This chapter paints a grim picture of Germany's decline into a state of societal fragmentation and the erosion of meaningful communication in the years leading up to the Nazi takeover. It centers around Lotta Lazashtain's painting, "Evening Over Potstom," which is depicted as a symbolic representation of the era's malaise. The painting captures a group of bourgeois intellectuals, exhausted and disconnected after a dinner party, highlighting the breakdown of cohesion and the rise of isolated individualism within a society on the brink.
The chapter argues that Germany had moved away from the ideal of a rational bourgeois public sphere. While outward appearances of communication persisted in associations, pubs, and bars, deep divisions and silences fractured society. People increasingly retreated into echo chambers, associating only with those of similar opinions and holding others in contempt. The prevailing sentiment was a yearning for unity, but with only two available paths: forced silence or brutal violence.
The failure of the Weimar Republic to cultivate a culture of constructive debate is emphasized. The Kaiser's patriarchal system had suppressed independent thought, and the sudden freedom granted by the 1918 revolution found most citizens unprepared. Political parties, initially subsidiary under the Kaiser, struggled to assume responsibility, often prioritizing factional interests over compromise, further eroding public trust. The press, instead of fostering informed discourse, became increasingly partisan, feeding into existing biases and amplifying discord.
The chapter also highlights the role of influential figures in the decline of communication. President Hindenburg's use of emergency decrees weakened the Reichstag, turning debates into largely symbolic exercises. The left-wing magazine "Die Weltbühne," despite its progressive ideals, contributed to the problem with its condescending tone, alienating those outside its intellectual circle.
Conversely, the chapter explores the rise of right-wing publications like "Die Tat," which capitalized on the public's longing for unity and a strong leader. It attracted disillusioned middle-class and intellectual elements by offering a vision of a romanticized "folk community," a synthesis of right and left under a dictatorship. While critical of the NSDAP's extremism, “Die Tat” helped pave the way for National Socialism by discrediting democracy and romanticizing authoritarianism.
The chapter details the seductive allure of a new sense of community and belonging promised by the NSDAP in the face of societal breakdown, even for some who might logically fear its policies. While seemingly contradictory, both street thugs and academics found common ground in the party, drawn to its promise of order and direction. The NSDAP cleverly united the irrational and romantic ideals with a more structured nationalism, creating a powerful, albeit destructive, force that presented itself as the party of unity. The constant rhetoric of brutality and ruthlessness was strangely appealing to many seeking an end to what they perceived as a weakening and ineffectual government.
The chapter concludes with an examination of intellectuals who embraced the call for censorship and the end of free speech, even though their own livelihoods depended on it. They naively believed that they could control the movement, failing to comprehend the extent of its power and brutality. The chapter demonstrates how the desire for unity, combined with a deep-seated aversion to debate and a lack of empathy, ultimately led to the silencing of dissent and the rise of a totalitarian regime.