There is a formulation, called Sayre's Law, that states: "In any dispute the intensity of feeling is inversely proportional to the value of the stakes at issue." This dictum has been used to describe the vicious infighting among professors; the territorial aggression of two brothers in the backseat of a car during a long roadtrip; and my battle with my wife over what to watch on television: Buried Alive: Hoarding on TLC (her choice) or Hillbilly: The Real Story on the History Channel (my choice).
In other words, people can get riled up over very, very small stakes.
Sometimes, compromise can be reached. For instance, my wife and I can usually come to an agreement to watch Keeping Up With the Kardashians, thereby promoting peace in our time. Sometimes, however, there can be no compromise, no agreement, no peace. That's the case with Hitler explainers, or non-explainers, as the case may be.
Ron Rosenbaum's Explaining Hitler doesn't attempt to actually explain the man. It's not a handbook for funny mustaches and genocide. Rather, it attempts, in Rosenbaum's words, to explain the explainers. The Explainers (proper noun) are a disparate group of tweedy men with elbow patches and pipes and an immense lexicon of subtle-yet-slicing insults who somehow get paid to sit around all day and think and write and talk about Adolf Hitler. (The biggest question I had, at the end of the day, was "where do I sign up?)
Anyone who wants to understand Hitler, the man, need not consult this book. It won't help, and will most likely hinder. On the other hand, if you want to read about really smart men (and one or two women) wasting their vast intellects arguing minutiate about a goose-stepping mass murderer who's been dead 65 years, then by all means, have at it.
And yes, I count myself among the latter group.
Explaining Hitler is a loose, shaggy, hard-to-pin-down sort of book. It's part memoir and part travel log; part compendium and part synthesis; part history and part sociology; and partly about a dictator who might have had one ball.
Rosenbaum is a writer who I have enjoyed reading on the website Slate.com. In that forum, his dense, wordy, literate, highly intellectual pieces are more easily digested. In a book length format, it's a little harder going. Rosenbaum went to Yale, and I have the sneaking suspicion he's been starting decades-worth of cocktail parties with the phrase: "When I was at Yale..." He has annoying tics, such as using ten dollar thesaurus words words over and over (either "acidulous" and "mountebank" are writerly crutches, or Rosenbaum just loves the way they roll off the tongue) or coining silly phrases and then repeating them throughout the book, as though he's just created the next "Show me the money!" He is very well read, and he is more than willing to let you know. So I hope you've brushed up on your philosophy and theology, because there will be a test (but no bibliography, to which I say, shame!)
To be fair, though, Rosenbaum is a great tour guide. Knowledgeable, passionate, and even-keeled. He has an amazing way of always remaining the most moderate, reasonable, and logical person in any debate. I'm sure he's very irritating to argue with, and I mean that as a compliment.
The book is given its structure by the topics it chooses to tackle. These can be summarized as: (1) Hitler's background (the Jewish Ancestry Question); (2) Hitler's Mens Rea (whether Hitler acted with a consciousness of his guilt, or whether he thought what he was doing was right); (3) Hilter's paraphilias (a sorta gross, sorta hilarious attempt to reduce Hitler's actions to his outré sexual behaviors); (4) the Big Why (actually, an argument over whether it's okay to ask "why"); and (5) Who's to Blame? (that is, Hitler, the German People, or God). There are actually more sections in the book, but there is some bleed-over, and a few of Rosenbaum's discussions are actually more digressionary, which is not to say uninteresting.
The slowest going is at the start. These are the portions of the book dealing with the alleged Jewish ancestry of the Schicklgruber-Hitler family. Now, I'll admit, I'm not a big fan of geneology in general. Mostly because I find it embarrassingly hard to follow family trees. When I'm asked to remember lines of consanguinity, I usually have a terrible flashback to my first year Property course in law school. This section is enlivened, actually, but what I thought was Rosenbaum's best contribution: his highlighting of the Poison Kitchen. This was the nickname given a group of newspapermen who formed a sort of Weimar-era Gawker, except that instead of making fun of Conde Naste employees, these journalists raked mud in Hitler's face (and paid for it; paid dearly).
Rosenbaum follows this with a debate over Hitler's consciousness of evil, which boils down to a nerd fight between two distinguished English professors: the late Alan Bullock and the late Hugh Trevor-Roper. It is not so much enlightening as it is comforting - comforting to know that in some places, people get paid to wear herringbone, drink high balls, and snort contemptuously that you would think that.
The greatest disappointment I had was with the discussion of Hitler's alleged sexual "deviancy". In case you didn't know, many people have tried to explain Hitler's actions through the prism of sex, whether it be a sexual problem (monorchidism, impotence) or an outlandish fetish (pedophilia, undinism, incest). To attempt to explain Hitler this way is, obviosly, hopelessly reductive. It would be laughable if it weren't so prevalent, and there's a lot of ways you can go here. For one, you can turn the theoretical lens back on the theorist, to study the pathology of anyone who thinks you can understand Hitler by determining whether he liked to give or receive a Hot Carl. Or, at the very least, you can relate some of the lurid "details" so I can be properly revolted. Unfortunately, the only story we get is a thirdhand account of Geli Rabaul urinating on Hitler's face (which actually sounds like wishful thinking). Mostly, Rosenbaum keeps a safe distance from this subject, making these sections as flaccid, allegedly, as Hitler's netherparts.
Explaining Hitler also gives a little time to Holocaust skeptics, chiefly, David Irving. This is sort of a sidetrack, since Irving isn't so much of a Hitler explainer, as he is a diminisher. Still, you got to hand it to Rosenbaum. He suppressed the urge to knee Irving in the groin, which must have been quite difficult.
Perhaps the most entertaining section of the book revolves around the insufferably arrogant Claude Lanzmann, the French (of course) director of the nine-hour documentary Shoah. Lanzmann believes that you should not be allowed to question the "why" of the Holocaust. If you do, Lanzmann will shout at you, as he shouted down an actual Holocaust survivor. Again, Rosenbaum's ability to not inflict physical harm on his interview subjects is commendable. In his place, it's very likely I'd be in a French prison for the high crime of "shoving one's beret down one's throat."
Explaining Hitler ends with a look at how various writers, thinkers, historians, and rabblerousers have dealt with the notion of blame. With the exception of Daniel Jonah Goldhagen, I hadn't heard of most of these people, and by this point in the book, I was tired of the esoterica. Yes, I discovered, even I have my limits as to the parsing of historical nuance.
I've read a lot about the Nazis and Hitler, probably more than is healthy, and I enjoyed Rosenbaum's take. It's a fresh way to look at things; to examine history not through the eyes of the historical figure, but through the eyes of those writing that figure. Ultimately, though, I found my understanding of Hitler diminished. He had become so abstract - a collection of lies, myths, conjecture, speculation, and sexual peccadilloes - that he wasn't a human anymore, or even a demon. He had transformed into that raving lunatic from those Downfall mash-up videos you can find on YouTube. A creature of ridicule and scorn who couldn't possibly have risen from the backwaters of Austria to lead the most powerful nation in Europe.
To me, the question of explanation is misplaced. I don't think it's impossible to determine Hitler's motives. I don't think it's impossible to determine whether he hated Jews or whether he was cynically using them as scapegoats; and I don't think it's impossible to determine why Hitler hated the Jews; and I don't even think it's impossible to reasonably infer what effect Hitler's misshappen scrotum had on his psyche.
But these aren't the important questions, are they? Having those answers wouldn't solve the Great Mystery. By this, I mean, a lot of people have a lot of crackpot notions. I once talked to a client who claimed to be a timeless angel who had swallowed the sun and spit out the Eiffel Tower (of all places).
The fact that Hitler wanted to annihilate the Jews is, sadly enough, not unique. The more important story, one that is much easier to piece together, but just as hard to fathom, is how this runty little crackpot with the stupid mustache and that weird forelock of hair, who loved dogs, hated Jews, and willingly allowed himself to be urinated upon, actually rose to the top and put his theory into practice.