Hitler: The Führer and the People: J.P. Stern and the Origins of the “Ordinary Germans” Thesis

When J. P. Stern released Hitler: The Führer and the People in 1975, it appeared to fit a well-known genre: a literary scholar’s exploration of political disaster. Stern, a respected Germanist, examined Hitler not as a political leader or tactician but as a cultural figure, whose influence seemed to challenge standard political explanations. His main inquiry- how someone of apparent intellectual and moral mediocrity could garner the loyalty of millions in a modern industrial society- was seen as a puzzle involving mentality, myth, and collective imagery. Initially, the book seemed a compassionate, liberal effort to understand the psychological and symbolic factors through which Hitler built a connection with “the people.”

Half a century on, Stern’s work appears differently. It represents an early, formative example of an interpretive shift that has come to dominate Western scholarship on National Socialism since the late 1970s: the idea that the Nazi regime was based on a genuine, largely voluntary relationship between leader and people, and that understanding fascism’s catastrophe depends mainly on the attitudes, desires, and ideological beliefs of ordinary Germans. In this view, the key factor was not the structural crisis of German capitalism, the political paralysis of the workers’ movement, or the ruling class's strategic choices, but rather the German people's cultural and psychological inclination to accept Hitler’s message. Stern did not originate this viewpoint, but he helped articulate its early coherence and credibility.

This significantly enhances the importance of his book. Stern did not defend fascism. Born in Prague in 1920, he escaped the Nazi occupation, served in the RAF’s Czechoslovak squadron, and dedicated his academic career to studying German literature, culture, and political ideas. He demonstrated his anti-fascism through his actions, not just his words. The book, Hitler: The Führer and the People, has notable strengths: a nuanced analysis of Hitler’s rhetoric, an insightful exploration of the Third Reich's symbolic economy, and an avoidance of reducing the dictator’s appeal to coercion or mass hypnosis alone. Because the book is intellectually rigorous and morally earnest, its methodological choices and their implications warrant careful examination.

For Stern, understanding Nazism involved analysing how modern mass politics combined with ancient ideas of community, destiny, and leadership. He believed Hitler’s rise stemmed from his skill in creating a mythic connection with “the people,” a relationship that transcended class boundaries and offered hope through unity. This focus on mentality and myth foreshadowed later studies that described the Third Reich as a “consensus dictatorship,” a regime held together not just by fear but by widespread identification with its ideals. In Stern’s view, the relationship between the Führer and the Volk became the key to explaining the regime.

However, this interpretive approach had drawbacks. By emphasising the cultural and psychological factors behind Hitler’s appeal, Stern inadvertently minimised the structural forces enabling fascism: the economic crisis of German capitalism, the political confusion among the petty bourgeoisie, the strategic interests of industrial and financial elites, and the failures of workers’ parties. By focusing on “the people,” the book shifted away from class analysis and framed a political and economic crisis as a cultural narrative. This introduction prepares for a critical review of Stern’s argument not to undermine his scholarship, but to explore how a compassionate, anti-fascist thinker contributed to a paradigm that ultimately limited the scope of explanation.

The “politics of the will”

Stern argues that Hitler isn’t just a demagogue or a puppet of conservative elites. Instead, he contends that Hitler expressed existing German desires: a leader who embodies the nation’s will; authentic politics based on sacrifice, struggle, and emotion; and relief from parliamentary frustrations. According to Stern, Hitler’s appeal was not fabricated, but recognised; he succeeded because he echoed sentiments already widespread among Germans.

To support this, Stern analyses Hitler’s speeches, Mein Kampf, and his table talk through a literary critic's lens. He identifies recurring themes such as will, destiny, struggle, and the idea of the lonely leader misunderstood by lesser minds, tracing them back to elements in German cultural history like Romantic irrationalism, the cult of Erlebnis (lived experience), and simplified aspects of Nietzschean philosophy. Stern argues that Hitler’s rhetoric resonated because it reflected familiar cultural patterns. The relationship between the Führer and the Volk was therefore mutual. Hitler did not merely impose his will on the nation; he embodied what a significant part of the German people desired.

As literary analysis, much of this is insightful. Stern astutely highlights the hollowness of Nazi ideology, noting its dependence on symbols rather than rational argument, its replacement of truth with perceived sincerity, and its theatrical use of emotion. He correctly dismisses the postwar myth that a small group of criminals hypnotised an otherwise innocent nation. Instead, he recognises that fascism engaged genuine social segments and built on authentic ideological traditions. His keen attention to language, symbolism, and cultural meaning lets him illuminate aspects of Hitler’s allure that conventional political histories often miss.

However, Stern never seriously addresses the crucial question: who mobilised whom, and in favour of which class? By viewing “the people” as a single cultural entity, Stern overlooks the social conflicts that enabled fascism to emerge. His perspective assumes a uniform national community sharing common aspirations. Yet, early 1930s German society was far from culturally unified; it was deeply divided by class and undergoing severe economic and political turmoil. The Depression devastated millions, radicalised many in the petty bourgeoisie, and led the ruling class to doubt that parliamentary democracy could protect its interests. Meanwhile, the organised working class, through the SPD and KPD, represented a formidable political force whose potential for unified action alarmed industrial and financial elites.

Stern’s framework cannot account for these dynamics. By focusing on cultural motifs and psychological dispositions, he treats the Führer–Volk bond as the primary explanatory factor rather than as an ideological expression of deeper social processes. The longing for unity, sacrifice, and “authentic” politics did not arise spontaneously from the German soul; it emerged from the disintegration of the petty bourgeoisie, the desperation of ruined shopkeepers and clerks, and the fears of agrarian and industrial elites confronting a militant working class. Hitler’s rhetoric resonated because it offered these groups an escape from crisis, not through cultural catharsis, but through destroying the labour movement and reasserting capitalist order.

Furthermore, Stern’s emphasis on reciprocity between leaders and the populace masks the ruling class's crucial role in bringing Hitler to power. The Nazis didn't take control of the state through cultural appeal; instead, they were positioned there by conservative elites who believed Hitler could crush the workers’ movement and secure capitalism. Events like the Preußenschlag, the behind-the-scenes manoeuvres of Papen and Schleicher, and the financial support from Thyssen and Kirdorf are not minor details but key elements of fascist rise. Stern’s cultural perspective makes them seem secondary or accidental because he focuses his explanation elsewhere.

The narrative portrays the German people as the main agents of their own disaster. At the same time, the broader issues of capitalism's systemic crisis and the ruling class's strategic choices become less prominent. This voluntarist view would later evolve into the “consensus dictatorship” model, which emphasises popular support as central to Nazi rule. Stern’s book differs slightly from that later scholarship but foreshadows its key shift: replacing class analysis with a focus on mentality, culture, and collective desire.

Acknowledging Stern’s literary expertise does not imply agreement with his historical judgments. Hitler’s rhetoric was significant, but primarily because it expressed and helped shape the interests of particular social groups within a crisis-driven capitalist society. The Führer–Volk connection was not an unexplained cultural phenomenon; it was a political alliance forged through class conflict, economic failure, and deliberate ruling-class action. Any analysis that views “the people” as a single unified cultural entity inevitably overlooks the forces that enabled fascism to emerge.

“The people” as an abstraction

Stern’s book is fundamentally limited by its title. The phrase “the people” appears throughout as a single, undifferentiated entity with a common psychology, will, and susceptibility to Hitler’s rhetoric. In reality, the German nation during the Weimar period was far from this idealised notion. It was a society fractured by class conflicts, political divisions, and economic turmoil. Referring to “the people” as a unified whole overlooks the complex social realities that facilitated the rise of fascism.

Germany's working class was the largest, most politically aware, and best-organised in Europe. The Social Democratic Party (SPD) and the Communist Party (KPD) consistently outperformed the Nazis in elections. Even at Nazi support's peak, the working class stood as the main obstacle to fascism. The electoral results alone challenge the idea of a nation rallying behind its Führer. In the July 1932 Reichstag election, which marked Nazi support's height in a free vote, the NSDAP received 37.3 per cent of the vote. This was a plurality, not a majority, suggesting desperation among the petty bourgeoisie rather than broad popular support. By November 1932, Nazi support declined to 33.1 per cent, losing two million votes, and the party faced a crisis severe enough that some leaders feared it might collapse.

Popular enthusiasm did not fuel Hitler's rise to power. Instead, the German ruling class, facing economic collapse and fearing the working class, adopted fascism as a tool for political control. On 30 January 1933, President Paul von Hindenburg, Franz von Papen, and conservative nationalists made a behind-the-scenes deal that installed Hitler as chancellor. This was not a democratic choice but a strategic move by elites seeking to dismantle the labour movement and restore capitalist dominance. Key support came from heavy industry, the Junker aristocracy, and the military leadership. Even the March 1933 elections, held amid intimidation, with Communist deputies detained, leftist press banned, and SA violence widespread, failed to give the Nazis an outright majority.

This is well known and appears in every comprehensive history of the era. However, in a book focused on the connection between the Führer and the people, this point becomes less prominent, emphasising cultural and psychological factors over economic and class explanations. This creates an idealist perspective in which ideas, myths, and shared aspirations drive history, separate from the material conflicts that fuelled them.

This idealism isn't coincidental. It stems directly from Stern’s choice to view “the people” as a cultural unity rather than a class-divided society. When the working class, petty bourgeoisie, and ruling class merge into a single psychological entity, Weimar Germany's political crisis shifts from social structures to mentalities. The desire for unity, sacrifice, and “authentic” politics then emerges as a national mood, not merely an ideological stance rooted in specific class interests. Consequently, Hitler’s appeal transcends politics and becomes a cultural phenomenon rather than a tactic aimed at dismantling the labour movement.

Stern’s literary sensitivity traces themes like will, destiny, and struggle back to Romantic irrationalism and a simplified Nietzsche, yet paradoxically distorts them. By emphasising the symbolic role of Nazi rhetoric, he regards the Führer–Volk relationship as the main explanation. However, rhetoric is always connected to social relations. Hitler’s speech resonated because it expressed the fears and hopes of specific social groups: the devastated petty bourgeoisie, farming elites, and industrial magnates, who saw fascism as a means to restore profits and suppress the working class. The Nazis did not rally “the people" universally; instead, they mobilised particular classes with aligned interests in destroying the workers’ movement.

Stern’s framework falls short here. His concept of “people” is too abstract, overly unified, and psychologically cohesive to capture the real divisions in German society. A cultural haze obscures the working class, which has millions of members, is politically organised, and can often take decisive action. Meanwhile, the ruling class appears as a background presence rather than the influential force that helped bring Hitler to power. The petty bourgeoisie, which played a key role in the social radicalisation fuelling fascism, is blended into a generalised national desire for unity and sacrifice.

The outcome is a narrative where ideas drive history. Hitler succeeds because he articulates the nation’s will; the people follow out of a desire for authenticity; the disaster occurs because collective psychology makes it possible—material factors such as economic collapse, class struggle, and political paralysis become less important. Fascism transforms into a cultural drama rather than a political fix for capitalism’s crisis. Highlighting this weakness does not dismiss Stern’s literary insights but emphasises that cultural analysis alone cannot replace social explanation. The bond between the Führer and the Volk was not a psychological mystery but a political relationship formed through class conflict and elite strategies. Any explanation that views “the people” as a unified entity tends to hide the underlying forces that enabled fascism.

What the Marxists understood

Trotsky’s critique of fascism provides not just an alternative to Stern’s approach but a fundamentally different perspective on what needs explaining. While Stern focuses on "the mentality of the people,” Trotsky approaches it from the societal structures, specifically, the conflicting classes that drove the Weimar crisis. He documented his analysis not years later with hindsight but during the rise of National Socialism. This contemporaneous perspective gives his account a clarity and immediacy that later cultural-psychological views often miss.

Trotsky described fascism as a mass movement originating from the petty bourgeoisie: small shopkeepers driven out by competition, peasants burdened by debt, artisans replaced by industrialisation, white-collar workers facing proletarianization, and former officers unable to reintegrate into civilian life. Shattered by war, inflation, and depression, these groups became desperate. Their anger stemmed from social realities, not abstract ideas. The capitalist system they upheld was undermining them. Fascism presented a false solution, redirecting their anger downward, against the organised working class, instead of addressing their core issues.

Large-scale capital investment funded and ultimately directed this movement as a powerful tool. Trotsky famously described fascism as raising the “human dust” of society, illustrating its social makeup and historical role: to fragment the proletariat, destroy trade unions and parties, and establish the dominance of finance capital when parliamentary systems no longer managed the class conflict. Fascism was not driven by national patriotism; rather, it served as the ruling class's political instrument during an unresolved crisis.

This analysis does not deny Hitler's widespread support; it explains its origins. Stern highlights the “politics of the will”, including the desire for a charismatic leader, the cult of sacrifice, and anger at parliamentary paralysis, reflecting the mindset of a fearful middle class trapped by the existing system. These feelings did not represent 'the people' as a whole but were the ideological expression of a particular class in crisis. Their desperation made them vulnerable to the appeals of unity, authority, and national rebirth.

Trotsky argued that the key issue was whether the working class could provide a revolutionary alternative to the middle class. It failed to do so. The SPD held on to the bourgeois state until it was ultimately destroyed by it. While advocating for the Weimar constitution, its leaders overlooked the threat posed by presidential decrees, emergency powers, and the increasing influence of the military and big businesses, which weakened it. Meanwhile, the KPD, adhering to Stalin’s disastrous “Third Period” policy, called the SPD "social fascists,” refused Trotsky’s call for a united front, and regarded the Nazis as just another form of bourgeois reaction. This created political paralysis. Although the working class was large and organised, it was divided at the crucial moment.

Hitler didn't conquer the working class. He didn't have to. The working class was disarmed, betrayed, and suppressed. Without a revolutionary alternative, the petty bourgeoisie supported fascism. The ruling class, looking for a way out of crisis, put Hitler in power. This disaster wasn't due to national psychology; it resulted from a political failure rooted in class conflict.

Stern does not consider this a key element in his explanation. Its omission is deliberate. Without class dynamics, the only remaining factor is “the people,” and the disaster must be attributed to internal qualities like culture, traditions, or collective spirit. The desire for unity becomes a national characteristic; the craving for authority becomes a cultural legacy; and the failure of democracy is seen as a psychological issue rather than a political failure.

Stern’s book centres on this idealism. He simplifies society as an undivided “people,” turning fascism into primarily a cultural issue rather than a class conflict. This approach erases the working class, diminishes the ruling class, and merges the petty bourgeoisie into a unified national sentiment. In contrast, Trotsky’s analysis reintroduces the real factors that Stern overlooks: the material struggles, political conflicts, and class interests that enabled fascism to emerge.

A precursor

Today, Stern’s book is seen not as an isolated work but as the beginning of a wider historiographical movement. The questions he raised concerning Hitler’s charm, the symbolic link between leader and populace, and the cultural and psychological roots of dictatorship gradually became core themes in scholarship from the late 1970s onward. What was once tentative in Stern became normative: the idea that Nazism should mainly be understood through the mindset of ordinary Germans, with the Führer image serving as the key unifying force of the regime.

Ian Kershaw’s 'The “Hitler Myth"' (1987) deepened this topic with more empirical evidence. He examined how Hitler’s public image served as a central unifying symbol within the regime, binding various social groups. While he considered repression, coercion, and social differences, he did not view the dictatorship as only driven by popular support. Instead, the focus shifted to the Führer image- its portrayal, how people received it, and its emotional impact- as the key explanation. Germany's social makeup, class interests that influenced the regime, and the ruling elites' political tactics still played a role, but as background influences rather than primary forces.

The trend advanced further when Daniel Goldhagen’s 'Hitler’s Willing Executioners' (1996) took the explanation to its extreme, linking the Holocaust to an alleged widespread “eliminationist antisemitism” among nearly all Germans. This offered a national cultural rationale for genocide, criticised by reputable historians but popular in the media, that reduced class, political, and state factors into a singular, undifferentiated collective mindset. Although Goldhagen’s claim was simplistic, it thrived within a framework Stern established: the idea that Nazism represented the will of “the people,” and that explaining the catastrophe required focusing on culture rather than class or power struggles.

Robert Gellately’s 2001 book, Backing Hitler, emphasised the role of popular consent in consolidating power. By focusing on the regime’s dependence on denunciations, voluntary cooperation, and daily involvement of ordinary people, Gellately suggested that terror played a less dominant role than once thought. The clear message was that the dictatorship thrived on widespread social support. In this view, the roles of the Gestapo, SS, and the industrial and military elites are minimised, while the actions of 'ordinary Germans' take centre stage.

Götz Aly’s *Hitler’s Beneficiaries* (2005) introduces a new perspective by depicting the Third Reich as a racist welfare state that secured loyalty through redistribution funded by plunder and conquest. The emphasis shifts from the ruling elite to society as a whole. Corporations that gained from rearmament and forced labour, industrialists who financed the Nazi Party, and military leaders and officials who enabled the regime tend to blend into the broader population. Responsibility becomes dispersed throughout “society,” as if the dictatorship was simply an expression of a unified national community.

Stern was more nuanced than Goldhagen, more cautious than Gellately, and considerably less reductive than Aly. He avoided proposing a simplistic theory of national guilt or asserting that all Germans shared a murderous ideology. However, he played a key role in shaping the conceptual landscape where such theories could develop. By viewing “the people” as a collective psychological entity, emphasising cultural symbols and collective aspirations, and downplaying class dynamics, Stern helped shift historiography. This shift made Nazism increasingly seem like an expression of the German people’s collective will.

The result was a compelling yet idealistic framework: a history shaped more by culture and mindset than by the material conflicts that underpinned those cultural forms. Stern’s book thus signals the start of a lengthy intellectual journey, one that gradually shifted focus from class, crisis, and political strategy to an understanding of fascism centred on the perceived unity of “the people.”

Why it matters and Why They Are Back

This historiographical shift matters beyond academia. If fascism is seen as a result of a specific national psychology, a cultural trait linked to “the Germans”, it appears as a contained phenomenon, a pathology of a particular group at a specific time. This allows moral judgment, mourning, and dismissal as a historical anomaly. However, if fascism is understood, as Trotsky argued, as the political reaction of a ruling class facing a crisis it can no longer resolve through parliamentary means. The threat is not limited to one country or period. Instead, it is a structural risk that appears whenever capitalism faces a breakdown, middle layers are pushed into despair, and the working class becomes politically immobilised. Therefore, the stakes in interpreting fascism are not just historical but also contemporary.

This question remains critically important. Throughout Europe and the U.S., far-right parties garner widespread support. Their platforms differ, but their social base remains consistent: parts of the petty bourgeoisie devastated by economic instability, segments of workers confused by years of neoliberal policies, and some members of the ruling elite open to authoritarian measures. Mainstream left parties, now disconnected from socialist ideals, enforce austerity, promote nationalism, and push anti-immigrant policies. A revitalised workers’ movement has not filled the political gap created by their rightward shift; instead, it has been occupied by groups that redirect social anger into xenophobia, conspiracy theories, and resentment.

In these conditions, the lessons from the 1930s remain relevant. They involve the ruling class, which, during crises, tries to maintain its power by any means. They also address the social breakdown of the middle classes, whose desperation can lead to either reactionary or revolutionary movements. Most importantly, they highlight the effects of the working class's political inaction. When labour organisations support the current system, defend discredited institutions, or refuse to oppose threats, they allow forces promising radical solutions from the right to gain ground. Fascism doesn't succeed because “the people” fall into collective madness, but because the only organised opposition fails to act.

These lessons are more applicable today than any theory of national character. The idea that fascism originates from cultural predispositions such as traditions, collective mentalities, or ingrained national traits provides comfort because it shifts the issue away from politics. It suggests that fascism is something others are susceptible to, not a risk that can develop wherever social crises and political failures intersect. This view turns a structural threat into a moral story.

Stern’s book is still valuable for its literary analysis of the language, symbolism, and self-presentation of Nazism. His keen awareness of rhetoric and myth illuminates Hitler’s appeal beyond what statistics can show. However, as a guide to how Hitler gained power and what his regime entailed, the book misdirects, and subsequent scholarship has followed this incorrect path. By depicting “the people” as a single psychological entity, emphasising cultural themes over class issues, and viewing the ruling class as part of a homogeneous society, this historiographical approach conceals the complex forces that enabled fascism.

Understanding fascism requires examining classes, parties, leadership, and the historical failures that enabled the rise of the twentieth century's most perilous movement, rather than focusing solely on “the Führer and the people.” It is essential to recognise that fascism was not a reflection of a national spirit but a result of a political crisis rooted in capitalism. Furthermore, the conditions that gave rise to fascism still exist today. These persistent conditions require clear analysis, not soothing myths.

Bibliography

Primary Marxist and Trotskyist Sources

• Leon Trotsky, The Struggle Against Fascism in Germany (1930–33).
• Leon Trotsky, What Next? Vital Questions for the German Proletariat (1932).
• Leon Trotsky, The Only Road (1932).
• Leon Trotsky, Bonapartism and Fascism (1934).
• Daniel Guérin, Fascism and Big Business (1936).
• August Thalheimer, On Fascism (1930).
• Nicos Poulantzas, Fascism and Dictatorship (1970).

Current Historiography

• J. P. Stern, Hitler: The Führer and the People (1975).
• Ian Kershaw, The “Hitler Myth”: Image and Reality in the Third Reich (1987).
• Ian Kershaw, Hitler (2 vols., 1998–2000).
• Daniel Goldhagen, Hitler’s Willing Executioners (1996).
• Robert Gellately, Backing Hitler: Consent and Coercion in Nazi Germany (2001).
• Götz Aly, Hitler’s Beneficiaries: Plunder, Racial War, and the Nazi Welfare State (2005).
• Christopher Browning, Ordinary Men (1992) is important for contrast with Goldhagen.
• Michael Burleigh, The Third Reich: A New History (2000).
• Richard Evans, The Coming of the Third Reich (2003); The Third Reich in Power (2005).

Class‑Analytical and Structural Histories

• Tim Mason, Nazism, Fascism and the Working Class (1995).
• David Abraham, The Collapse of the Weimar Republic (1981).
• Dick Geary, Hitler and Nazism (1993).
• Pierre Broué, The German Revolution 1917–1923 (1971).
• Eberhard Kolb, The Weimar Republic (1988).
• Henry Turner, German Big Business and the Rise of Hitler (1985).
• Adam Tooze, The Wages of Destruction (2006), economic foundations of Nazi rule.

Contemporary Far‑Right and Crisis Studies

• Enzo Traverso, The Origins of Nazi Violence (2003).
• Geoff Eley, Forging Democracy (2002).
• Wolfgang Streeck, Buying Time: The Delayed Crisis of Democratic Capitalism (2014).
• Ruth Wodak, The Politics of Fear (2015).
• Cas Mudde, The Far Right Today (2019).