Building Fascism’s Mind

Episode Narrative

Building Fascism’s Mind

The early 20th century endured a tumultuous storm. The world was engulfed in the shadow of the First World War, a conflict that would shape not just borders, but also the contours of thought itself. It was during these years, from 1914 to 1917, that Russian philosopher Dmitry Merezhkovsky began to articulate a vision he called theocratic anarchy. His writings sought to explore the inseparable threads of war, revolution, and the rise of the intelligentsia. Against the backdrop of a society grappling with violent upheaval, Merezhkovsky’s ideas reflected an urgency, a radicalization of thought spurred by the very chaos surrounding him. He believed that a new form of governance was needed — one that transcended the conventional state apparatus, examines the intersections of religion and power, this philosophical experimentation was not merely academic; it sought to address the youth of a broken world.

Merezhkovsky's voice rose amidst an orchestra of conflicting ideologies. The war was not merely a military engagement; it was a crucible, forging new political and spiritual identities. Nationalism surged, violence became almost sacred, and patriotism twisted into fervor. In this cauldron of ideas, Merezhkovsky’s theocratic anarchy was a call for human unity against tyranny, a yearning for something greater than the state — a divine humanism rekindled in scorched ruins. These radical notions would eventually intertwine and evolve into the very fabric of Fascist thought, revealing the complexities and dualities of humanity's response to turmoil.

As the war raged on, a new philosophy began to take root in Italy. Giovanni Gentile emerged onto the intellectual scene, molding a state-centered philosophy known as actual idealism. From 1914 to 1945, the contours of his thought would form the backbone of Italian Fascism. Gentile's ideas emphasized the primacy of the state over the individual, framing personal identity as a mere reflection of a larger social entity. His influence extended to Mussolini’s regime, which embraced this philosophy to impart a sense of collective purpose amidst the chaos of the time. Gentile’s vision was not devoid of its own complexities. He championed the unified identity derived from statehood, a stark contrast to the fractured loyalties that defined Merezhkovsky's humanistic approach.

However, the intellectual landscape was far from monolithic. The years following the war, particularly during the interwar period from 1918 to 1939, saw vigorous critiques of Gentile’s ideology. The philosopher Benedetto Croce emerged as a potent voice advocating for individual liberty, cultural freedom, and a liberal spirit, standing firmly against totalitarian ideologies. Croce believed in the inherent dignity of the individual, a tenet he felt was trampled underfoot by Gentile’s autocratic vision. He sparked debates that would ripple through the intellectual circles of Europe, emphasizing the importance of a society grounded in liberal values. The collision between Croce and Gentile symbolizes the broader struggle of the era — a wrestling match between the forces of individual autonomy and authoritarian state power.

In this milieu, broader movements emerged, including the provocative theories of Georges Sorel. His concept of the "myth of violence" celebrated revolutionary violence as an inevitable, necessary tool for social change. Sorel saw the crises of the age as calls to arms, a romantic notion that invigorated militant political movements. The intertwining of ideas and actions during the interwar crisis turned philosophy into fuel for action, shaping not just thinkers, but armies and revolutions. Sorel's writings inspired fascist groups as well as syndicalists, showcasing the paradox of thought leading to both liberation and oppression.

The years between the 1920s and 1930s bore witness to a revolution of another kind. Mass media technologies such as radio began reshaping how ideological ideas permeated society. No longer confined to the pages of books or the discussions of elites, philosophy had transformed into spectacle. Political rallies became grand performances, spectacles that fed on the raw energy of the masses. Abstract concepts penned by thinkers now found themselves crystallized into marching crowds, compelling rituals that turned ideology into a collective experience. The once isolated ideas of statesmen and philosophers became the rhythms of life, moving millions with a beat so strong that it drowned out dissent.

As the waves of war lapped at the shores of civilization, Walter Benjamin’s sociology of violence provided a haunting analysis. His use of biblical and quasi-religious language probed how language itself became a ritual performance. Words pacified populations, making them complicit in the very power structures that led to conflict. Benjamin's insights remind us that in times of crisis, language is not just a tool but wielded as a weapon — both to comfort and incite, to suppress and to liberate. The period between the world wars thus was not just a time of physical upheaval but a spiritual and intellectual one where many wrestled with the moral implications of violence and statehood.

In this context, the work of Carl Schmitt became essential. His political theology linked sovereignty with the state of emergency, proposing that warfare and political violence were central to the identity of modern states. Schmitt's ideas spoke to leaders in various regimes, providing a legalist framework that justified actions taken in the name of national security. His influence seeped into Fascist legal thought, solidifying the equation of power with violence. In this moment, governance transformed into an omnipresent entity, shaping not just laws but the very consciousness of individuals.

The interwar years were marked by a philosophical debate that challenged prevailing notions of historicism. Thinkers such as Wilhelm Dilthey and Heinrich Rickert sought to reshape the understanding of history and philosophy, unveiling the uncertainties pervading their brutal age. Their critiques reflected a growing disillusionment with ideologies that had previously bolstered the nation-state. Many grappling with the questions of past precedents, present realities, and future possibilities began to contemplate a new trajectory — a pathway where peace and war could coexist without absolute dichotomies.

G.W.F. Hegel’s philosophies also entered the discussions, albeit with polarized receptions. His state-centric ideologies were both lauded and vilified; some intellectuals blamed Hegel’s ideas for the bloodshed of World War I and the rise of Nazism, while others found new relevance in them. This dichotomy ranged from adoration to condemnation and characterized the struggle for intellectual legitimacy during a time of crisis. Each side attempted to own Hegel, to claim his legacy as theirs, revealing the fractiousness of thought as it intersected with politics in an age of unprecedented violence.

The interwar period not only encountered a revival of analytic philosophies in Britain, but it also witnessed a notable emphasis on time and memory through the works of Henri Bergson. Influencing a new generation of female British philosophers — Karin Costelloe-Stephen, Hilda Oakeley, and May Sinclair — Bergson's ideas resonated with their explorations of individuality and cultural identity. This evolution in philosophy marked a subtle rebellion against rigid structuring. Women thinkers reclaimed their spots in intellectual dialogue, embedding memory and novelty into the fabric of philosophical discussions.

Amid this ideological chaos, critiques of militarism intensified. Leftist thinkers argued that militarism was a monstrous offspring of capitalism, exposing the exploitative character of war. Their philosophies gathered steam in an age where revolutions were borne from desperation. This tradition of leftist opposition to militarism continued to hold up a mirror, reflecting the failures of capitalist societies when confronted with war. Yet, their voices were often drowned out by grander narratives, reshaping historical discourse.

As societies sought meaning during the interwar crisis, the philosophy of history blossomed. It became not just a study of the past, but an essential tool for processing the present. This era saw a plethora of thinkers trying to reconfigure the relationship between time and human experience, revealing the intricate connections between past actions and future consequences. The devastating impact of the world wars remained a collective scar, compelling societies to seek answers rooted in historical understanding.

Meanwhile, the challenges to the concept of "liberum ius ad bellum," or the free right to war, echoed through the halls of legal and political theory. Amidst the ruins of war, debates on just war theories resurfaced, revealing a deep-seated anxiety and refusal to accept war as a legitimate political tool. The calls for a reimagined approach to conflict illustrated a collective grappling with the ethical dimensions of war, leading to discussions on how societies might reframe the narratives surrounding military engagements and the conditions under which they are justified.

The tale continues with the deportation of Russian intellectuals abroad in 1922, underlines a critical chapter in European philosophical history. These exiles brought their traditions overseas, enriching the cultural life of their new homes while preserving the essence of Russian thought. They contributed significantly to the philosophical discourse of the interwar period, transforming their intellectual heritage amidst a landscape marked by fragmentation and renewal.

As the interwar years progressed, the potent amalgam of ritual, myth, and mass spectacle emerged in fascist movements. These elements became the very fabric of political identity and mobilization. Radios blared messages that enveloped crowds in collective fervor, while rallies transformed into dramatic narratives steeped in ideological commitment. The art of propaganda turned abstract ideologies into palpable realities, where a simplistic message reverberated, uniting populations not merely under a flag, but under a shared mythos.

Within the chaotic thought of the interwar years lay a rich tapestry of intellectual exchanges — an intricate web among philosophers, scientists, and writers, all wrestling with the implications of war, peace, and society. This era sparked new philosophical methodologies, shifting attitudes towards human experience, governance, and state power. The interplay of ideas reflected a collective hunger for understanding, for grappling with the moral consequences of decisions made at the highest levels.

As this intellectual renaissance unfolded, thinkers began to reassess the relationship between peace and war. They interrogated whether the absolutization of state power led to inevitable conflict. Many posited that new social orders could harmonize these concepts, offering not just a critique but potential pathways to a transcendent era. Thus, the discourse grew more sophisticated, exposing the fractures within contemporary thought and its failures to account for the human condition fully.

The interwar crisis was a backdrop of intense intellectual activity, where battles were fought not merely through guns but through words and ideas. The philosophical foundations of war, violence, and state power were deliberated, setting the stage for ideological conflicts that would later culminate in World War II. As tensions stirred and ideologies coalesced, the seeds of future confrontations were sown. Indeed, the echoes of these dialogues remain relevant, compelling us to ask difficult questions about the nature of power, society, and the very human heart’s capacity for both destruction and compassion.

What lessons can we draw from this tapestry of thought and conflict? In a world where ideas continue to shape our discourse, how do we ensure that they inspire compassion rather than chaos? As we reflect on the tumultuous past, we stand at a crossroads, reminded that the struggle for human dignity and autonomy is an eternal battle — a journey that requires vigilance and courage. The mind that builds, the mind that dreams, is also the mind that must confront the specters of its own making. In this intertwining of philosophy and history, let us seek to illuminate the path forward, ensuring that we embrace the complexity of our shared humanity.