Doctor Faustus and fascism

  

I have just finished reading Thomas Mann's great novel Doctor Faustus, in a new translation published by Oxford University Press. It's a sober version of the book, overcoming some of the mis-judgments of Mann's first translator. Still not light reading! Mann is never ponderous, but this book is allusive, the writing is often complex, the humour fades as the tale progresses, and at key points (such as the famous interview with the devil) Mann's style turns into teeth-grinding parody.

 


Worse, the fictional narrator Serenus Zeitblom, a teacher of humanities, is a little dim-witted, and he tells the story with hesitations and only in fragments. Yet Zeitblom's strait-laced character, and even his fascination with Adrian Leverkühn the syphilitic avant-garde composer and 'Faust' figure, are essential for Mann's picture of the decline of humanism, the failure of democracy and the rise and catastrophe of German fascism.

 

In fact that's why I was re-reading the book, because the rise of a new kind of fascism in our time has made me wonder what we can learn from perceptive accounts of fascism Mark I. Of course there are major differences - not least, the fact that the Mark II regimes of Trump, Putin, Modi, Xi, and Netanyahu all have nuclear weapons. So we won't wind up with another struggle like 1939-45. If a major war breaks out now, it is going to be shorter and much, much worse.

 

A one-to-one interpretation of Doctor Faustus as an allegory of the rise and destruction of the Nazis (in the sense that Orwell's Animal Farm is an allegory of the Russian revolution and Stalinism) won't wash. As the book became famous, Mann himself denied that interpretation. Yet there's certainly relevant symbolism here, including the tale of infection, achievement and fatal overreach.

 

More broadly, Doctor Faustus speaks both symbolically and directly about the preconditions for the rise of German fascism. Among them are the conditions in culture and intellectual life. It's not accidental that the book's hero is a pathbreaking, hyper-modernist composer. (Fictional Leverkühn's musical ideas were stolen directly from the real composer Arnold Schönberg, to Schönberg's fury.) Mann pictures German culture as split in multiple ways, especially between an anti-humanist avant garde and a declining, conservative but more tolerant, Goethe-inspired humanism. Especially in the novel's sardonic sketch of Munich intellectuals just after the Great War, Mann sees the national culture as including a cult of force, support of a strong state, and an openness to irrational violence - 'barbarism' - in support of the nation and state.

 

Mann knew something about that directly. During the Great War he published essays and a book in support of the war, the German nation and the Kaiser's regime. Already a famous novelist as a young man, Mann was then a 'national liberal' - much like the sociologist Max Weber, who was a captain in the Prussian army reserve and served in uniform (though not at the front) during the war.

 

It was after the defeat, the abortive revolution and the end of the regime that Mann revised his politics. He became a supporter of the Weimar republic, was openly anti-Nazi before Hitler came to power, went into exile to avoid arrest in 1933, and made a series of pro-democracy, anti-fascist broadcasts from the US and Britain during World War II. He began Doctor Faustus while doing this, in 1943. By the time he wrote it, then, he had come to see the growth of irrationality in culture as one of the important preconditions for fascism.

 

A weird but compelling feature of the book is that Zeitblom is supposed to have started his manuscript in Germany at exactly the time Mann began the real manuscript in America, and the story of Leverkühn's life is interleaved with the stages of Germany's defeat and occupation by alien armies and air forces. So the consequences of political irrationalism are, in the long run, dire. I feel there's a parallel here to the current denial of climate science by the extreme right, intensifying even as the dire consequences of climate change are becoming plain.

 

There's reference in this part of Doctor Faustus to the wrecking of German cities and massacre of civilians by Allied bombers in 1944-45, the subject of W. G. Sebald's remarkable book On the Natural History of Destruction. Maybe that's another post.

Extreme prejudice

I have been buying and reading Penguin books for about seventy years. They were both a pleasure, and an important part of my education. The Penguin Classics series introduced me to Homer, Aeschylus, Plutarch. Their Pelican nonfiction series included such classics as Gordon Childe's What Happened in History - I still have my copy, printed fifty-six years ago.

 

Not that the products were always accessible. When in 1960 Penguin issued Dr D.J. West's book Homosexuality, at the time of a British debate about decriminalization, I was curious. Not long afterwards I went to Dymocks bookshop in central Sydney, which had some copies. I would have been seventeen or eighteen at the time. The sales assistant took a look at me, and refused to sell the book. I was too young, he said. Afterwards, I realized he might have been warned by his manager to restrict access to the book. At the time, homosexual acts between consenting adults were still crimes in Sydney.

 


I was reminded of all that when I picked up another interesting Penguin in a bookshop a few days ago, a new publication called The Essential Anna Politkovskaya. Anna isn't remembered much now, but twenty years ago she was briefly a global celebrity. The cover blurb describes her as 'One of the great, heroic investigative journalists of the modern era', and I suppose that is true enough, as cover blurbs go. The book translates into English a variety of her pieces, especially from the journal Novaya gazeta, from the period we now see as the early years of the Putin dictatorship.

 

It's grim stuff. Many of Politkovskaya's vivid reports describe, in particular cases, the corruption and disorganization of the Russian state, including its armed forces; the widespread poverty and disillusion of the general populace; and the indifference and evasiveness of those who held official power. A very bitter essay concerned Putin directly. Politkovskaya saw him as a mediocre Soviet secret police (KGB) official who had arrived at supreme power in the post-Soviet chaos, more or less by chance. Driven personally by a lust for power, and using the remnants of the Soviet security state as his base, Putin was re-creating the stifling political atmosphere of the Soviet Union. The regime operated through corruption, violence, and systematic lying; the people were tired and apathetic.

 

The largest group of reports in the book concerns the Russian war in Chechnya. That's a small republic in the borderlands between Orthodox Russia and Islamic south-west Asia. Chechnya has seen a couple of hundred years' warfare as successive Russian regimes - Tsarist, Communist, and post-Communist - tried to impose their rule over a resistant Muslim population. In 1999 another round in this struggle began, just as Putin came into power, and it rapidly got worse, much worse. Military occupation by an ill-motivated conscript army; pervasive racism; carpet bombing of Chechen towns and cities; counter-insurgency 'anti-terrorist' operations in the villages; assassinations and atrocities on both sides; out-of-control mercenary troops and jihadist militias; official lying about what was happening. Eventually, installation of a puppet government. (More recently, that government has sent troops to join the Russian attack on Ukraine.)

 

Politkovskaya went to Chechnya and its region, and witnessed some of the war directly, interviewed people about the rest. Her reports remind me strongly of the harrowing journalism about the US military assault on Vietnam in the 1960s, and the later US occupation of Iraq.

 

Then it came to an end. The reporting, that is, not the violence. Politkovskaya was shot down in her apartment block in Moscow, in October 2006. No-one doubts that the regime was behind the murder, though of course there is no legal proof. The regime controls the courts. Politkovskaya is not the last of Putin's critics to be, as the American secret police say, terminated with extreme prejudice.

Research publications list now updated

 I have just posted my updated list of publications. The link is in "Popular Posts" (to the right-hand side of this screen) or here. Apologies for the period of non-updating! - I've been working on promoting my new book Trans Lives (see below!) among other things...

Sociological Crimes: Noir mysteries with a point

One of the most interesting genres of popular literature for sociologists is the murder mystery, or more broadly the crime story. And to me the most interesting series in all that crowded field is the set of ten novels written jointly by Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö, from 1965 to 1975, beginning with the best-selling book Roseanna.Set mainly in Stockholm, with occasional excursions to other parts of Sweden and in one book, The Man Who Went Up In Smoke, to communist-ruled Hungary, the books narrate the cases of the fictional National Homicide Unit. Each book includes at least one murder, but murder is not always the focus of the story. The killings are set in a context of damaged people, violent or exploitative relationships, alienated youth, poverty, and more routine types of crime such as drug retailing, car theft, blackmail and corporate arms dealing. The patterns of class and gender relations in Swedish society are lightly sketched through the way they shape characters and events.

 

Martin Beck is the head of the homicide unit, and the stories generally follow him around. But it is a feature of the series - unlike, say, Simenon's 'Maigret' stories - that the unit is presented as a real workplace. The continuing characters are a group of detectives whose lives and interactions with each other are part of the story, and can be part of the problem to be solved. Further, the unit is set in its bureaucratic context, with sometimes tense relationships with higher authorities.

 

And that, surprisingly, is a key to the impact of the books. The whole series has a title, 'The Story of a Crime', and this 'crime' is a political one. It is the destruction of community-based policing, the national centralization of the Swedish police force, and its transformation into an armed, almost paramilitary, force. The series makes a sustained and powerful critique of policing, including brutality, abuse of power (memorably in The Abominable Man), incompetent management, incipient fascism, and a slow but devastating separation from the people whom the police are supposed to be serving. And that becomes a critique of the increasingly conservative social-democratic regime that ruled Sweden at this time.

 

This all sounds grim, but these books are not depressing. They are lively stories with well-defined characters, plenty of humour, realistic and well-described settings. Translation probably weakens their impact, but I have always found them books to cherish - and to learn from.

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