Fascism and Modernism Griffin Review

recourse to the question of whetherMiltonwas or was not of theDevil’s party. It is to suggest that in writing about Milton weshould confront the human contradictions and complexitiesthat render his faith unfathomable, and that animate theshifting patterns of allegiance that are to be found in hiswriting and in his life. This is an aspect of Milton, asNigel Smith has recently observed in Is Milton Better ThanShakespeare?, with which modern scholars are insufficientlyengaged. To make such an engagement would be to build onthe tremendous research undertaken by the authors of thebooks covered here. It would be to recognise Forster’s concernthat we see Milton whole, and to recognise in Adam and EveMilton’s most enduring picture of humanity:

Som natural tears they drop’d, but wip’d them soon;The World was all before them, where to chooseThir place of rest, and Providence thir guide:They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow,Through Eden took their solitarie way.

The picture is of us; it is of Milton too.

University of Exeter MATTHEWADAMS

doi:10.1093/escrit/cgq004

MODERNISM IN OUR TIME

Modernism and Fascism: The Sense of a Beginning underMussolini and Hitler. By ROGER GRIFFIN. Palgrave Macmillan,2007; £56.

Modernism and Fascism feels like a culmination. Since publish-ing The Nature of Fascism sixteen years ago, Roger Griffin haswritten numerous articles and given numerous papers on therelationship of modernism to fascism; this is their richly docu-mented, rigorously theorised, 460-page apogee. A precis of itsargument can, for example, be found in ‘Modernity, Modern-ism, and Fascism: A “Mazeway Resynthesis”’ (Modernism/Modernity, 15/1 (2008), 9-24). Modernism has hitherto been

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too narrowly conceived – as an aesthetic but not a socialphenomenon, and as overwhelmingly connected to the leftwing. The second point is not wholly dependent on the first;there are, Griffin contends, many more right-wing works of aes-thetic modernism than have previously been recognised. Italianfascism and Nazism embraced aesthetic modernism to a signifi-cant degree, and were politically modernist in their desire toachieve national rebirth through social acts of creative destruc-tion. Griffin offers the image of the Russian doll: Italianfascism and Nazism fit into fascism, which fits into modernism,which fits into modernity.Modernity itself is argued to have different stages, and this

book is concerned with that dating from roughly 1850 to1945. During this period the ‘sacred canopy’, which humanshave constructed throughout history in order to shelter themfrom an awareness of their own mortality and meaninglessness,was ruptured by developments in industry, biology, and geology.The resulting loss of ævum (‘transcendental time’), sense ofanomie, and perception of cultural decadence produced thereaction of modernism in its myriad aesthetic, social, andpolitical forms. Since the ‘sacred canopy’ has been ruptured,and this rupturing has met with a range of responses, atnumerous stages of human history, modernism is the mostimportant recent example of what is a perennial humanphenomenon.Griffin offers some particularly striking evidence in the case of

Nazism. Goebbels, for example, wrote warmly to the painterEdvard Munch on the occasion of the latter’s seventiethbirthday in 1933 and – even after Munch was anathematisedby the Nazi Party in 1937 – arranged for his burial in Quisling’sNorway in a coffin draped with swastikas. The expressionistsErnst Barlach and Emil Nolde, and architectural modernistMies van der Rohe, sought and to some degree found theapproval of the Nazi government before 1937. During thesame period, performances of Bartok, Stravinsky, and RichardStrauss were permitted, and – although jazz was condemnedas aesthetically and racially decadent – its big band versionSwing was tolerated as enhancing Lebensfreude. The techno-cratic streak of the Nazi movement was expressed in the

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modernist neoclassicism of such buildings as Albert Speer’s, andin such visual art genres as Autobahnkunst. Much of the art –whether aesthetically modernist or not – which allied itself tofascism was charged by what Griffin calls ‘programmatic mod-ernism’ – ‘the mission to change society, to inaugurate a newepoch, to start time anew’. This is to be distinguished from the‘epiphanic’ modernism of art which aimed only at the evocationof momentary spiritual renewal on the part of individuals – as inthe works of Marcel Proust, T. S. Eliot, James Joyce, VirginiaWoolf, and Franz Kafka. Programmatic and epiphanic modern-isms – however different – were linked by their orientationtowards the transcendent.There is much to admire in this ‘high-altitude reconnaissance

mission’ of the two massive and messy concepts which form thebook’s title. The verbal and (monochrome) visual illustrationsof fascism’s embrace of aesthetic modernism memorablysupport the argument. What Griffin calls his ‘methodologicalempathy’ – his attempt to describe the mentality of fascismfrom within – leads him to acknowledge the generous, noble,and optimistic feelings to which fascisms appealed, and withoutwhich these movements would have had far less power. Move-ments which oppress minorities cannot be understood, orguarded against, without recognition of this factor. Griffinextends ‘modernism’ to encompass the popular fervour fornational cleansing and regeneration which he considers to havecontributed to the First World War: ‘War-fever was thus bothan elite andmassmovement ofmodernist reactions to the histori-cal crisis’; thewarwasthereforeamodernist event.This is an intri-guing interpretationwhich is saved from fatal exaggeration by itsexplicit exclusion of Italy andRussia, and of the change of feelingwhich occurred during the war’s last year.The book spends little time discussing Bolshevism, but when

it does so it uses it helpfully as an analogue to fascism. Both typesof movement responded to the pressures of modernity with amodernist desire for transcendence and renewal which wasapparent even in the non-modernist art which supported it;socialist realism was in many respects revolutionary, and sotoo was similarly styled Nazi and Italian fascist art. Moreover,as Griffin might have noted, the Soviet Union was far more

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tolerant of the avant-garde between 1934 and 1953 than hasuntil recently been recognised in the West. Stalin commissionedconstructivist architects to build his two country villas atKuntsevo and Sochi. He awarded the Stalin Prize several timesto Prokofiev, and ensured that Eisenstein was given the mostimportant film commissions. Given these similarities, Griffinmight more often have used the term ‘revolutionary’ in his dis-cussion of fascism; but, perhaps because of the left-wing conno-tations of the term, he prefersAufbruch – a ‘breaking into a newphase or situation’.There is great ambition in the range of subjects which Griffin

covers, and the attendant disciplines on which he draws: archi-tecture, visual art, music, literature, modern dance, philosophy,psychology, spiritualism, and militant vegetarianism. He seemsmost at home with philosophy and the plastic arts, but hewrites illuminatingly about all of the others. He avoids conflat-ing the movements he describes, and makes precise distinctionsbetween the philosophical origins, political nature, and aestheticpolicies of Italian fascism and Nazism. He pointedly uses PrimoLevi’s removal by cattle-truck from Turin to Auschwitz.One of the major benefits of a book of such overarching scope

(the massive arch on its front cover is apt) is the broad context inwhich it places whatever one’s specialism within the field of‘modern’ history happens to be. Two writers with whom thepresent reviewer is concerned – Leo Tolstoy and D. H.Lawrence – can easily be described in the terms Griffinproposes. The later Tolstoy, with his plans for physical and spiri-tual renewal within a Russian Christian–anarchist context, is aprogrammatic modernist. Lawrence, with his fitful interest in a‘Rananim’ community, and with his transient beliefs in Russia,the United States, and Mexico as countries ‘of the future’, isboth a spasmodically programmatic and a persistently epiphanicmodernist. It is stimulating to be provoked to place two suchdifferent authors within the single context of Europeanmodernity.Modernism and Fascism is ambitious and rightly anticipates

criticism, from which it seeks pre-emptively to defend itself. Itclaims to be treading a fine line between crippling postmodernself-doubt and naively essentialising historicism. It does not



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offer a falsifiable thesis, but a ‘historical interpretation’: ‘a full-blown grand recit, but one which never makes “totalizing”claims’. One of the book’s principal aims is to be a heuristicstimulus to further debate. Its other aim is to awaken anemotionally charged interest in the major issues which concernthe present as much as the past. The penultimate pagecontains the following passionate appeal:

I would almost prefer to be found unintelligible than to beresponded to as if this whole book was simply an invitationto play an elaborate game of conceptual chess or ping-pongabout modernism’s relationship to fascism, oblivious of thequestions it should raise at a visceral level about such ‘cos-mological’ issues as the nature of modernity, progress, thestate.

In the same spirit, the book aims to ‘break down the artificialbarriers Western society has tended to erect between thoughtand experience, intellect and feeling’. Yet, whatever else itdoes, it also plays ‘conceptual chess’ about ‘modernism’srelationship to fascism’, and in doing so invites certain counter-moves. Griffin’s ‘maximalization’ of modernism to a paradoxi-cal, syncretic concept which requires more than a page for itsdefinition is a process which he himself likens to the enlargementof the European Union to include culturally ‘alien’ societies. Theproblem, in this case, is where this process leaves the more estab-lished members. It is not always clear how aesthetic modernismper se fits into the expanded union. In particular, ‘epiphanicmodernism’, with its desire ‘to distil the eternal from the transi-tory’, is a weak concept with which to linkWoolf and Joyce to aphenomenon which encompasses Nazism and Bolshevism.Moreover, arguably the dominant aim of both these writerswas to describe what life actually was, rather than how itought to be, or how anomie might temporarily be escapedfrom. Griffin’s chronology is not concerned with the rise ofthe avant-garde as such; there is no room in it for Woolf’s ‘onor about December 1910 human nature changed’.Griffin’s association of modernismwith the right wing applies

a great deal of pressure to a relatively open door. Those who

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approach modernism from the perspective of English literature,as many readers of these pages do, are more likely to associate itwith the right than with the left. The list of ‘usual suspects’ offascist intellectuals which Griffin provides towards the end ofhis book includes W. B. Yeats, Ezra Pound, Wyndham Lewis,D. H. Lawrence, and T. S. Eliot. These are indeed ‘usual’suspects – and Heidegger and Nietzsche are usually presentedas their philosophical forerunners. Moreover, the dominant nar-rative of British literary history is that, as highmodernismwanedin the 1930s, the political leaning of the most prominent litera-ture shifted to the left. Admittedly, Griffin’s work is not con-cerned with Britain, but it does claim to have application tomodernism in general. The association of modernism with theleft wing is a Nazi conceit (Kulturbolschewismus) and aWestern Cold War one (associating the permitted avant-gardewith freedoms denied in the East). However, it is one whichhas long since been challenged. When Griffin states that theterm ‘modernist’ ‘should long since have shed connotations of“good” or “rational”’, many readers who have never had anysuch associations will be bemused. So too will those who donot associate ‘left-wing’ and ‘progressive’ with ‘good’ or‘rational’, and ‘right-wing’ and ‘reactionary’ with the reverse.Griffin’s perennialist argument relies on two assump-

tions: first, that a reaction to the loss of a ‘sacredcanopy’ was an important factor behind the rise offascisms, and, second, that beyond any ‘sacred canopy’exists ‘absolute night’. The first somewhat exaggeratesthe extent to which secularisation had proceeded in Italyand Germany by 1945, and correspondingly understatesthe extent to which religious belief coexisted withsupport of fascism on the part of many individuals. Thesecond has an equivocal relationship to Griffin’s ownclaim not to be offering a ‘truth’, but a ‘historicalinterpretation’; Griffin is no less confident in his atheismthan Dawkins. In a footnote he asks holders of religiousfaiths for patience, expressing the hope that from hisbook they will gain a better ‘understanding of modernhistory and the extreme pressures it exerts on faiths bothreligious and secular’. Of course, holders of a religious



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faith may well have a different understanding from Griffinof the way in which human history works, and of whatmodernity means; but the point is at least raised.Griffin admits that the book was ‘written in an academic

register and with an academic methodology’, and ‘was demand-ing towrite andwill doubtless be evenmore demanding to read’.Despite this, he hopes that it has some ‘resonance’ withNietzsche’s ‘rejection of abstract thought’. Yet this plea ismade in an appendix entitled ‘More on Methodology’, andthe resonance would have been louder had he shunned themore rebarbative reaches of ‘academic register’: ‘palingenesis’for ‘rebirth’; ‘mazeway resynthesis’ for ‘combination of world-views’; and the modish but lumpen ‘liminoidality’. Such termssit strangely alongside the rhetorically emotive language withwhich he sometimes suddenly refers to genocide or war:‘untold millions’, ‘spiritually wounded’, and ‘nations in therubble of broken promises and shattered dreams’.Nonetheless, his book offers a lot. Its last pages, rather

than merely summarising the argument, direct it topresent concerns. Regarding ‘postmodernism’, it not onlymakes the obvious point that some of its exponentstotalise ‘through the back door’, but also argues postmo-dernism to be a form of late modernism which wages‘war against decadence’, ‘with its own rites and cultic dis-course presided over by “major” thinkers, luminaries whoassume the guise of prophetae weaving intellectual spells’.‘Meanwhile millions of their fellow human beings continueto inhabit not postmodernity, but high modernity’. Giventhis tone of invective, it is notable that he chooses not todwell on accusations of postmodernism as itself ‘fascis-toid’, nor on its debt to Heidegger, who receives consider-able attention in the book as a Nazi.Concerning the environment, Griffin argues that what is

needed is an Aufbruch into a sustainable society through anew modernist movement which is both technocratic andgreen. This is to be kept carefully distinct from the nationalist,fascistoid variants of the ecological movement which alreadyexist; it should have no reference to ævum, but should projectitself in purely human history and time. Religious extremism is

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described as protecting the ‘sacred canopy’ from modernistassault. However, Griffin retrospectively clarifies his positionon fascism by arguing that, unlike fascism, Al-Qaeda is notmod-ernist but reactionary in its attempt to defend a traditionwhich isnot yet irreparably damaged.The book also casts light on the problem of Israel. It places the

origins of Zionism in the context of intensely modernistfin-de-siecle Vienna, and describes Max Nordau as politicallymodernist in his denunciation of degeneration, support foreugenics, conception of ‘muscular Judaism’, and ambition for‘national redemption achieved not just through a NewHomeland but by being inscribed within each Jewish body’.‘The volkisch movement and Zionism are just two of aplethora of illiberal forms of identity politics known as“organic”, “tribal”, “integral”, or “redemptive” nationalismthat came to prominence in late nineteenth century Europe,andwhich by common academic consensus was destined to con-tribute vital ingredients to fascism.’One of the more ‘visceral’ effects of the book is to make one

aware of the extent to which we ourselves are products of latenineteenth and early twentieth centurymodernity. Our breakfastcereals, our attitudes towards health and our bodies, and ourfeelings about technology and nature are all connected toimpulses that arose in this period. So too, by its own confession,isModernism and Fascism. In its wish to secede from ‘routinisedthoughts, and superseded paradigms’ it has ‘a modernistdynamic’. Its subtitle, The Sense of a Beginning under Mussoliniand Hitler, fits with its ambition to create a new beginning infascism studies. Its desire to ‘break down the artificial barriersWestern society has tended to erect between thought and experi-ence, intellect and feeling’ was shared by D. H. Lawrence, wholamented the day when philosophy and fiction were split ‘thenovel went sloppy, and philosophy went abstract-dry’.

London CATHERINE BROWN

doi:10.1093/escrit/cgq005



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Fascism and Modernism Griffin Review