- ternal premiums, heavenly or worldly reward, to this 'machine' or else the machine will not function. Under the conditions of the modern class struggle, the internal premiums consist of the satisfying of hatred and the craving for revenge; above all, resentment and the need for pseudo-ethical self-righteousness: the opponents must be slandered and accused of heresy. The external rewards are adven- ture, victory, booty, power, and spoils. The leader and his success are completely dependent upon the functioning of his machine and hence not on his own motives. Therefore he also depends upon whether or not the premiums can be permanently granted to the following, that is, to the Red Guard, the informers, the agitators, whom he needs. What he actually attains under the conditions of his work is therefore not in his hand, but is prescribed to him by the following' s motives, which, if viewed ethically, are predominantly base. The following can be harnessed only so long as an honest be- lief in his person and his cause inspires at least part of the following, probably never on earth even the majority. This belief, even when subjectively sincere, is in a very great number of cases really no more than an ethical 'legitimation' of cravings for revenge, power, booty, and spoils. We shall not be deceived about this by verbiage; the materialist interpretation of history is no cab to be taken at will; it does not stop short of the promoters of revolutions. Emotional revolutionism is followed by the traditionalist routine of everyday life; the crusading leader and tire faith itself fade away, or, what is even more effective, tire faith becomes part of tire conventional phraseology of political Philistines and banausic technicians. This development is especially rapid with struggles of faith because they are usually led or inspired by genuine leaders, that is, prophets of revolution. For here, as with every leader's machine, one of tire conditions for success is tire depersonalization and routinization, in short, tire psychic proletarianization, in tire interests of discipline. After coming to power tire following of a crusader usually degene- rates very easily into a quite common stratum of spoilsmen.
Whoever wants to engage in politics at all, and especially in poli- tics as a vocation, has to realize these ethical paradoxes. He must know that he is responsible for what may become of himself under tire impact of these paradoxes. I repeat, he lets himself in for the diabolic forces lurking in all violence. The great virtuosi of acosmic love of humanity and goodness, whether stemming from Nazareth or Assisi or from Indian royal castles, have not operated with the political means of violence. Their kingdom was 'not of this world' and yet they worked and still work in this world. The figures of Pla- ton Karatajev and the saints of Dostoievski still remain their most adequate reconstructions. He who seeks the salvation of the soul, of
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his own and of others, should not seek it along the avenue of poli- tics, for the quite different tasks of politics can only he solved by vi- olence. The genius or demon of politics lives in an inner tension with the god of love, as well as with the Christian God as expressed by die church. This tension can at any time lead to an irreconcilable conflict. Men knew this even in the times of church rule. Time and again the papal interdict was placed upon Florence and at the time it meant a far more robust power for men and their salvation of soul than (to speak with Fichte) the 'cool approbation' of the Kantian ethical judgment. The burghers, however, fought the church-state. And it is with reference to such situations that Machiavelli in a beau- tiful passage, if I am not mistaken, of the History of Florence, has one of his heroes praise those citizens who deemed the greatness of their native city higher than the salvation of their souls.
If one says 'the future of socialism' or 'international peace,' in- stead of native city or 'fatherland' (which at present may be a du- bious value to some), then you face the problem as it stands now. Everything that is striven for through political action operating with violent means and following an ethic of responsibility endangers the 'salvation of the soul.' If, however, one chases after the ultimate good in a war of beliefs, following a pure ethic of absolute ends, then the goals may be damaged and discredited for generations, be- cause responsibility for consequences is lacking, and two diabolic forces which enter the play remain unknown to the actor. These are inexorable and produce consequences for his action and even for his inner self, to which he must helplessly submit, unless he perce- ives them. The sentence: 'The devil is old; grow old to understand him!' does not refer to age in terms of chronological years. I have never permitted myself to lose out in a discussion through a refer- ence to a date registered on a birth certificate; but tire mere fact that someone is twenty years of age and that I am over fifty is no cause for me to think that this alone is air achievement before which I am overawed. Age is not decisive; what is decisive is the trained relen- tlessness in viewing tire realities of life, and tire ability to face such realities and to measure up to them inwardly.
Surely, politics is made with the head, but it is certainly not made with tire head alone. In this tire proponents of an ethic of ul- timate ends are right. One cannot prescribe to anyone whether he should follow an ethic of absolute ends or an ethic of responsibility, or when tire one and when tire other. One can say only this much: If in these times, which, in your opinion, are not times of 'sterile' exci- tation—excitation is not, after all, genuine passion— if now suddenly tire Weltanschauungs-politicmns crop up en masse and pass tire watchword, 'The world is stupid and base, not I,' 'The responsibility for the consequences does not fall upon me but upon the others whom I serve and whose stupidity or baseness I shall eradicate,' then I declare frankly that I would first inquire into the degree of
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inner poise backing this ethic of ultimate ends. I am under tire im- pression that in nine out of ten cases I deal with windbags who do not fully realize what diey take upon diemselves but who intoxicate diemselves widi romantic sensations. From a human point of view this is not very interesting to me, nor does it move me profoundly. However, it is immensely moving when a mature man— no matter whether old or young in years— is aware of a responsibility for the consequences of his conduct and really feels such responsibility with heart and soul. He then acts by following an ediic of responsibility and somewhere he reaches die point where he says: 'Here I stand; I can do no odier.' That is sometiiing genuinely human and moving. And every one of us who is not spiritually dead must realize die pos- sibility of finding himself at some time in diat position. In so far as diis is true, an ediic of ultimate ends and an ediic of responsibility are not absolute contrasts but radier supplements, which only in un- ison constitute a genuine man— a man who can have die 'calling for politics.'
Now dien, ladies and gendemen, let us debate this matter once more ten years from now. Unfortunately, for a whole series of rea- sons, I fear diat by dien die period of reaction will have long since broken over us. It is very probable that little of what many of you, and (I candidly confess) I too, have wished and hoped for will be fulfilled; little— perhaps not exactly nothing, but what to us at least seems little. This will not crush me, but surely it is an inner burden to realize it. Then, I wish I could see what has become of diose of you who now feel yourselves to be genuinely 'principled' politicians and who share in die intoxication signified by diis revolution. It would be nice if matters turned out in such a way diat Shakespeare's Sonnet 102 should hold true:
Our love was new, and dien but in die spring, When I was wont to greet it widi my lays; As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, And stops her pipe in growth of riper days.
But such is not the case. Not summer's bloom lies ahead of us, but radier a polar night of icy darkness and hardness, no matter which group may triumph externally now. Where diere is nodiing, not on- ly die Kaiser but also the proletarian has lost his rights. When diis night shall have slowly receded, who of diose for whom spring ap- parently has bloomed so luxuriously will be alive? And what will have become of all of you by then? Will you be bitter or banausic? Will you simply and dully accept world and occupation? Or will the tiiird and by no means die least frequent possibility be your lot: mys- tic flight from reality for diose who are gifted for it, or— as is both frequent and unpleasant— for diose who belabor diemselves to fol- low diis fashion? In every one of such cases, I shall draw die conclu- sion diat diey have not measured up to dieir own doings. They have
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not measured up to the world as it really is in its everyday routine. Objectively and actually, they have not experienced the vocation for politics in its deepest meaning, which they diought they had. They would have done better in simply cultivating plain brotherliness in personal relations. And for the rest— they should have gone soberly about their daily work.
Politics is a strong and slow boring of hard boards. It takes both passion and perspective. Certainly all historical experience confirms the truth— that man would not have attained the possible unless time and again he had reached out for the impossible. But to do that a man must be a leader, and not only a leader but a hero as well, in a very sober sense of the word. And even those who are neither lead- ers nor heroes must arm themselves with that steadfastness of heart which can brave even the crumbling of all hopes. This is necessary right now, or else men will not be able to attain even that which is possible today. Only he has the calling for politics who is sure that he shall not crumble when the world from his point of view is too stupid or too base for what he wants to offer. Only he who in the face of all this can say 'In spite of all!' has the calling for politics.
NOTES
1 Trachtet nach seinem Werk.
2 A high ministerial official in charge of a special division concerning which he had to give regular reports.
3 Head of an administrative division in a ministry. 4 The 'local agents' of die party.
s Weher alludes to the evasion of rationing and priority rules and the develop- ments of 'black markets' during die wartime administration of Germany, 1914 to 1918.
^Federal Council.
' 1 Landwirtschaftskammer.
8 Handwerkskammer.
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