To order an untidy past, historians identify and interpret significant pivots in the development of nations. One such pivot in the fractured history of twentieth-century Germany was the period between 1945 and 1949. In these brief postwar years, a remarkable “mutation” of German politics and society began under Allied tutelage. In this interregnum between Hitler and Adenauer, a war-devastated West Germany started on the path “from shadow to substance.” As the Bonn Republic endured, historians started to trace its origins back to certain political and economic structures first erected in the postwar years. Increasingly, they emphasized postwar Weichenstellungen, or turning points, which influenced later events. By the 1980s, this structuralist view strongly suggested that contemporaries of the years 1945–1949 had actually lived through the Vorgeschichte, or prehistory, of the Federal Republic, and of affluence.

Over the years, scholars have identified the Weimar period as among the most pivotal in the development of the German social state (Sozialstaat). Noting what appears to have been an almost unbroken pattern of expansion in the compass of social work since the late nineteenth century, social scientists and historians have recognized the 1920s as a time of especially acute growth in public assistance. Government expenditures from the First World War onward show a particularly marked increase in three areas: public housing, public health, and social insurance. Together, these three spheres constituted the primary sites of Weimar social interventionism. Analysts have found it more difficult, however, to agree on the historical significance of these interventions, with discussion largely centered on the question of whether, and to what extent, the social programs of the Reich and municipalities overburdened the social state and thus contributed to the demise of the Weimar political order.

In May of 1948 a letter from Major J. C. Thompson, chief of the Religious Affairs Section of the American Military Government in Berlin, arrived at the General Conference of Seventh-Day Adventists in Washington, D.C. Major Thompson's office was responsible for seeing that all Nazis were removed from leadership positions, and his letter was part of an ongoing correspondence about the denomination's need to come to terms with its Nazi past. The Adventist denomination, he complained, was “one of the very few in Berlin which have not cleaned house politically to date. Most of the denominations finished this task long enough ago to have forgotten about it.” The letter must have been particularly embarrassing to Adventist leaders as it went on to compare Adventists to Catholics, who “actually had little housecleaning to do because of their strong opposition during the reign of Hitler to the entire Nazi regime.”

Karl Lamprecht (1856–1915), the most prominent cultural historian in late-nineteenth-century Germany, has not figured in the annals of art history. Remembered principally as the author of the Deutsche Geschichte (1891–1909) and three-volume Deutsches Wirtschaftsleben im Mittelalter (1885–86), Lamprecht and his scholarly writings have been studied exclusively by historians. In his own day, however, Lamprecht made considerable forays into art history while constructing the theoretical scaffolding for his cultural historical program. He undertook these art historical studies during the 1880s—remarkably, the very years in which art history was first being shaped as a discipline at German universities. Though Lamprecht scholars have long acknowledged the art historical component in his Kulturgeschichte, they have not considered that Lamprecht's art historical endeavors may have affected the professional development of art history. Art historians, on the other hand, have forgotten Lamprecht's art historical work, associating cultural history in the second half of the nineteenth century almost exclusively with the towering figure of Jacob Burckhardt (1818–97). Yet close study of Lamprecht's art historical publications and of related archival materials suggests that Lamprecht's vision, in the 1880s, of an interactive dynamics between art and culture had a formative impact on art history comparable to that of his older contemporary Burckhardt. In certain respects it may have been more directly relevant for art history's later development.

We began the war, not the Germans and even less the Entente— that I know.” So begins a recently discovered and published account of the events of July 1914, Der Kriegsbeginn, written in December 1918 by Baron Leopold von Andrian–Werburg, the respected and influential Austro-Hungarian Consul-General in Warsaw (1911–1914). He was in Vienna after the assassination of Archduke Francis Ferdinand on 28 June 1914, and belonged to that small circle of diplomats privy to the discussions in the Ballhausplatz that followed that event. Andrian-Werburg's ringing confession of Austro-Hungarian responsibility for the outbreak of World War I is much more direct than one that first came to light more than a decade ago: that of Count Alexander Hoyos, Foreign Minister Count Leopold Berchtold's chef-de-cabinet. Andrian-Werburg's avowal of Austro-Hungarian responsibility is paradoxical in the context of the controversy over German policy in July 1914 sparked by the publication of Fritz Fischer's 1964 book on Germany's war aims. As Fritz Fellner pointed out in an essay on Hoyos's mission to Berlin to garner benützt werden, urn die Rechnung zu prasentieren. Entgegenkornmen so lange wie möglich, aber zurückschlagen beirn nächsten Schlag. Dieser nächste Schiag ist jetzt da—alle Welt sieht, weiche Gesinnungen in Serbien die Führung an sich gerissen haben. Nicht urn Rache handelt es sich, sondern urn Sicherung für die Zukunft. Rache mag das, für das Gefühl der einfachsten Menschen in unserern Volke verständlichste Motiv sein, für viele andere wird es heissen, dass Serbien uns sein böses Trachten jetzt enthüllt hat—die Politik aber hat Bürgschaft oder Unterwerfung zu fordern.

In the longer continuity of German history, the year 1945 will always, in part, represent the “Stunde Null” (zero hour), of catastrophic military defeat and complete moral disgrace and bankruptcy following Nazism and the Holocaust.1 The term “Stunde Null” evokes the need for a new beginning, a moral and political break with disastrous and ultimately criminal national traditions. Yet, because the Third Reich lasted only twelve years, and because there were non- and anti-Nazi traditions and leaders that survived in inner and external emigration, the postwar rejection of Nazism took the form of multiple restorations of these still extant German political traditions. In the first postwar years, the turn away from Nazism in both Germanies, as well as the break with totalitarian dictatorship in general in Western Germany, was taken by political leaders who had been active in Weimar politics and who returned to take center stage in German politics after 1945.2 To be sure, they were all deeply affected in their lives and thinking by the Third Reich. But what changes it did bring about in their political views amounted to rearrangements and different emphases of long-held convictions rather than to wholly new beginnings.

Although Franz Schnabel described the nineteenth century as the “century of the formal Rechtsstaat,” most political and social historians of the German Kaiserreich have paid surprisingly little attention to the legal aspect of the development of society and polity. Textbooks in German history contain only brief mention of the enactment of legal reforms, either naming them without comment or subsuming them under administrative initiatives of the National Liberal party. More importantly, even standard works on the history of liberalism give precious little space to the important legislative reforms that are the focus of this essay; James J. Sheehan devotes only a paragraph to the adoption of the Imperial Justice Laws of 1877–79, and Dieter Langewiesche stresses the importance of legal unity and these reforms to liberals, but also in only one paragraph. In general, historians of German liberalism have left efforts to examine the development and unification of the German legal system after 1848 to legal historians, who are housed in Germany in the separate legal faculties and focus their work primarily on the history of legal doctrine. By failing to examine law as a historical artifact, however, political and social historians have also overlooked the Weberian message that law is a crucial analytical entry point into any understanding of modem society. Contemporary legal scholars stress that legal and social systems are inextricably intertwined, and that neither can be understood without a grasp of the other. Understanding legal discourse helps historians understand broader social discourse.

It is a commonplace of German historiography and the history of economic thought in particular that German economists pursued a Sonderweq in the second half of the nineteenth century, rejecting the theoretical bases of laissez-faire doctrines that were common in Britain and France in favor of a study of economic history. This is generally viewed as taking place in two stages: first, an “older German historical school” that began to question the accepted dogmas of Smithian economics beginning in the 1840s, with the work of Wilhelm Roscher, Bruno Hildebrand, and Karl Knies. This allegedly preceded the “younger historical school” of the 1870s and after, dominated by Gustav Schomoller, Lujo Brentano, and Georg Friedrich Knapp. In calling the existence of this older school a myth, I want to draw on the currently fashionable connotation of the word “myth”: to say, in other words, that this received notion contains some important elements of truth—but masked in such a way as to distort its significance.

Defeat after the Second World War was complete for Germany, and life for the civilian population was grim. In one of Erich Kästner's poems, read at a 1947 theater production, a war widow laments that “ganz Deutschland ist ein Wartesaal mit Millionen von Frauen.” Indeed, in 1945 there were approximately seven million more women in Germany than men. More than three million German soldiers were killed in the war. Seven million German soldiers were still prisoners of war, leaving their wives and families to fend for themselves in the rubble heaps of the German cities. Adding to the hardship of the rural areas were the twelve million refugees who had been expelled from the territories conquered by the Soviet army and then had streamed into the American and British zones of occupation to resettle. Defeated Germany was split into four zones of occupation ruled by military governments. German men who had been promised the conquest of the world returned from the war and found their treasured patriarchy undermined in the home and in the state.

Disabled veterans were certainly in a rotten mood following World War I, and not without reason. A lost war, unrest at home, and physical pain were not things to celebrate. Most aggravating of all, however, were the problems associated with obtaining an adequate pension: for years after the end of the war the pension system caused bitterness among people who felt wronged by the very government that was supposed to take care of them.

The late Detlev Peukert noted that historians of the Weimar Republic have tended to devote their attention to the republic's first and last years. They have much to say about the Weimar Republic up to the end of the inflation in 1923 and 1924. However, they tend to jump from Weimar's troubled early years to its catastrophic disintegration between 1929 and 1933. Skirting the middle years, historians have generally overlooked the problem of recovery in Germany during the 1920s. In doing so, they have ignored a topic of central concern to Germans during the twenties.

The nature of Catholicism in early modern Central Europe did not result solely from a conflict between elite reform endeavors and popular traditionalism. Instead, the Catholic population and influential elements within the German Imperial church (Reichskirche) shared a devotion to particularism, privilege, and local religious traditions. This convergence of popular and elite religious attitudes underscores the local character of German Catholicism and helps explain the failure of Tridentine universalism to capture the German church.

National identity is a complex political equation that is nevertheless often represented in a single image. Historically, nation-states have erected monuments to display their power and legitimacy in material form. Yet, despite their apparent physical stability, the meaning of such structures is subject to alteration and reinterpretation. Thus they provide the intriguing possibility of exploring the ambiguities that emerge when a multi-dimensional social phenomenon like the nation is given a unified representation.

In the opening lines of his Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, Karl Marx writes: The tradition of all the dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brain of the living. And just when they seem engaged in revolutionizing themselves and things, in creating something that has never yet existed, precisely in such periods of revolutionary crisis they anxiously conjure up the spirits of the past to their service and borrow from them names, battle cries, and costumes on order to present the new scene of world history in this time-honored disguise and this borrowed language.

In the summer of 1992, I was able to return to the Osoby Archive, now the Center for the Preservation of Historical Documentary Collections. At that time, we completed the selection process for microfilming for the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum Archive and reviewed many of the opisi, or finding aids. Consequently, I can report corrections on some errors that inevitably resulted from our first, rushed review and can provide more accurate German-language titles for some of the agencies described obscurely in English in my original report.