The Guardians of Concepts: Political Languages of Conservatism in Britain and West Germany, 1945-1980 9781800738270

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgements
Preface to the German Edition of 2017
Abbreviations
Introduction
Chapter 1 Conservatism and Toryism: Concepts of Self-Description in the Political Languages of Conservatism in the United Kingdom
Chapter 2 The Arduous Quest for Conservatism in the Federal Republic of Germany
Chapter 3 Initial Conclusions: Political Languages of Conservatism in Comparison – Conceptual Divergences and Structural Similarities
Chapter 4 Entering into European Conversation: CDU, CSU and the Conservative Party in Search for a Shared Political Language
Conclusion
Glossary
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

The Guardians of Concepts

Studies in British and Imperial History Published for the German Historical Institute, London Editor: Christina von Hodenberg, Director of the German Historical Institute, London Volume 9 The Guardians of Concepts Political Languages of Conservatism in Britain and West Germany, 1945–1980 Martina Steber Volume 8 The Power of Scripture Political Biblicism in the Early Stuart Monarchy between Representation and Subversion Andreas Pečar Volume 7 Subjects, Citizens, and Others Administering Ethnic Heterogeneity in the British and Habsburg Empires, 1867–1918 Benno Gammerl Volume 6 Unearthing the Past to Forge the Future Colin Mackenzie, the Early Colonial State, and the Comprehensive Survey of India Tobias Wolffhardt Volume 5 Between Empire and Continent British Foreign Policy before the First World War Andreas Rose Volume 4 Crown, Church and Constitution Popular Conservatism in England, 1815–1867 Jörg Neuheiser Volume 3 The Forgotten Majority German Merchants in London, Naturalization, and Global Trade, 1660–1815 Margit Schulte Beerbühl Volume 2 Sacral Kingship between Disenchantment and Re-enchantment The French and English Monarchies, 1587–1688 Ronald G. Asch Volume 1 The Rise of Market Society in England, 1066–1800 Christiane Eisenberg

The Guardians of Concepts Political Languages of Conservatism in Britain and West Germany, 1945–1980

? Martina Steber Translated by David Dichelle

berghahn NEW YORK • OXFORD www.berghahnbooks.com

Published in 2023 by

Berghahn Books www.berghahnbooks.com English-language edition © 2023 Martina Steber German-language edition Steber, Martina: Die Hüter der Begriffe. Politische Sprachen des Konservativen in Großbritannien und der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, 1945–1980 Ed. by German Historical Institute London © Walter de Gruyter GmbH Berlin Boston. All rights reserved. This work may not be translated or copied in whole or part without the written permission of the publisher (Walter De Gruyter GmbH, Genthiner Straße 13, 10785 Berlin, Germany). All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher. The translation of this work was funded by Geisteswissenschaften International – Translation Funding for Work in the Humanities and Social Sciences from Germany, a joint initiative of the Fritz Thyssen Foundation, the German Federal Foreign Office, the collecting society VG WORT and the Börsenverein des Deutschen Buchhandels (German Publishers & Booksellers Association). Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Steber, Martina, author. | Dichelle, David, translator. Title: The guardians of concepts : political languages of conservatism in Britain and West Germany, 1945-1980 / Martina Steber ; translated by David Dichelle. Other titles: Die Hüter der Begriffe Description: 1st Edition | New York : Berghahn Books, 2023. | Series: Studies in British and Imperial History ; 9 | Translated from German. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022036417 (print) | LCCN 2022036418 (ebook) | ISBN 9781800738263 (hardback) | ISBN 9781800738270 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Great Britain--Politics and government--1945- | Germany (West)--Politics and government--1945-1990. | Conservatism--Great Britain. | Conservatism--Germany (West) Classification: LCC JC573.2.G7 S7413 2023 (print) | LCC JC573.2.G7 (ebook) | DDC 320.520941--dc23/eng/20221108 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022036417 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022036418 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978-1-80073-826-3 hardback ISBN 978-1-80073-827-0 ebook https://doi.org/10.3167/9781800738263

Contents

Acknowledgementsviii Preface to the German Edition of 2017ix List of Abbreviationsxii Introduction1 Chapter 1. Conservatism and Toryism: Concepts of Self-Description in the Political Languages of Conservatism in the United Kingdom 25 1.1. Conservatism, Toryism and the Party: Determinants in Conceptual Formation since the Late Eighteenth Century 25 1.2. New, Progressive, Modern: Conservatism and Toryism, 1945–63 32 1.2.1. Striving towards the Future: The Delicate Balance of the Temporal Dimensions and Modern Conservatism 32 1.2.2. ‘Being Conservative’: Michael Oakeshott’s Solitary Voice in the 1950s41 1.2.3. Committing to Balance: Harold Macmillan and the Middle Way 43 1.2.4. The Loss of Legitimacy of Modern Conservatism in the Early 1960s46 1.3. A Conceptual-Political Gap and Alternatives to Fill It: Edward Heath and the Crux of Political Language, 1964–75 50 1.3.1. ‘The Great Divide’ and Managerial Pragmatism50 1.3.2. Critical Minds and Intellectual Mobilization: Heath’s Critics in the Party and Their Focus on Vocabulary55 1.3.3. ‘A Better Tomorrow’: Prime Minister Heath and the Collapse of a Horizon of Expectation68 1.4. Strategies of Conceptual Politics: Thatcherism and Its Concepts of Self-Description, 1975–79 73 1.4.1. A ‘Clear, Coherent Political Philosophy’: The Claim to Conceptual Interpretative Authority75

vi | Contents

1.4.2. ‘An Opening to the Future’: The Realignment of Temporal Dimensions in Thatcherism77 1.4.3. Right or Centre? Concepts of Political Orientation and the Dichotomy of Political Language87 Chapter 2. The Arduous Quest for Conservatism in the Federal Republic of Germany 107 2.1. Challenged by Liberal Democracy: The Concept of Conservatism in the Early Federal Republic of Germany 107 2.1.1. Conservatism after the Catastrophe: Determinants of Conceptualization in the Early Postwar Period108 2.1.2. Silence and Tentative Conceptual Definitions: Conservatism in the West German Debates of the Weimar New Right114 2.1.3. A Self-Confident Appropriation: The German Party’s Concept of Conservatism125 2.1.4. Conservative Positions and the Christian Abendland: The Abendland Movement133 2.1.5. Between Abashed Silence and Ambivalent Thematization: Journalistic Interpretations of the Concept of Conservatism137 2.2. Christian Politics in Secular Times: Discourses of Self-Understanding in the CDU and CSU during the Late 1950s and Early 1960s 154 2.2.1. An Explosive Party Conference Speech: Eugen Gerstenmaier and Liberalism in the Union Parties156 2.2.2. The Christian-Social Wing of the Union and the ‘High C’162 2.2.3. Attempts at a Conceptual Compromise: Christian Politics and Conservatism166 2.2.4. The Self-Image of a Christian Worldview Party 173 2.2.5. Politics in the Style of the Union: Self-Attributions and the Structural Principles of Political Language179 2.3. ‘We Carry Concepts of Concealed Language around with Us’: Language Loss, Language Criticism and Conceptual Offensives in the 1960s and 1970s 191 2.3.1. The Loss of Language in the Union of the 1960s, and Strauß’s Conceptual Initiative191 2.3.2. The Union Parties’ Language-Policy Offensive: Sematest and Linguistic Policy Consulting in the 1970s201 2.3.3. Intellectual Language Criticism with Conservative Aims207

Contents | vii

2.4. ‘1968’, 1969 and the Reformulation of the Political Languages of Conservatism 216 2.4.1. In a ‘Struggle over Naming’: Intellectual Conservatism in a Liberal Spirit216 2.4.2. Right-Wing Instead of Conservative: German Continuities or the Second Variant of the Concept of Conservatism241 2.4.3. Conservative Parties? The Linguistic-Political Challenge of the CDU and CSU271 2.4.4. Parties of the Centre: Conceptual Deficits and the Programmatic Renewal of the Union291 Chapter 3. Initial Conclusions: Political Languages of Conservatism in Comparison – Conceptual Divergences and Structural Similarities Chapter 4. Entering into European Conversation: CDU, CSU and the Conservative Party in Search for a Shared Political Language 4.1. A History of Mutual Acknowledgement: The Cooperation among CDU, CSU and the Conservative Party from the 1950s to the 1980s 4.2. Conservative Connections? CDU, CSU and the Conservative Party, and the Solution for Conceptual Predicaments in Europe 4.3. Anti-socialist Agreement in 1970s Europe: Strauß, Thatcher and Kohl and the Struggle for Freedom

357 369 370 389 402

Conclusion426 Glossary440 Bibliography444 Index535

Acknowledgements

It is a great privilege to have a book translated into another language. For this privilege, I would like to thank, first and foremost, the Börsenverein des Deutschen Buchhandels, whose Geisteswissenschaften International translation award made this book possible in the first place. Without the joint initiative of the Fritz Thyssen Foundation, the German Federal Foreign Office, the VG WORT collection management organization and the Börsenverein des Deutschen Buchhandels, this book would not have seen the light of day. The German Historical Institute London included it in its series ‘Studies in British and Imperial History’, for which I would like to express my gratitude to the institute’s director, Christina von Hodenberg. The project was accompanied by Markus Mößlang at the GHIL, and by Mark Stanton and Sulaiman Ahmad at Berghahn Books, all of whom I would like to thank as well. The largest portion of the project’s success can be attributed to the work of David Dichelle, who translated the book with particular commitment and care. I would like to express my appreciation to him for accepting the difficult task of taking on a German academic text that itself deals with concepts and language. The book was intentionally translated from the version published in German in 2017 (Die Hüter der Begriffe. Politische Sprachen des Konservativen in Großbritannien und der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, 1945–1980. DeGruyter Oldenbourg: Berlin – Boston 2017). Research literature that has appeared since then is therefore not referenced in the endnotes and the bibliography. Historical research is connected to the times, and The Guardians of Concepts is no exception to this. Martina Steber Munich, November 2022

Preface to the German Edition of 2017

Ever since a wave of right-wing populism began to sweep across Europe and the United States, familiar political certainties have been called into question everywhere; a broad longing for worlds of the past has been spreading, with the form and meaning of conservatism suddenly becoming a highly topical matter. A type of right-wing conservatism would seem to be rearing its head again and, with it, a sinister spectre that had long been thought buried well beneath the rubble of history. Nearly all right-wing populist movements have now been donning the label of conservatism – from Brexit enthusiasts and fervent Trump supporters to the Alternative for Germany (AfD). Do they in fact embody today’s conservatism? How are we actually to understand this ambiguous concept? This book demonstrates that, while there are no simple answers to these questions, the exploration of conservatism in the second half of the twentieth century is a worthwhile endeavour. It was written in London and Munich, building upon a rich tradition of German–British historiographical exchange in a united Europe. Maintaining and expanding on this is as important a task as ever for our generation in the face of rampant alienation and the disavowal of the European project. I would like to express my deep appreciation to the numerous colleagues who supported me in my work on this book. At the German Historical Institute London (GHIL), my workplace for five years, I was continually met with open ears, honest interest and intellectual challenge – first and foremost by its director, Andreas Gestrich, as well as by the other fellows at the institute, namely Benedikt Stuchtey, Michael Schaich, Markus Mößlang, Kerstin Brückweh, Indra Sengupta, Silke Strickrodt, Jochen Schenk, Valeska Huber and Angela Schattner. I am very pleased that the book can appear in the GHIL publication series, and for that I would like to express my heartfelt thanks. It was a great enrichment for me to experience the institute as a hub of German and British research, and to establish diverse contacts with British colleagues. I would like to extend my particular gratitude to Christina von Hodenberg, Neil Gregor, Nick Stargardt and Jane Caplan, who all accompanied and supported me, each in their own way. My return to Germany went as smoothly as could be imagined. I would like to express my thanks for the Max Weber Foundation’s ‘return grant’ as well as for my warm welcome at the History Department of the Ludwig Maximilian

x | Preface

University of Munich, where I found my new university home. I received my Habilitation from the Faculty of History and the Arts there during the Summer Semester of 2015. This book is based on my Habilitation thesis. I was accompanied in this by a Habilitation mentoring group, provided in accordance with Bavarian university law, which was chaired by Andreas Wirsching. For nearly two decades, he has supported and sustained me along my academic path with unparalleled generosity. I would like to thank him, my academic teacher, for that and for much more. Important impetus for my work also came from Margit Szöllösi-Janze and Willibald Steinmetz, first as members of the German Historical Institute London Advisory Board and later as part of my Habilitation mentoring group. For their continual support, I would like to extend my appreciation, as well as to Karsten Fischer, who agreed, as a political scientist, to engage with the perspectives of contemporary history. I would especially like to mention LMUMentoring – my discussions with Alexandra Kertz-Welzel and among the group of mentees were of great benefit. A large portion of the manuscript was written in Munich under the best conditions one could wish for. A funded scholarship at the Historisches Kolleg permitted me to focus my full concentration on the project, for which I would like to thank the Curatorium of the Historisches Kolleg as well as the Gerda Henkel Foundation, which provided the financing. Karl-Ulrich Gelberg and Elisabeth Hüls, with her team, are deserving of my great appreciation, as are my fellow scholarship holders of the academic year 2012/13, of whom Paul Nolte has become an important discussion partner. I was ultimately able to complete the manuscript at the Leibniz Institute for Contemporary History in Munich, where I also enjoyed an atmosphere that was as creative as it was friendly and collegial, symbolized well by our second-floor coffee group. I would like to thank Elke Seefried, Sven Keller, Agnes von Bressensdorf, Johannes Hürter, Niels Weise, Annemone Christians, Bernhard Gotto and Renate Bihl for their friendly collegiality, and Andreas Wirsching’s directorial team for the opportunity to focus on my writing. My work on The Guardians of Concepts took many a detour, benefiting greatly from critical discussion. At workshops, conferences and departmental colloquia, I was able to present my thoughts on the political languages of conservatism: in Augsburg, Berlin, Bielefeld, Bochum, Chemnitz, Edinburgh, Frankfurt am Main, Freiburg, Ivanova, Konstanz, London, Montreal, Munich, Nottingham, Potsdam and Washington, DC. I am most grateful for all of the ideas and input that I received there. Over the past three semesters, I have been able to gather valuable experience as an interim professor, first at the University of Augsburg and then at the University of Konstanz. The book also profited from this. I would like to thank Dietmar Süß, Jenny Pleinen, Florian Greiner and Stefan Paulus in Augsburg, and Sven Reichardt, Jürgen Osterhammel, Nikolai Wehrs, Franz Fillafer, Bianca Gaudenzi, Moritz von Brescius, Martin Rempe and Laura

Preface | xi

Rischbieter in Konstanz for their openness, their willingness to help and their intellectual curiosity. This book would not have been possible without the efforts of library and archive staff. I would like to thank, as representatives of their many colleagues: Jeremy McIlwaine at the Conservative Party Archive, Bodleian Library Oxford; Andrew Riley at the Churchill Archives Centre, Cambridge; Hanns Jürgen Küsters at the Archiv für Christlich-Demokratische Politik, St. Augustin; and Renate Höpfinger at the Archiv für Christlich-Soziale Politik, Munich. I would like to express my heartfelt appreciation to my student assistants: Elisabeth Heistinger at the Leibniz Institute for Contemporary History; Vivien Schwarzmaier, Claudia Hefter and Franz Meyer at the Historisches Kolleg; Barbara Wolf and Anne Schönthier at the University of Augsburg; and Johannes Pantenburg, Rike Richstein, Jenny Krez and Moritz Gallus at the University of Konstanz, as well as the many interns at the German Historical Institute London. Markus Mößlang of the German Historical Institute London and Rabea Rittgerodt from the de Gruyter Oldenbourg publishing house accompanied the project, all along its journey from manuscript to book, with forbearance and professionalism. Finally, I would like to express my particular gratitude to my family and friends. They can scarcely imagine how important they are to me, or how much they left their mark on this book. Martina Steber Munich, June 2017

Abbreviations

ACDP

Archiv für Christlich-Demokratische Politik (Archive for Christian Democratic Policy ACSP Archiv für Christlich-Soziale Politik (Archive for Christian Social Policy) BFW Bund Freiheit der Wissenschaft (Association for the Freedom of Science) BHE Gesamtdeutsche Partei/Block der Heimatvertriebenen und Entrechteten (All-German Bloc/League of Expellees and Deprived of Rights) CAC Churchill Archives Centre CCO Conservative Central Office CDA Christlich-Demokratische Arbeitnehmerschaft (Christian Democratic Workers Association) CDU Christlich-Demokratische Union (Christian Democratic Union) CEDI Centre Européen de Documentation et d’Information COB Conservative Overseas Bureau CPA Conservative Party Archive CRD Conservative Research Department CSU Christlich-Soziale Union (Christian Social Union) CSVD Christlich-Sozialer Volksdienst (Christian Social People’s Service) CTU Conservative Trade Unionists DBT Deutscher Bundestag DDP Deutsche Demokratische Partei (German Democratic Party) DKK Demokratisch-Konservative Korrespondenz (DemocraticConservative Correspondence) DKP-DAP Deutsche Konservative Partei – Deutsche Aufbaupartei (German Conservative Party – German Construction Party) DNVP Deutschnationale Volkspartei (German National People’s Party) DP Deutsche Partei (German Party) DVP Deutsche Volkspartei (German People’s Party) EDU European Democrat Union EC European Communities

Abbreviations | xiii

EKD

Evangelische Kirche Deutschlands (Protestant Church in Germany) EUCD European Union of Christian Democrats EUCDW European Union of Christian Democratic Workers EPP European People’s Party FAZ Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung FDP Freie Demokratische Partei (Free Democratic Party) GVP Gesamtdeutsche Volkspartei (All-German People’s Party) IDU International Democratic Union IfZ Institut für Zeitgeschichte (Leibniz Institute for Contemporary History) JU Junge Union (Young Union) KAB Katholische Arbeitnehmer-Bewegung (Catholic Workers’ Movement) LSE London School of Economics MRP Movement Républicain Populaire (Popular Republican Movement) MTFW Margaret Thatcher Foundation Website NEI Nouvelles Équipes Internationales NPD Nationaldemokratische Partei Deutschlands (National Democratic Party of Germany) ÖVP Österreichische Volkspartei (Austrian People’s Party) PEST Pressure for Economic and Social Toryism RCDS Ring Christlich-Demokratischer Studenten (Association of Christian Democratic Students) SPD Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands (Social Democratic Party of Germany) SZ Süddeutsche Zeitung WEU Western European Union WIKAS Wissenschaftliches Institut der Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung (Academic Institute of the Konrad Adenauer Foundation)

Introduction

? In his history of the Peloponnesian War (431–404 bce), the Attic contemporary witness and historian Thucydides described the consequences that the civil war in Hellas had for political life. The conflict extended into the Greek cities, and the strife between the different camps and parties poisoned everyday life. ‘In self-justification, men inverted the usual verbal evaluations of actions’, Thucydides reported; Irrational recklessness was now considered courageous commitment, hesitation while looking to the future was high-styled cowardice, moderation was a cover for lack of manhood, and circumspection meant inaction, while senseless anger now helped to define a true man … For the leading men in the cities, through their emphasis on an attractive slogan for each side – political equality for the masses, the moderation of aristocracy – treated as their prize the public interest to which they paid lip service.

Thucydides saw a lust for power based in ‘greed and ambition’ to be the cause of the perversion of concepts, which gave way to brutality and violence.1 His historical work thus also served to return the concepts to their proper place and meanings, and thus to write history as it actually unfolded.2 A world descended into disorder was to be returned to a healthy order through the power of language. Philipp Lord Chandos, who was created by Hugo von Hofmannsthal as a literary figure in 1902, also longed for such an ancient ‘harmony of clearly defined and orderly ideas’, for concepts as a means of addressing the modern fragility of self and the world. Chandos, a person of the early modern era, describes in his fictive letter to Francis Bacon how abstract concepts ‘crumbled in my mouth like mouldy fungi’: For me everything disintegrated into parts, those parts again into parts; no longer would anything let itself be encompassed by one idea. Single words floated round me; they congealed into eyes which stared at me and into which I was forced to stare back – whirlpools which gave me vertigo and, reeling incessantly, led into the void.3

2 | Introduction

The world could no longer be put into words; it could not be grasped using the language of what had occurred, of what was remembered and experienced. The individual was lost in traditional language. This was now a different sort of speechlessness from that which plagued Thucydides, and it was paradoxical that it was described with such precision in an artful language rich in metaphor. CSU chairman Franz Josef Strauß also lamented a loss of language.4 He urgently warned the parties of the European Democratic Union (EDU) in 1978 of ‘denouncing their traditional conceptual world and ultimately relinquishing it, because the loss of the concepts [entailed] the loss of the language and thus a loss in the political struggle for the majority’.5 Strauß held political opponents responsible for the deprivation of the language, for the meaning of political concepts being changed, rendering them useless as a means of describing one’s own political standpoint. The loss of linguistic sovereignty here implied a loss of political power. These three very different men – the Attic historian of the fifth century bce, the fictional correspondent invented by Hugo von Hofmannsthal, and the West German politician – were all united by their understanding of the significance and power of language. The loss of language lamented in each case was, however, linked to different layers: in the case of Lord Chandos, it was described as radically individualized; in that of Thucydides it affected society as a whole so that understanding was impeded, descending into an orgy of violence and the revaluation of values; and in the case of Strauß it involved the capacity to act in a political arena dominated by the mass media. The three men were connected in yet another matter. Even as they lamented the loss of language, they worked to overcome it, and ultimately did so through their own linguistic powers: Thucydides through the medium of historical narrative; Lord Chandos with his artfully written letter; and Strauß in his relentless rhetorical struggle over political concepts. As much as they viewed language from the point of view of doubters and admonishers, and from a standpoint of desperation, they also clearly spoke to the manifold dimensions of language: language as a medium for communicating about and grasping the world; language as a form of individual expression; language as a constituent component of society; language as a guarantee for its stability; and language as a political instrument. ‘The path to a poem is a linguistic path, it leads straight through the language’, Ingeborg Bachmann once remarked, who, as a writer, had an extremely reflective relationship with language.6 Historians are also well aware of the significance of language both for the path to historical knowledge as well as in historiographical practice. The path to history is a linguistic path, leading straight through the language, we could say, thus adapting Ingeborg Bachmann’s phrase. This linguistic path to history begins as a path to the historical sources and back again. Linguistic forms of evidence indeed predominate among the wide variety of testimony passed down from the past. Images, architecture and other material

Introduction | 3

artefacts can of course also speak of the past, although written records – in purely quantitative terms – make up the largest part of the source material. Language is also mostly passed down in written form, and the language in which sources are written is itself part of the history. The sources speak to us in the language of their time. The path to history leads historians straight through the historical language of their sources. The path to history also leads through the language of the historical depiction itself. Historians write in the language of their particular times, and grasp and understand history in the concepts of their day. This provides, on the one hand, the necessary distance to the historical subject and allows for the understanding of historical phenomena that could not be grasped in the language of the period in question. On the other hand, the current language is also bound in terms of space and time so that it is important to grapple with historiographical concepts through which we are able to understand history in a reflective manner. The concepts used by historians also have their own histories, which need to be revealed and processed.7 This is particularly the case for contemporary history. As Anson Rabinbach put it, ‘the entire ideological weight of the twentieth century poured into the writing of history as well’.8 The path to history is a linguistic path, it leads straight through the language – and this book attempts to take this insight seriously. It analyses the historical change in the political languages of conservatism in the United Kingdom and the Federal Republic of Germany between 1945 and the early 1980s, while reflecting on the historiographical concepts for the description of the phenomenon. This two-levelled reflection is of particular importance for the concept of conservatism, as one of the most difficult concepts in both the political and historiographical vocabulary of the German language. This volume will demonstrate that the path to the history of conservatism does indeed lead straight through the language. Concerned about his sovereignty when it came to conceptual definitions, Franz Josef Strauß joined the powerful chorus of intellectuals and politicians who complained of an interpretative monopoly over the concepts of political language on the part of ‘the Left’. The suspicion made the rounds of magazines, academic conferences and party conventions that ‘the Left’ used targeted conceptual politics to manipulate the interpretation of concepts holding up the democratic constitutional order, in order to realize their socialist dream by stealth. Elected to be leader of the Conservative Party in 1975, Margaret Thatcher used this argument in the United Kingdom, and saw her own efforts to reform the party and the country as being part of a ‘war of words’.9 In the 1970s, conservatives in both countries addressed the significance of language in politics, practically catapulting themselves into the political conceptual struggle and taking up a position dedicated to the protection of political concepts. They viewed themselves as being the ‘guardians of the concepts’. The political

4 | Introduction

scientist Wilhelm Hennis coined this self-descriptive phrase in the early 1970s, a phrase that expressed the self-image of his contemporaries who viewed themselves as being part of a conceptual struggle.10 In both countries, it was only conservatives who were concerned with the loss of concepts. Does this point to a specific relationship between conservatism and language? If we follow the linguistic path to the history of conservatism using the West German and British examples, we rapidly come across a linguistic problem of an entirely different nature: what does the political concept of conservatism signify, what does it involve, what does it describe? If we look towards Britain, we discover an influential, powerful party, the Conservative and Unionist Party, which held governmental responsibility throughout long periods of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, playing a large role in determining the fate of the United Kingdom. Conservatism, along with liberalism and socialism, constitute the three dominant and competing political and ideological currents in modern history. This interpretation has been repeatedly underscored by historical research. With a view to the Federal Republic of Germany, however, historians can find nothing of the sort. According to the common interpretation, a conservative party was not able to succeed after the demise of the Deutsche Partei (German Party, DP) in the early 1960s, as conservatism had outlived its purpose after its catastrophic alliance with National Socialism. The Christian Democratic Union (CDU) and Christian Social Union (CSU) were formed as Christian Democratic and not as conservative parties. A West German conservatism could only persist in the closed-off world of intellectual discourse, if adopting a technocratic stance to find reconciliation with modernity, but continuing to maintain a sceptical distance to democracy. A school of liberal-conservative thought only arose in the orbit of the Münster-based philosopher Joachim Ritter.11 Conservatism in West Germany was, in this interpretation, a ‘cropped alternative’, an intellectual grouping of the illiberal Right, as Frank Lother Kroll argued.12 This interpretation becomes difficult when placed in a broader international context, especially when developments in West Germany and Britain are interrelated. That which is generally understood as ‘conservative’ in the political language of West Germany, and which also plays a leading role in historiographical analysis, has little to do with British conservatism. With this, a wide conceptual chasm becomes evident. The Conservative Party and CDU/CSU were, upon closer scrutiny, not as diametrically different as the national historical narratives of the countries would have it; they advocated similar ideas and projects in many areas of politics while, of course, diverging in others. This was, however, the case for many Christian Democratic parties in Europe as well. The established interpretative model becomes particularly fragile when those distinctive moments of cultural and political change are taken into account that shaped both West German and British history after the early 1960s. What

Introduction | 5

influence did secularization, liberalization and Europeanization have in the development of conservatism in the two countries? Did a transatlantic neoliberalism prevail in Britain under Thatcher as many would claim? Is Thatcherism even to be characterized as conservative? Did West German conservatism evade ‘Westernization’?13 Those posing this sort of question, as Jörn Leonhard put it, find themselves upon the ‘cliff of semantic nominalism’. The divergent interpretations of conservatism in the United Kingdom and West Germany derive from very different histories that the concept of conservatism passed through in the two countries. Historiographical interpretation and conceptual history are interwoven here. The ‘unreflected adoption of a concept from the political-social vocabulary of one country and its semantic equation with the supposed equivalent word from the political discourse of another country’ hence led most generally to the skewing of historical understanding.14 The problem of nominalism is, however, greater with regard to the concept of conservatism than with any other basic concept of the post-1945 European political vocabulary. Comparative historians thus find themselves in an ‘aporetic situation’, as described by Reinhart Koselleck, Ulrike Spree and Willibald Steinmetz. Every semantic comparison is – expressed figuratively – caught within the language, as it depends on ‘the linguistic translatability of differently stored experiences, which however remain experiences bound to the unique nature of the individual language’. These historical conceptual layers are lost in translation, and thus need to be rendered transparent. Historians can only resort to the common language here, which itself is attached to its own history. A ‘metalanguage’ would be needed to avoid this.15 While literature can in fact embark on a search for a ‘new idiom’ and can provide it with a new ‘bearing that it can receive nowhere but in the art of language’, as Ingeborg Bachmann once wrote,16 historical writing does not have recourse to this. The only feasible avenue out of this aporetic situation lies in the ongoing reflection on and historicization of concepts – both regarding concepts found in source materials as well as the analytical concepts that provide the basis required to begin to understand historical phenomena. This book takes its cue from there, and consistently analyses the concept of conservatism as a historical concept. At the same time, it seeks to describe the phenomenon of conservatism and to understand its historical development in a German–British comparison between 1945 and the early 1980s. For this, a model is needed that is able to explain how this form of political thinking and acting remained recognizable throughout the decades, and how consistency and continuity could be maintained, while also helping to understand how a large degree of variation, flexibility and change could be harmonized here as well. What models of conservatism are on offer in the research? All models attempt to explain, for one thing, the continuity of conservative thought and action since the emergence of modern conservatism at the turn

6 | Introduction

of the nineteenth century; they focus on the question of the elements that provided for constancy and recognizability, which foresaw conservatism with its characteristic traits. For another, they attempt to explain the breadth of variation of conservatism, which was considerable, especially when viewed from an international perspective. They hence take a position against interpretations that paint conservatism as a primarily national phenomenon. John Pocock, for example, views British and US conservatism as being incompatible;17 Michael Oakeshott cultivates the thesis of the exceptionalism of British conservatism;18 Martin Greiffenhagen points to the blatant differences in the constitution of conservatism in Britain and Germany in order to derive from them the specificity of a ‘German conservatism’;19 and Klaus Epstein presents his scepticism towards the project of a European history of conservatism due to the individual paths taken in individual national histories.20 This doubt is grounded in an understanding of conservatism as a phenomenon bound by tradition and chiefly reactive, and thus removed from theory. As the historian and Prussian politician Heinrich Leo argued in 1864: ‘Conservation is indeed different for each people just as each people is itself different’.21 The models, by contrast, assume a core that is the same for all variants of conservatism, understand conservatism as both an integral part of Western modernity and as a phenomenon that can be theorized. They therefore refute the thesis of Panajotis Kondylis, who interprets conservatism as a premodern phenomenon that he believed to have vanished with the end of the ancien regime.22 Two variants of theoretical modelling need to be distinguished. The first takes Karl Mannheim’s idea of a ‘morphology of conservative thought’ as its starting point, which Mannheim disseminated through his study of conservatism within the framework of the sociology of knowledge in 1927. Mannheim sought to grasp the ‘essential characteristics’ of conservatism, which he identified as ‘clinging to what is immediate and concrete in a practical way’ within an experience of time that had its starting point in the past.23 Only once the past conditions were called into question would ‘conservative thinking and experiencing’ become ‘self-reflexive’ and ‘conscious of its own nature’,24 and conservative thought would then ‘emerge as a distinguishable entity’ and ‘dynamic structural configuration’.25 Conservatism was thus constituted in opposition to ‘bourgeois revolutionary’ thought and ‘natural-law thinking’, and was characterized, among other things, by focusing on ‘history’, ‘life’, ‘nation’, the ‘irrationality of reality’, the ‘qualitative’, the organism idea, a ‘mode of thinking which starts from a standpoint of totality’ and a ‘dynamic conception of reason’.26 Mannheim attributed firm and unchangeable substance to conservative thought. Countless interpreters of conservatism have since followed him in this through our own day. One of the most internationally influential of these was Russell Kirk, who defined six basic principles or ‘canons’ of conservative thought in 1953: first, a belief in a transcendent order or a corpus of natural

Introduction | 7

law in the form of ‘an eternal chain of right and duty which link great and obscure, living and dead’; second, a belief in the endless ‘variety and mystery’ of human existence, which defies all abstraction and uniformity; third, a belief in the hierarchical order of society and a fundamental inequality; fourth, the idea that ‘property and freedom are inseparably connected’; fifth, a trust in emotion, tradition, convention, prejudice and established rules; and sixth, doubts with regard to uncalculated reform and an excess of innovation.27 Research provides many such catalogues of the definition of conservatism in a wide variety of lengths and forms. In his penetrating study on German conservatism, Axel Schildt presents ‘religiosity in opposition to an emphasis on earthly rationality, the transcendent legitimation of political power, the defence of existing social and political inequality and the “organically” emergent in state and society in opposition to rationalistic construction principles and revolutionary change’, which itself stood in opposition to the ‘affirmation of God-given and historically emergent hierarchy and authority, in contrast with the liberal principle of popular sovereignty, and scepticism towards the consequences of social modernization’.28 Kurt Lenk compiled a catalogue of conservative ‘axioms and topoi’29 that was considerably more nuanced, as was the list of ‘assumptions, predispositions, arguments, themes and metaphors’ with which Jerry Z. Muller sought to capture the essence of conservatism.30 Departing from the British example of conservatism, Robert Eccleshall, by contrast, reduced it to a sole core of substance: the subscription to inequality and the consequent concept of ‘ordered liberty’.31 The form of modelling through the definition of substance-related criteria has been established in both historical research and political science, and has spread widely through its repetition in encyclopaedia articles.32 It is, however, also the preferred manner in which conservatives of all stripes describe their thinking themselves, and attempt to foresee it with historical depth. The British political scientist Michael Freeden opts for a different approach, one that has yet to be adopted into historical research. He understands conservatism as a linguistic structure, as a network of concepts with its own characteristic ‘morphology’. This forms the basis of Freeden’s theory of ideology, built on a neutral concept of ‘ideology’, as is often used in English and generally applied to systems of political thought. As Freeden defines it: ‘Ideologies are complex combinations and clusters of political concepts in sustainable patterns’.33 Political concepts receive their specific meaning through the particular morphological structures that they are placed within. The centre of Freeden’s theory is indeed shaped by the observation, as informed by Walter Bryce Gallie, that the central concepts of political vocabulary have a wide range of meaning so that they are vague, imprecise and ultimately indefinable. Their meanings are an ongoing point of contention – concepts are ‘essentially contested’.34 Those involved in political discourse, in order to clarify their own positions, therefore strive to nail down the interpretation of concepts, and strongly reduce the breadth of their

8 | Introduction

meaning. This interplay of ‘contestation’ and ‘decontestation’ predominates in political communication. As Freeden summarizes: ‘An ideology is a wide-ranging structural arrangement that attributes decontested meanings to a range of mutually defining political concepts’.35 It is these semantic structures that ensure constancy and recognizability. At the same time, they guarantee a considerable range of variation – Freeden uses the metaphor of ‘ideological families’ for this, understanding conservatism to be one such diverse ideological family. Freeden views its morphological structure, ‘the law of Conservative structure’, as being constituted by four core components: first, a resistance to change that is not perceived as organic and natural; second, the belief that the laws and forces that affect people are of ‘extra-human origins’ and beyond human influence; third, the creation of relatively stable concepts as a reaction to all forms of progressive thinking; and, fourth, a high level of flexibility in the use of concepts in order to protect, under changing conditions, the specifically conservative conception of change. He hence finds that conservatism is characterized by a high degree of adaptability. This, however, is undermined by the dependence on its progressive counterpart; the stronger the conservative counterreaction, the more precisely its concepts are defined and the less flexible its semantic structure becomes in the face of new challenges.36 Freeden, to a certain extent, follows Karl Mannheim in his definition of conservatism; the first two of his four basic elements of conservative morphology mark positions concerning substance, while the third involves the thesis of the dominantly reactive nature of conservatism. As Freeden himself dealt first and foremost with liberalism,37 it is undoubtedly necessary to review his definition of conservatism using a historical, source-based analysis. The present book will, nonetheless, be oriented towards Freeden’s theoretical approach. It understands conservatism as a linguistic structure determined by characteristic structural principles, which provided conservative thought and action with constancy and ensured that it was recognizable. Its wealth of variants, from this perspective, is also primarily expressed through language so that – especially in an international comparison – we can hardly propose the existence of one single political language of conservatism. Although a number of different political languages of conservatism do indeed exist, they all share the same morphology, the same inner structuring. It is therefore more appropriate to speak of ‘conservatisms’ in the plural or of political languages of conservatism. This book is built on the hypothesis that four morphological structural principles are decisive in shaping the political languages of conservatism: first, the structural principle of temporality, which provides for a balance of the three temporal dimensions – past, present and future; second, the structural principle of balance and synthesis, through which the conservative striving for moderation and the centre are realized in language; third, the structural principle of repetition and application to the present, which corresponds with the conservative

Introduction | 9

principle of conservation and guarding of concepts; and fourth, the structural principle of the formation of opposites, which derives from both a stance of resistance against an overabundance of innovation and from the position on the front against liberalism and later against socialist and social democratic thought. Importantly, it is only as a composite that the principles provided the political languages of conservatism with their characteristic morphology, interrelating and standing in an equal tension with one another; the meaning attributed to the individual structural principles varied and constituted a decisive moment in the dynamics of change for the political languages of conservatism. Along with Michael Freeden, this volume follows the linguistic path on the way towards a history of conservatism, by conceptualizing politics as a communications process, in which a large number of speakers, writers, illustrators and designers are included. Freeden’s attention to political language received one of its impulses from Germany, and from Bielefeld to be exact. It was there that Reinhart Koselleck developed his concept of conceptual history over the course of decades, and meticulously implemented it in his massive lexicon project, Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe (Basic Historical Concepts). These Grundbegriffe, or basic concepts, were defined as those concepts ‘which no political and no linguistic community can forgo’38 and which are ‘unexchangeable’,39 so that conceptual history is based on the assumption that language constituted a ‘methodically irreducible final instance … without which no experience and no science of the world or of history can be reached’.40 The lexicon charted the development of the basic concepts of the modern political vocabulary of Germany, which formed between the middle of the eighteenth and the middle of the nineteenth centuries. According to Koselleck’s widely disseminated hypothesis, they were characterized in this ‘threshold period’ (Sattelzeit) by four processual characteristics: The concepts were (a) democratized, i.e. used by all social classes; (b) temporalized, i.e. they received a linear inner temporal structure; (c) able to be ideologized and thus abstracted from the concrete; and (d) politicized, becoming part of the political struggle.41 Koselleck, too, recognized the multilayered nature and breadth of meaning of political concepts, and underscored the political dispute that necessarily had to be carried out over its dimensions of meaning: concepts are formed, changed and reformulated time and again in the course of political discourse. He, furthermore, emphasized the temporal structure of concepts in the modern political vocabulary. For one thing, they all had their own histories with an impact on their semantic inventory. As Koselleck expressed it, concepts conserve the ‘past in our language’.42 He coined the metaphor of the ‘space of experience’ to capture these deep historical layers. For another, they all had a future dimension, pointing onwards beyond the present day. They create a ‘horizon of expectation’, each with its own temporal structure.43 Koselleck wished to have his concept of conceptual history be understood as a contribution to social history, and sought to move reflection

10 | Introduction

on the concepts beyond the history of philosophy and ideas. Conceptual history was to support social history in its inquiry into ‘the pregiven linguistic conditions under which such structures have entered into social consciousness, and under which they have been comprehended and also changed’.44 This aim was only rarely fulfilled, and the lexicon entries of Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe were based to a large degree on texts of the most rarefied intellectual and political heights.45 Critics took notice of this, as well as of the methodically problematic isolation of individual concepts.46 In the course of the past several decades, conceptual history has, departing from the criticism of Koselleck’s concept, developed further into an internationally active field of historical semantics, taking on impulses from the cultural and linguistic sciences and making fruitful use of discourse-analytical approaches.47 The German tradition of conceptual history was connected in dialogue with the intellectual history of the Cambridge School linked to Quentin Skinner and John Pocock.48 Historians, linguists, computer linguists, political scientists and philosophers have applied their particular points of view to historical semantics. The field is thus multiperspectival and interdisciplinary so that a number of methodological approaches and practical applications can be tested within its framework. Historical semantics – in contrast to Koselleck’s lexicographical conceptual history – conceptualizes concepts within their particular semantic contexts, thus focusing on semantic networks, clusters of concepts, argumentational structures, metaphors and semantic fields,49 in order to identify political languages – or, as expressed by John Pocock, as characteristic, recognizable linguistic structures with their own grammar and regularities, which are able to provide direction for thought, speech and action.50 This applies beyond language as well, underscoring the importance of non-linguistic symbols for communication. Historical semantics also embraces insights of linguistic pragmatics, and takes into account communication processes and specific ‘situations of word usage’ as ‘moments of formulation, assertion or rejection of concepts’.51 The actors thus move more closely towards the centre of analysis as the active dimension of linguistic expression is emphasized. Such a linguistic-pragmatic approach allows for the perusal of a ‘history of conceptual assertion’,52 while also increasing understanding for communicative situations in which concepts could not be used to describe matters if, for example, they were discredited due to their integration into totalitarian vocabularies.53 This opens up new avenues, especially with regard to the history of the second half of the twentieth century, that are particularly able to reflect on this specific dimension of the ‘sayable’ – or indeed ‘unsayable’.54 Historical semantics, not least, allows for the fruitful use of approaches in transnational history, in its inquiry into translation processes, transfer of meaning and the transnational dimension of concepts in national languages.55 As Willibald Steinmetz has it, historical semantics comprises ‘research into changes both in

Introduction | 11

the regular use of linguistic (and other) symbols as well as in the relationship of these symbols to cognitive correlates (concepts) and in the reference of these symbols to extralinguistic matters’.56 Politics, in the sense of a cultural history of politics, is then also understood as an ongoing communications process, in which meanings are ‘produced, and only through their repetition (and the expectation of repetition) become shared information’.57 It is indeed historical semantics that provides a second source of inspiration for this book along with Michael Freeden’s linguistically founded theory of political ideology. This book investigates and compares the development of the concept of Konservatismus or conservatism in the Federal Republic of Germany and the United Kingdom between 1945 and the early 1980s. The concept of conservatism serves here as a tertium comperationis. Along with Angelika Linke, concepts will be understood as the ‘minimal crystallization nuclei of discourses or as their distillations’.58 This discursive approach presupposes a neutral understanding of discourse. Along with Lucian Hölscher, discourse is understood here to be an ‘ex post reconstructable structure of a socially and thematically delimited context of discussion’, which emerges through the ‘continuity of identical or similar questions, arguments and points of view over an extended period of time’.59 Basic concepts, as Jörn Leonhard emphasizes, ‘develop and work only in a discourse, which is unimaginable without them’; they are indeed interdependent.60 The concept of conservatism is, like all basic concepts of political vocabulary, embedded in different semantic networks, into which the concept’s analysis can in turn provide insight. It numbers among the highly contested concepts of both countries, with ongoing disputes over its meaning – in intellectual debates, political disagreements, party-political discussions and controversies in the press. As the key concept in the political languages of conservatism, moreover, it serves as a concept of self-description and self-examination. The political languages of conservatism are not, however, identical with the concept of conservatism. Instead of presupposing that its morphology and internal structure become crystallized in the concept of conservatism, this book focuses on its position within its semantic networks. It investigates its semantic environment, uncovers the semantic networks into which the concept has been integrated, and searches for counterconcepts as well as parallel and alternative concepts. The book is hence able to capture the political languages of conservatism in both countries, throughout their processes of change, and to uncover their morphology – and by doing so, it eludes the ‘cliff of semantic nominalism’.61 It is comparison that renders this perspective possible in the first place, in that it calls for the questioning of the concepts in the respective national languages and for them to be understood within their historical contexts; the comparison presupposes ‘selection, abstraction and removal from the context’ and requires a methodologically reflective approach.62 This prevents a plunge from Leonhard’s

12 | Introduction

cliff, which the comparison instead serves to expose. The historical-contrastive comparison by no means postulates the equation of the phenomena being compared. It is, by contrast, one of its strengths that both differences and commonalities can be revealed among the phenomena in question. Their individual outlines can only then take on clarity.63 The comparison undertaken in this book is complemented by a transnational approach that pursues the reciprocal influences and processes of transfer along the lines of ‘histoire croisée of concepts’.64 The concept of conservatism was argued and debated – and indeed fought over – both in West Germany and in Britain between 1945 and the early 1980s. This book analyses these debates, with a focus on those figures who were actively involved: in both countries, that chiefly meant politicians, intellectuals, writers, journalists, representatives of associations, churchmen and party officials. And yet, the discursive spaces within which conservatism was discussed in West Germany and Britain differed widely. While the Conservative Party was able to practically monopolize the discourse in the United Kingdom, and even intellectual discussions mostly took place within the framework that the party provided, the debate over conservatism in West Germany did not unfold in any particular place but was characterized instead by its wide-ranging scope and the close nexus of intellectual and political discourse. The discussions interrelated closely in academic journals, party-political bodies, intellectual circles and the journalism of the day. They were carried out just as much in the German Party of the 1950s and the CDU and CSU as they were at conferences of the Protestant and Catholic academies,65 academic symposia, daily newspapers and television studios. It may appear paradoxical that conservatism was discussed much less thoroughly and contentiously in the United Kingdom, with its influential conservative tradition, than in West Germany after 1945, where conservatism was viewed as a phenomenon exclusive to the illiberal Right. This discrepancy is reflected in this book in that the description of the German discourse is afforded a much larger space than that of the United Kingdom. This book specifically connects intellectual history with the history of politics and parties, which are otherwise commonly addressed separately from each other.66 However, the division between intellectual discourse and the (party-) political, often day-to-day debate in no way reflects the discursive realities of democratic publics after 1945. Neither intellectuals nor politicians communicated in a vacuum but aimed their linguistic performance either towards a particular audience or placed themselves within a discussion context. When they employed particular concepts, they were aware of their scope of meaning and sought to bring them to a head in line with their own thinking – especially with regard to the basic concept of conservatism. Intellectuals placed themselves within a political discourse when speaking out on the topic of conservatism in the democratic publics of West Germany and Britain; what they then said was understood as a political statement.

Introduction | 13

Viewing the British and West German concept of conservatism and the political languages of conservatism in both countries between 1945 and the early 1980s, in terms of comparison and the history of transfer, this volume investigates, first, the development of the concept’s meaning. What effect did the history of the conservatisms of both countries have on the concept? What temporal structures characterized it? In which semantic networks was it embedded? What counterconcepts provided it with definition,67 and what alternative, parallel and secondary concepts delimited it? To what degree were discursive space and conceptual development interrelated? Which commonalities and differences marked the conceptual development in comparison? And last, but not least: what structural principles defined the morphology of the political languages of conservatism? Second, the book places the conceptual history within a broader German– British comparison: What significance did the specific national conceptualization have on the development of parties and political thought in the two countries? Was the language treated as an instrument of political action and, if so, what effects did this have? Did the widely different German and British experience with democracy manifest itself in the political languages of conservatism? This is connected with the question of the liberalization and ‘Westernization’ of West Germany after 1945, which is of particular importance with regard to a German conservatism burdened by anti-liberal and anti-democratic traditions. For many years, the research comparing Germany and Britain focused strongly on the theory of the German Sonderweg or ‘special path’, which concentrated on the history of the nineteenth century and described a ‘German’ journey towards modernity that diverted from developments in ‘the West’ and which ultimately culminated in disaster with the extermination policies of the Nazi regime.68 The diametrically opposed development of conservatism in the two countries – liberalization and a slow process of reconciliation with democracy in one, and anti-liberalism and anti-democratic sentiment in the other – formed the foundation of the Sonderweg thesis. How did the situation then develop in the four decades following the new democratic beginnings? This book also faces a narrative of British exceptionalism that focuses on the early liberalization of British conservatism and attempts to use that to explain Thatcherism, which began to emerge in the 1970s. British conservatism, it is commonly held, is thus much more similar to its US counterpart than to conservatisms across Europe. The strident British retreat from European institutions beginning in the late 1980s was founded, the argument goes, to a large degree, in these incongruities.69 This narrative has particularly been stressed, time and again, following the momentous decision made by the British electorate in June 2016 to leave the European Union. The present volume questions this narrative through the means of comparison: How significant were the processes of Europeanization, which were set in motion by the dynamics of European

14 | Introduction

integration, especially for the United Kingdom? What effects did the European orientation of the Conservative Party have that took shape in the late 1950s? What were the consequences of the conversation between the Conservative Party and the CDU/CSU, which the two parties entered within the confines of European politics? A third layer of inquiry focuses on the history of political language in the twentieth century. Research inspired by Koselleck has concentrated on the ‘threshold period’ and has largely stretched, chronologically, no further than the middle of the nineteenth century. Using the four characteristics that he posited for the modern political-social vocabulary, he was able to describe the reconstitution of the conceptual inventory between 1750 and 1850. Are they also able to capture the political vocabulary of the twentieth century with the same precision? Do further criteria need to be defined, as recently suggested by Christian Geulen, and further developed by Willibald Steinmetz?70 Are traits specific to national languages to be expected? A comparative analysis of the concept of conservatism can help to illuminate these questions, as it is indeed one of the basic concepts in political vocabulary that emerged during the ‘threshold period’ and, as a concept of -isms and thus movements, underwent processes of politicization, ideologizability, temporalization and democratization, and hence serves here as an excellent example.71 With its Latin derivation, it was, furthermore, one of the concepts – as was the concept of liberalism that was comparatively researched by Jörn Leonhard for the ‘threshold period’ – that occur in all European languages, and which had European and transatlantic dimensions from the very beginning.72 The present book can particularly contribute to this discussion as historical-semantic studies on the history of the twentieth century, and especially its second half, are by no means in great abundance. The discipline of linguistics has alone seen years of work on West German language history since 1945, and has produced valuable studies and lexicons that, of course, pursue linguistic questions and can therefore only satisfy the needs of contemporary history to a limited degree.73 The language criticism that was solidly anchored in the culture of West Germany after 1945 also became a particular object of linguistic interest.74 Studies in the fields of sociology and political science, as for example on concepts of the welfare state or the concept of the common good, have also enriched our knowledge of the political vocabulary.75 Historical studies have made important inroads into issues of contemporary history such as Allied language policy, political correctness, religious languages, the semantics of politics, internal security, the West, work, sustainability, the significance of experience with totalitarianism for the development of political languages in the twentieth century, as well as on concepts ‘after the boom’.76 The historical-semantic approach has, by contrast, rarely been tested for British history after 1945. Studies inspired by the Cambridge School and the linguistic

Introduction | 15

turn of the 1980s focus on the history of the nineteenth century.77 Richard Toye has published the first promising studies in contemporary history, which focus on the analysis of political rhetoric and are oriented towards models in political science inspired by cultural theory that conceptualize ‘governance as storytelling’.78 Conservatism in contemporary history has, by comparison, been well researched for the United Kingdom, with a main focus on the Conservative Party. In addition to John Ramsden’s party history, which stretches to the shift in party leadership from Edward Heath to Margaret Thatcher in 1975, alongside other publications with a broader scope, there are a large number of studies on Conservative politics in government and in opposition.79 The historical research has been driven by the question of the place that the political thought of Thatcher and the political model of the party under her leadership (i.e. Thatcherism) has had within the history of British conservatism.80 The intellectual history of conservatism is treated here within the framework of party history – with the exception of international research on Michael Oakeshott.81 West German conservatism has, by contrast, only been researched incompletely, especially as intellectual history and party history have been clearly separated. The research has paid particular attention to the 1950s in order to determine the paths and boundaries of the democratization of conservative thought in the incipient Federal Republic. Special interest has been placed on the representatives of the Weimar New Right, especially on Carl Schmitt, Ernst and Friedrich Georg Jünger, Martin Heidegger, Hans Freyer, Ernst Forsthoff, Hans Zehrer, Arnold Gehlen and Helmut Schelsky, as well as on their students.82 Studies have also illuminated the intellectual development of journalists and writers, delving into core themes in conservative thought and conservative mobilization such as the topos of the elite and Abendland ideology.83 Not by chance, Axel Schildt’s overview extends the empirical scope not much further than the early 1960s.84 Only older studies have been published on the history of the German Party, which explicitly viewed itself as conservative.85 The history of the CDU and CSU, which are usually described as Christian Democratic and only as conservative in part, has also been explored chiefly for the 1950s and early 1960s with the exception of certain biographical studies and research on particular areas of politics, as well as Frank Bösch’s short overview.86 The history of the CDU has, generally speaking, been researched better than that of its Bavarian sister party, especially with regard to the period after the 1960s.87 Research on West German conservatism has most recently turned towards these decades of upheaval both for the intellectuals and for the party-political arenas, and especially with an emphasis on the significance of ‘1968’.88 By contrast, work on the New Right of the Federal Republic remains a desideratum in the field of contemporary history, even as research has been conducted on extremism in the field of political science for much longer.89

16 | Introduction

The transnational history of conservatism since 1945 in Europe and the United States has been the subject of little investigation so far. Even as research into US conservatism has seen a boom over the past several years and has led to important and highly original contributions, there have been few inquiries into the transnational dimensions of the emergence of conservatism since the 1930s.90 A similar gap has been left in the research on British conservatism, which has also been chiefly examined as a national phenomenon, even if the influence of neoliberal transatlantic networks has been emphasized for the formation of Thatcherism and the British–American axis of the 1980s, as personified by Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan.91 West German conservatism has also been investigated in terms of its transnational dimensions, but to a very limited degree. The work of Susanne Peters and Alexander Gallus on William S. Schlamm has provided important impulses for this, as well as Johannes Großmann’s in-depth study on elite foreign policy networks of a Conservative International.92 By contrast, there has been extensive research on the integration of the CDU and CSU into Christian Democratic party networks that arose within the framework of the European integration process, although with a focus placed on the first two postwar decades.93 Little is known thus far about the international activities of the Conservative Party. The present book places a new accent on research into interparty cooperation between the Conservative Party and the CDU/CSU from the 1950s through to the 1980s. While the German–British comparison can now build on four decades of research tradition, this has, however, focused solely on Germany, with comparative work extremely rare in British research. German–British comparative studies have long moved past the Bielefeld School’s focus on social history to embrace a wider variety of approaches.94 Research comparing German and British history has increasingly turned its attention to the second half of the twentieth century, with two points of focus emerging: the German and British developments of the welfare state have been contrasted and investigated as typological cases, while recent studies have investigated the debate over the interpretation of the 1970s, viewed as a decade of extensive political, economic and cultural change with an impact on all Western societies. The end of the postwar boom, the shift from an industrial to a postindustrial society, the rise of the consumer society, the individualization and pluralization of lifestyles, the questioning of traditional moral orders, a push towards secularization, new social mobility, a strong politicization trend and alternative forms of politics, Europeanization and globalization are all processes that culminated in the 1970s, posing a fundamental challenge to society and the political arena. The era of high modernity, which had emerged around 1890, came to its end, and our current era began to take shape.95 In such a comparison, Britain and West Germany serve as paradigmatic, contrastive cases of crisis solving. The two countries were in fact both marked by a particular economic structure – in the case of the United Kingdom it was a

Introduction | 17

Keynesian market economy with a significant state sector and then a radical shift towards a neoliberal-oriented capitalist system, while West Germany continued to hold fast to its social market economy. The development towards a welfare state took two different paths: while a liberal form of welfare state was established in the United Kingdom, it was a conservative-corporatist form that took hold in West Germany.96 The political culture was informed by different political systems – in West Germany, several parties were able to compete due to its mixed system of plurality and proportional representation, often culminating in coalition governments (concordance democracy), while in the United Kingdom the direct election of individuals was advantageous towards having two large parties contesting an absolute majority so that single-party governments were the rule there (competitive democracy).97 The German–British comparison indeed contrasts two different societies after 1945. Britain emerged triumphant from the Second World War as the defender of freedom and democracy, only to come to terms with its rapid loss in international influence in the 1950s, the end of its empire and becoming a mid-range power facing internal political polarization, social inequality and racism. The Federal Republic of Germany was built in 1949 upon the ruins left behind by the Nazi regime, its war of annihilation and the Holocaust. The division of Germany manifested itself in the founding of the GDR that same year, and was cemented by the building of the Berlin Wall in 1961. West German society had to find its place within a democracy protected by the Western allies and regain its footing both economically and politically. The processes of change in the 1970s affected two very different societies in West Germany and the United Kingdom. It is this, in particular, that renders this comparison so fruitful, as convergences and divergences can be established, and the processes of change can be outlined with greater precision.98 Despite the vitality of comparative research, historical-semantic comparisons are seldom undertaken; Jörn Leonhard’s work on the concept of liberalism as well as the comparative investigation of the semantics of the concept of the Bürger by Reinhart Koselleck, Ulrike Spree and Willibald Steinmetz represent exceptions that prove the rule.99 Their focus lies on the nineteenth century; studies have yet to be published on the twentieth. The present book places its focus on this research gap. The comparison of the German and British political languages of conservatism from 1945 to the early 1980s provides a look into a phenomenon that offers a fruitful perspective on the transformation processes of the 1970s. Especially in the research on West German history, the Left appears as the dynamic force of change, while British research relativizes this interpretation with its focus on Thatcherism. What significance did the political languages of conservatism actually take on in this context? In what way were they affected by, or did they help to form, the general processes of change? This study places its focus on the 1960s and 1970s, although this period cannot of course be separated from the whole history of

18 | Introduction

both countries since 1945. The development of the political languages of conservatism from 1945 through to the early 1980s is hence investigated here, as it was 1979 when the Conservative Party returned to government in the United Kingdom, and 1982 when the CDU and CSU formed a coalition with the FDP in West Germany. These changes of government lent a new quality to intellectual debates as well, and so the 1980s are excluded here – a choice that also has archival reasons reflecting the common thirty-year closure period. All sources, published and unpublished, that reflect discourse on the concept of conservatism after 1945 in Germany and the United Kingdom are included in the analysis. In order to cover the public discourse, the study analyses newspapers, magazines and journals of all kinds, academic publications in the form of monographs and essays, manuscripts of radio and television programmes, lectures, speeches and the minutes of Germany’s Bundestag as well as both British Houses of Parliament. Newspapers, magazines and journals that place themselves within the conservative spectrum, or that at least held conservative sympathies for periods of time, are of particular – if not exclusive – importance to the internal discourse over conservatism. They include The Times, The Daily Telegraph, The Spectator, The Economist, Crossbow, Swinton (College) Journal, Solon, Monday News and Monday World for Britain; and Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung (FAZ), Die Welt, Die Welt am Sonntag, Christ und Welt (after 1971: Deutsche Zeitung. Christ und Welt), Der Rheinische Merkur, Bayernkurier, Merkur. Deutsche Zeitschrift für europäisches Denken, Die politische Meinung, Evangelische Verantwortung, Scheidewege, Criticón, Konservativ heute and Zeitbühne for West Germany. The evaluation of newspapers cannot be comprehensive in scope for practical research reasons, so products of the Yellow Press and regional press can only be included selectively. The debates held within the parties did not only occur in public – at party conferences, in newspaper articles and in the pamphlets that were of such importance within the Conservative Party – but also behind closed doors. Relevant party records are therefore consulted as well. In the case of the CDU/CSU, published source volumes can be used to this end, especially the minutes of the CDU National Board (1950–73) as well as the minutes of the CDU/CSU Bundestag Parliamentary Group (1949–69) and the CSU Landesgruppe in the Bundestag (1949–72).100 The minutes of the party conferences of the CDU and Conservative Party have been published, and those of the CSU party conferences are deposited at the Archiv für ChristlichSoziale Politik (ACSP). Internal working papers and memoranda, minutes of diverse party bodies, organizational records, personal correspondence and the like are also of interest. They are contained in the relevant party archives: the Archiv für Christlich-Demokratische Politik (ACDP), the ACSP as well as the Conservative Party Archive at the Bodleian Library in Oxford. Margaret Thatcher’s significant body of records can be found at the Churchill Archives Centre in Cambridge, and the website of the Margaret Thatcher Foundation

Introduction | 19

offers a large selection of sources from there. The CDU and CSU also provide digital access to a selection of their source materials on their websites, albeit a comparatively small one. The source corpora for the British and West German sides of the comparison are put together in a way that ensures the various genres of source materials are compiled in equal measure in order to avoid imbalances. The digitization and optical character recognition of a large portion of the source materials also serves here as a check on the results, so the qualitatively formed argument can be undergirded quantitatively as well. This volume begins with an analysis of the British concepts of conservatism or Toryism from 1945 through to the early 1980s. The debates over its semantic content were closely intertwined with the programmatic discussions held within the Conservative Party. Shifts in meaning therefore coincided with change in party leadership, as is particularly evident in the cases of Harold Macmillan (1957–63), Edward Heath (1965–75) and Margaret Thatcher (1975–90). They therefore need to be analysed in depth, with a recurring focus on the strategies of conceptual politics on the part of factions within the party that sought to oppose the party leadership. This first part of the book will concentrate in particular on the structural principles of the political languages of conservatism in the United Kingdom. The second part will investigate West German discourse on the concept of conservatism, which, as mentioned above, was much more divided and nuanced than was the case in Britain. It requires a more extensive depiction for that reason, and because the poorer state of research on West Germany provided less of a basis for the study. Much is presented here for the first time in terms of West German structures, contexts and personal networks, whereas that has long been available for the United Kingdom. The second major chapter will therefore investigate the intellectual and party-political branches of discourse on conservatism in West Germany, beginning with a focus on the debates of the 1950s within the circles of the Weimar New Right, the German Party, the Abendland Movement and journalism. This is followed by a historical-semantic analysis of the debates over the self-understanding of the Union parties in the late 1950s and early 1960s, and then by an in-depth view of the language-critical discourse within the CDU/CSU and the intellectual arena of the late 1960s and early 1970s. Lastly, the reframings of conservatism that followed the challenge of the 1968 student movement and the 1969 Social-Liberal government will be analysed. An initial conclusion will tie the strings of the comparison together. The transnational dimension of the discourse on the concept of conservatism, using the example of cooperation between the Conservative Party and the CDU/CSU, will be presented in a final chapter. Their history from the 1950s to the 1980s will first be laid out, followed by the question of how the concept of conservatism was handled within this framework, which concepts the parties chose to describe themselves, and how communication manifested conceptually

20 | Introduction

within the European networks of Centre-Right parties. A final conclusion will weave together the comparative and transfer-historical threads to illuminate the variety of conservatisms in Europe after 1945 through the analysis of their political languages. The guardians of the concepts will thus come into sharper historical focus.

Notes 1. Thucydides, Peloponnesian War, 169. 2. On Thucydides’ work and influence, see Rengakos and Tsakmakis, Brill’s Companion to Thucydides; Meister, Thukydides als Vorbild der Historiker. 3. Hofmannsthal, ‘The Letter’, 74. 4. On Franz Josef Strauß, see the two biographies with their opposing political stances: Möller, Franz Josef Strauß; Siebenmorgen, Franz Josef Strauß. 5. ACSP, Sammlungen EDU, Pressemitteilung, EDU, CSU-Vorsitzender Franz Josef Strauß: EDU muss geistige Auseinandersetzung um Kollektivismus und Individualismus innerhalb der Demokratie führen, n.d. [1978]. 6. Bachmann, ‘Auf den Spuren’, 189. 7. See Dipper and Koselleck, ‘Begriffsgeschichte’, 190. 8. Rabinbach, Begriffe aus dem Kalten Krieg, 73. 9. See MTFW, 102947, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Finchley Conservatives, 31.1.1976. 10. 41. Bergedorfer Gesprächskreis, Protokoll, 11. 11. See Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit. 12. See Kroll, Die kupierte Alternative. 13. See Doering-Manteuffel, Wie westlich sind die Deutschen? 14. Leonhard, ‘Von der Wortimitation’, 45; on the problem of nominalism, see also Leonhard, Liberalismus, 81–85. 15. Koselleck, Spree and Steinmetz, ‘Three bürgerliche Worlds?’, 413. 16. Bachmann, ‘Frankfurter Vorlesungen’, 263. 17. See Pocock, ‘Introduction’, VII. 18. See e.g. Oakeshott, ‘Contemporary British Politics’; also: Eccleshall, ‘The Doing of Conservatism’, 284–85. 19. Greiffenhagen, Das Dilemma, 1971, 17-19. 20. See Epstein, The Genesis of German Conservatism, 6–7. 21. Leo, ‘Was ist conservativ?’, 1864, 23. 22. See Kondylis, Konservativismus. 23. Mannheim, Conservatism, 88, emphasis in original. 24. Ibid., 101. 25. Ibid., 102. 26. Ibid., 107–9, emphasis in original. 27. Kirk, The Conservative Mind, 1953, 7–9. 28. Schildt, Konservatismus in Deutschland, 12–13. 29. See Lenk, Deutscher Konservatismus. 30. Muller, ‘Introduction’. 31. Eccleshall, ‘The Doing of Conservatism’.

Notes | 21

32. See e.g. ‘“Konservativismus”’, 1990; ‘“Konservativismus”’, 2006; ‘“Conservatism”’, 2010. 33. Freeden, Ideology, 51; for a comprehensive derivation, see Freeden, Ideologies and Political Theory; also, in variation from this: Freeden, ‘Thinking Politically and Thinking about Politics’; Freeden, ‘Conclusion’; and Freeden, ‘Concepts, Ideology and Political Theory’. For a discussion of the conceptual history, see Freeden, ‘Ideology and Conceptual History’. 34. See Gallie, ‘Essentially Contested Concepts’; Connolly, ‘Essentially Contested Concepts’; Connolly, The Terms of Political Discourse; Collier, Hidalgo and Maciuceanu, ‘Essentially Contested Concepts’. For a comparison of the approaches of Gallie and Koselleck, see Richter, ‘Koselleck on the Contestability of “Grundbegriffe”’. 35. Freeden, Ideology, 54, emphasis in original. 36. Freeden, Ideologies and Political Theory, 344–45. 37. See e.g. Freeden, Liberal Languages. 38. Koselleck, ‘Stichwort: Begriffsgeschichte’, 99. 39. Dipper and Koselleck, ‘Begriffsgeschichte’, 193. 40. Koselleck, ‘Stichwort: Begriffsgeschichte’, 99. 41. See Koselleck, ‘Introduction’, 10–15. On a discussion of the idea of the threshold period, see Joas and Vogt, Begriffene Geschichte, chapter IV: Prüfungen der Sattelzeitthese. 42. Koselleck, ‘Die Geschichte der Begriffe und die Begriffe der Geschichte’, 58. 43. See Koselleck, ‘“Space of Experience”’; on Koselleck’s temporal theory, see Jordheim, ‘Against Periodization’. On the potential of a history of time, see Geppert and Kössler, ‘Zeit-Geschichte als Aufgabe’. 44. Koselleck, ‘Social History’, 32. 45. See Kollmeier, ‘Begriffsgeschichte’, 6. 46. The criticism is concisely summarized in ibid. 47. See Kollmeier, ‘Begriffsgeschichte’; Steinmetz, ‘Vierzig Jahre Begriffsgeschichte’; Busse, ‘Begriffsgeschichte oder Diskursgeschichte?’; Hölscher, ‘Zeit und Diskurs’; Guilhaumou, ‘Geschichte und Sprachwissenschaft’; on historical semantics in linguistics, see Fritz, Historische Semantik; for an overview of discourse analysis, see Landwehr, Historische Diskursanalyse. 48. See Palonen, Die Entzauberung der Begriffe; Leonhard, ‘Grundbegriffe und Sattelzeiten’; on the Cambridge School, see e.g. Hellmuth and Ehrenstein, ‘Intellectual History’; Rosa, ‘Ideengeschichte und Gesellschaftstheorie’. 49. See Schultz, ‘Begriffsgeschichte und Argumentationsgeschichte’; also Reichardt, ‘Wortfelder – Bilder’; Koselleck adopted these ideas and integrated them into his concept – see Koselleck, ‘Stichwort: Begriffsgeschichte’, 101. 50. See Pocock, ‘The Concept of a Language’; regarding the approach of conceptual history: Pocock, ‘Concepts and Discourses’; Skinner, ‘Retrospect’. On early modern history, see Seresse, ‘Zur Praxis’. 51. Steinmetz, ‘Neue Wege’, 17. 52. Kollmeier, ‘Begriffsgeschichte’, 12. 53. See Bendikowski and Hölscher, Political Correctness; Steinmetz, Political Languages. 54. On the concept, see Steinmetz, Das Sagbare und das Machbare. 55. See Steinmetz, ‘Vierzig Jahre Begriffsgeschichte’, 192–97; Pernau, ‘Whither Conceptual History?’; Marjanen, ‘Undermining Methodological Nationalism’; den Boer, ‘National Cultures, Transnational Concepts’; Richter, ‘More than a Two-Way Traffic’; Juneja and Pernau, ‘Lost in Translation?’.

22 | Introduction

56. Steinmetz, ‘Vierzig Jahre Begriffsgeschichte’, 183. 57. See Mergel, ‘Kulturgeschichte der Politik’; Frevert, ‘Neue Politikgeschichte’. Relating to historical semantics, see: Steinmetz, ‘Neue Wege’; Steinmetz, ‘New Perspectives’, 4; Craig and Thompson, ‘Introduction’. On British new political history, see Brückweh and Steber, ‘Aufregende Zeiten’. 58. Linke, ‘Begriffsgeschichte – Diskursgeschichte – Sprachgebrauchsgeschichte’, 40, emphases in original. 59. Hölscher, ‘Zeit und Diskurs’, 328; similarly, Leonhard, Liberalismus, 62–63; on the concept of discourse in discourse theory, see Landwehr, ‘Diskurs und Diskursgeschichte’. 60. Leonhard, ‘Grundbegriffe und Sattelzeiten’, 83. 61. Leonhard, ‘Von der Wortimitation’, 45. 62. Haupt and Kocka, ‘Historischer Vergleich’, 23; Kaelble, Der historische Vergleich. 63. See Haupt and Kocka, ‘Historischer  Vergleich’, 11–15; on the current state of and discussions on the historiographical comparison (including references to the relevant literature), see Welskopp, ‘Comparative History’; Kaelble, ‘Historischer Vergleich, Version: 1.0’. 64. See Marjanen, ‘Undermining Methodological Nationalism’, emphasis in original. On the debate on comparison and transfer, see Paulmann, ‘Internationaler Vergleich’; Middell, ‘Kulturtransfer’; Werner and Zimmermann, ‘Vergleich, Transfer, Verflechtung’; Kaelble and Schriewer, Vergleich und Transfer; Siegrist, ‘Comparative History’; Arndt, Häberlen and Reinecke, Vergleichen, verflechten, verwirren?; Haupt and Kocka, Comparative and Transnational History. 65. On their significance to the political culture of the Federal Republic of Germany, see Mittmann, Kirchliche Akademien. 66. Overviews of the research on intellectual history and the history of ideas are provided in Bavaj, ‘Intellectual History’; Moses, ‘Forum’; Biess, ‘Thinking after Hitler’; McMahon and Moyn, Rethinking Modern European Intellectual History. 67. On the theory of counterconcepts, see Koselleck, ‘The Historical-Political Semantics’. 68. See a summary in Steber, ‘Modern Britain’; on the debate on the Sonderweg, see Kocka, ‘German History’; Kocka, ‘Asymmetrical Historical Comparison’; Deutscher Sonderweg – Mythos oder Realtität?; Klautke, ‘Auf den Spuren’; Welskopp, ‘Identität ex negativo’; Bauerkämper, ‘Geschichtsschreibung als Projektion’. 69. See e.g. Cooper, Margaret Thatcher; Gamble, ‘Europe and America’; Bluhm and Michael, ‘Anglo-American Conservatism’. 70. See Geulen, ‘Plädoyer’; Steinmetz, ‘Some Thoughts’. 71. See Vierhaus, ‘Konservativ, Konservatismus’; on Koselleck’s theory of the concept of movements, see Palonen, Die Entzauberung der Begriffe, 249–50. 72. See Leonhard, Liberalismus. 73. See Stötzel, Wengeler and Böke, Kontroverse Begriffe; Strauß, Haß and Harras, Brisante Wörter; Niehr, Schlagwörter; Jung, Niehr and Böke, Ausländer und Migranten; Jung, Die Sprache des Migrationsdiskurses; Kämper, Der Schulddiskurs; Kämper, Opfer – Täter – Nichttäter; Stötzel and Eitz, Zeitgeschichtliches Wörterbuch; Herberg, Steffens and Tellenbach, Schlüsselwörter der Wendezeit; Kämper, Wörterbuch zum Demokratiediskurs; Kämper, Aspekte des Demokratiediskurses; Böke et al., Politische Leitvokabeln; Kilian, Demokratische Sprache. A concise summary of the historical criticism is provided in Kollmeier, ‘Begriffsgeschichte’, 15. 74. See Schiewe, Die Macht der Sprache; Dodd, Jedes Wort; Jung, ‘Von der politischen Sprachkritik’; Polenz, Deutsche Sprachgeschichte III, 314–17.

Notes | 23

75. See Lessenich, Wohlfahrtsstaatliche Grundbegriffe; Fischer and Münkler, Gemeinwohl und Gemeinsinn. 76. See Deissler, Die entnazifizierte Sprache; Hölscher, Baupläne der sichtbaren Kirche; Hölscher, ‘Die Säkularisierung der Kirchen’; Eitler, ‘Politik und Religion’; Gettys and Mittmann, ‘Der Tanz’; Steinmetz, Politik; Steinmetz, Political Languages; Saupe, ‘Innere Sicherheit’; Bendikowski and Hölscher, Political Correctness; Bavaj and Steber, Germany and ‘the West’; Steinmetz and Leonhard, Semantiken von Arbeit; Seefried, ‘Rethinking Progress’; Leendertz and Meteling, Die neue Wirklichkeit. 77. See esp. Stedman Jones, Languages of Class; also e.g. Lawrence, Speaking for the People; Epstein, In Practice; on the influence of Stedman Jones’s approach, see Lawrence and Taylor, ‘Poverty of Protest’; Stedman Jones positions himself historically in Stedman Jones, ‘Return of Language’. 78. See Toye, ‘Rhetorical Premiership’; Toye, ‘“Consensus” to “Common Ground”’; Toye, ‘Words of Change’. For the mentioned political science-based approaches, see Bevir and Rhodes, Interpreting British Governance; Bevir and Rhodes, Governance Stories; Bevir and Rhodes, ‘Authors’ Response’, here 176; Finlayson, ‘From Beliefs to Arguments’; Finlayson and Martin, ‘“It Ain’t What You Say…”’; Atkins et al., Rhetoric in British Politics; Beard, Language of Politics; Charteris-Black, Politicians and Rhetoric. 79. See e.g. Ramsden, The Age; Ramsden, Winds of Change; Ramsden, Appetite for Power; Bale, The Conservatives since 1945; Seldon and Ball, Conservative Century; Ball, Conservative Party since 1945; Blake, Conservative Party from Peel to Major, 1997; Hickson, Political Thought; Patterson, Conservative Party and Europe; Crowson, Conservative Party and European Integration; Ball and Seldon, Heath Government; Ball and Seldon, Recovering Power; Ball and Holliday, Mass Conservatism; Francis and Zweiniger-Bargielowska, Conservatives and British Society. 80. See esp. Geppert, Thatchers konservative Revolution; Vinen, Thatcher’s Britain; Green, Ideologies of Conservatism; Green, Thatcher; Jackson and Saunders, Making Thatcher’s Britain; Fry, Politics of the Thatcher Revolution. For an overview of the research on the era of the Thatcher governments, see Geppert, ‘Großbritannien seit 1979’. 81. See Franco, Michael Oakeshott; Neill, Michael Oakeshott; Neill, ‘Michael Oakeshott and Hans-Georg Gadamer’; Khan, ‘Habermas and Oakeshott’; Müller, ‘Re-Imagining “Leviathan”’; Banner, ‘Existential Failure and Success’; Alexander, ‘Oakeshott on Hegel’; Henkel, ‘Vom Sinn einer philosophischen Theorie der Politik’. 82. See e.g. Mehring, Carl Schmitt; Morat, Von der Tat zur Gelassenheit; van Laak, Gespräche; Meinel, Der Jurist; Delitz, Arnold Gehlen; Gallus, Helmut Schelsky; Muller, The Other God; Payk, ‘A Post-Liberal Order?’; Schöning and Stöckmann, Ernst Jünger; Goschler, ‘Radikalkonservative Intellektuelle’. 83. See e.g. Schildt, Zwischen Abendland und Amerika; Conze, Das Europa der Deutschen; Reitmayer, Elite; Payk, Der Geist der Demokratie; Payk, ‘…die Herren fügen sich nicht’; Gallus, ‘Von der “Konservativen Revolution”’; Görtemaker, Ein deutsches Leben; Asmussen, ‘Hans-Georg von Studnitz’; Schildt, ‘Deutschlands Platz’; Payk, ‘Ideologische Distanz’; Kraus, ‘Als konservativer Intellektueller’. 84. See Schildt, Konservatismus in Deutschland. 85. See Meyn, Die Deutsche Partei; Schmollinger, ‘Die Deutsche Partei’; Nathusius, ‘Am rechten Rand der Union’; an exception is Aschoff, ‘Die Deutsche Partei’. 86. See Bösch, Macht und Machtverlust; Buchhaas, Die Volkspartei; Geiger, Atlantiker gegen Gaullisten; Grau, Gegen den Strom; Clemens, Reluctant Realists; Schumann, Bauarbeiten; Schwarz, Die Fraktion als Machtfaktor; Zein, Die organisatorische Entwicklung; for the

24 | Introduction

Adenauer era, see esp. Bösch, Die Adenauer-CDU; Granieri, The Ambivalent Alliance; Becker, CDU und CSU; Mitchell, Origins of Christian Democracy; Schmidt, Zentrum oder CDU. Significant biographies: Schwarz, Adenauer; Schwarz, Helmut Kohl; Oppelland, Gerhard Schröder; Szatkowski, Karl Carstens; Gniss, Der Politiker Eugen Gerstenmaier; Mierzejewski, Ludwig Erhard; Speich, Kai-Uwe von Hassel. 87. On the history of the CSU, see Mintzel, Die CSU; Schlemmer, Aufbruch, Krise und Erneuerung; Balcar and Schlemmer, An der Spitze der CSU; Milosch, Modernizing Bavaria; Weber, ‘Föderalismus und Lobbyismus’. 88. See Schildt, ‘Die Kräfte der Gegenreform’; Wehrs, Protest der Professoren; Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit; Bavaj, ‘Das Trauma von “1968”’; Bavaj, ‘Turning “Liberal Critics”’; Bösch, ‘Die Krise als Chance’; Schmidt, ‘“Die geistige Führung verloren”’; Hoeres, ‘Reise nach Amerika’; Hoeres, ‘Von der “Tendenzwende”’; Goltz, ‘Eine Gegen-Generation von 1968?’; Goltz, ‘A Polarised Generation?’; Livi, Schmidt and Sturm, Die 1970er Jahre. 89. See e.g. Botsch, Die extreme Rechte; Botsch et al., Politik des Hasses; Brauner-Orthen, Die Neue Rechte; Greß, Jaschke and Schönekäs, Neue Rechte und Rechtsextremismus; Kowalsky and Schroeder, Rechtsextremismus; Backes and Jesse, Politischer Extremismus; Pfahl-Traughber, ‘Konservative Revolution’. 90. Overviews of the research are provided in Zelizer, ‘Reflections’; ‘Conservatism. A Round Table’; Lütjen, ‘Aufstieg und Anatomie’. 91. See Jackson, ‘The Think-Tank Archipelago’; Cooper, Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan; Cooper, ‘“Superior to Anything”’. 92. Peters, William S. Schlamm; Gallus, ‘Der Amüsanteste unter den Renegaten’; Gallus, Heimat ‘Weltbühne’, 210–78; Großmann, Die Internationale der Konservativen. 93. See e.g. Kaiser, Christian Democracy; Gehler, Kaiser and Wohnout, Christdemokratie in Europa; Gehler and Kaiser, ‘Transnationale Parteienkooperation’. 94. See the overview of the research in Steber, ‘Modern Britain and European Modernity’. 95. On the concept of high modernity, see Herbert, ‘Europe in High Modernity’, and Raphael, ‘Ordnungsmuster der “Hochmoderne?”’; for a similar interpretation of the 1970s, see Doering-Manteuffel and Raphael, Nach dem Boom; Jarausch, Das Ende der Zuversicht?; Raithel, Rödder and Wirsching, Auf dem Weg; Ferguson, Maier and Manela, Shock of the Global; summarized in Geyer, ‘Auf der Suche nach der Gegenwart’. 96. See Hockerts and Süß, Soziale Ungleichheit im Sozialstaat. 97. On typology, see Schmidt, Demokratietheorien, 306–18. 98. See Levsen and Torp, ‘Die Bundesrepublik und der Vergleich’. 99. See Leonhard, Liberalismus; Koselleck et al., ‘Three bürgerliche Worlds?’; on theoretical considerations of the historical-semantic comparison, see Leonhard, ‘Language, Experience and Translation’. 100. See Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1950–1953; Buchstab, CDUBundesvorstandsprotokolle 1953–1957; Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1957–1961; Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1961–1965; Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1965–1969; Buchstab and Lindsay, CDUBundesvorstandsprotokolle 1969–1973; Heidemeyer et al., Die CDU/CSU-Fraktion im Deutschen Bundestag, 1949–1969; Zellhuber and Peters, Die CSU-Landesgruppe im Deutschen Bundestag, 1949–1972.

Chapter 1

Conservatism and Toryism Concepts of Self-Description in the Political Languages of Conservatism in the United Kingdom

? When British conservatives spoke of conservatism or Toryism, they were referring to a political tradition that was a century and a half old: they interpreted it, adopted it, grappled with it. They were deliberate in their conceptual engagement. The concepts of conservatism or Toryism, used for self-description, were inextricably connected to the Conservative Party – those who spoke of conservatism were referring to the history of the party, and those who complained about Toryism were most certainly doing so as well. The concepts were so deeply anchored as categories of self-description that no alternatives were tenable. They served as a label for a political orientation and helped to describe the characteristics of a political style and a party. The concepts harked back to the late eighteenth century and the first half of the nineteenth – the time in which the modern British party system emerged. The semantic horizon of conservatism and Toryism was definitively shaped by these historical constellations, even into the second half of the twentieth century.

1.1. Conservatism, Toryism and the Party: Determinants in Conceptual Formation since the Late Eighteenth Century The labels of Whig and Tory had taken hold in the public vocabulary for the two political groupings in the British Parliament. While Whig referred to the group of nobles who mostly sought to limit the powers of crown and church, the Tories defended them against the initiatives to expand parliamentarian avenues of influence. The abstract concepts of Whiggism and Toryism were also already in common use in the seventeenth century.1 The political camps took on a new configuration when a political reform movement began to gain significance in the 1760s, pushing for the expansion of political participation and bringing

26 | Conservatism and Toryism

electoral reform to the table, while George III sought to restrengthen the power of the crown. With increasing political polarization, the concepts of Whig and Tory were reactivated, after fading into the background in the course of the eighteenth century. The Whigs self-identified as being the opposition to governmental politics, and did so by recalling semantic traditions of the seventeenth century, including the constitution and liberty; meanwhile Tory was employed as a derogatory counterconcept. It was therefore adopted only hesitantly by those who were committed to defending the existing constitution.2 The reception of the French Revolution served to heighten the political polarization and brought about the ideologization of political debate, while also leading to a reconfiguration of the political camps. This was exemplified by Edmund Burke, who warned of the effects of the French Revolution in his 1790 Reflections on the Revolution in France, and who held up the British monarchic system as the ideal of a well-balanced system of rule. He believed political stability and constitutional freedom to be realized in the interplay of the crown, church, nobility and ownership rights, as well as in the high regard for tradition, convention and institution. As Burke had once been a leading representative of the reformist Rockinghamite Whigs, his intellectual about-face bore particular importance, even if he held fast to decisive elements of Whiggist conviction – including, in particular, an emphasis on property rights and the central role of the landed nobility. He began to style himself an ‘old Whig’, anchored in the tradition of the seventeenth century, thus distancing himself from the liberals in the orbit of Charles James Fox, whom he labelled as ‘new Whigs’. He would later begin to portray himself as a Tory in 1796.3 The conflict between the two emerging camps, one liberal and one monarchist-constitutional, shaped the first three decades of the nineteenth century. While ‘Whig’ had been established as a self-descriptive, their opponents were hesitant to take on the ‘Tory’ label that had been used by the liberals as a derogatory term in connection with the absolutism of the Catholic Stuarts. The concept only entered into general use in 1827, and did so as a counterconcept to ‘liberal’ and not to ‘Whig’. It ultimately prevailed during the 1831 reform crisis as a self-descriptive used by what was the opposition at the time.4 The self-descriptive term ‘conservative’, borrowed from French political discourse, was also put forward around the same time. Between 1818 and 1820, François-René de Chateaubriand had published a weekly with the title Le Conservateur, which presented constitutional-monarchist and anti-liberal positions, channelling them into the concept of conservatism. As the word derived from the Latin root conservare, it was easily adopted in other European languages. In Britain, it was seized upon as a self-descriptive category in the late 1820s. The suggestion put forward in the Quarterly Review in 1830 to refer to the Tory Party as the Conservative Party is remarkable in this context (and whether it can in fact be attributed to the Irish Tory John Wilson Croker

1.1. Determinants in Conceptual Formation | 27

is likely to forever remain uncertain).5 In the course of the controversy over the 1832 Reform Bill, in any event, there was an increase in pitting ‘conservative principles’ against ‘subversive principles’. In this vein, radical would first become the counterconcept to conservative.6 The demarcation towards the other end of the political spectrum was referred to through the counterconcept of the Ultra-Tory.7 The imported term ‘conservative’, which as a new concept was free of all historical references, was much better suited than the historically loaded ‘Tory’ to describe the changed political positioning in the post-Napoleonic era. Conservatives sought to conserve the constitution fought for by the Whigs in the Revolutionary Settlement.8 Conservatism and Toryism, with all of their semantic fields, subsequently numbered among the basic concepts of British political language. While conservatism had a liberal potential from the very beginning, Toryism was connected more with traditional and social-paternalistic positions. The abstract notion implied the timelessness of matters connected with the concept, and pointed to a specific political style of thought. The intellectual formulation of anti-liberal and anti-revolutionary positions in post-Napoleonic Europe, which responded to the challenge posed by the Enlightenment and the French Revolution and which was subsumed under the concept of conservatism, contributed towards providing the concept with further ideological meaning, even when used in contexts of power politics.9 Both the factional strife and power struggles within the party, as well as its self-distinction from external political opponents, subsequently unfolded within the framework of these concepts, which would take on new nuances of meaning or lose previously established ones. An immense inventory of definitions, aphorisms and arguments developed in this way, which could be drawn upon to support current positions. The application of concepts to the present would, however, remain limited to the national framework, which strengthened the idea of the exceptional nature of British conservatism. This provided the conservative language with stability and continuity, while offering it variants for different political designs, though setting limits to its flexibility as well. The application of historical arguments and aphorisms to the present was indeed omnipresent in the debates of the 1960s and 1970s. It formed an integral element of the political languages of conservatism in the United Kingdom, and constituted one of its morphological structural principles. Hence, constancy and continuity were brought about in the semantic networks of the political languages of conservatism through the structural principle of repetition and application to the present, which was decisive for their stability. This guaranteed recognizability, and ensured the maintenance of key concepts, while also providing necessary flexibility in the conceptual inventory. A fundamental distinction must be made between two frameworks within which the terms ‘conservatism’ and ‘Toryism’ were ascribed importance: the

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framework of philosophical, historical and programmatic discussions, and that of day-to-day political interventions. This was the case for the 1960s and 1970s just as much as it had been for the previous decades of party history, beginning in the 1830s. Systematic discussions, especially concerning conservatism, which sought to provide a comprehensive outline of political thought, developed into a genre of their own in the course of the twentieth century and in light of the competition with an ever-stronger Labour Party. Lord Hugh Cecil’s 1912 book Conservatism, which was written in a difficult situation for the party concerning the liberal constitutional reform of 1911,10 served as a model for twentieth-century authors.11 This was by no means limited to the work of scholars at universities, where more party politicians with intellectual aspirations were taking to the pen. This was a common occurrence before elections: not only political programmes but often pamphlets and short books served to bring their worldview closer to the broader public. Even after electoral defeats, foundational texts of this sort appeared to be useful to party strategists, especially if the party was in the midst of a phase of programmatic reorientation. This was indeed the case in the second half of the 1940s after the Conservative Party, under the leadership of Clement Attlee, suffered a disastrous electoral loss to the Labour Party. One good example was The Case for Conservatism by Quintin Hogg (from 1950, Viscount Hailsham), which was initially published in 1947 but then expanded and republished as The Conservative Case for the 1959 electoral campaign, subsequently becoming an important reference text.12 The volume of publications seeking to explain conservatism also increased during periods of heavy contention within the party. These texts are to be understood as strategies of conceptual appropriation. Under the guise of neutrality and timeless validity, a single version of conceptual interpretation was presented as the sole ‘truth’; quotes from the history of the party were sprinkled throughout to provide historical legitimacy, and references to the great men of the conservative past served to underscore the political claims that were very much connected to the present. In the 1920s and 1930s, the book market was flooded with publications with titles such as A Defence of Conservatism (1927), The Spirit of Conservatism (1929) and What is Conservatism? (1930), most of which were published by the party.13 The same can be observed for the 1960s and 1970s. In both periods, conservative thought and conservative political action were being called into question by a successful Left. These works connected style and language in their attempt to define general principles of conservatism and run them through different political fields, with the conservative principles connected to specific policy proposals. Using etymological arguments, the concept of conservatism was underpinned by a characteristic ordering of temporal dimensions. The Latin verb conservare obliged conservatives to turn to the past. As Hogg, for one, emphasized: ‘The function of Conservatism is to protect, apply and revive what is the best in the old’.14

1.1. Determinants in Conceptual Formation | 29

Conservatives were faced time and again by the question of how to relate to the present and to the future. The concept of conservatism, in the modern political vocabulary, was indeed characterized by its function of shaping expectations – or, as Reinhart Koselleck put it, it had a ‘horizon of expectation’.15 The history of British conservatism provides countless examples of how difficult it could be to reconcile a horizon of expectation for the future with the need to conserve aspects of the past. The relation between past, present and future was mostly negotiated in a reckoning with historical change. The classical formula used to connect the temporal dimensions can be found, for example, in a pamphlet written by Geoffrey Block in 1965. He argued that the Conservative Party ‘opposes change for change’s sake. But it accepts, as Disraeli phrased it, that change is inevitable, and in a progressive country change is constant’.16 The three temporal dimensions were to be maintained in an equilibrium. This ordering of temporality manifested itself as a further morphological structural principle in the political languages of conservatism in the United Kingdom. A distinction from the concept of the reactionary also served this end. As Ian Gilmour, for instance, expressed it in 1977: ‘A reactionary refuses, for ideological and temperamental reasons, to accept change or tries to reverse it. He is not a Conservative’.17 This drawing of boundaries through negations and oppositions was thus also a characteristic of conservative speech; this was deeply anchored in its morphology as the structural principle of the formation of opposites. When Quintin Hogg established that ‘[t]he whole basis of modern Conservatism is the rejection of the absolutist claims of the modern Socialist state’,18 a central programmatic tenet of conservatism was derived from a constitutional principle of its political language. By contrast, concepts such as the individual, freedom, responsibility and opportunity were used as positive markers of conservatism. The formation of opposites provided the individual concepts with specific contours. Conceptual networks emerged, both in this manner and through the application to the present as described above, which connected with the concept of conservatism or Toryism, and provided it with meaning. Self-exploratory texts on conservatism could even take on the quality of lists, with phrases such as ‘conservatism means…’ and ‘conservatives believe…’.19 These publications, whether pamphlets or books, were rounded out by smaller contributions to newspapers and periodicals, which specifically grappled with conservatism at a fundamental level. Swinton College Journal (1951–65) and then Swinton Journal (1966–75), The Spectator and The Times all served as preferred forums for debates over self-perception. As newspapers and periodicals were published on a daily basis, they provided a well-suited platform for this type of programmatic intervention, with a relation to the current discourse in party politics. They could, nevertheless, also address the matter at a very fundamental level.

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Even if the party-affiliated literature on conservatism was in fact predominant in the field, university-based intellectuals also contributed to developing the concepts of political language. Beginning in the 1940s, Michael Oakeshott played a particular role as a philosophical interpreter of conservatism.20 Based at first in Cambridge and later at the London School of Economics (LSE), Oakeshott, who kept politics and parties at a distance throughout his life, developed a political philosophy of conservatism that was not oriented towards Burke’s metaphysical reasoning but towards the scepticism of David Hume and Thomas Hobbes.21 He argued against interpretations of conservatism that, by invoking Burke, sought to strengthen it ideologically in its opposition to socialism and liberalism.22 This applied in particular to the United States, where a number of intellectuals were working towards a reframing of conservatism.23 Russell Kirk’s 1953 book The Conservative Mind was one of the most influential texts in American neoconservatism.24 It was republished and expanded repeatedly into the 1990s, and was received and reviewed not only in the United States but in Europe as well.25 The book was based on Kirk’s doctoral dissertation at Scotland’s University of St Andrews. Kirk viewed Edmund Burke as the key to understanding modern conservatism.26 The explicit philosophical inquiry into conservatism was only revisited in Britain during the mid-1970s in connection with the reorientation of the Conservative Party under Margaret Thatcher. A general overview of conservatism by Noël O’Sullivan, a philosopher in the Political Science Department of the University of Hull, appeared in 1976. That same year, the Oxford-based philosopher Anthony Quinton held his T.S. Eliot Lectures, published two years later as The Politics of Imperfection. While O’Sullivan, like Oakeshott, did not maintain contact with the party, Quinton did seek close ties with the Thatcher wing of the party. He was not the only intellectual who felt called to play a role in the renewal of the party’s political thinking. The Conservative Philosophy Group was founded in 1975 as a more informal discussion group, whose initiators included Roger Scruton, who was still at Birkbeck College at the time. Quinton was also part of the group.27 Scruton’s work illustrates that it is a great simplification to reduce Thatcherism to economic thought and policy. He defined conservatism as the antipode to liberalism in his 1980 book The Meaning of Conservatism, casting doubt on the market-liberal creed of the party under Thatcher.28 In addition to philosophers, historians also participated in fleshing out the concepts of conservatism and Toryism. Their role stemmed from the significance that the history of the party was ascribed for the development of conservatism.29 In the 1960s and 1970s, Robert Blake, provost at Queen’s College Oxford since 1968, left a mark on their interpretation like no other with his general depiction of the history of the party in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.30 Blake was close to the party and supported Margaret Thatcher in the 1970s, providing her version of conservatism with historical legitimacy.31 In the 1970s, two

1.1. Determinants in Conceptual Formation | 31

other historians became involved in the debates on the future of conservatism: Elie Kedourie, a historian at the LSE and a Middle East expert,32 and Maurice Cowling, who was the gravitational centre of the Peterhouse Right.33 While programmatic, philosophical and historical discussions represented one forum for the formation of concepts, day-to-day political interventions were another. To support their own positions, conservative politicians did well to connect these with conservative ‘principles’, providing them with additional legitimacy in this way, as they could present them as standing in a continuity with conservative thought and action. Great importance was attached to this in a party that felt committed to the past. The evocation of conservative principles and traditions became part of the rhetorical repertoire at party conferences, as part of the annual matter of communicating decisions on the party’s political direction to the party base. Groups within the party competing for influence and position, however, such as the One Nation Group, the Bow Group and the Monday Club, also appropriated the concepts of conservatism or Toryism to underscore their prerogative to craft opinion. These struggles over political direction were not only carried out within the party but also in the public journalistic arena. Political writers and conservative journalists became involved, as did intellectuals connected to the party. The meaning of the concept of conservatism was often clarified within the framework of debates over specific current topics. A conceptual array emerged over time to describe the various standpoints and orientations of political thought within the party, which could be adopted, rejected or expanded to include new variants. The distinction between ‘Tory’ and ‘conservative’ was useful for precisely such qualifications, as were adjectival supplements, which led to constructions such as ‘liberal conservatism’, ‘progressive conservatism’, ‘traditional conservatism’ and ‘ultra Toryism’. A fine distinction, furthermore, was established between Conservatism with a capital C and conservatism in lowercase.34 The first variant was used for the political phenomenon, while the second was employed for a supposed general human characteristic in the form of a ‘natural conservatism’. This distinction dated back to the definition provided by Lord Hugh Cecil in 1912.35 Natural conservatism is a tendency of the human mind. It is a disposition averse from change; and it springs partly from a distrust of the unknown and a corresponding reliance on experience rather than on theoretic reasoning; partly from a faculty in men to adapt themselves to their surroundings so that what is familiar merely because of its familiarity becomes more acceptable or more tolerable than what is unfamiliar. Distrust of the unknown, and preference for experience over theory, are deeply seated in almost all minds.36

The collected thought of the Conservative Party under the concept of conservatism was based to a large degree on this ‘natural conservatism’, according to Cecil.37

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This argument was indeed important for the self-understanding of British conservatives, who viewed themselves, first and foremost, as unideological. Conservatism was neither a coherent system of thought, they felt, nor did it offer conclusive theories to explain the world. It was instead characterized by ‘a deep distrust of blueprints and a distaste for abstract, prescriptive theory’, as Ben Patterson put it in 1973, citing an often recurring trope of conservative self-description.38 Conservatives were thus led by principles instead of dogmas, principles that had supposedly emerged over centuries from the experience of the British ‘people’.39 In addition to principles, the concept of faith was also commonly evoked by conservatives when discussing the foundations of their political thought.40 As Quintin Hogg never tired of emphasizing, this flexibility of thought explained a fundamental pragmatism in terms of political action. The conservative rejection of ideology, which served in particular as a distinction to liberalism and socialism, led to many questions beyond the conservative discourse of self-perception. The left-wing Cambridge philosopher Bernard Williams hammered at precisely this point in a contentious dialogue between Hogg (now Lord Hailsham) and himself, which was presented on BBC 1 in 1974. Despite Hailsham’s insistence that his views were only pragmatic and non-ideological, Williams depicted them as highly ideological and based on fixed ideas on what constituted politics, on human nature and on the significance of formal structures and institutions.41 As we shall see, the tension between the rejection of ideology and the necessity to express one’s own political thought in a coherent form provided the debates over conservatism of the 1960s and 1970s with additional explosive fuel. The development of the concepts of conservatism and Toryism in those two decades unfolded in three phases: the period of Harold Macmillan’s time as prime minister, the years of contention over the programmatic renewal of the party under Edward Heath, and lastly the phase beginning with Margaret Thatcher’s election as party leader in February 1975, which continued into the 1980s.

1.2. New, Progressive, Modern: Conservatism and Toryism, 1945–63 1.2.1. Striving towards the Future: The Delicate Balance of the Temporal Dimensions and Modern Conservatism When Harold Macmillan was elected prime minister in 1957, the Conservatives had already been in power for six years. Winston Churchill was followed by Anthony Eden in 1955, who had to resign in 1957, however, after the catastrophic Suez Crisis. Eden’s successor as prime minister and party leader was Harold Macmillan, an experienced politician and major party figure with a clear

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profile. He had been an enthusiastic advocate of Keynesian economic policy and state-controlled welfare policy since the 1930s, while he took an interventionist stance in foreign policy matters. The latter had placed him in opposition to the party leadership under Neville Chamberlain in the 1930s, with their appeasement policy towards National Socialist Germany.42 He was, however, also deeply entangled in the Suez disaster as chancellor of the exchequer. The United Kingdom’s repositioning in matters of foreign policy as a former world power, as well as the unconditional guarantee of economic growth, full employment, rising salaries and a low inflation rate, were all combined within the Macmillan government’s platform. The prime minister had received great support in his 1959 reelection before being faced with massive losses in his credibility through scandals, missteps and economic dips, beginning in 1962. Weakened by illness, Macmillan was unable to stay in power, and he resigned in 1963. He was followed by Alec Douglas-Home, who remained a transitional figure as the Tories lost the 1964 election to the Labour Party under the leadership of Harold Wilson. The concept of conservatism was closely associated with the concept of progress during Macmillan’s time in office. Citing Benjamin Disraeli in his preface to ‘Onward in Freedom’, the party’s 1958 programme paper, he promised: ‘We are conservatives of all that is best in our traditions. We are radical to uproot and destroy all that bars the road to progress’.43 It was precisely this that Macmillan had impressed on his party upon his election as party leader.44 ‘Progressive conservatism’ was the label given to the Tories’ politics under Macmillan, which chiefly stood for a domestic policy geared towards growth, moderate state interventionism and the expansion of the welfare state.45 Progressive conservatism promised, first and foremost, general welfare and the participation of wide portions of the populace in the economic upswing. The Conservatives welcomed with open arms the consumption-oriented affluence of the postwar decades, which, in their view, stood for progress. The Labour Party, by contrast, took a much more reserved stance towards the material promises of the present day.46 By using the label ‘progressive conservatism’, the Conservatives connected semantically with the interwar period, when the reform wing of the party had fashioned itself as the advocate of a progressive conservatism.47 The qualification of the concept of conservatism using the adjective ‘progressive’ appeared necessary in order to nip in the bud each and every association with an outdated past. The concept’s constitutive element of conservation was thus intentionally relativized. Precisely this was the thrust of the ‘Onward in Freedom’ paper: only the best was to be conserved, and everything else was to be vigorously eliminated to pave the way for progress. In this vein, the concept of conservatism was filled with a certainty about the future. As Dorothy Bowhay wrote in the Swinton College Journal: ‘The very word Conservatism is like a trumpet sound, embodying as it does our past and present, and including the great future that we hope to see’.48 The balance among the temporal dimensions

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was shifted towards the future. Particularly crucial in this regard was the perception of the present day as a time of rapid change, which became increasingly decisive from the mid-1950s. As Anthony Eden expressed it before the 1956 party conference: ‘Scientific progress has become a gallop instead of a trot. Our own position – our country’s position – no longer rests on its old foundations which seemed so secure’.49 The fundaments seemed to be slipping away as the promises of scientific innovation heralded all things new. Two years later, Macmillan’s party conference speech revolved entirely around the future. He felt driven to this by ‘this new, scientific, technological, jet-propelled, nuclear-powered age’. While conservatism was rhetorically associated with the future and progress, political opponents were depicted as relicts of a long-outdated past. Macmillan mocked the discussions led by Labour and the Liberals as spreading the ‘air of lavender and old lace’.50 The close connection between progress and conservatism touched upon the very foundations of the concept of conservatism. If only the future now counted, how could the substance of tradition be conserved from the past? How could conservatism still even be committed to tradition? It was Quintin Hogg who would prominently qualify the concept of progress in a conservative sense – which ultimately meant ordering the concepts of political language in accordance with the morphological structural principle of temporality. Hogg thus provided the prerequisite for the conceptual connection between progress and conservatism in that ‘progress consists in each generation beginning at the point where their fathers left off’.51 The republication of his 1947 book for the 1959 parliamentary election underscores the significance of Hogg’s conceptual efforts.52 Conservative progress was to be characterized by continuity, by developing the new from the tried and tested old, but not, however, through a conscious break with the past. The concept of progress took on a specifically conservative layer of meaning in yet another regard. Richard Austin Butler, one of the visionaries and leading figures in British conservatism during the 1950s,53 spoke on the topic of progress in a December 1958 radio programme. He explained that the majority of the British people did not understand progress in line with the things that Labour had been promising, which was to say ‘more and more of our lives, our work, our houses being dominated by officialdom, controlled by government restrictions and cramped by local authority by-laws’. The conservative promise of progress, by contrast, was based on freedom and order, with Butler drawing upon two key concepts from the semantic network of the concept of conservatism. At the same time, he evoked the image of a socialist-ruled Britain, in which the actual decisive power lay in a burgeoning bureaucracy that crushed freedom and deprived individuals of the very air to breathe. This idea was repeatedly applied to the present in the cultural-critical discourse on mass society and the affluent society.54 As Butler explained in the same programme, the function of conservatism was ‘to give a chance to the young to take advantage of what is best

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in old tradition and to offer them a field of fresh opportunities; to preserve a fair balance between order and liberty; to improve social conditions and to care for those who are old and in need’.55 The welfare policy components of Butler’s concept of conservatism underscored the Christian basis upon which the Conservative Party of the 1950s and early 1960s was founded. ‘Christian duty’ called for individuals to take care of their fellows, and went far beyond that which the state was able to provide.56 The politics of the expanding welfare state was legitimized through Christianity, even as clear limitations were set for it with reference to Christianity as well, by emphasizing the responsibility both of individuals and of civil society. The embrace of Christianity had, however, burrowed even deeper into the concept of conservatism during the postwar years, even if the party could not claim to be the exclusive representative of Christian interests. This was precluded by the fact that Christian groups in the UK had connections, in equal measure, to all political parties due to the denominational diversity of the country. Christianity nevertheless played a decisive role in the self-image of British conservatism. The explosion of violence during the Second World War, which was conducted as a war of annihilation by Nazi Germany, the totalitarian claims to power and the questioning of individual freedom during the first half of the twentieth century was interpreted – as was similarly the case in postwar Germany – as the result of a turning away from God. The denial of the fatherhood of God is the root from which spring quite naturally the various heresies which have afflicted the species in our time, the doctrine of race and class, the worship of the State, the philosophy of dialectical materialism, or the more pragmatic and not less popular creeds of Get-rich-quick, or All’s-fair-in-love-and-war.57

It is quite evident that this pattern of interpretation, as adopted here by Quintin Hogg, emerged from theories of totalitarianism. It was applied in opposition to socialism during the incipient Cold War. The anti-socialist orientation of references to Christianity in Conservative political language during the Cold War was connected in a characteristic fashion with moral politics aimed at British society.58 The moral charge of what was understood to be Christian in the British public reached back to the Victorian era, and coincided with the criticism of the materialism of consumer society that was widespread within the Conservative Party of the 1950s.59 The conservative idea of Christianity was, moreover, connected with the dimension of the past that was so important to the party: the Christian heritage had to be protected, conserved and developed further so that – related specifically to the situation during the late 1940s – ‘our Christianity masters the bomb and not the bomb our Christianity’.60 This Christian heritage, which the conservatives saw as their task to conserve, included the monarchical constitution of the

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kingdom that was of such great importance to the conservative understanding of the state. As defenders of the ‘traditional Constitution’, with roots ‘deep in the Christian tradition of the past’, conservatism, as Hogg saw it, offered a synthesis of the conflicting ideas of authority and freedom within the formula of the ‘rule of law’. This was founded both on a body of legal texts and on natural law, which was, in turn, based on Christianity.61 Moreover, the party derived from its Christian foundations a standpoint that was allegedly beyond any ideology, which proceeded from the sinful nature of the individual.62 This relativized the conservative enthusiasm for progress. The anti-socialist undertone in the conservative embrace of progress could not go unnoticed. It harked back to the incubation period of the renewed conservatism after 1945, which was decisively formed by men such as Butler and Macmillan. After the painful electoral defeat to Labour in 1945, the conviction took firm hold of the party that a programmatic new beginning was required to counter the conspicuous popularity of the Labour Party, which set its stock in an expansion of the welfare state, nationalization and the curbing of individual consumption. An intensive discussion process followed within the party, guided by the Conservative Research Department under Butler.63 For him (as was the case for Hogg), the thunderbolt of the year 1945 was comparable with the situation of the Tories in 1832, when the first Reform Act achieved by the Liberals brought about a constitutional and electoral reform that the Conservatives had attempted to prevent for decades, and which fundamentally called into question their political self-understanding. In his Tamworth Manifesto of 1834, party leader Robert Peel spelled out for the first time the consolidated fundaments of a conservatism that the party would later be able to invoke. Tamworth was viewed within the party as the birth certificate of modern conservatism. In 1945, Butler believed that a new Tamworth Manifesto was needed, as the party was at such a profound turning point.64 While Peel’s politics were connected with the adoption of the new concept of conservatism, this would appear by 1945 as outdated, depleted and, at the very least, not in accordance with the necessities of a time poised for new beginnings. The Conservatives under Churchill, moreover, sought to create an anti-socialist front with the inclusion of the Liberals. The concept of conservatism posed an obstacle to this. Churchill, who had spent a considerable amount of his political life in the Liberal Party, therefore set up a working group before the 1946 party conference to consider changing the name of the party. Churchill’s suggestion, the ‘Union Party’ with the members being known as ‘Unionists’, did not surprise his colleagues much as he made reference here to the tradition of Unionism within the party, a tradition with which Churchill himself identified. When the Liberals had split up in 1886 over Gladstone’s Ireland policy, the party wing that supported maintaining the status quo in Ireland had at first been organized as the Liberal Unionist Party and had entered into an alliance with

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the Conservatives, ultimately culminating in their fusion in 1912. This history was kept alive in the official party name, the Conservative and Unionist Party, and the party’s candidates continued to campaign as Unionists in Scotland and Northern Ireland well into the 1950s. While other major party figures had also worked towards a name change, the idea was met with little enthusiasm – including in the shadow cabinet – and by the time of the party conference the party leadership had already given up on the plan. Only Harold Macmillan continued to support it, calling for the party’s name to be changed to the ‘New Democratic Party’, connected with a strategy of forming an anti-socialist movement. He was met, however, by a storm of protest from among the party base gathered at the party conference.65 Quintin Hogg was one of the fiercest critics of the name change, and his 1947 book The Case for Conservatism responded to reservations within the party towards conservative tradition. Hogg’s conceptual work indeed had a stabilizing effect. He laid out in great detail what conservative could mean for the postwar era. Hogg also qualified the concept, however, as he did not apparently trust in its efficacy alone. Hogg spoke of ‘modern Conservatism’, thus using a commonly employed phrase within the party.66 In 1946, for instance, the Northern Area Council had adopted a resolution to call for more vigorous public relations efforts with regard to the principles and politics of ‘modern Conservatism’.67 Modern was to provide conservatism with a particular place, the centre of British society, which was hoping for an economic upswing, social security and social mobility following the economic crisis of the 1930s and the hardships and suffering caused by the war. Modern had become a term of promise during the postwar era. Only a modern conservatism would be wellsuited to the modern Britain.68 Modern also expressed the will for reform, and the programmatic papers being churned out from party headquarters would only confirm this. The Industrial Charter (1947), The Agricultural Charter (1947), The Right Road for Britain (1949), One Nation (1950) and Change Is Our Ally (1954) to name only the most important of these texts, all put forward conservative positions on the economic and social-political reforms advanced by Labour under Attlee. The list of heatedly discussed topics was headed by the nationalization of key industries and the expansion of the welfare state. The thrust of this, which chiefly involved economic and social policy, led to modern conservatism also being associated with matters of this kind. When, in 1955, Butler published an anthology with texts on the programmatic makeover under the title of The New Conservatism, the break with the political history of the party became even clearer.69 This, however, involved an equal degree of rhetoric in addition to any personal convictions or self-positioning. The political positions, as well as the language in which they were drawn up, indeed demonstrated clear continuities with established conservative stances of the interwar period, as Harriet Jones, Michael Kandiah

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and Jim Tomlinson have shown.70 The Industrial Charter, the foundational text on economic policy for the remodelled conservatism, was first and foremost a plea for the free market, and only secondarily for a reserved, Keynesian-inspired regulatory policy that built on concepts of the reform-oriented party wing of the interwar period. The Industrial Charter connected conservatism with ideals of progressiveness, welfare and the new language of the culture of civil society, which had been emerging since 1942 – and it was precisely this which endowed the charter with significance.71 Beginning in the mid-1950s, and particularly following Macmillan’s election, modern conservatism was increasingly replaced by ‘progressive conservatism’ – and Macmillan’s government set out to achieve exactly this. ‘The great thing is to keep the Tory party on modern and progressive lines’, Macmillan noted in his diary in 1959.72 Progressive conservatism was, however, much clearer in its allusion to the programme of the party’s left wing than had the more neutral modern conservatism, with ‘progressive’ becoming a concept employed in strategies of internal demarcation within the party.73 When Butler took on the office of party chairman in 1960, he expressed his particular gratitude for his nomination, as he viewed ‘the advancement of progressive Conservatism’ as his life work.74 The slogan of modernization, which the Macmillan government held high from 1960, and which simultaneously promised a new beginning after the loss of empire and a solution to the economic structural problems, drew semantically from these sources.75 The semantic tension between conservation, to which the concept of conservatism alluded, and the renewal that the adjectives progressive and modern evoked, had to be balanced well, if for no other reason, in order to satisfy the morphological structural principle of temporality.76 This did not always unfold as hoped. Hogg, for example, accused the Earl of Lucan from the Labour Party of nostalgic conservatism during the May 1952 House of Lords debate over the Conservative government’s white paper on transport policy. Lucan had vigorously argued against the revision of Labour’s 1947 nationalization of public transport, which the market-liberal white paper had as its goal, as defended by the Viscount Hailsham (i.e. Quintin Hogg). Nationalization policy was by no means ‘progressive, but … intensely, and to an ossified extent, conservative’, as the conservative Hailsham expressed on behalf of his party, adding: ‘We rather fear that nationalisation is not in the best interests of progress in this country’.77 This accusation of conservatism lodged at his political opponent was indeed astonishing, coming from the mouth of one who had made his name as an advocate and source of ideas for conservatism. This example clearly reflects the ambivalence inherent in the conservative enthusiasm for progress: if progress was to be seen as part of conservatism, that could, in itself, undermine the concept of conservatism. The proposed distinction between upper-case Conservatism and lowercase conservatism was not sufficient to address this issue.

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Gordon Pears followed such a path to its logical end, moving away from the concept of conservatism. He wrote an article with the title ‘Down with Conservatism!’, which was published in Crossbow in 1958, a magazine closely linked to the left wing of the party. Pears denounced a broadly nostalgic attitude towards the things of everyday life, which he saw as being predominant in the England of his day: ‘This natural conservatism is rather blind, being unable to see beyond the end of its nose, unable to see the future except as a happy reception of the present. In a complex modern society like ours, set in a far from conservative world, we cannot afford too much of it’. The conclusion he drew for his own party, which bore conservatism in its name, was to turn away from conservatism and bring about a ‘most forward-looking Toryism’.78 It was only Toryism and not conservatism that could serve as the foundation for a forward-looking party. Some years later, Timothy Raison, one of the intellectual leaders of the young left-wingers of the party in the 1960s, would continue in the same direction.79 The popularity of ‘Tory’ as a self-descriptive that he had observed within the party was, for him, proof of a strengthened self-confidence and a new vitality. He associated conservatism with the era of Stanley Baldwin, which, in his eyes, had done much to cloud the concept of conservatism. Toryism by contrast is symbolic for a fresher approach, an emancipation from the dead and deadening spirit of the 1930s, a desire to tackle the realities of our time and to turn them to our advantage. The modern Tory should not reject the wisdom of the past; but he will see it largely as a further tool with which to tackle the problems of today.80

The fact that Toryism had not exactly denoted a form of liberal-oriented conservatism in the nineteenth century did not trouble the advocates of a ‘modern Toryism’81 or ‘new Toryism’.82 Iain Macleod was well aware of the dangers that would arise from turning away from conservatism. Even if he preferred the concept of Toryism as one of the visionaries of British postwar conservatism, he took care not to toss overboard the concept of conservatism and the line of tradition connected to it. Macleod fully rejected the rhetoric of a new beginning after 1945: ‘There is no “new Conservatism”, only a re-statement in modern terms of ancient beliefs’, he emphasized in 1958, repeating the phrase at the party conference four years later.83 The Conservative efforts for the welfare state, he claimed, were built upon the fundaments that the party had laid in the nineteenth century. Benjamin Disraeli’s complaint that two nations existed within Britain – one that was wealthy and another that was fighting for survival – and his call to ensure that the nation would be united as one nation,84 served Macleod and many other Conservatives of the 1950s as the historical anchor for their Toryism, which in this way continued the paternalistic tradition of conservative thought.85 Social matters, they argued, had been a genuine part of conservatism for a long time and an important facet of the conservative concept of the nation. Therefore, any

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fashioning of conservatism could only be a matter of dressing up old convictions in new words. The nation was indeed a core element in the political language of British conservatism. The conservatives saw themselves as the guardians of the nation, its history and institutions, and especially the monarchy and the Anglican Church. At the same time, they deemed themselves responsible for the unity of the nation. The pursuit of ‘one nation’, which Disraeli had evoked, had become a core feature of the conservatism of the 1950s. ‘Conservatism stands in the public mind for unity’, the Conservative MP Godfrey Nicholson confirmed in a January 1958 letter to the editor in The Daily Telegraph. He would derive from this a call to unity within the party during the crisis arising from the resignation of the chancellor of the exchequer, Peter Thorneycroft, and his team.86 The conservative affirmation of national unity aimed, first and foremost, at overcoming social tensions. Evidently, the mythology of the Second World War reverberated in the postulate of unconditional national unity. During the People’s War, the fissures of British class society finally appeared to have been overcome, and the nation united in order to withstand the treacherous attack from outside. National greatness was defined in terms of national unity.87 The myth of the People’s War fuelled the conservative ‘one nation’ metaphor at least as strongly as did the memory of the Great Depression of the 1930s. For those who viewed themselves as ‘one nation’ politicians, striving for national unity was an unquestioned foundation of conservative thought and action. Angus Maude therefore rejected, even more vigorously than did Macleod, the instrumentalized political use of established concepts of political positioning, which he accused journalists of undertaking: ‘One day I was a Progressive Left-wing Tory …; the next, it seemed, I was a Right-wing reactionary. … Could it be that none of these people pratting about being Progressive knows what the hell he is talking about?’ Apparently not, as Maude’s article in the October 1957 issue of the Spectator magazine would imply, viewing what was described as ‘progressive conservatism’ as in fact being true conservatism or Toryism as it had evolved in the course of the nineteenth century. Maude did not have much hope, however, for the terminological success of this understanding: ‘[The socialists] have sold us Progress under their own brand label, and now no clever Tory dares to be without it’. Maude concluded that the Left had unwittingly seized upon conservative language for themselves.88 While Maude expressed his rage on the issue, Iain Macleod endeavoured to provide constructive conceptual work. It was no coincidence that he particularly stressed the past dimension of conservative thought, likely doing so because, as we have seen, it had been called into question: ‘We are not only beneficiaries, we are trustees. We must cherish and not scatter, give and not take. There is a continuity and a singleness of mind implicit in this that goes to the very heart of our faith’. The concept of duty, which was central to

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Macleod’s understanding of conservatism, indeed encompassed this genuinely conservative link to the past. Macleod evoked a figure of argumentation that had been anchored in British conservatism since the nineteenth century: the amalgamation of nationalistic and conservative characteristics – ‘for the principles of Conservative belief are the principles upon which this country rests’. This was followed by one of the well-known lists of basic concepts in conservative language: ‘A belief in the unity of society, in the persisting traditions of our country, in family life and religious observance, in liberty and order, checking and completing each other’.89 Conservatism was to be found in all that was British, and vice versa. This too was an aspect of one nation politics.

1.2.2. ‘Being Conservative’: Michael Oakeshott’s Solitary Voice in the 1950s Fundamental criticism against the development of the concept of conservatism after 1945 was, however, lodged less in the discursive arena that the party provided and more among the broader intellectual public. This bore particular weight as it was advanced by Michael Oakeshott, one of the leading philosophical interpreters of conservatism. From the end of the 1940s, he became repeatedly involved in the discussion over the character of conservatism. Oakeshott’s argumentation referred back to the philosophical tradition of reasoning over conservatism and, in particular, the significance ascribed to Edmund Burke. He decidedly opposed interpretations that were primarily built upon Burke. This especially applied to Russell Kirk, whose 1953 dissertation at Scotland’s University of St Andrews, later published as a book, The Conservative Mind, would become one of the fundamental texts in the emerging new conservatism of the United States.90 Oakeshott was clear in his rejection of Kirk’s interpretation of Burke as a founding father of conservatism: ‘He was not, indeed, a great composer at all; he was something much rarer, a great intellectual melodist whose tunes were all the sweeter because they owed so much to the intellectual folk-music of Europe’.91 The demystification of Burke coincided with Oakeshott’s own preference for David Hume, in whose thought he believed lay the foundations of a conservative understanding of the world. In 1956, Oakeshott advanced his own definition of conservatism in opposition to the mainstream as influenced by Burke. After being rejected by Encounter, his article ‘On Being Conservative’ was finally published in 1962 as part of a collection of his writings; it distinguished between conservatism as a general human disposition and political conservatism. Oakeshott’s description of what it meant to be conservative would soon enter into the frequently cited corpus of conservative quotations:

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To be conservative, then, is to prefer the familiar to the unknown, to prefer the tried to the untried, fact to mystery, the actual to the possible, the limited to the unbounded, the near to the distant, the sufficient to the superabundant, the convenient to the perfect, present laughter to utopian bliss. Familiar relationships and loyalties will be preferred to the allure of more profitable attachments; to acquire and to enlarge will be less important than to keep, to cultivate and to enjoy; the grief of loss will be more acute than the excitement of novelty or promise. It is to be equal to one’s fortune, to live at the level of one’s own means, to be content with the want of greater perfection which belongs alike to oneself and one’s circumstances.92

Oakeshott very clearly marked the need for an ongoing continuity between past, present and future as a characteristic of a conservative approach to life. The structural principle of temporality guided the language in which he expressed his convictions. On the other hand, Oakeshott reduced political conservatism to a specific manner of governing: [I]t is the observation of our current manner of living combined with the belief … that governing is a specific and limited activity, namely the provision and custody of general rules of conduct, which are understood, not as plans for imposing substantive activities, but as instruments enabling people to pursue the activities of their own choice with the minimum frustration, and therefore something which it is appropriate to be conservative about.93

That such an understanding of conservatism did not need to make reference to natural law, a divine order, morality or religion, Oakeshott was explicitly clear. This entailed a radical reduction of the political concept of conservatism. He called into question all approaches that conceived of political conservatism as a worldview – while claiming not to be doing the same. In this way, Oakeshott resolved the tension that lay in the concept of conservatism, which had become increasingly apparent from the turn of the century. Political conservatism was thus a style of government, no more and no less. Oakeshott’s definition drew from the thought that formed the basis of his philosophy of those decades: the diversity of opinions and circumstances, individualities and possible choices that informed modern society could only be met politically through the setting of general rules and not through a ‘rationalistic’ (i.e. abstract) idea of a necessary governmental practice that would seek to dissolve pluralism and submit it to a scheme of uniformity. Instead of fuelling passions, he felt, political conservatives should seek to rein them in and ‘inject into the activities of already too passionate men an ingredient of moderation’. The task of a conservative government was thus ‘to restrain, to deflate, to pacify and to reconcile’.94 Oakeshott moved entirely within the vocabulary of the morphological structural principle of balance and synthesis. The political thrust of Oakeshott’s invectives of the late 1940s and 1950s was clear-cut: he attacked the politics of nationalization and the expansion of

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the welfare state that had been vigorously advanced by Attlee and only partially reversed by the Conservatives after 1951. He criticized Quintin Hogg’s The Case for Conservatism, questioning his evocation of natural law and rejecting his justification for the freedom of the individual. He maintained that freedom was not in fact given by nature but had to be brought about (and not limited) by the law, so that it was not to be explained as a Christian matter but as a historical one, and thus specific to particular nations. Oakeshott believed that substantiating individual freedom with natural law entailed a disastrous logic that justified state interventions as ‘adjustments’ and ‘limitations’: ‘The bug of rationalistic politics has bitten the Conservative’. The concentration of power could hence only be checked by ‘small adjustments in the rights and duties of individuals’.95 At the same time, Oakeshott wrote in opposition to the emerging intellectual movement that fundamentally understood politics as being driven by ideas, and which consequently sought to describe conservatism as a worldview, referring to Burke to legitimize its claims. Arguably, his focus lay primarily on developments in the United States.96 Oakeshott’s definition of the concept of conservatism departed decisively from common descriptions. He did not argue on a historical basis, nor did he draw from the conceptual reservoir of party history or explicitly refer to the writings of others. Oakeshott also distanced himself in his language from previous literature. And yet, ‘On Being Conservative’ stood in continuity with other conservative self-depictions, not only due to its accentuation of continuity and its equal weighting of the temporal dimensions. Pragmatism and moderation as guidelines of conservative governance had numbered among the ideals connected with modern conservatism since its formation, as did the distinction between conservatism as a general human character trait and political conservatism. Oakeshott’s influential intervention, as much as it was directed against the predominant interpretation of conservatism, still moved within the established lanes of conservative language and its morphological structural principles. It could therefore continue to be smoothed, adapted and integrated into conservative discourse.

1.2.3. Committing to Balance: Harold Macmillan and the Middle Way In his definition of conservatism, Michael Oakeshott focused on a figure of thought that was defining for postwar conservatism in general: a commitment to balance. This was indeed built into the political languages of conservatism as a structural principle. The search for common ground, for balance, for the centre between opposing poles was, in addition to the orientation towards the future, the second layer of meaning that characterized the concept of conservatism of

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the late 1950s and early 1960s, and which was informed by the reform-oriented wing that was predominant within the party. In the 1930s, Harold Macmillan had moulded the conservative principle of balance into a striking image when he pleaded for a Keynesian-oriented economic policy as a means of meeting the economic and political crisis, deeming that conservative politics should strive for a middle way or middle course. Unless we can continue this peaceful evolution from a free capitalism to a planned capitalism, or, it may be, a new synthesis of Capitalist and Socialist theory, there will be little hope of preserving the civil, democratic, and cultural freedom which, limited as it may be at the moment by economic inefficiency, is a valuable heritage. It is only by the adoption of this middle course that we can avoid resorting to measures of political discipline and dictatorship. Such methods, whether exercised by the ‘right’ or by the ‘left’, are the very opposite of that liberation and freedom which mankind should be striving to achieve.97

Freedom, stability and security, it was felt in 1938, could only be achieved through the synthesis of market liberal and socialist theories. The metaphor of the ‘middle way’ now took on a clear-cut outline. Macmillan held fast to the metaphor and the connected political design when he came to power twenty years later, amalgamating them with the concept of conservatism: ‘I believe today, as surely as I believed twenty years ago, that the only position in politics that we Conservatives can occupy is the middle ground’.98 The middle way would become the core brand of Macmillan’s politics.99 Concepts such as balance, moderation, reconciliation and compromise had, however, constituted integral parts of the conservative vocabulary since the nineteenth century, and indeed drew upon the structural principle of balance and synthesis. The concept of balance played a particularly prominent role here as it provided an opportunity to make reference to Disraeli, the grand figure of the social conservative lineage. Disraeli had endeavoured to bring about a balance between the classes in the form of a societas civilis, which was inspired by the premodern rural-aristocratic ‘territorial constitution’, a balance he believed to have been unravelling since the Reform Act of 1832.100 Balance was thus part of the semantic network revolving around the concept of one nation. In this vein, Macmillan appealed to his party that ‘a national party like ours, whose concern is not to exacerbate or profit from the divisions in society, but to heal them, to reconcile them, to balance them, must by its very character and tradition avoid sectional or extremist policies’.101 The semantic network that had emerged around the structural principle of balance was nearly fully present in this one sentence. If the middle way was not at first clearly coded in terms of social and economic policy, the meaning of the metaphor was soon expanded by its connection with concepts such as balance and moderation. The middle way would become

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a comprehensive descriptive category of conservatism under Macmillan. For one thing, it spoke to a principle of political decision-finding. As a 1959 One Nation Group pamphlet expressed it, ‘[t]he Tory role has been one of balance between these extremes, and so it remains’.102 Meanwhile, Julian Critchley wrote in a 1961 article for the Spectator: ‘Amongst Tories, in the absence of doctrine, compromise has been substituted for principle. For compromise is regarded both as good form and sound politics’.103 For another thing, it served to determine the Conservative position within the political spectrum, with the Conservatives placing themselves squarely in the centre. The common phrase was: ‘Between Socialism and the old laissez-faire Liberalism there is indeed a Middle Way’.104 Few went as far as Reginald Northam did in 1958, however, who placed Labour on the left, the Liberals on the right and the Conservatives in the centre. It is striking that the party rarely described itself as being a party of the Right in those years. Henry Fairlie’s determination in a 1962 issue of Encounter that there was no longer a significant right wing of the party following the restrengthening of the Left within Conservative Party leadership, indeed reflected the party’s intentional conceptual politics.105 This did not, however, mean that no resistance emerged to the course taken by the party leadership. The chorus of voices grew in the late 1950s that opposed ‘pale-pink’ Toryism, and called for a return to ‘true-blue’ or ‘full-blooded conservatism’.106 This was not only reflected in letters to the editor in the Daily Telegraph and The Times but also in local constituencies and at party conferences.107 As T.E. Utley, who himself had not previously shied away from using the label of being of the Right, commented in the Daily Telegraph: ‘The Left wing of the party has had a monopoly of attention for too long; any renaissance of Conservatism will now come from the sane Right’.108 As an avowed right-winger, however, Utley was generally alone among conservatives.109 The fixation on the ‘middle way’ bored its way deeply into the conservative language as one of its morphological structural principles. Concepts that had stood in opposition to one another were now interconnected. This included, first and foremost, the conceptual pair of freedom/liberty and order. Mocked by Utley as the ‘archangel of moderation’,110 Butler sought to ‘preserve a fair balance between order and liberty’111 – which would come to apply well to British conservatism of the 1950s. Other central concepts of the conservative vocabulary were interlinked as well, as exemplified in the 1959 Conservative Party election manifesto: ‘[Conservatism] stands for integrity as well as for efficiency, for moral values as well as for material advancement, for service and not merely self-seeking’.112 The secret to success for this structural principle of conservative language was its integrative power. It made it possible to pick up on and combine concepts from opposing discourses. This permitted conservative language to

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connect with numerous semantic networks, which in turn had an effect both on electoral results and within the party itself. The Conservative programme of the 1950s was indeed characterized by a strong ambivalence, with economic policy, for example, shifting between market liberal and Keynesian conceptions, between the principles of freedom and order, without ever dissolving the tensions between them.113 Conservative politics was also marked by a similar ambivalence with regard to a liberalization of moral legislation. Here too, the party vacillated between liberal and paternalistic concepts, between an accentuation of the freedom of the individual and a conviction in the necessity of moral standards so as to maintain social stability; and here too the Conservatives struggled with the right relationship between freedom and order.114 The structural principle of balance and synthesis thus also served to promote the integration of the diverse lines of conservative thought within the party, all of them rightly claiming a long tradition. Together with the structural principles of the formation of opposites, of temporality and of applicability to the present day, it organized the political languages of conservatism and defined their morphology. It was this interplay of structural principles and semantic networks that rendered the political languages of conservatism so distinctive.

1.2.4. The Loss of Legitimacy of Modern Conservatism in the Early 1960s ‘[T]he nature of Conservatism has not changed’,115 major party figures never tired of saying, just as they continually emphasized that they were continuing a long tradition of conservative thought and action in their efforts towards balance and the centre, and that it was a firm principle of conservative politics to define oneself in relation to the tendencies of the times, and with flexibility. The criticism of the direction of the party leadership nevertheless began just there. It should play a decisive role in the erosion of ‘modern’ conservatism in the early 1960s. The outcome of ‘middle way’ policy, they argued, was in fact ‘no longer’ conservatism but its precise opposite: socialism in a conservative guise. In May 1961, the Spectator, which viewed itself as being at the forefront of conservative reasoning,116 published an article with the title ‘Tory Socialism’ as its feature story. The magazine maintained that adopting Labour’s ideas was the favourite occupation of the current Conservative Party.117 Two years later, the Monday Club, where the imperialistic Right gathered, published a pamphlet with the telling title: Conservatism Lost? Conservatism Regained. In a direct attack on the party leadership, they accused it of having a conception of progress that aimed solely at the material, involving centralization and dominant bureaucracies, and culminating in the loss of personal freedom. Conservatism, by contrast, stood

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instead ‘for the unfettered development of the individual’. This was the philosophy that suited a meritocratic society for the future, far removed from outdated forms and privileges that the Conservative Party maintained, as the Monday Club asserted in a second accusation. Thirdly, the calamities into which the party and government had fallen were the result of neglecting conservative principles – which alone were ‘arguments against socialist dogma and interference’.118 The Monday Club disputed the authority of the party leadership to define the concept of conservatism. At the same time, it changed the concept’s positioning: no longer between laissez-faire liberalism and socialism, but solely in opposition to the latter. The structural principle of balance was pushed into the background, while a new focus was placed on the principle of the formation of opposites. The criticism that had been lodged since the late 1950s against ‘progressive conservatism’ had become ubiquitous. Even The Times, which had supported Macmillan’s political course for years, conceded in 1963 that ‘somehow the spirit has gone wrong’.119 The criticism of the party leadership’s line not only grew in volume on the party’s Right, but even its Left wing expressed its discontent. David Howell, who had been born in 1936 and was the editor-in-chief of Crossbow, the journal of the Bow Group, and who was a member of a new generation of conservative politicians, recognized a general sense of insecurity in the party ‘about the principles upon which the party stands, and about their application to the great issues of the day’.120 Even Howell therefore sought to redefine the concept of conservatism, making use of a well-known formula, that of modern conservatism – albeit in a novel form. ‘The genius of Conservatism is not yet reawakened’, Howell stated, and quite dramatically so. It must be doubted whether his attempt at awakening found much agreement within the party. His sympathies clearly did not lie with the market-liberal wing of the party – he found that ‘laissez-faire Whiggery’ had too much influence under Macmillan. Instead, he hoped to see this sort of ‘Whiggery’ ‘in a proper subordinate relationship to Tory national policy’. In his eyes, modern conservatism had to proceed from the conditions and necessities of the day: a dynamic society that trusted in efficiency, modernization, planning and collectivist solutions.121 Howell took up the general euphoria for planning that was predominant in the United Kingdom of the 1960s, and which the Labour Party under Harold Wilson knew how to use for its own purposes.122 Howell believed that he could find a synthesis in the conflict between a policy of modernization built upon planning and a market liberalism that placed its stock in individuality and entrepreneurial freedom: ‘In practice in a modern economy the decentralization of power and responsibility, providing a fuller life for the individual, can only be achieved within a national planning framework’. The structural principle of balance was dominant in Howell’s conservatism, whose core lay in the belief that freedom could be planned. The most important

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question that conservatives faced, he felt, was about ‘how to ensure freedom and opportunity within a planning framework’.123 The actual goal of planning, as Howell saw it, was not, however, economic in nature. Conservative planning was to provide the individual with identity in a world in which all security had been lost and individuals were alienated from themselves through state bureaucracy and centralization: ‘This is the very essence of modern Conservatism – the provision for the mass of the people, deprived of their personality by industrialization and the steady concentration of power in central Government hands, of a new identity and new opportunities’. Social order through planning was the foundation of conservatism – the conservative concept of order lived on in Howell’s concept of planning. At the 1963 Conservative Party Conference, Howell campaigned for the National Economic Development Council, a corporatist planning forum for the British economy that was installed by the Macmillan government in 1962.124 This was ‘very much in line with the classical traditions of Toryism’ and was an expression of the ‘one nation’ idea that was appropriate for the times, while also pointing towards a conservative concept of progress that could connect with modern technology and a dynamic, expansive economy. None of this, however, was particularly new in 1963. The Macmillan government had been promoting the slogan of modernization since 1960, and believed it to provide an answer to the general insecurity regarding decolonization and economic stagnation that had been diagnosed in comparison with other industrialized countries.125 Modernization, furthermore, was held up as a guiding principle for the course Britain took towards Europe that Macmillan launched after the fall of the empire. Only a fully ‘modernized’ United Kingdom economy could have the chance to be accepted into the European Economic Community, which was heralded as the byword of the British future in the modern age.126 The projection of the future that shone through the concept of modernization was one of a United Kingdom on the cutting edge of technology and science, with a successful economy and excellent infrastructure, working harmoniously towards a common national goal, at full employment with a well-functioning social state, marked by social mobility, oriented towards the principle of merit, and characterized by the freedom of the individual and equal opportunity. The pamphlet ‘Acceleration’, published in 1963 by the Conservative Party, still under Macmillan, highlighted this vision of a conservative future in vivid hues. It came as no accident that the title made reference to the general perception of change coming at a practically breakneck pace, while the pamphlet concluded with a photograph of Macmillan and John F. Kennedy, who had become the embodiment of the dream of modernity.127 While the political language of the Conservative Party was dripping with optimism for the future and with modernization pathos, an underlying tone of pessimism pervaded in intellectual journals, newspapers, magazines and the

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book market of the early 1960s. A national decline was anticipated everywhere. Britain was viewed as anything but fit for the future, trapped in an outmoded class system, closed off to technological progress, slowed down by an outdated organization of industrial relations, inefficient management and nepotistic elites.128 Michael Shank’s assurance that ‘the trump of doom will not sound at once’ no longer seemed particularly credible after his two-hundred-page prophecy of the upcoming downfall of the ‘stagnant society’ – and the Old Testament references underscored this all the more vividly.129 His book The Stagnant Society sold over sixty thousand copies in 1961 alone.130 The cultural obsession with national decline had the conservative evocation of modernization ring hollow. Not only that, but the scenarios of decline were, first and foremost, being advanced by left-wing and left-liberal intellectuals, writers and satirists, who held conservatism accountable for Britain’s supposedly miserable situation. They saw the national standstill as being caused by a conservative establishment that was anchored in the past. This image was underscored by the Macmillan government’s stumbling from crisis to crisis, beginning in 1961, with an uncertain footing in both foreign and domestic policy. It was the personal image of Harold Macmillan, however, that changed in particular: ‘Supermac’ had now become ‘Old Mac’, a man of the elite who seemed to fit in better with the turn of the century than in the era of nuclear technology, managerialism and the Beatles, who had their spectacular breakthrough in 1963.131 Progressive conservatism had thus led down to the dead end of national decline. The people no longer believed that the Conservatives of the early 1960s were open to progress. Macmillan spoke openly on the connection between an increase in expectations and the experience of disappointment in his speech before the 1922 Committee to close the 1963 parliamentary year. ‘SuperMac’, he noted, ‘is a splendid illusion, but a difficult position to maintain through seven long years’.132 That Alec Douglas-Home, a man of high nobility, was named his successor in a non-transparent process only served to fuel the impression of a Conservative Party operating far from any reality, especially when Douglas-Home also sought to distinguish himself by calling for modernization.133 A renewed Labour Party, moreover, presented itself as the vigorous shaper of a modern Britain, specifically speaking to the country’s middle class, which the Conservatives viewed as their voter base. While Labour sought to stand out on topics that had recently been viewed as Conservative domains, the Conservatives had lost their way and their language. As The Daily Telegraph cynically commented, the prime minister ‘has decided that the Tories shall present themselves to the electorate primarily as a party of efficient planners capable of carrying out more effectively than Labour policies of modernization and expansion on which Labour agrees’.134 The language spoken by the Conservatives had lost its characteristic nature. Its concepts were exhausted and appeared hollow in the face of the problems of

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a liberalizing, increasingly affluent society and the challenges that Britain faced after the loss of its empire and its status as a world power. The future dimension of the concept of conservatism, to which all weight had been shifted, had collapsed like a house of cards. The dimension of the past, upon which the concept was originally based, was all that remained in the eyes of the left-liberal public. Conservatism stood for yesterday, not for today – and most certainly not for tomorrow.

1.3. A Conceptual-Political Gap and Alternatives to Fill It: Edward Heath and the Crux of Political Language, 1964–75 1.3.1. ‘The Great Divide’ and Managerial Pragmatism In the early 1960s, the impression strongly took hold that conservatism had run its course and had lost its connection to the present and future. Among others, this was largely due to the new Labour leader, Harold Wilson, who took the helm of his party after the sudden death of Hugh Gaitskell in January 1963. As a dynamic middle-aged man, well versed in economics, Wilson’s image contrasted strongly with that of Macmillan, who was fast approaching seventy. Wilson adopted the national decline narrative along with the rhetoric of technological modernization. In his famous speech at the October 1963 Labour Party Conference in Scarborough, in which Wilson prophesied a socialist Britain that was ‘forged in the white heat of this [scientific] revolution’, he went on to call upon the government and industrial elite ‘to speak in the language of our scientific age’.135 He did so himself to a significant degree.136 Following Wilson’s victory at the 1964 General Election, which heralded the end of the thirteen-year period of the Conservatives in government, the Conservative Party, now shaken by crisis, entered into a period of programmatic renewal. Expecting new elections to follow soon, over thirty thematic working groups were created – Members of Parliament, party-affiliated academics, industrialists and association officials were invited to contribute. Each group was tasked with presenting relevant position papers. Douglas-Home entrusted the management of the programmatic revision to Edward Heath, the former chief whip, minister of labour, British EC negotiator and Lord Privy Seal. Born in 1916 like Wilson, Heath emerged from the middle class of Eastern England, studied at Oxford, and belonged to a new generation of Conservative politicians who practically embodied the meritocratic ideal of the 1960s. Heath appeared as a gifted manager, surrounded himself with a group of young advisors, and organized the programmatic efforts of 1964 and 1965 as if for a business administration textbook. The groups received clear-cut tasks, had to meet strict deadlines and submit comprehensive reports to be presented to the Advisory

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Committee on Policy, and then on to the Shadow Cabinet for discussion.137 Heath presented himself as someone who could get things done, and he was elected party leader in 1965 to that end. By 1970, he held all the reins of his party’s programmatic development in his hand, both as party leader and as chairman of the Advisory Committee on Policy and the Conservative Research Department (CRD).138 The methods used for the party’s programmatic work during the first two years were refined and continued: political issues were discussed and honed in working groups and the CRD, in accordance with a strict plan, to then be submitted to the party, revised and ultimately adopted.139 Heath’s rhetoric matched his self-image: he spelled out what needed to be done; he formed goals; he expressed demands. The Policy Review working groups were not tasked with presenting abstract principles but concrete solutions to specific problems.140 Heath’s political style could hardly be described better than with the 1966 campaign slogan ‘Action not Words’.141 Efficiency became a guiding concept in the language of conservatism under Heath, and the word was used no fewer than twelve times in ‘Putting Britain Right Ahead’, an initial programmatic document reflecting the programmatic revision.142 In Heathian conservatism, economic issues were more firmly in focus than had been the case in the 1950s. This all ultimately aimed at leading Britain out of its economic plight through modern management and scientific expertise. ‘Efficiency’ was essential to this end, as were ‘competition’, ‘incentive’, ‘modernization’ and ‘opportunity for merit, talent and individual enterprise’.143 Just as essential, Heath believed, was for the United Kingdom to join the European Communities. After the fall of the empire, Europe was expected to provide a new, bright future, corresponding with the spirit of the time – one in which national identities were giving way to a European identity, while also helping to overcome the country’s economic difficulties. As Heath emoted in 1967, ‘I am a European’, mirroring John F. Kennedy’s famous dictum.144 The majority of the party shared this European vision for the future.145 As the One Nation Group underscored in 1965: ‘Britain must decide that her destiny lies in Europe, and must pursue that destiny with all the force, all the pertinacity, all the enthusiasm at her command’.146 Led by Heath, the Conservatives promised the British people that they would work to shape the future. This was particularly clear in their 1970 election manifesto: ‘Conservatives are proud of yesterday’s achievements. Angered by today’s failures. Determined that tomorrow shall be better again.’ The manifesto’s title, A Better Tomorrow, which was also the party’s slogan for the entire campaign, serving to portray Heath as the managerial guarantor of a golden future for Britain, provides at least a glimpse of the horizon of expectation that this language built up.147 It is certainly a general characteristic of the language of political parties in electoral campaigns that they speak to future horizons and promise better futures. And yet, the language that the British Conservatives

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under Heath used to promote themselves was characterized by an immense certainty regarding their ability to form the future, one they portrayed as being well within their grasp. This embrace of the future, which matched the enthusiasm for the future of the 1960s, was the response of Heath and Conservative political strategists to the difficult situation that Wilson had left behind. Wilson had promised, first and foremost, a fundamental change, a shift towards a better future after thirteen years of Conservative government, all while characterizing the Conservatives as backward forces of an unjust status quo. He developed this theme with unmistakable clarity in his 1966 party conference speech. Conservatism, he found, was the greatest enemy on the path towards a better, socialist Britain. As Wilson declared before his enthusiastic party: ‘We cannot afford Tory conservatism, with its smug preoccupation, complacently looking on while the rest of the world passed us by’.148 Wilson picked up here on the Conservative understanding of time, accusing them of only seeking to ‘conserve’ and not to create – and thus hitting upon a sore point. The challenge for the Conservatives in the 1960s indeed lay in reordering their understanding of temporality. What was worthy of passing on to future generations, and what needed to be conserved at a time when all certainties seemed to be in the process of being jettisoned? What could a Britain look like that did not close itself off to modernity, even as it continued to conserve what was from the past? That Heath’s Conservatives were not able to provide a clear answer to this, but were instead caught up in ambivalences and ambiguities, was criticized within the party and noticed elsewhere. As the journalist Peter Jenkins pointedly commented in 1968, Heath ‘manages to convey no clear picture of the type of Britain he wants to see’.149 The party leadership attempted to limit this ambiguity of conservative language by defining their political opponents. This language was embedded in the metaphor of the ‘great divide’ between Conservatives and Labour, between Toryism and conservatism on the one hand and socialism on the other.150 While the Wilson government was changing British society into a totalitarian one, they argued, the Conservatives were doing all they could to protect the freedom of the individual. This ‘great divide’ was indeed anchored in the oppositional pair of ‘freedom’ versus ‘compulsion’.151 How persuasive this was, and the effect it had, was reflected well in its appearance in the letters to the editor printed in newspapers,152 and in its use at party conferences on the part of local representatives. As Councillor A.B. Cowl pleaded at the 1967 party conference: ‘We must emphasise the great divide – on the left, this control and direction from the centre and subservience to the State, and on the right, Conservatism, which is progress through freedom and enterprise, with responsibility’.153 The structural principle of the formation of opposites was an integral component of the morphology of the political languages of conservatism. It served to highlight and distinguish conservatism from political opponents. The

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Conservative Party of the 1960s placed conservatism in stark opposition to the concept of socialism – implying at the same time that any semantic overlap between the two was inconceivable. This intensification through the principle of the formation of opposites was a response to the criticism levelled within the party, beginning in the early 1960s, that conservatism had become too similar to socialism. In the late 1960s, however, political strategists at Conservative Central Office (CCO) worked to push back on all variants of the concept of Toryism. As one local party activist put it, this bore ‘a stigma of reaction, self-interest and general discreditableness’, which damaged the Conservatives.154 Michael Fraser, head of the Conservative Research Department, agreed with this point of view.155 While the concept of freedom, and freedom of the individual in particular, was dominant as a central anti-socialist concept in the language of the great divide, which was organized into opposing pairs, Heath weakened its potential in other respects by placing it in direct proximity to other central concepts of the conservative vocabulary. His speech at the 1967 party conference defined ‘freedom for our people, order and responsibility’ as a central conservative theme.156 In a 1969 BBC 1 television interview with Robin Day, Heath spoke out, with unusual candour, on the principles of his political self-understanding: this involved, first and foremost, the freedom of the individual. ‘True freedom’, however, was only possible if it coincided with order. ‘And that is really the basis of my philosophy’, Heath continued; ‘I want to encourage men and women of this country to achieve their own ambitions, and to provide them with the freedom to do so, and the order within the state which will enable them to do so’. It was hence the task of the government to maintain the principles of freedom and order in a balance. In economic terms, this meant that the ‘state has got a responsibility for the overall strategy, and for implementing that. But within that, it’s up to the individual and to the company to make their decisions, and one ought to give them as much scope as one possibly can’.157 The language of Heath’s conservatism was ultimately ordered in line with the structural principle of balance. Heath indeed spoke to the ideal of balance in a rare concretization of the concept of conservatism known to have been asserted by him: ‘It is the nature of Conservatism always to strive to keep a balance in society, to ensure that the community serves the individual and that the individual can carry out his responsibilities to the community’.158 In this sense, he also supported the ‘one nation’ ideal. He framed the Conservatives as a party free of class interests, a party that was able to integrate all population groups. As Heath had stated at the 1966 party conference: ‘So we shall draw support from these groups and from the young technicians and the scientists, and from those who are working in offices and from those who are managers. We shall draw support from all of them in our re-created Tory Party’.159 Concepts of management and faith in technology had even crept into the semantic network surrounding one nation.

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Yet, Heath chiefly had to establish balance within his own party, with increasing difficulties arising from the formation of internal camps within the party leadership during the 1960s. The party was faced with a serious test of its cohesion due to wide divides of opinion over economic policy and the appropriate level of state regulation, but also with regard to foreign policy, particularly the dispute over action against South Rhodesia, and increasingly in connection with immigration policy issues.160 The party leader had to balance these various antagonisms. Heath’s position seemed temperate for that reason as well. The Times depicted it as a ‘moderate type of Conservatism’.161 These efforts towards bringing about balance, however, led to a perpetuation and indeed exacerbation of the ambivalences and ambiguities that had been inherent in the concept of conservatism since the 1950s. The language of the great divide resulted in polarization and the formulation of clarities, while the language of balance led to syntheses and the weakening of opposing pairs. Edward Heath was careful, throughout this process, not to become caught up in philosophical discussions, which might appear somewhat paradoxical in light of his penchant for planning government programmes. While he continued his programmatic work with great attention to detail and planning in 1964 and 1965, and even after the electoral defeat of 1966, using this as preparation for taking on governmental responsibility, he continually avoided any fundamental discussion over the character of conservatism beyond hands-on forms of pragmatism. ‘The contributions to political thought associated with the name of Mr Heath – the need for national efficiency and better incentives for pacesetters – though very relevant, are limited and somewhat arid’, The Times criticized in 1966.162 Shadow Cabinet colleagues with a greater affinity for theory, such as Quintin Hogg, Angus Maude and Enoch Powell, as well as the political strategists of the Conservative Research Department such as Brendon Sewill, all rebelled unsuccessfully against this stance, repeatedly calling for a comprehensive narrative and the formulation of ideas.163 The Conservative Party leader did not bother with establishing a particular meaning for the concepts of conservatism or Toryism. The few examples provided above do in fact constitute rare exceptions. When he spoke on fundamental matters it was only in connection with the party or his personal conviction of the value, ability and responsibility of the individual, the meaning of freedom and the principle of order. He otherwise focused on the formulation of practical solutions for current problems. This was not enough, however, at a time when the foundations of conservatism appeared to have been lost. Maurice Cowling held Heath personally responsible for this in 1968: while the Conservatives were able to seek the contributions of intellectuals, the task of developing a ‘set of resonances and references’ and ‘to express in language which everyone can understand the political relevance of the truths and decencies which bind together most people in this country’ was a task for the party leader alone, Cowling felt.164

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Despite all warnings and arguments, Heath left any work on the ideological vocabulary to others. His greatest weakness indeed lay in his low regard for the significance of concepts and their communication, as Richard Vinen has emphasized.165 Heath was thus not able to meet the challenge of the party internal criticism that had been emerging since the early 1960s, instead providing it with space to gain recognition and fuelling it with the metaphor of a ‘great divide’. Heath’s terminology, moreover, connected with the conservatism of Macmillan: with concepts like modernization, balance, freedom and order, and an anti-socialist alternative. In doing so, he took on its ambivalences and contradictions as well. And Heath’s managerial conservatism appeared to be a reproduction of Wilson’s. As the political commentator Goronwy Rees wrote in Encounter in 1969, Wilson had stolen the Conservatives’ own substance: ‘He [Wilson] has caught them bathing and stolen their clothes, and there is an awful feeling that, when the electorate is asked to choose between them, Mr Wilson will be found standing triumphant and fully dressed on the bank while Mr Heath hides his nakedness in mid-stream’.166 The Conservatives appeared to have difficulties finding an alternative political language. To remain relevant, they needed new clothing – or indeed a new language.

1.3.2. Critical Minds and Intellectual Mobilization: Heath’s Critics in the Party and Their Focus on Vocabulary Not long after Heath’s election to be party leader, criticism was lodged towards the programmatic course, culminating in demands for a fundamental discussion on the principles of conservatism. In 1965, the London Area Conference called for an orientation towards ‘true Conservative principles, not seeking electoral popularity by the adoption of quasi-Socialist measures’,167 with the Greater London Young Conservative Conference joining in the sentiment.168 Conservative Central Office received a series of motions that either called for the formulation of conservative ideals in a modern form, the revitalization of traditional principles and practices of Toryism, or a return to fundamental principles.169 Not a single one was apparently admitted for discussion. Party members instead argued over the avenues used to communicate the Conservative programme to the general public, and praised their constructive culture of debate.170 The smouldering conflicts were simply ignored. Angus Maude, a member of the One Nation Group, a journalist and the spokesman for aviation and later for colonial affairs in Heath’s shadow cabinet, became the mouthpiece for criticism from within the party.171 He launched a frontal attack on the party leadership in a January 1966 issue of the Spectator. The party, he claimed, had lost its political initiative and fallen into meaningless irrelevance in opposition. Maude believed that the reasons for this ran deep.

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Institutions and value systems could not keep up with the speed and extent of the change brought about by technological innovation. Even tradition no longer provided much orientation to individuals. Maude recognized the core of the problem, however, in the frustration of individuals over a lack of being able to shape their immediate environments. The larger and more complex organizations and institutions with an impact on everyday life became, the less influence individuals had on decisions that directly affected them. It was then difficult for them to identify with the institutions upon which life in society was based. Conservatism had to begin here ‘with a genuine effort to devolve rather than centralise, to consult rather than prescribe, to identify the individual with society and its processes rather than intensify his dissociation’. And therein lay the fundamental difference to Labour. Maude’s formula for a conservatism suited to the times involved individual freedom and scope of action instead of size and bureaucratism, and historically evolved institutions with tried and tested processes instead of labyrinthine bureaucracies: ‘Thus for Tories simply to talk like technocrats will get them nowhere’. Maude’s critique hence stretched to include political language.172 Heath was not particularly happy about Maude’s independent efforts, and dismissed him from the Shadow Cabinet. A few weeks later, Maude underscored his diagnosis, despite all of the incoming harsh criticism, in a piece in Encounter, which tellingly bore the title ‘The End of Tory Ideology?’173 The party leadership could not completely circumvent Maude, however. In October 1966, the Advisory Committee on Policy did in fact hold a discussion on ‘Modern Conservative Philosophy’. While this took into consideration a paper by Angus Maude, neither he nor Edward Heath took part in the session so that the paper did not ultimately play a role in the discussion. Maude repeated his conviction there that ‘the philosophy (or lack of it) of the technologist is fundamentally alien to Toryism’, and warned against an absolutization of consumerism – ‘there is more to life than consumption’. In the centre of Maude’s diagnosis of the social ills of present times stood the idea that society had practically dissolved, and that Burke’s view of society as a spiritual unity was a thing of the past. The latter, Maude believed, had been replaced by a socialist form of society that was fully organized through bureaucracy, which was centralistic, conformist, to be analysed statistically and, in any event, the exact opposite of what conservatives viewed as society. This view, the argument went, had become omnipresent through language – more precisely, in the concept of society. For conservatives there was thus only one way forward, he believed: ‘[W]e have to destroy “society”’ as ‘it is steadily eroding the notion of individual and family responsibility’. Conservatives ultimately had to develop a new vocabulary and, by doing this, had to focus chiefly on the people. As Maude’s paper concluded: ‘I think we can drop a lot of the old catchwords. Particularly the one about the desperate conflict between Personal Liberty and the State. The poor old State is only a lot of harassed bureaucrats being forced to do things by that damned

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“society”. Abolish that, I say.’174 Twenty years later, Margaret Thatcher would attract considerable attention through this view of things.175 There was one concept that Angus Maude did not however wish to relinquish to language change: conservatism. This was the case even if ‘in these cosmopolitan days’ the concept had taken on a particular aftertaste. ‘It suggests Mr Goldwater in America, and ineffectual reactionaries on the continent of Europe. It is not modern, it is not progressive, it is not sympathetic.’ Even conservatives, he submitted, would allow themselves to be drawn in by this left-wing attribution of meaning. However, as Maude wrote in the 1969 book The Common Problem, in which he provided his interpretation of conservatism in a nuanced form, the societal climate was changing so that people would yearn for conservatism, while modernity and progressivism would fall out of style: ‘As progress takes people into more and more unfamiliar worlds, the vanishing guides and landmarks are increasingly missed; the few that remain begin to seem more precious than they did. In short, it is becoming easier to see what ought to be conserved, both in the physical environment and in our culture and social organization’. Maude’s concept of conservatism thus returned to the concept’s semantic roots – conservatism was characterized by an impulse to pursue conservation. He accordingly also reinterpreted the future horizon of the concept: progress was the result of chance, emerging solely from the diversity, unpredictability and inequality of people. For that reason alone, he posited that technocratic, planning-oriented thought contradicted the foundations of conservatism.176 Maude took on the challenge posed to the conservative understanding of temporality in the 1960s, developing a conception of the future that diametrically opposed the one that was put forward by the party leadership. Maude’s endeavours regarding the concepts of the conservative vocabulary also extended to the concept of Christianity. As we have seen, one of its central dimensions of meaning spoke to social matters. The Labour Party treasured this semantic layer in particular, connecting it to concepts such as social justice and solidarity, and using it as a source of legitimacy for policies aimed at the expansion of the welfare state and the dismantlement of inequalities of all kinds. Maude, by contrast, argued that ‘social justice’ was just as inexistent as ‘society’. The concept could not be derived from the Christian faith anyway, he added, as ‘Christianity … advocates charity, which the apostles of “social justice” have turned into a dirty word. At least charity involved giving one’s own money, not someone else’s’.177 He did not negate the meaning of the Christian doctrine of neighbourly solidarity here, but radically individualized it. According to this interpretation, social matters, in the Christian sense, were no more and no less than voluntary, individual actions. State responsibility for social security was, however, alien to Maude. This form of recoding references to Christianity characterized the critical alternatives to Heathian conservatism, which ultimately culminated in

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Thatcherism. They were particularly able to make the concept of conservatism their own as it had fully faded into the background of the language that the party leadership cultivated after Heath had taken office. It was only Quintin Hogg who continued to fly the flag of Christianity. The removal of Christian vocabulary from the political language of the Conservative Party indeed marked a decisive rupture. The party leadership’s critics returned to it, and emphasized the moral dimension of Christianity, which had come under considerable pressure in the course of the accelerating liberalization of British society since the late 1950s. The discourse on the morality of the nation, which was so central to Thatcherism, became a point of crystallization for the re-evaluation of Christian thought within the party.178 It was closely interlinked with economic reasoning. In 1970, Rhodes Boyson, for one, equated the moral decision between good and evil, which was theologically indispensable along the path to salvation, with the free choice that the market permitted. Only once individuals were in full possession of these freedoms would they be able to fully develop their potential.179 Ralph Harris supported him in the Christian justification of capitalism – human sinfulness was one of the reasons why people acted in accordance with their self-interest, he held.180 A radical individualization of Christianity also emerged in the thought of Enoch Powell, an unswerving advocate of the free market and an avowed Anglican. He called for an absolute division between religion and politics, ultimately preaching the cause of a Christianity fully apart from this world, and politics that were equally divorced from Christianity. Here, Powell attacked a strong theological movement that sought to see Christian doctrine realized in the world, in and through politics (as in work for the underprivileged). In his view, the demands of Jesus Christ were so radical and absolute that they could not in fact be realized in the sinful world, but instead pointed towards the other world, the Kingdom of God. They did not indeed address the collective, but the individual, he asserted.181 The church’s social and political demands, including those calling for an end to social discrimination, hence most fundamentally misunderstood the concept of equality as it aimed for equality before God and did not allow for conclusions involving worldly conditions, Powell underlined.182 In this view, politics had as little right to prescribe moral standards as it did to intervene in the fabric of society with measures of social policy. The ethical code that a society follows was passed down as a national tradition – politics could only serve to guarantee the development of this tradition.183 For conservatives, Christianity thus had the significance of an institutionalized tradition: conservatives would respect Christianity in the Anglican state church. Angus Maude’s nuanced political-theoretical and philosophical approaches to the concept of conservatism of his party were singular. Similar arguments were, however, also advanced by others. Peregrine Worsthorne’s critical invective in 1966 also demanded a clear delineation from socialism and a focus on ‘basic

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Tory beliefs’184 – in his case the ‘trinity’ of ‘liberty, opportunity and stability’.185 He believed that conservatism had been in retreat since 1945, following an anti-capitalist dirigiste course. What had appeared sensible immediately following the war had become the opposite of what was necessary in the present day. Worsthorne believed that he was witnessing a historic turning point.186 This historical situation demanded a re-evaluation of the concept of conservatism; it called for the ‘authentic language of Toryism’.187 For Worsthorne, this entailed an absolute avowal of the capitalist economic system and the free market.188 Only then could the United Kingdom again have a perspective for the future. Two years earlier, a commentator in The Times, who appeared under the pseudonym ‘A Conservative’, had already sung much the same tune.189 The Monday Club’s critique of conservatism under Macmillan, as we have already seen, had also taken up the cudgels for the free market.190 While Angus Maude carefully sought a balance between laissez-faire policy on the one hand, and dirigiste collectivism on the other, and believed the conservative position, guided by the idea of order, was still to be found in the centre,191 others cast doubt on the mantra of the middle way. As ‘A Conservative’ commented in The Times, if one were to believe in the power of the free market, there could only be an ‘either-or’: either capitalism or dirigisme, without a possible middle way.192 The series of articles in The Times caused a stir, attacking the party leadership for the alleged lack of principles. It bore the trademarks of Enoch Powell. While he continually denied being the author, the rumours were in fact confirmed after his death.193 Powell provided a voice to the lobby within the party that placed its trust in the power of the market in the 1960s. After his resignation in 1958 as part of the leadership team within the Treasury (together with economic secretary to the Treasury Nigel Birch, and chancellor of the exchequer Peter Thorneycroft) due to Macmillan’s refusal to limit inflation by controlling the money supply,194 Powell’s market liberal convictions only grew stronger. His thought was influenced by the Manchester Liberalism of the nineteenth century, Adam Smith and the neoliberal theorists of his day. He maintained close contacts with neoliberals at the Institute of Economic Affairs.195 Although he strongly and actively opposed the election of Douglas-Home in 1963, he still offered Powell a place in his shadow cabinet after the electoral defeat of 1964. First responsible for transportation and later for defence under Heath, Powell was a leading figure within the party – especially after his unsuccessful candidacy for the party leadership in 1964. He enjoyed a clear-cut profile: market liberal, patriotic, emphasizing the value of tradition, morality and history. He was a virtuoso when it came to playing the role of the outsider, the role of those who preach the right things but are misunderstood. It could only have pleased him when, in 1965, the term ‘Powellism’ gained currency for his variant of conservatism. As The Times put it, Powellism stood ‘for a timely reassertion that Conservatism is based on capitalism and a free play of market forces’. Older

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conservatives then hoped that ‘Conservatism [could] again be what they had always thought it was’.196 The market liberal wing of the party thus connected with Powell’s variant of conservatism – not through a move towards the new, but a return to the old. The annotated collection of Powell’s speeches, which was published in 1965 by John Wood of the Institute of Economic Affairs, did not itself make use of the concept of Powellism but did all it could to bring about the impression that this was a coherent body of thought. As Wood wrote in his preface, Powell was an advocate of a ‘free society’, and hence much more than a supporter of the free market.197 That Powell, ‘a sort of Mao Tse-tung of Toryism’, as Quintin Hogg sardonically remarked,198 in fact spoke out with other particular viewpoints as well, became as clear as it could possibly be on 20 April 1968. In his speech in Birmingham, which was well prepared and would be well remembered by history, he lashed out against immigration from within the Commonwealth, and prophesied violent ‘race’ struggles in British cities.199 From that point forward, Powell would fly on the wings of the racist Right. Heath immediately dismissed him from his shadow cabinet, upon which he only further cultivated his role as a populist maverick. In 1974, he ultimately left the party to join the Ulster Unionists in protest against the party leadership’s pro-European course. In autumn of 1968, however, Powell was still attempting to shape the concept of Powellism, as it had changed its meaning over the previous several months. It used to represent an almost unlimited faith in the ability of people to get what they want through price, capital, profit and a competitive market. This mode of self-expression is congenial to Toryism, not because of any theoretical beauty or academic precision in such a system, but because it enables a great range of changes to be absorbed currently, ambulando, by people themselves.200

The concept of Toryism was specifically selected here. Conservatism was an abstraction, Powell claimed, a mere counterconcept to socialism with no deeper meaning. Toryism, on the other hand, he found encompassed the history of the party, the experience of British conservatives over the centuries. When Powell presented his own ideological variant as the expression of pure Toryism, he made his claim to intellectual leadership clear, refuting the party leadership’s claim to this continuity. His intervention into conceptual politics, however, was no longer of any use. Powellism and the racist anti-immigration movement were fused together once and for all.201 The contributions of Angus Maude, Peregrine Worsthorne and Enoch Powell increased the uncertainty within the party and the sympathetic public over the meaning of the concept of conservatism. The rumbling within the party grew so loud that there was a heated discussion at the 1968 party conference over a proposal demanding of the party leadership a clearer outline of conservative political designs. The author of the proposal, Joan Hall from Keighley,

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explained how this was meant and did so with vigour: conservatism stood for capitalism, for freedom, for nationalism, for institutions, order and discipline. Conservatives had to fight for their country, as ‘[t]oday the enemy is within. It is Socialist tyranny and dictatorship. Freedom is not our birthright. For that we must fight and fight again’.202 This example clearly reflects how well Enoch Powell’s language had spread throughout the party. He had already begun speaking of the ‘enemy within’ in the mid-1960s,203 and purposefully developed this further in 1970.204 This did not, however, begin and end with him: the warning against the enemy within had also been transported across the United States by 1964 Republican presidential candidate Barry Goldwater, a populist prophet of a conservatism that was market-liberal, riddled with racism and set against the welfare state.205 The metaphor ‘the enemy within’ was informed by the anti-communist climate within the American conservatism of the 1950s and 1960s, and integrated into the vocabulary of the Cold War. This language clearly resonated with the British Conservative Party, which emphasized the great divide. The fronts of the Cold War were thus transferred to the arena of domestic politics. This step lay in the logic of the anti-socialist rhetoric that the Conservatives had been pursuing since 1945. At the 1968 party conference, Joan Hall drove the principle of the formation of opposites to its logical conclusion. The call for intellectual expertise grew in volume in face of this state of affairs, with the semantic network surrounding the concept of conservatism in flux. One common opinion was that intellectual discourse had been dominated by the Left for several years, with conservative positions losing considerable ground.206 Even if the Conservatives consistently rejected their defamation as the ‘stupidest party’, a widely used phrase ever since it was coined by John Stuart Mill,207 highlighted the wealth of the conservative tradition of political thought, and were convinced that the intellectual wind had begun to turn in their favour,208 the party believed it had to specifically intervene in intellectual discourse. The problem was treated at the symposium on intellectuals and conservatism put together by Tibor Szamuely in 1968 for Swinton Journal, which also sought to provide intellectual input in the debate over a conservatism suited to the times. For Szamuely, this could only be imagined as an alternative to the progressivism of socialism. This ultimately meant that the reformulation of conservatism had to occur contrastively, with an antonymous conceptual structure, as the ‘real intellectual admires clear-cut, incisive thinking’. In Szamuely’s case, this sounded as follows: If the Conservative Party is opposed to socialism, should it not say openly, ‘We are a capitalist party. We believe in capitalism. We uphold the capitalist free economy’? Should it not, besides stressing its devotion to the welfare state, also stress, strong and clear, its devotion to the principle of private property as the basis of individual liberty and of a humane, enlightened and democratic society?209

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Capitalism and freedom of the individual – for Szamuely, this constituted the core of the conservative brand. It was formed as the counterpart of socialism – under the primacy of economics and with the understanding of democracy as a comprehensive system of freedom. The reactions were mixed among the intellectuals invited to the symposium for this proposal (this included well-known contributors to conservative debate, ranging from Quintin Hogg and Timothy Raison to Angus Maude and T.E. Utley). On one end of the spectrum, for example, Geoffrey Howe – who would later become one of the most prominent Thatcherites – supported the absolute anti-socialist orientation towards capitalism, and emphasized the key position that the concept of freedom would take in the process.210 It was practically self-evident that Arthur Seldon, the driving force behind the neoliberal Institute of Economic Affairs, would campaign strongly for this semantic understanding of the concept of conservatism. Seldon openly discussed the tension that arose when too much emphasis was placed on the market liberal potential inherent in the British concept of conservatism since the nineteenth century. ‘[P]ersonal liberty …, individual and corporate initiative, decentralised authority, and government limited to services that cannot be organised by spontaneous contract in the market’ – that was the ‘classic formulation, of what I shall insist on describing as liberalism’. The task of conservatives was thus to ensure that these liberal principles and institutions could be preserved, and a ‘radical’ willingness for reform was necessary to this end. Seldon called for far-reaching reforms to preserve traditional liberalism. He hence found it necessary to qualify the concept of conservatism. While he described his own version as ‘radical conservatism’, he constructed a ‘conservative conservatism’ as a counterconcept, which solely focused on the conservation of tradition, whether good or bad. Seldon also accused conservatives of failing in the ‘re-creation of conservatism’.211 He believed that conservatism could only be saved through radical measures – an idea that would echo with increasing intensity in conservative debates in the course of the following two decades. The orientation towards market liberalism, as advocated by Szamuely, was met with overt criticism from the other side. T.E. Utley summarily declared that Szamuely, as an émigré, had no understanding of the English conservative tradition. Utley found that English conservatives believed in the spontaneous powers of society and were ‘sceptical of the wisdom and efficacy of government’. This connected them with ‘anti-totalitarians’. English conservatives, however, joined in with all those ‘who approve of prejudice, custom and habit’, and could have no interest in freeing the individual from these shackles. The position of the ‘real English conservative’ with regard to freedom and authority was thus greatly one of ambivalence: there were times in which the first needed to be supported, and times in which this was the case for the latter. Utley argued that the principle of freedom had to be stressed at present. In this regard he agreed with Szamuely.

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On the other hand, he wished to entrust the task of doing away with the ‘vast structures of controls and restrictions by which this nation is now stifled’ only to ‘empiricists with a feeling for the claims of social cohesion’, and specifically not to the ‘doctrinaire liberals with a passion for abstract freedom’.212 It was surely not only Szamuely whom Utley meant to address here. Yet he left it open as to how the conservative liberalization efforts were to be reconciled with the protection of preconceptions and traditional customs. David Howell asserted criticism of Szamuely’s statements from another perspective. One of Heath’s ‘bright young men’,213 Howell defended pragmatism as a decisive component of conservatism. The tragedy of Conservative thought in recent years in Britain has been its tendency to try and meet doctrine with doctrine, ideology with ideology, to evolve some allembracing political philosophy from which dogmatic principles … will automatically flow. This seems to me to be not an assertion of Conservatism but its negation.214

He furthermore doubted Szamuely’s definition of conservatism as a mere antisocialist counterideology. Szamuely had on offer not only an alternative to ‘socialism’ but also to ‘doctrinaire classical liberalism’, Howell argued. Like Utley, Howell emphasized the balancing function of conservatism: it served as a counterweight to the respective predominant theories and fashions.215 Howell received applause from Peterhouse. Maurice Cowling had graciously declined when Szamuely asked him to submit a contribution to the ‘Symposium’ – to then publish it in The Spectator. Cowling attacked Szamuely’s proposition of the task of conservative intellectuals in the public political arena. In his view of things, the Conservative Party should not have been providing a space for intellectual discourse, as its sole task was ‘to do what it can to prevent governmentally controlled changes in the existing social structure’. It had to defend the principles of private property, inequality in the structure of ownership and the moral order. No doctrine was necessary to this end, but only a specific style in order to successfully assert conservative positions in the public arena. And, as Cowling believed, only the party leader could bring this about.216 This was exactly the argument Cowling had mounted against Heath’s leadership style.217 The historian’s views on the essence of politics were reflected in his repeated interventions. Politics, for Cowling, was a matter for a relatively small, clearly defined group of the political elite in Westminster, involving a struggle for power and influence in personal intrigues and negotiations over material interests, completely uninfluenced by processes of social or economic change. This approach to the writing of political history entered into the history of British historiography as ‘high politics’.218 It is not without irony that the Conservative Party was in the course of pursuing a different path and, after initial reluctance, Cowling ultimately played an active part in the formulation of conservative ideology.219

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The contributions to Szamuely’s Symposium revealed two things: first, they demonstrated that the concept of conservatism of the late 1960s was a plural one; and secondly, they made it clear that the intra-party critique of the party leadership’s course did not speak as a choir but in fact with many different voices. This variety continued to resonate for a long time in Thatcherism. The observation of John O’Sullivan, the editor-in-chief of the Swinton Journal, was nevertheless correct in that the majority of Symposium contributions were linked by a common theme: a belief in a liberal society in which people would have more control over their own lives. O’Sullivan – and he was not alone in this – believed that this conviction of the value of individual freedom was anchored in the tradition of the Conservative Party. In his contribution, John Biffen spoke of three strands of thought within the party: ‘social and economic paternalism’; the ‘tradition of free enterprise and personal liberty’; and scepticism towards any form of governmental activity. This type of labelling initially served to provide order – it made the debate easier to grasp and connected current positions with party history, which generally unfolded by presenting a series of historical figures. Disraeli was, for one, depicted as the founding father of ‘paternalism’, and Peel that of ‘liberal conservatism’. In the late 1960s, a time in which the semantic substance of the concept of conservatism had begun to erode and drift, this naming of intra-party strands of thought established new points of demarcation within the political discourse. Talk of ‘paternalists’ and ‘liberal conservatives’ was a reaction to the formation of political camps within the party, while also serving to fuel it. Semantic networks emerged surrounding each concept, defining the parameters of what could be said. From the early 1960s, these labels for the intra-party strands of thought slowly solidified within the vocabulary of conservatism.220 O’Sullivan, who was close to the Institute of Economic Affairs,221 now vigorously advocated ‘liberal conservatism’: ‘Now is the time for the Conservative Party to commit itself to this liberal tradition in clear and unequivocal terms’, he confirmed in 1968.222 He continued to distinguish conceptually between the various intellectual camps within the party, likely bearing in mind the role of Swinton Journal as the party’s intellectual mouthpiece. An editorial published two years later reflected the state of the discussion over conservatism. First, O’Sullivan emphasized, one needed to establish that ‘true Conservatism’ did not exist, despite the assertions of the Monday Club and PEST (Pressure for Economic and Social Toryism), who did in fact claim to represent true conservatism.223 Two traditions of conservative thought were instead competing with one another: ‘liberal conservatism’ and ‘Tory paternalism’. The first tradition sought to combine the social theory of Edmund Burke with the economic thought of Adam Smith, and was characterized by an emphasis on self-responsibility and scepticism towards the power of the state. The second tradition, by contrast, stressed the importance of national unity and the role of the state

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in social policy. ‘As a result,’ O’Sullivan added, ‘Tory paternalists have in the past introduced a substantial degree of social and economic collectivism’.224 Since the concept of collectivism was clearly identified with the Left in conservative language, Tory paternalism did not seem conducive to contemporary conservatism. And O’Sullivan indeed argued that the questions addressed by this strand of conservative thought, following Disraeli in the mid-nineteenth century, had since been answered or had vanished, and so it was approaching its end. He recognized here the deeper reason for the ideological insecurity and incoherency of the party, ‘having abandoned one tradition but still searching for another’.225 The liberal tradition of conservatism could then fill that void, and while O’Sullivan allowed for the possibility of paternalism being reframed (and he viewed Angus Maude’s work as one such attempt), this would cost too much time for it to be available as a current option.226 It was decisive now that these strands of thought were each connected to a historical narrative. They were, for one thing, merged with the concepts of Whig and Tory. Whig stood for a market-liberal position and was equated with liberal, while Tory stood for one nation conservatism with a tendency towards the welfare state.227 With his work on the vocabulary of conservative self-description, O’Sullivan clearly pursued a market-liberal agenda. The concept of conservatism did not stand alone at its centre, but did so alongside the additional adjective ‘liberal’. In this context, liberal referred both to economic facts and the freedom of the individual as a market participant, as well as to the state and the freedom of the individual from the reach of state bureaucracy. The civic potential of the concept of freedom, which had gained in currency since the late 1950s in conservative political designs for moral legislation,228 was, by contrast, now relegated to the background. However, the embrace of the concept of liberalism, centred on the market and critical of the state, had yet to take hold in the early 1970s, even among the emerging Right. Victor Montagu, for one, viewed liberal conservatism as the middle-way variant of conservatism after 1945, which he opposed – in the same spirit as O’Sullivan.229 The Times, too, identified the Bow Group, which was viewed as progressive, alongside PEST as being the ‘true voice of liberal conservatism’.230 In addition to the identification of these strands of conservative thought with the concepts of Whig and Tory, the liberal critics of Macmillan and Heath produced a very effective narrative of a supposedly misguided path of conservatism since Baldwin.231 Lord Coleraine, the former Richard Law, fully expanded on this theme in his 1970 book, For Conservatives Only.232 His initial diagnosis was that the conservatism of the day had turned away from its foundations, even refuting the very necessity of a philosophical basis. ‘We have effectively freed ourselves from the bonds of tradition’,233 he wrote – and therein lay the evil that Coleraine believed to be at work. Tradition was ‘a protection against the weaknesses and excesses of human nature’, as based upon

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a Christian-pessimistic view of humanity that was informed by his reading of Herbert Butterfield.234 He found that praise for progress had replaced the reference to the past that was inherent in conservatism, and thus saw the temporal dimension of conservative thought as having been violated. Consequently, the party’s relinquishing of its conservative foundations had led to a national crisis that had been sweeping the country since 1945. Conservatives, through their reverence for progress, had donned the clothing of their political opponents, he felt. This then led to the political dualism being superseded, to a large degree, by a political ‘consensus’ between the parties. He found, however, that the consensus was ultimately a ‘socialist’ consensus; the conservatives had given up their own foundations without being forced to do so. Coleraine believed the root of the evil to have lain in Baldwin’s politics in the interwar years: ‘Baldwin was so obsessed by his search for the middle ground, for the consensus, that everything else, the safety of the country, the freedom of action of his successors, his own reputation, was sacrificed to it’.235 Consensus here referred solely to economic and social policy. Coleraine thus levelled his critique at a Keynesian-inspired, state-interventionist economic policy, as well as the further expansion of the welfare state. In semantic terms, it is conspicuous that the concepts of consensus and middle ground merged here. Macmillan’s version of the concept of conservatism was fully discredited in this way – and Heath’s along with it. Coleraine accordingly underscored that the significance of Enoch Powell lay solely in ‘that he is the only leading Conservative who has made his escape from the socialist dream’.236 Welfare state policy and economic planning were characterized as left-wing, and not as conservative. Coleraine, however, was certainly not the only writer to criticize the consensus that was supposedly predominant in British politics after 1945. As Richard Toye demonstrated, this was to be found at both ends of the political spectrum after the late 1960s, and was ultimately no more than a rhetorical device that could be employed by completely different political camps.237 The critics of the party leadership adapted the concept of the Right in this situation, one that had previously played little role in the conservative language after 1945. In this instance, they were able to connect with the conceptual endeavours of the Monday Club, whose members were first labelled with the concept of the Right by others, but increasingly began to embrace it themselves from the late 1960s. In the progress-oriented 1960s, the concept Right bore the scent of the reactionary. Geoffrey Rippon, who was responsible for defence in Heath’s shadow cabinet and, despite his proximity to Heath, was a member of the Monday Club, flipped this argument on its head in 1969: ‘[I]f to be progressive is to be receptive to the demands of a changing world, then the so-called “right” is not reactionary but radical’.238 The pamphlet in question, entitled Right Angle, was followed by another Monday Club publication a year later. Edited by Rhodes Boyson, the collection of essays bore the title Right

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Turn, with a subtitle that also spoke volumes: A Symposium on the Need to End the ‘Progressive’ Consensus in British Thinking and Policy.239 While Rippon’s pamphlet remained within the framework of established anti-socialist rhetoric and supported the party leadership’s line, Boyson’s collection framed the Right as the ‘true’ conservatism in opposition to the supposedly prevailing political consensus – and this criticism, as we have already seen, was aimed at their own party. Right was thus not solely an antonym of left, but also especially used in opposition to the placement of conservatives at the centre. Another veteran member of the Monday Club, Victor Montagu, also joined in this chorus in 1970, criticizing the Conservative Party, as a ‘party of the Right’, for having undertaken nothing to counter the ongoing leftward trend that was embodied by the ‘consensus’.240 Ultimately, the Monday Club adopted the connection postulated by Rippon between the concepts of right and radical. Its journal, Monday World, appeared with the subtitle The Magazine of the Radical Right between 1969 and 1974. In addition to Coleraine’s For Conservatives Only, Boyson’s Right Turn and Montagu’s Conservative Dilemma, 1970 saw the founding of the periodical Solon: A Right Wing Journal, which sought to provide a forum for the discussion of ‘conservative, mainly right-wing ideas’.241 Although the journal was discontinued after a year for a lack of funding, it remained an indicator of both the strength of the oppositional wing within the party and the level of its efforts at institutionalization.242 The critique of the party leadership’s course, which had been simmering for years and presented by different groups to the conservative public, attained coherency in the early 1970s through the concept of the Right and the consensus narrative. The editor of Solon, Anthony Meyer, worked in an editorial to establish the convictions common to the Right – recognizing that it was, nevertheless, a multifaceted movement. Meyer named three common denominators: first, the belief in the inequality of people and the resultant necessity for an elite; secondly, a general reservation towards change; and thirdly, the conviction that problems should be solved at the national level.243 By doing this, he evoked classical semantic components of the concept of conservatism. This would seem to have been well in line with the Monday Club, which was already certain of the need to defend ‘Tory traditionalism’.244 It is striking that the Monday Club’s efforts towards conceptual appropriation extended to the concept of Toryism. While O’Sullivan equated Toryism with politics focused on the expansion of the welfare state, members of the Monday Club set out to ‘save’ Toryism by attempting to uncover its purportedly ‘real’ foundations. As John Kenmure put it in 1973, Toryism needed to be saved from conservatives who, as ‘selective extremists’, obscured the roots of current-day problems, which were founded in ‘mass democracy’:

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Thus the great inheritance of political truths to which the Tory is heir, the dependence of liberty on order and secure authority, the existential necessity of hierarchy, etc., is overlain with a world of fantasy as pernicious as anything given out by the Utopians of the Left.245

According to this interpretation, Toryism now had little to do with one nation, but was used more as a concept to describe a hierarchically stratified society with staggered rights of participation. And Disraeli could serve as a source of inspiration here as well.246 The social message of Tory traditionalism, as conceived within the Monday Club, was to return to the pre-democratic society of the nineteenth century. This tore at the foundations of democratic conservatism. Such work on the conservative vocabulary makes it clear that the efforts towards conceptual reformulation on the part of the intra-party opposition are not to be interpreted merely as the adoption of neoliberal vocabulary. By no means did they lead to a straightforward neoliberalization of British conservatism that culminated in Thatcherism, as is often insinuated.247 As we have already seen, market-liberal arguments came to the fore under the banner of anti-socialism, beginning in the early 1960s. They did, however, refer back to the conservative conceptual inventory, connecting, for example, with a high view of property,248 while not ceasing to redefine the concepts of conservatism and Toryism. Instead, the socio-theoretical potential of the concept of freedom was curtailed through the focus on concepts such as order, authority, hierarchy and inequality. The significance of the nation was, moreover, emphasized, while paternalism was celebrated in social policy as the expression of a compassionate society, and a large number of contributions to the debate bore the signature of morality politics that railed against the permissive society.249 Thatcherism availed itself of a number of strands of discourse and semantic networks that lay within the expansive reservoir of British conservatism. At the same time, it was pilfering neoliberal theory as was seen fit, which in itself was by no means uniform in nature.250 It is in this sense that one needs to conceive of the Monday Club’s endeavours to complement liberal conservatism with Tory traditionalism.

1.3.3. ‘A Better Tomorrow’: Prime Minister Heath and the Collapse of a Horizon of Expectation When Heath was elected prime minister in 1970, this was founded on an electoral manifesto that had market-liberal accents and made good use of the concept of freedom in the sense of individual liberty. The Conservatives promised a ‘better tomorrow with greater freedom: freedom to earn and to save, freedom from government interference, freedom of choice, freedom from fear

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of crime and violence’.251 Heath, who had gained a reputation as a marketliberal reformer through the elimination of government price controls in 1964, began his term as prime minister in 1970 with a market-liberal programme. The expectations were accordingly high among the advocates of ‘capitalist’ policy within the party. Heath, however, continued to cultivate a language of balance. ‘Freedom’ was tied together with ‘responsibility’. In his 1970 party conference speech, his first as prime minister, he emphatically connected the two concepts: The free society which we aim to create must also be the responsible society – free from intervention, free from interference, but responsible: free to make your own decisions, but responsible also for your mistakes; free to enjoy the rewards of enterprise, but responsible for making sure that those rewards are justly and fairly earned; free to create for yourselves and your families that better tomorrow which we all want, but responsible for those who, through no fault of their own, cannot create it for themselves; free to lead a life of your own, but responsible to the community as a whole.252

Responsibility clearly replaced order here, with which the concept of freedom had traditionally been connected in the language of conservatism. Responsibility numbered among the concepts that served as guiding concepts in the conservative discourse of the 1960s. Responsibility included both individual, morally legitimized responsibility as well as that of the (welfare) state towards its citizens. This double definition rendered the concept useful to arguments both for market liberalism and for the welfare state. The concept, moreover, had anti-socialist connotations as well: with the responsibility of the Conservatives contrasting with the ‘disastrous irresponsibility’ of Labour, as the interplay of concept and counterconcept went.253 This example illustrates, within Heath’s language, the interaction between metaphors of balance and the anti-socialist principle of the formation of opposites. It thus illustrates the ambiguities within the Heathian concept of conservatism. This led to expectations being divided, with some expecting politics of moderation254 and thus programmatic continuity, while others expected market-liberal principles. And even others hoped that Heath would offer the economically oriented politics of a modern managerial style, connected with meritocratic principles – which came closest to the self-understanding of the party leader. The historian and Conservative politician Esmond Wright believed that the Conservatives under Heath would bring about a new form of democracy, led by ‘new-style classless men’ and characterized by a ‘proper preoccupation with efficiency and method in policies and economics. It is because of their managerial orientation that they are the true Radicals today, keen to direct change, not to resist it. The Conservatism we are about to see unfold will be closer to that of Pitt and Peel than to that of Disraeli, Churchill or Macmillan’. For Wright, Heath was the new Peel. Pragmatic and conservative by nature, Peel

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had become a radical reformer because he recognized, Wright believed, that ‘the old Toryism had become outmoded by the new conditions’. He expected nothing less from Heath. ‘Mr Heath has, like Peel, consistently spelt out the Conservative programme. One could say of him that he spoke his Tamworth Manifesto every night for five years’.255 Was Heath now the reincarnation of the founding father of liberal conservatism? There were surely many in the party who found this historical conclusion to be rather a stretch. Harold Wilson, at least, did everything he could to highlight the market-liberal profile of his political opponent. When, in January 1970, the Conservative shadow cabinet met for a weekend at the Selsdon Park Hotel near London to work, with public effect, on the content of the election manifesto, Wilson used this for a frontal attack on the Conservatives. The Selsdon resolutions, Wilson wrote, not only marked a turn to the Right but reflected ‘an atavistic desire to reverse the course of twenty-five years of social revolution. What they are planning is a wanton, calculated and deliberate return to greater inequality’.256 Wilson developed a powerful concept, using the metaphor of the Selsdon Man as the spawn of Heathian conservatism. This involved two allusions, one to the Piltdown Man, a prehistoric early human (revealed as a hoax in 1953), as well as to the Orpington Man, a catchphrase, coined in the early 1960s, that referred to the new, performance-oriented middle class of south-east England.257 It was Wilson’s insinuation with his Selsdon Man that the Conservatives under Heath were heading backwards towards a pre-civilized state, while gearing their politics only towards the young suit-wearing denizens of London’s affluent suburbs. Wilson’s words, however, ultimately served to help the Conservatives, providing them with a cohesive theme for their party’s electoral campaign, one they had been seeking for a long time.258 The political ideas that were discussed in Selsdon were, in fact, neither new nor indicative of a change in course. They were part of the repertoire that had been in development since Heath’s election as party leader. ‘Selsdon’ nevertheless retrospectively became a unifying catchword among the intra-party opposition.259 When in 1973 a group of market-liberal Conservatives formed around David Alexander and Nicholas Ridley, they called themselves the Selsdon Group. Their goal was the enactment of the reforms supposedly agreed at Selsdon in 1970, but whose implementation had, in their eyes, been indefensibly abandoned by the government under Heath to the detriment of the party.260 This identification of Heathian conservatism with market liberalism placed him in a difficult position. The expectations that he built up were immense: Heath not only spoke of a better tomorrow but ramped up the promise he had made in his 1970 party conference speech, announcing ‘change so radical, a revolution so quiet and yet so total, that it will go far beyond the programme for a Parliament …; far beyond this decade and way into the 1980s’.261 Just as great was the disappointment that would follow when his government became

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caught up in conflicts with the trade unions, and ultimately attempted to solve the deep economic and political crisis solely through Keynesian instruments.262 The collapse of the horizon of expectations of the Heathian concept of conservatism stripped him of any credibility. He himself was to blame, however, for this market-liberal predicament. It stemmed from his continual refusal to provide the concept of conservatism with specific meaning in order to reduce its growing ambiguity. Others filled this vacuum and defined the concept in their own ways. Heath had thus relinquished the reins of his conceptual policy without being forced to do so, and despite the warnings of well-meaning groups within the party.263 With an increasing number of Keynesian-inspired decisions made by Heath’s government, and a lack of options in the face of the trade unions’ obstructionist policy, the British were faced with the declaration of a state of emergency several times within a few years and, due to the energy shortage, began following a three-day week. And as political violence escalated on the streets and the economy slid into stagflation, the internal party criticism that had been smouldering for years grew into a blazing fire.264 ‘At Lancaster House this Wednesday, the Prime Minister told the country the precise details of how, under his leadership, the Conservative Government has abandoned conservatism and adopted socialism’ – these words appeared on the first page of The Spectator on 20 January 1973 under the headline Heath’s New Socialism. The commentary focused on the second step in Heath’s price and income policy, as announced at a press conference, which foresaw the creation of an agency to monitor and manage prices. As The Spectator noted, British voters could now only decide whether their socialism should be managed by Wilson or by Heath: ‘Given such choice, it will not be surprising if those opposed to socialism and collectivism, and who value individual freedom and enterprise, start seriously casting around for some more suitable party, committed to liberal economics and a policy of cheap, not dear, food’. There were indeed a large number of disappointed men and women within the party,265 or ‘homeless Conservatives’ as Anthony Lejeune would describe his own difficulties with the party half a year later, also in The Spectator: ‘Heathtype conservatism appears to be moving further and further away from anything I would call conservatism’.266 While the more moderate strain of criticism depicted Heath as betraying conservative principles, the more radical form depicted him as pursuing pure socialism. In either case, the party leader was portrayed as not being equipped to speak for conservatism. And this was a central matter: the critics of Heathian politics appropriated the self-descriptive concepts of the party and interpreted them according to their own fashion. Economic issues lay at the centre of focus due to the critical situation at the time. Work on the concept of conservatism was thus, chiefly if not exclusively, embedded in an economic context. Taking into consideration the history of the concepts

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of conservatism and Toryism after 1945, it becomes clear that this emphasis on economics was by no means a new development of the 1970s. It instead stood in continuity with the anti-socialist definition of the concepts since the challenge to the conservative programme by the Attlee government.267 The specific efforts directed at the ideological vocabulary that the intra-party opposition undertook in the 1970s ultimately led, however, to conservatism and Toryism no longer being conceivable outside of their economic context. This was sustained not only by journalists but also by a large number of think tanks and discussion groups that were created to provide resonance for market-liberal ideas within the party and among the general public.268 The Institute of Economic Affairs, which had been founded in the 1950s, had maintained excellent contacts within the party for years and continued to expand on them.269 As previously mentioned, the Selsdon Group was formed in 1973; their goal, as defined by Nicholas Ridley, was to secure the conditions of the free market to the greatest degree possible so as to guarantee all citizens with the broadest choice of goods and services. Ridley viewed this as the common denominator among all conservatives.270 Keith Joseph – one of the most important pioneers of Thatcherism – founded the Centre for Policy Studies in 1974 to provide a platform for monetarist and neoliberal thought, and to minimize the influence of the Conservative Research Department. Margaret Thatcher became the think tank’s vice president.271 The following year saw the formation of the Conservative Philosophy Group272 the National Association for Freedom,273 as well as the short-lived Middle Class Alliance;274 these were followed by the Salisbury Group in 1976,275 and the Adam Smith Institute in 1977.276 The discussion groups, think tanks, and locally based organizations all stood in close proximity to the party and were mostly run by party politicians, while still being able to act freely due to their organizational independence, which in turn increased their power. They became important hubs of an expansive, transatlantic network of intellectuals, journalists, politicians and lobbyists.277 They deliberately sought to change the parameters that shaped the political public – through the expansion and maintenance of personal relations and through the power of the word. ‘Words have great power’, Joseph remarked at one point; ‘For a word or a phrase people will work, fight and die’.278 Taking into account the example of the concepts of conservatism and Toryism as well as the directional concept of the Right, it becomes clear that the group of later Thatcherites pursued a deliberate linguistic strategy in order to be able to steer interpretation within the party. While Heath shied away from appearing fixed on ideas and therefore being non-pragmatic, the men and women of the intra-party opposition not only had no problem with this but practically underscored the necessity of ideas-based politics. Asked, at the press conference following her election as party leader in February 1975, what quality should characterize the party in the future, Margaret Thatcher responded: ‘A

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Conservative philosophical quality. A distinctive Conservative philosophy. Oh, you don’t win by just being against things, you only win by being for things, and making your message perfectly clear’.279 The Thatcherites would repeat this conviction like a mantra. The argument had surely been familiar in intra-party debate since the mid-1960s – it was one of the foundations for the criticism of Heathian politics. When this gained traction after 1972, the connection between the concept of conservatism and concepts such as philosophy, principles and ideals grew increasingly close. During a July 1972 meeting of the Advisory Committee on Policy, John Selwyn Gummer, for one, argued that it had been a major mistake ‘to allow the word idealism to become the prorogative [sic] of the Left. … The Party should fight back by proclaiming its own ideals’.280 Gummer’s objection revealed the anti-socialist direction that was implicit in the call for clear principles. He, moreover, revealed the intra-party opposition’s belief in the power of ideas, and the concepts in which they were expressed. As the conservative historian Max Beloff succinctly put it in 1976: ‘Pragmatism is not enough’. Pragmatism was the wrong remedy at a time when the Left was formulating its ideas, placing them within the political discourse and consequently steering the political debate. Only once the conservatives were able to counter this decisively with their own ideas and concepts could the social trend towards socialism be stopped.281

1.4. Strategies of Conceptual Politics: Thatcherism and Its Concepts of Self-Description, 1975–79 With Heath’s remarkable political failings, and his two Conservative election defeats to Wilson and the Labour Party in 1974, the political concepts connected to his name also lost legitimacy.282 Heathian conservatism had led the party down a dead end. The historical moment for the intra-party opposition had thus arrived. They presented a clear programmatic alternative, expansive networks within the party and individual figures who were deemed capable of decisive leadership. It was the party’s deep crisis in 1974, however, that would ultimately open up the door for them to gain control. And yet, it still came as a surprise to many when Margaret Thatcher was elected party leader in February 1975 as a representative of the intra-party opposition. While she did number among the top politicians who had increasingly been taking up positions in opposition to Heath, she had by no means played a particularly outstanding role in the intellectual or political formation of the intra-party opposition. She did not offer a clearly market-liberal position, nor was she deemed to possess exceptional leadership qualities. The Times, for example, maintained that Thatcher had ‘drive and energy, rather than vision or width of comprehension, very much in the same ways as Mr Heath’.283 The fact that she was a woman in a party dominated by

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men certainly played a role in this evaluation. Keith Joseph was the more likely candidate for the opposition until he gained notoriety for an October 1974 speech in Birmingham, in which he revealed an affinity for eugenic thought.284 Thereupon, Edward DuCann, the chairman of the influential 1922 Committee, decided against his candidacy, and the Heath wing diluted its own chances by nominating several different candidates on the second ballot, which Thatcher ultimately won. Thatcher’s election as party leader was therefore not an ideologically driven decision for a shift towards market-liberal conservatism, nor was it a decisive vote for Thatcher as a candidate, but was more of a vote against Heath and for a new beginning.285 It was hoped that Thatcher would bring about the future for the party that Heath seemed to have denied it. Thatcher used the subsequent years in the opposition to advance the project with a great purpose, of which few believed her capable.286 She established an undisputed position of power for herself, combined the different approaches discussed within the party and applied them to a few central concepts. Her speechwriters knew all too well her fixation on concepts and formulations.287 Thatcher’s rhetoric, an important aspect of her political style,288 was marked by clarity and unambiguity.289 She differed from Edward Heath in this regard alone. Alongside the construction of a characteristic image,290 her rhetorical power contributed decisively to raising her profile both within the party and throughout the general public. She was identified with the new conservative beginning, and very systematically defined its language.291 Thatcher’s central position, which continues to be attributed to her through our own day, and which neither supporters nor critics have called into question, is anchored to a large degree in her linguistic prowess. It is only fitting that this variant of the political language of conservatism, which she so decisively formed, has ultimately borne her name as ‘Thatcherism’.292 The work on the concepts that would serve to characterize conservatism stood, we must recall, in the broader context of the anti-socialist worldview that Thatcher’s thought informed during the 1970s. It was no accident that her comments on the ‘war of words’, in which she and the Conservatives believed themselves embroiled, were formulated as a response to her being described by a Soviet newspaper in 1976 as an ‘Iron Lady’. Thatcher believed that she was leading a ‘war of words’ against a Marxist opponent – both internationally and on the domestic front – and even within her own party.293 In her view, it was the Left that held the political language captive, wresting the most apt weapons away from their opponents. And this was a ‘war’ that had to be fought. Thatcher’s goal was precision in conceptual definitions, with the conservation of the ‘actual’ semantic content of the political concepts. She saw herself as a guardian of concepts. It was no mere coincidence that she hoped for a true ‘wordsmith’ when it came to finding a speechwriter.294 The Conservative Party thus distinguished itself by a collection of concepts that together provided Thatcherism with its characteristic shape: property, property owning democracy, the market, choice, competition,

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reward, enterprise, the family, nation, Britishness, the individual, individual initiative, morality, bourgeois values, responsibility, law and order, freedom – just to name a few of the most important.295 They had all long been part of the conceptual inventory of British conservatism. And, for Thatcherism, they needed to be held up high – and guarded. This also, and most particularly, applied to the party’s concepts of self-description, and first and foremost the concept of conservatism, the very centre of the semantic network that Thatcherism established.

1.4.1. A ‘Clear, Coherent Political Philosophy’: The Claim to Conceptual Interpretative Authority The newly elected party leader, Margaret Thatcher, worked resolutely to interpret the concept of conservatism in her own manner. Her goal was to present a ‘clear, coherent political philosophy’.296 As she told the delegates at the 1977 Conservative Party Conference: ‘The best reply to full-blooded Socialism is not milk and water Socialism, it is genuine Conservatism’.297 Thatcher presented herself as standing for ‘genuine conservatism’, and could not have phrased more clearly her claim to a monopoly on the interpretation of conservatism and its political tradition. Nor could her conceptual-political view of the absolute reduction of conceptual polyvalence have been explicated more clearly. The change in course regarding the party’s programmatic direction that occurred with the transition from Heath to Thatcher was not indeed portrayed as a break with conservative tradition but, by contrast, as a return to its roots. The label ‘new conservatism’, which was associated with the programmatic new beginning, was initially an external attribution – not a self-description.298 It was only in 1980 that Nigel Lawson, a close confidant of Thatcher, adopted the attribution with positive connotations, while defusing it as well: ‘The new Conservatism which the present British Government have been putting into practice for the past year and more is very much in the broad historical tradition of Conservatism’.299 He thus continued a conceptual strategy that had been tested by Thatcher the previous June.300 The concept had also been previously taken up within the intellectual circles surrounding Thatcher.301 The hesitancy to adopt the concept of new conservatism was surely connected to the memory of R.A. Butler’s conceptual strategy. During the mid-1950s, he had labelled the programmatic new beginnings after the war as ‘new conservatism’, something from which the Thatcherites distanced themselves with particular vigour.302 As the argument went, the programmatic renewal of the party was led forward by the reconstruction of what had been lost – a genuinely conservative impulse.303 Keith Joseph’s famous statement that he was only converted to conservatism in April 1974, after the electoral defeat in February, and that he had only falsely believed himself to be conservative until then,304 needs to be viewed in this

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context. It sums up the self-understanding and language strategy of market-liberal reformers who, it must not be forgotten, also needed to integrate their own political biographies into the narrative of new beginnings following the party’s socialist aberrations. Joseph, who had played an important role both in the opposition and in Heath’s government, thus sought to free himself of this baggage. This attempt was particularly paradoxical in that Joseph became a captive of the consensus narrative that he himself had helped to create. If indeed the history of the party after 1957 could only be viewed as a leftward aberration, and if only an unconditional break from that could be postulated as a way out, it became difficult to shed a positive light on his own part in it. The claim to a monopoly on conceptual interpretative authority not only included the concept of conservatism, even if this was used most by the new party leader and her group. The Thatcherites in fact adopted the other concepts of self-description that were common within the party as well. This also applied to Toryism. At the height of competition for the party leadership, Thatcher underlined, during a speech in her Finchley constituency, the importance of the ‘traditional ideals of Toryism’ for the regeneration of the party and the country. She used the opportunity to interpret the concept in her own way: compassion, and concern for the individual and his freedom; opposition to excessive State power; the right of the enterprising, the hard-working and the thrifty to succeed and to reap the rewards of success and pass some of them on to their children; encouragement of that infinite diversity of choice that is an essential of freedom; the defence of widely distributed private property against the Socialist State; the right of a man to work without oppression by either employer or trade union boss.305

The central concepts of market-liberal thought and the concept of Toryism were amalgamated here in a strategy that Thatcher inherited from the Monday Club. And it was not only pursued by Thatcher. Patrick Cosgrave submitted, for example, in The Spectator, that monetarist policy had always been ‘an essential strand of Toryism’.306 Keith Joseph, moreover, recalled at the 1975 party conference that ‘traditional Toryism’ had pursued anything but the politics of the ‘middle way’. Its followers had sought to do what was right, and had trusted that the nation would recognize this.307 This talk of Toryism contradicted the semantic conventions that had been established in previous years. As we have seen, ‘Tory’ was increasingly used to refer to the party wing that evoked paternalistic traditions, and ‘Whig’ for the market-liberal wing. In 1975, The Spectator interpreted Keith Joseph’s programmatic development in that way: ‘“I was a Tory”, Sir Keith should have said, “but I am now a Whig”’. It is striking that the Thatcherites did not engage with this during the period of change in party leadership. Joseph also played it down for The Spectator journalist, explaining that one could not simply equate the old label with the modern one.308 Conservatism, however, remained the concept

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that was widely and increasingly predominant when Thatcher’s group sought to describe its own positions. This still applied when Disraeli was adopted as a figure considered to be the father of conservative social interventionism. Together with Joseph Chamberlain, he was mentioned in Thatcher’s rhetoric as part of the ‘tradition of reformist Conservatism’ in which she placed herself as well: ‘it’s to that tradition that I’m proud to belong’.309 The increasing concentration of the concept of conservatism fitted in well with the recommendation made by Angus Maude, Rhodes Boyson, David Howell, Nigel Lawson and Norman Tebbit in a 1978 strategy paper to drop ‘Tory’ as a self-descriptive, and to focus entirely on ‘Conservative’, as ‘Tories’ was ‘a dirty word with swinging voters in Labour areas’.310 The paternalism connected to Disraeli crystallized in the concept of one nation within the political language of British conservatism. The Thatcherites adopted this concept as well. While the society of the times was not as divided between poor and rich as it was for Disraeli, they held, different groups continued to stand in conflict with one another. The reconciliation of these interests, they asserted, was Thatcher’s goal, and with it ‘the creation of One Nation’.311 Thatcher’s evocation of one nation aimed at the spiritual unity of the nation and not at the levelling of social inequalities: ‘We must heal the wounds of a divided nation’, she underscored at the 1978 Conservative Party Conference.312 One nation was connected to the semantic network surrounding the nation. It served to describe patriotism, which the Thatcherites also sought to renew. In this way, the Thatcherites decisively shifted the semantic inventory of the metaphor of one nation. The nation was to be unified, both internally and externally, with regard to fundamental political questions, as it was in terms of basic values and a will to succeed.313 The hymns of praise for the greatness of the nation thus became a trademark of Thatcherism. This layer of meaning had, however, already been connected to the concept of one nation since the 1950s. It was therefore not difficult for the market-liberal Conservatives of the 1970s to identify with the ideals of the One Nation Group of the 1950s, which were indeed deeply inspired by market liberalism, as E.H.H. Green has extensively discussed.314 The Thatcherites were, in any case, adept at making use of the interpretive authority over the party’s concepts of self-description.

1.4.2. ‘An Opening to the Future’: The Realignment of Temporal Dimensions in Thatcherism Thought concerning the order of temporality lay at the heart of the conservative self-understanding. For Thatcherites as well, this problem marked the centre of their work towards shaping the concept of conservatism. As we have seen, a balance between the three temporal dimensions – past, present and future – was

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a fundamental structural principle of the political languages of conservatism. Only if this was indeed the case was it credible to evoke conservatism. The roots of the word conservare, however, pointed towards the conservation of tradition, the appreciation of history. It stressed continuity in change. This set clear boundaries for the attribution of meaning. Yet, the group of Thatcherites stressed the absolute necessity of a change. As Joseph argued, only ‘radical change’ would be able to stop the downward spiral that the United Kingdom was caught in, both economically and politically.315 Indeed, the Thatcherites seemed to be much closer to the future than the past. How could the call for a radical break in historical development coincide with the conservative impulse to conserve? How could it be reconciled with the concept of tradition, which was so central to conservative language? Critics of the Thatcherites were certain that this was not in fact possible. ‘The Tory Party is an historical party or it is nothing’, as Norman St John-Stevas contended: ‘Those who argue that true Conservatism was born in May 1979 are obliged to reject not only the whole postwar Tory tradition from Winston Churchill onwards but the Party’s pre-war history as well’.316 However, the Thatcherites were not only accused of not observing the conservative principle of continuity, as they received even heavier criticism from Ian Gilmour, who had become Thatcher’s outspoken antipode.317 Gilmour placed himself in the tradition of party intellectuals and pamphlet literature in the style of ‘What is Conservatism?’, which the Thatcherites did not utilize in that form. His 1977 book Inside Right presented the general public with his fundamental criticism of the new programmatic course. He stylized himself as the standard bearer of conservatism. Gilmour also made claims to the party’s two central self-descriptive concepts, conservatism and Toryism, even denying that his rivals within the party were conservative in the first place. The temporal dimensions of their political language were an important argument for him here, skewering their call for a radical change: ‘A decisive break with what has gone before is obviously congenial to a revolutionary or an extreme left-wing party; it should have few attractions to a party which favours continuity and gradual change’.318 The conceptual struggle continued to rage within the Conservative Party. The tensions between the new beginnings that were being proclaimed and the conservative paradigm of continuity was not only gladly taken up by the intra-party opposition but also provided food for thought to observers who were inclined towards Thatcherism. In a January 1979 edition of The Spectator, the journalist George Gale suggested that the Conservative Party ‘abandon conservatism for the time being, and become the radical party of change’. Maintaining the status quo, he felt, would lead further towards the socialist trap. Conservatives could only preserve the roots of what was worthy of conservation if they turned radical. He paradoxically concluded: ‘Conservatism, if it is to possess any creative vigour, cannot afford to be conservative’.319 Neal

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Ascherson, certainly a more distanced observer than was Gale, attempted to take on an analytical perspective in 1980 in order to understand the programmatic change in British conservatism. Thatcher, he argued, stood for a variant of conservatism that sought to use new political formulas to return to the old, and was thus willing to accept radical change to that end. A concept from the history of German conservatism seemed fitting to him here, that of ‘conservative revolution’.320 Later, this would often be applied to Thatcherism, not least by historians.321 Margaret Thatcher herself clearly worked to avoid any indication of intervening into the conservative balance of temporal dimensions. One of the strengths of conservatism, she explained in 1979, lay in ‘that we are not mesmerised by the present, we honour the past and what it has to teach, and we look to the future and we prepare for it’.322 Thatcher’s message was that past, present and future stood in harmony within the concept of conservatism, as had always been the case. The new beginnings that were so aggressively called for, even within her own circles, this radical break from the recent past, all sounded somewhat milder coming from her. In her Iain Macleod Lecture, which she held for the Greater London Young Conservatives in 1977, Thatcher grappled with this eminent conservative thinker of the 1950s and 1960s. Macleod died suddenly in 1970 just after becoming chancellor of the exchequer, and had been revered by large portions of the party. Thatcher characterized Macleod as a Tory, as a typical British politician and as a Christian. Those were the foundations for his search for answers to the problems of his time. And yet she added: ‘That was a generation back. We now stand before the new challenges’. In her examination of the party’s past, Thatcher made use of an argument that was fundamental to conservative thought, the idea that progress lay in the application of conservative foundations and values to changing situations: ‘Every generation must restate its values in light of present challenges, but also in light of past experience’.323 In 1947, Quintin Hogg had spoken of the ‘duty’ of each generation to contribute to the further development of the ‘store’ of conservative ‘wisdom’.324 The insistence of Thatcherites that they were doing nothing other than helping old principles regain their proper place should be understood in line with this conception of time.325 The argumentative bridge provided by the concept of generation that had been anchored in conservatism since Burke, was strengthened further by the perception of the present day as a time of epochal change. This interpretation was depicted particularly vividly in the work of the historian Robert Blake; Conservatism in an Age of Revolution was the name of his 1976 contribution to the Conservative Philosophy Group, which departed from the thesis that his contemporaries lived in a world of rapid technological and economic change, accompanied by ‘a great upheaval in faith and morality, and by social stresses more severe than anything in the past one hundred and fifty years’.326 The

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United Kingdom, he asserted, lay within the eye of this global storm. While Blake believed that a 150-year-long era was reaching its end, the other commentators did not delve as far into the past, with the Second World War as their temporal reference point instead. It was a widely held opinion that the postwar era was now completely over. This consequently meant that the political solutions that had emerged from the late 1940s and the 1950s were no longer applicable to the changed situation of the 1970s.327 And not only that: in a situation in which all certainties appeared to be called into question, clear leadership was needed along the lines of a well-thought-through, ideas-oriented programme, enriched by experience, and leading, through innovation, down a path through the discontinuity of the present.328 The burst of change, perceived to be unfolding in the present, would not then have to be interpreted as a threat but rather as a phenomenon that practically played into the hands of conservatism. In 1978, some top Thatcherite strategists indeed believed that they were observing a general fatigue from change: ‘There is a deep nostalgia, in part for what is thought of as a comfortable past, but chiefly for a settled, civilized life. Continuity is vital, and that is in tune with a Conservative approach’.329 This perception of the present and interpretation of the past was founded in the narrative of consensus that informed Thatcherism, and which, as we have previously seen, was presented in a coherent form by Lord Coleraine as an argument in the intra-party criticism of Heath’s course in 1970.330 Consensus politics was characterized as a form of cooperation between Conservatives and Labour in economic and social matters, which had supposedly been predominant since the Second World War and had led to the increasing expansion of the welfare state and economic policy informed by Keynesianism and state interventionism. The widespread identification in the 1970s of the postwar decades with consensus politics was reflected in particular by the influential book The Road to 1945, written by the historian Paul Addison, who turned ‘consensus’ – viewed positively here – into a historiographical category.331 A political conceptual struggle thus became a historiographical notion that would inform reflection on the British history of the twentieth century for decades.332 For the Thatcherites, consensus remained a political concept with a sharp edge within the intra-party power struggle. The common narrative was that the Conservatives had given up their convictions and ventured down the socialist dead end, with terrible consequences for a nation that had been gradually losing its economic, political and moral strengths, and had been surpassed in international competition. There could therefore be only one way to end the crisis that was believed to be hitting the country: a radical break from the foundations that were believed to be at the base of the consensus. The postulation of a lack of alternatives was part of the rhetoric of Thatcherism. As Robert Blake underscored in 1976, the ‘post-war consensus is dead and … Butskellism is extinct’.333 It was no accident that he adopted the contemporary criticism

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concerning the alleged interchangeability of Conservatives and Labour in the 1950s, which took on an impactful, oft-cited and lampooned form in the image of Mr Butskell – a symbiosis of R.A. Butler and Hugh Gaitskell.334 The accusations of joining the consensus were particularly harsh in the intraparty debate when connected with Macmillan’s concept of the middle way. Keith Joseph’s writings and talks, which developed in close cooperation with those active at the Institution of Economic Affairs, were decisive in this regard. Joseph doubted in general terms that an overall social and economic consensus had existed between the 1940s and 1960s. As he argued in a December 1975 speech before the Oxford Union: ‘The middle ground is only middle as between politicians: it is an ephemeral political compromise’.335 In this interpretation, consensus referred primarily to a political stance of compromise with respect to the demands of political opponents, an unprincipled acquiescence for the sake of rapid agreement.336 From this point of view, embracing consensus only entailed disadvantages for the Conservative Party. The more clearly the Conservatives moved leftward, the more effectively the forces of the Left in the Labour Party were strengthened so that the entire political spectrum ultimately shifted towards the Left and the Conservatives morphed into a social democratic party: ‘So in the name of moderation we have encouraged extremism, in the name of the middle ground we have pushed Britain to the Left’.337 This figure of argumentation was described as the ‘left-wing ratchet effect’ in conservative discourse.338 Moderation and the middle ground or middle way were central concepts in a semantic network that had emerged surrounding conservatism since the 1940s. Both concepts were now connected with the Left and extremism – that is, with two concepts that were used to describe political opponents in the conservative vocabulary. The Thatcherites, however, pursued an integrative linguistic strategy in this context as well: they adopted the vocabulary of balance. This did not in fact apply to consensus, which developed into a counterconcept, while it did for concepts such as moderation and balance. The 1976 policy statement The Right Approach, which defined the foundations of Conservative politics following the change in party leadership, presented conservatism as a ‘philosophy of balance’. Man is both an individual and a social being, and all political philosophies have sought to accommodate these two, often conflicting, elements in human nature. Conservatism has always represented a balance between the two, arguing against Liberal individualists for man’s social role and against Socialists for the right of the individual to develop as far and as fast as he can, choosing freely from a wide range of opportunities while recognising his duties towards his fellows.339

Balance and moderation, however, had run their course as principles of political argumentation and governance. It was not by chance that Thatcher now took on a more strident style of speech, explicitly distancing herself from

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rhetoric that was geared towards a consensus.340 The departure from consensus entailed a departure from compromise and the embrace of ‘conviction politics’.341 Rhodes Boyson described the style of a future Thatcher government in this vein: ‘There is no mood for consensus or balance or coalition. People want firm government both in home and foreign policy, so that they can feel a national destiny again’.342 The Thatcherites did not, of course, dispense with the evocation of the majority will. Their reference to the democratic legitimation of their political programme was central to the essence of their rhetoric. The concept of common ground was introduced as an alternative to that of consensus.343 While the middle ground was portrayed as a compromise among politicians, miles away from the needs and wishes of the people, this was contrasted with the true ‘common ground with the people and their aspirations’, to quote Keith Joseph once again.344 This would correspond with common sense – and was thus connected to another concept central to the conservative vocabulary, one which was fundamentally conservative, as it was common opinion within conservative circles.345 While politicians had previously governed over the heads of the people, the Thatcherites claimed that they represented the people’s will. At the same time, their talk of common ground produced another chimera, that of the unity of interests within the nation. During the ‘winter of discontent’ of 1978/79, in which the impact of month-long strikes made life difficult and demonstrated the power of trade unions, Thatcher presented herself as an advocate of national unity, appealing to those social values that were shared by all Britons. With her usual pathos, she concluded her television address with the words: ‘We have to learn to be one nation again, or one day we shall be no nation’.346 This meant in Thatcherite thinking a shift away from consensus and towards the common ground of a united nation – away from the politics of the past and the postwar era that had led down a socialist dead end, and towards politics of the future, informed by genuinely conservative approaches and solutions.347 The two concepts, consensus and common ground, thus clearly pointed towards different temporal horizons. This served to bolster the temporal dimension of the concept of conservatism. Academic philosophy, which again reinserted itself into the discussion over conservatism in the 1970s, also played a role in the recodification of the temporal dimensions of the concept of conservatism. While Michael Oakeshott had maintained a distance from the Conservative Party throughout his life, the Oxford-based philosopher Anthony Quinton began to seek proximity to the party in the mid-1970s. Quinton was soon viewed as an intellectual of Thatcherism, along with other prominent members of the Conservative Philosophy Group.348 Thatcher appreciated Quinton’s 1978 study The Politics of Imperfection, an investigation of English conservative thought from the sixteenth to twentieth centuries.349 Quinton recognized the ideational foundations of all forms of conservatism in a belief in human imperfection. He derived

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three principles of conservatism from this: traditionalism, organicism and political scepticism. Quinton believed Oakeshott’s definition of conservatism to reflect only nostalgia – a nostalgia for tradition as a point of orientation for political action, which presupposed a past whose parameters were outdated in the present. As Quinton remarked: ‘It may be that that tradition has reached a point at which its direction of movement needs to be reversed’.350 Quinton thus provided a philosophical argument for the Thatcher wing’s break from the paradigms of conservative politics that had existed since the late 1950s. Only a few and yet very decisive years earlier, Noël O’Sullivan, a philosopher at the University of Hull, had put together his overview of conservatism, which was published in 1976, the same year that Quinton held his T.S. Eliot lectures that provided the basis for The Politics of Imperfection. While Quinton understood conservatism as a specifically English contribution to political thought, O’Sullivan investigated it as a European phenomenon in all of its various national forms. However, not unlike Quinton, O’Sullivan portrayed conservatism as a ‘philosophy of imperfection, committed to the idea of limits, and directed towards the defence of a limited style of politics’.351 With regard to the future, O’Sullivan was certain in 1976 that neither the middle way variant of conservatism nor the liberal variant, which placed its trust in the free market, had a future. He believed that instead a new, corporatively oriented conservatism would emerge from the necessities of the ‘postcapitalist’ or ‘postindustrial era’.352 During the Thatcher years, O’Sullivan’s book had to appear like a relic from the time of Edward Heath. It is therefore little surprising that it was not discussed in the debates over the direction of conservatism, although this was surely also due to O’Sullivan’s distance from the party and the conservative intellectual milieu. The Thatcherites shied away, in any event, from making specific prognoses for the future. The reassessment of the future horizon of the concept of conservatism was hence another decisive moment in determining the course forward in Thatcherism. In 1976, David Howell, a former close confidant of Heath who had moved to the Thatcher camp,353 promised an ‘opening to the future for British politics’ by leaving the ‘collapsing centre of the past’ behind. Here, Howell distinguished the conservative future under Thatcher both from ‘the tidy future for which Socialists yearn’ as well as from ‘the press-button future of technological efficiency and big organization for which planners may hanker’. The future that the Conservatives promised was the best of all futures for ‘a free people’.354 Distancing themselves from a planned future did have a catch, however. The future dimension of the concept of conservatism connected to Heath involved a strong component of planning: modern management techniques and goal-oriented, long-term and academically sound planning was to ensure a better future – a promise expressed ingeniously in the 1970 electoral slogan ‘A Better Tomorrow’.355 This future horizon then collapsed, however,

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and did so most fulminantly. By 1974, little remained from the grandiose visions of planning. David Howell, who himself had been an advocate of planning as a method to be used in the 1960s and early 1970s, is the best example for the loss of this future horizon.356 Angus Maude had always railed against ‘all this nonsense about planning’. Planning, he submitted, diametrically opposed the conservative worldview, as it presupposed an abstract model of society and history, as well as a belief in human omnipotence, while reducing complexity and ultimately hindering human freedom.357 He re-emphasized these arguments in 1975, receiving even greater resonance than six years earlier.358 How strongly Maude’s model took hold during the crisis of the 1970s was reflected in the definition of change that the Steering Committee, which included Maude as a member, presented to the party leadership in 1987: ‘The “change” that people want today is much more a change back to known standards than a leap forward into the unknown’. The party had to address the yearning for those forms of security that had been lost through policies oriented towards socialist ideas, the committee recommended. Conservatives could not promise a golden future but only the reintroduction of standards that provided individuals with a realistic estimation of their possibilities. This meant going back to the future, and reconstructing what was lost in order to deal with the present.359 The recodification of the future horizon of the concept of conservatism manifested in the conceptionalization of progress. As we have already seen, progress was one of the key concepts of conservatism after 1945. The Conservatives did not wish to allow Labour or the Liberals to refute their commitment to progress. In the mid-1970s, this orientation towards progress had been partly, if not entirely, called into question. Doubt was expressed over the idea that change was always to be equated with a progress connected to positive connotations. It was once again Keith Joseph who put these doubts into words. Economic growth as the sole measure of progress, he felt, was poorly suited to social categories, or to quality of life in particular: ‘The quality of life includes the freedoms, great and small, personal security, personal relationships, honesty in politics, stability, predictability, rewards and sanctions, no less than architecture, libraries and clean air’. Quality of life was conceived by Joseph beginning with the individual, while also being connected to moral attributions. At the centre of his thinking stood the idea of individual freedom, with a society in which individuals could evolve freely and seek fulfilment being formed by the competition of interests. Only the market economy was capable, he believed, of channelling this competition and disciplining the free individual; only competition among free individuals functioned as an ‘engine of progress’.360 In these contexts, the absolute contrast between conservatism and Marxism or socialism played an important role. This suggested the unambiguity of conservatism. Once again, in the words of Keith Joseph:

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Unlike Marx, a Conservative does not envisage any great magical denouement which will set all to rights and ensure that we all live happily ever after. The future will have to look after itself, I am afraid. But in the meantime, we have to live with selfinterest, contain it, harness it, discipline it, provide for multitudinous self-interests to discipline each other. If we do this, future generations will be able to stand on our shoulders and see further.361

Progress was portrayed here as haphazard, providing surprises, emerging from the interplay of individual interests, based on historical experience and the continuity of generations, and was thus not to be understood rationally or to be predicted or planned. The future was fundamentally open and beyond the grasp of the present: ‘The future will have to look after itself’. The capitalist principle of the free market provided, from this point of view, the best approach towards adequately meeting the challenges of the phenomena of progress and the future. It was the market that organized the future. That progress was, moreover, to be measured against moral standards was already reflected in Joseph’s reasoning, as cited above. The freedom of the individual that was to be ‘disciplined’ in the competition of the free market, had to be hemmed in by a clear order of values. ‘Permissiveness does not stand for progress’, as Ian Percival underscored, citing Lord MacDermott in his plea for the maintenance of rigid moral standards in modern society.362 The thrust of this definition of the concept of progress aimed at the liberalization of social conventions and values that captured the attention of British society from the late 1950s. Within the concept of permissiveness, the criticism of this process of rapid social and cultural change found its focal point. The Conservatives had both adopted the demands and taken a stance of rejecting them.363 Since the late 1960s, the movement against permissiveness had gained both momentum and popularity.364 Its most popular organization was most certainly the National Viewers’ and Listeners’ Association founded by Mary Whitehouse, who continually battled the BBC over the content of public radio and television.365 As Matthew Grimley demonstrated, during the mid-1970s Thatcherism took on the arguments and moral outrage of the anti-permissiveness movement, and intertwined it with economic and constitutional arguments into the narrative of an all-encompassing national crisis. The moral moment of the crisis narrative took on particular stature during the 1979 electoral campaign. As Thatcher put it in 1976, ‘true progress would come from a spiritual revival rather than an economic recipe’.366 That this intellectual renewal was to be Judeo-Christian by nature was re-emphasized by the Thatcherites time and again. The concept of Christianity, ever viewed in close interconnection with the Jewish tradition, played a major role in the semantic network that they developed.367 As Thatcher stressed, the moral consensus of the nation rested upon a millennia-old heritage, constituting a tradition that was to be conserved. The foundations in Christianity formed a

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major part of the Conservatives’ identity. This connected conservatism to the individual, and stressed the responsibility of all individuals for their welfare: ‘Our religion teaches us that every human being is unique and must play his part in working out his own salvation. So whereas socialists begin with society, and how people can be fitted in, we start with Man, whose social and economic relationship [sic] are just part of his wider existence’.368 Continuities with the recodification of the concept of Christianity since the mid-1960s among the critics of Macmillan and Heath were most evident. Like Powell, Thatcher strictly divided between the tasks of the state and those of civil society. They were adamant in their views that the transmission and maintenance of morality belonged to the latter, and that the state should not pursue morality or a Christian agenda, beyond promoting religious education.369 The separation of the state and civil society, which Thatcher undertook while evoking Christian tradition, thus applied to social policy in general. For her, social action as the reflection of a Christian obligation to love one’s neighbour was chiefly a task for civil society. The state was to play a role only when civil society began to see its limits. As a Methodist, Thatcher also saw the people’s economic efforts as the fulfilment of their religious calling, without however fully equating the latter with the former. She warned against allowing economic success to become an obsession. Thatcher’s anti-Marxist orientation of Christianity consequently referred to the freedom of the individual as contrasted with the full economization of human beings.370 The anti-Marxist definition of Christianity was thus one link in a chain of means to contain the influence of liberal economic thought on British conservatism. Morality and economics were interdependent in the Thatcherite model, and the concept of progress was also closely connected to this. The conservative philosopher Roger Scruton took a more radical path. In his 1980 book The Meaning of Conservatism, he formulated his version of a renewed conservatism. Scruton did away with the concept of progress once and for all. The ‘idiotic language of progress’, he argued, was the spawn of those secular myths that held thought and action captive in modern society. For Scruton, these ‘myths’ included the idea of natural law, freedom, classless society and equality. Progress was thus a chimera. Politicians can now speak as though the affairs of state move ‘forward’, or ‘backwards’. The conservative is said to ‘arrest progress’, the liberal to ‘advance’ it. A conservative is a ‘reactionary’. ‘Revolution’ means not the turning of the wheel, but the ‘overthrow’ of ‘regressive’ forces. In all this compulsive newspeak, we find the same frivolous myth. Things ‘go forward’, since that is their nature. The only truth here is that time moves forward, namely from past to future.371

It was Scruton’s laconic suggestion that conservatives should come to terms with the present while honouring the knowledge, experience and social order

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of the past. All this would manifest itself in institutions in which individuals could find fulfilment.372 Without a vision of the future that went beyond that which had already been put into place in the past and present, conservatives were to orient themselves towards concepts that could be implemented directly and which were proven to have a motivational force. For Scruton, this included authority, loyalty and tradition, the key concepts of his concept of conservatism.373 The fact that Scruton stood in the margins with his radical vision, despite his involvement with the party and the Conservative Philosophy Group,374 becomes particularly clear when we take into account the order of temporality shaping his thought. The politics of the 1970s and 1980s could not go without providing a future horizon – which had indeed been a general principle of political communication in democratic societies informed by mass media since the first half of the nineteenth century.375 What appeal could a party have that did not promise progress to its voters, without offering plans for the further development of state and society? The Conservative Party under Thatcher thus offered the British people a ‘better future’376 – only it was not to be planned or predetermined but was to develop organically, informed by the freedom of the individual in a moral, free-market order.

1.4.3. Right or Centre? Concepts of Political Orientation and the Dichotomy of Political Language The readjustment of temporal dimensions was of central significance to the Thatcherites’ concept of conservatism. Its relationship with the concepts of political orientation was redefined as well, contributing decisively to giving conservatism a particular shape. As we have previously seen, the intra-party opposition adopted the concept of the Right as a self-descriptive, beginning in the late 1960s. This became possible because the party had placed itself at the centre more than on the right since the 1950s. ‘The Right’ thus developed into the label of a party wing beginning in the early 1970s. The concepts of Right, Left and centre were, at the same time, part of the general political vocabulary. In this vein, positions were ordered, opinions analysed, intellectual biographies explored. Right, in any event, did not function in Britain, unlike West Germany, as a concept that exclusively described extreme views.377 Samuel Brittan, one of the United Kingdom’s most influential market-liberal journalists, called the use of such categories fully into question in his detailed book published in 1968, as they analytically served to conceal more than they illuminated.378 That same year, however, David Collard, an economist at the University of Bristol, worked with a full tableau of concepts of political orientation, thus underscoring their political power, in a pamphlet published by the

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Fabian Society. Collard argued that a new school of thought had established itself that was continually gaining in influence, which propagated a free-market economy and the retreat of the welfare state. He identified Enoch Powell, the Bow Group, Aims of Industry and the Institute of Economic Affairs as the incubators of this school of thought. Collard labelled them with the concept of the ‘New Right’.379 His conceptual coinage thus concentrated on the market-liberal elements of conservatism. It was only in the 1980s, however, that the concept would be firmly established as a label for the conservatism that had emerged in Britain since the mid-1970s. This occurred once similar movements in the United States and in Europe had been crowned with political success.380 It would, however, remain an externally attributed concept, as did the concept of the ‘radical Right’, which was placed in connection with Thatcherism by the Marxist cultural theoretician Stuart Hall in 1979.381 That the label ‘New Right’, let alone ‘radical right’, was not adopted by the advocates of the ‘new conservatism’ did not mean that the concept of the Right had been fully rejected. While Thatcher was conspicuous in her avoidance of it, Right was an undoubted part of the repertoire of self-description for those who had developed their programmatic profile in their opposition to Heathian conservatism. Blake, for example, saw the Conservatives as the ‘party of the right’,382 and the Monday Club certainly viewed itself as a force of the Right. The Salisbury Group also saw itself as being ‘of the Right’, although it protested when The Times portrayed it as the ‘radical right’.383 Arthur Seldon, who stood at the centre of the transatlantic neoliberal network, implicitly adopted the concept of the New Right when he railed against a ‘conservative “Old Right”’ that still spoke ‘the language of compassionate paternalism’.384 Grassroots activists also believed that they were engaging with a ‘party of the right’.385 The allure that the concept took on in the mid-1970s was clearly reflected in Keith Joseph’s strategies of appropriation. In March 1974, and in those months in which he applied himself with great effort to the neoliberal networks while working towards a personal reformulation of conservatism, he described himself in a conversation with Ralph Harris of the Institute of Economic Affairs as ‘a right-wing idealogue [sic]’.386 He did, however, make use of the label more cautiously in public. As he argued in Stranded on the Middle Ground: ‘We should beware of accepting any simple dichotomy of “right–left”, “moderate–extreme”, but should treat socialists as we find them’.387 And when he was confronted in the Advisory Committee of Policy on the ‘right-wing image’ of the party, he rejected the criticism with the remark that the majority of the population was far more right-wing than both the Conservative shadow cabinet and the conservative parliamentary group, and that a clearer course to the right therefore only corresponded with what the people wanted.388 More than a few within the party were in fact concerned that Thatcher had moved the party too far to the right. In 1977, Hailsham noted in his diary

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a conversation he had held with Peter Carrington, who had doubts about the direction of the party leadership. ‘We are giving the impression of an extreme right-wing party’, he complained, with Hailsham in full agreement.389 The verdict of standing too far to the right became a constant argument for intra-party critics and opponents of Thatcher’s course. This was particularly impactful as it implied that the party had departed from the course it should be taking by nature, namely the middle way.390 As Gilmour expressed it: ‘The true Conservative course therefore is to stick closely to the centre, [but] with a slight Right incline’.391 The concept of the Right was applied here as a positional concept for a party wing, and not expanded to include the entire party, something that the Thatcherites were pushing for at the time. The highlighting of the self-descriptive concept of the Right fitted in well with the self-understanding of the Thatcher wing, as well as with the political polarization of the 1970s. This was because Right necessitated a counterconcept – and Left served this end with its semantic network that included, in particular, the concepts of socialism and increasingly Marxism, at times combined as ‘socialist Marxist’.392 In the conservative vocabulary, the Labour Party was connected increasingly closely with the concept of Marxism. Within the context of the Cold War, this linguistic strategy created the impression (and intentionally so) that the conflict between the opposing systems was being carried out in domestic politics. In one of many examples, Thatcher declared at the 1976 Conservative Party Conference that the Labour Party had adopted a ‘programme which is frankly and unashamedly Marxist’.393 The left–right dichotomy, furthermore, ensured that the concept of liberalism was pushed into the background as an established second counterconcept of conservatism or Toryism. The Thatcherites were therefore careful not to integrate ‘liberal’ into their self-descriptive vocabulary. Nigel Lawson’s admission of the affinity between the ‘new Conservatism’ and ‘classical liberalism’ was an exception to this.394 As even Alfred Sherman underscored, within the context of the foundation of the Centre of Policy Studies: ‘We are Tories first, (economic) liberals only second’.395 This silence stemmed from the self-understanding of the Thatcherites, but was also likely a response to the critics within the party, who did not tire of labelling the Thatcherites as liberal, thereby refuting their identity as conservative. The left-liberal press also followed this strategy.396 William Waldegrave, a young Tory from a good family, who entered the public eye in 1978 with a book on conservatism and the future, reminded his fellow conservatives that ‘by discovering the Liberal classics in their new and vigorous guise, in the writings of Professors Von Hayek, Friedman, and Nozick, they have not discovered true Conservatism but true Liberalism’.397 Conservatives, by contrast, hemmed in the market and curtailed its excesses, and indeed did so through social policy and government intervention. The argument became an integral part of the conservative opposition to Thatcherism. Chris Patten

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recycled it for his 1984 call to enhance the welfare state when he singled out the party’s ‘old-fashioned Liberals’ who sought to convince conservatives ‘that Liberalism is really the heart and soul of the Tory approach’.398 For these men, liberalism was basically identical to market-liberal convictions. Practically from the other side of the intra-party spectrum, Maurice Cowling and Roger Scruton vehemently advocated taking liberalism seriously as a political opponent. For Scruton, liberalism was ‘the principal enemy of conservatism, with all its attendant trappings of individual autonomy and the “natural” rights of men’. He maintained that, while the value of the individual was absolute for liberals, conservatives subordinated it to a higher value, that of the ‘authority of established government’, and while liberals categorically distinguished between state and society, they were interrelated in conservative thought. Therein lay the reason, Scruton underlined, for the central significance of the constitution and the rule of law for any conservative.399 Cowling, Scruton and others were chiefly occupied with the further development of society, and they fought against its further liberalization. In this context, liberalism had a different ring to it than in the circles around Gilmour and Waldgrave. Despite all of these warnings and reservations, the political world appeared dichotomous in Thatcherism, with conservatives on one side, Marxists on the other. And this applied to both foreign relations and domestic affairs.400 The polarized political situation in the United Kingdom of the 1970s further strengthened this dichotomy. The conservatives believed that the country was on the verge of collapse, marked by the left-wing policies of James Callaghan’s Labour government under the strong influence of trade unions, by the deep recession, by a state debt crisis that necessitated Britain’s humiliating loan from the International Monetary Fund, by constant strikes, and by a high unemployment rate and runaway inflation. In the already heated atmosphere of the Grundwick strike in 1977,401 for instance, Norman Tebbit warned against the threat posed by ‘Marxist collectivist totalitarians’ who were ‘[i]nside Britain’. Though few in number, he portrayed them all as having an influential position within the trade union movement and as being on their way towards turning the United Kingdom into a communist country. ‘Appeasement’ – a term that referenced the events of 1938 – would just lead down a dead end. Only a vigorous defence could stave off disaster.402 As early as the mid-1960s, Enoch Powell had railed against the ‘enemy within’, and this resonated within the party.403 It was thus a matter of Conservatives on one side and Marxists on the other. The vocabulary that was used followed the pattern of opposing pairs. One example of this could be seen in the ‘Stepping Stones’ Report, which was presented to the party leadership in 1977 by John Hoskyns and Norman Strauss.404 The authors’ approach was based on the ineluctable opposition between the Conservative Party and Socialism as represented in particular by the trade union movement. Hoskyns and Strauss recommended a communications strategy to the party

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leadership that focused on sharpening these oppositions. They introduced the ‘Sick Society’ versus the ‘Healthy Society’ as their central concepts. Their emotionalization of political messages entailed associating the socialist ‘Sick Society’ with ‘class war, dishonesty, tax fiddling, intimidation, shoddy work’, and the conservative ‘Healthy Society’ with ‘unity, effort, quality of work, fairness, trust, straight dealing’.405 The conceptual pair would in fact subsequently appear in Thatcher’s speeches.406 Speaking in opposing pairs was of course not an invention of the Thatcherites but was, as we have seen, deeply anchored in the language of the party. This applied in particular to the anti-socialism that the Conservatives had pursued since 1945. Heath himself had drawn upon this inventory of tradition, and honed it further into the figure of the great divide, opening the door for the dichotomization of conservative language. The Thatcherites’ language of conservatism was, however, specifically informed by the simultaneous push against the structural principle of balance. While this had dominated the political language of the Heath governments in particular, it was rendered secondary in the language of Thatcherism. The principle of the formation of opposites took on particular weight in the process. It provided for a reduction of ambivalence and ambiguity within the conservative language – and this can be observed nowhere better than with regard to the concept of conservatism itself. It took on an unambiguous clarity that it had hardly ever had before. In one of her 1979 campaign speeches in Cardiff, Margaret Thatcher made an attempt at summarizing conservatism: ‘Indeed, if I had to sum up Conservatism in one phrase, I would say this: it means a sense of personal responsibility, responsibility for one’s own family and responsibility towards others’.407 Responsibility was thus the key conservative concept from this point of view. Concise definitions of conservatism as such on the part of Thatcher were able to move other concepts of the semantic network into the foreground as well. When the prime minister was invited by Ronald Reagan to dinner at the White House in 1981, she provided an alternative short description of conservatism: ‘Conservatism means harnessing, but still more, the liberation of the fundamental strengths and resources which make a country great, which make its people prosperous and self-reliant’.408 This evoked the semantic field of conservation and maintenance alongside the concept of freedom. But not only Thatcher made use of such pithy statements. At the 1978 party conference, Angus Maude also did his best: ‘If Conservatism means anything, it means more choice for individuals’.409 The divergence of the three definitions mattered little here. Two things were of importance: first, that the definitions were formed from a pool of key concepts that had long been closely connected to the concept of conservatism such as freedom, responsibility, the individual, choice – concepts that we have already seen; and secondly, that the mere assertion that conservatism could be summed up with such conceptual conciseness seemed to provide proof for its

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lack of ambiguity. This clarity in Thatcher’s speech on conservatism had already served her as a trump card back in 1975. Two weeks before the decision concerning Heath’s successor at the helm of the party, Patrick Cosgrave noted that it had primarily been the impression ‘that she stands for something recognisable as Conservatism which has gained so much support for her in recent weeks’.410 The intra-party opposition, who soon came to be known as wets (for their softness and weakness) – as opposed to the Thatcherites who were known as dries – worked hard on the matter of this lack of ambiguity. The counterpoint put forward by Ian Gilmour, Peter Walker, Norman St John-Stevas and Chris Patten involved the evocation, not unlike the Thatcherites, of conservative traditions. They saw themselves as standing in a continuity with the conservatism of Harold Macmillan, Richard Austin Butler and Iain Macleod. The consensus narrative of the Thatcherites played a decisive role here in their placement within the history of conservative thought and political action – and they took ownership of it, holding up the key concept of consensus as a positive banner for themselves. In doing so, they reframed the concept of conservatism just like the Thatcherites did – only in a different manner by evoking alternative inventories of tradition from the conservative vocabulary. While the Thatcherites focused on the concept of conservatism, the wets elected the concept of Toryism; while the Thatcherites radically individualized Christianity, the wets emphasized its social dimension; while the Thatcherites pushed into the background the structural principle of balance and synthesis alongside its semantic networks, the wets moved them into the foreground; while the Thatcherites stressed their reconstruction of ideological vocabulary, the wets consistently underscored that they were only carrying forward the experience of their forefathers, and thus preserving conservative continuity.411 These, too, were linguistic strategies. The left-liberal press picked up on them and provided them with support.412 The concepts of conservatism and Toryism of the wets were products of the late 1970s and early 1980s. The concept of conservatism, in any event, allowed for both variants – those of the wets and the dries – and held the necessary semantic resources for both. Their political languages were based on the same morphology, which permitted them both to be recognized as variants of the conservative family.413 Margaret Thatcher stood for one variant of British conservatism, and her intra-party critics for another. That each group refuted that the other was in fact conservative to begin with has always been part of the repertoire of intra-party conflicts. This constituted conceptual politics, no more and no less. Thatcher was tagged with the verdict of not representing conservative but liberal principles, and of pursuing liberal and not conservative politics – to our own day. Did not the first woman at the helm of the United Kingdom stand together with Washington to help to usher in the global breakthrough of neoliberalism? Did she not establish ‘conservatively oriented liberalism’ in Britain, from which the

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country has yet to depart even today, as Dominik Geppert recently argued?414 This interpretation misses the actual issue at hand. Thatcherism was indeed fully within the bounds of the established language patterns of British conservatism. It drew from the conceptual inventory of conservative language as it had emerged from the nineteenth century, while emphasizing and clarifying certain elements. The rules of the morphology of conservative language were not violated – instead their structural principles were regrouped in their standing, leading to shifts within the semantic networks. The neoliberal theory, which was by no means as unambiguous as has often been insinuated, surely served as a veritable mine of ideas and concepts. Only the individual stones and fragments were integrated unsystematically, inasmuch as they were even compatible. This was made possible because the liberal semantics of the market had been anchored in the political languages of British conservatism since the nineteenth century, always standing in tension with other conceptual inventories. It would lead to evident contradictions and ambivalences that repeatedly erupted during Thatcher’s tenure as prime minister.415 When Margaret Thatcher was elected prime minister in 1979, she entered office with the promise of restoring the stature of conservative thought in the United Kingdom. Eleven years in office would follow, during which British politics and British society went through fundamental changes, and the central concepts of Thatcherism began to shape political language in general. In the eyes of many contemporaries, however, this conservative turnaround had already been cemented on a transatlantic scale in late 1980 with the election of Ronald Reagan, the leading figure in American new conservatism, to be the fortieth president of the United States. Many believed that this trend had also reached the centre of Europe with the election of Helmut Kohl as the West German chancellor of a CDU-FDP coalition government in October 1982 – to the delight of some and the despair of others. But what did British Conservatives and West German Christian Democrats have in common? Could Helmut Kohl’s CDU so easily be described as ‘conservative’? The commentators were not in agreement on this, nor could they be. Behind these matters lay complex conceptual worlds.

Notes 1. On Whiggism, see examples in Leonhard, ‘“True English Guelphs and Gibelines”’; for early evidence of Toryism, see e.g. Toryism Revived: Or, the Character of a Modern Tory, 1690; or Torism the Worst of the Two, 1717. 2. See Leonhard, ‘“True English Guelphs and Gibelines”’. 3. Coleman, Conservatism and the Conservative Party, 20. On Edmund Burke, see the introduction in Dwan and Insole, Cambridge Companion to Edmund Burke; on the difficult

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4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

31.

relationship between the Conservative Party of the nineteenth century and Burke, see Sack, ‘Edmund Burke and the Conservative Party’. Hilton, A Mad, Bad and Dangerous People?, 195–96. See Portsmouth, John Wilson Croker, 133–38. Vierhaus, ‘“Konservativ, Konservatismus”’, 539. See Kitson Clark, Peel and the Conservative Party, 1964, 209; on the formation of factions in the conservative camp, see Stewart, Foundation of the Conservative Party. Hilton, A Mad, Bad and Dangerous People?, 197. See e.g. Wilson, ‘Counter-Revolutionary Thought’; Führer, Hickethier and Schildt, ‘Öffentlichkeit – Medien – Geschichte’; Schildt, Konservatismus in Deutschland, 42–62. See Green, The Crisis of Conservatism. See Cecil, Conservatism, 1912. See Hogg, The Case for Conservatism, 1947. On the thought of Quintin Hogg, see Garnett and Hickson, Conservative Thinkers, 40–56. See Feiling, What is Conservatism?, 1930; Bryant, The Spirit of Conservatism, 1929; Ludovici, A Defence of Conservatism, 1927; see Ball, Portrait of a Party, 11–12. Hogg, The Case for Conservatism, 1947, 15. See Koselleck, “Space of Experience”. Block, About the Conservative Party, 1965, 14. Gilmour, Inside Right, 1977, 127. Hogg, The Case for Conservatism, 1947, 13. See e.g. Gilmour, Inside Right, 1977, 109–20; Schuettinger, ‘Varieties of Conservatism (i)’, 1969; Lewis, Principles to Conserve, 1968. British conservatives often followed the model of American neoconservative texts with these types of lists – see e.g. Raison, Why Conservative?, 1964, 32, which cites Peter Viereck. On Michael Oakeshott, see Franco, Michael Oakeshott; Neill, Michael Oakeshott; Müller, Contesting Democracy, 222–26. See Franco, Michael Oakeshott, 21. On the adoption of Burke in the British conservatism of the late Victorian and Edwardian periods, see Jones, ‘Conservatism, Edmund Burke, and the Invention of a Political Tradition’. See Vaïsse, Neoconservatism; Dorrien, Neoconservative Mind; Phillips-Fein, Invisible Hands; an overview of the broad research on American neoconservatism is provided in Phillips-Fein, ‘Conservatism’. See McDonald, Russell Kirk. See e.g. the German translation: Kirk, Lebendiges politisches Erbe, 1959. See Maciag, Edmund Burke in America, 178–89. See CAC, THCR 6/2/3/4 part 2 f124, Guest List, Sir Hugh Fraser and Conservative Philosophy Group, 9.2.1981, MTFW 121912. On the Conservative Philosophy Group, see Scruton, Gentle Regrets, 45–50; Casey, ‘Revival of Tory Philosophy’, 2007. Scruton, Meaning of Conservatism, 1980. For an overview, Harrison, ‘Impact on Historical Writing’. See Blake, Conservative Party from Peel to Churchill, 1970; Blake, Conservative Party from Peel to Thatcher, 1985; Blake, Conservative Party from Peel to Major, 1997. Blake made a name for himself with his biographies of Andrew Bonar Law and Benjamin Disraeli: Blake, The Unknown Prime Minister, 1955; Blake, Disraeli, 1966. See Blake, Conservatism in an Age, 1976. On Blake, see Morgan, ‘Robert Norman William Blake’.

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32. See Kedourie, ‘Conservatism and the Conservative Party’, 1970; Kedourie, ‘Is “NeoConservatism” Viable?’, 1982; both essays are reprinted in Kedourie, The Crossman Confessions, 1984. On Kedourie, see Minogue, ‘Kedourie, Elie (1926–1992)’. 33. See esp. Cowling, Conservative Essays, 1978; on Cowling, see Parry, ‘Cowling, Maurice John (1926–2005)’; Crowcroft, ‘Maurice Cowling’; Crowcroft, Green and Whiting, Philosophy, Politics and Religion. A vivid description of the ‘Peterhouse Right’ is provided in Sisman, Hugh Trevor-Roper, 456–63. 34. Throughout this book, ‘conservative’ remains lowercase for the concept and is capitalized for the names of political parties, etc. The original usage is, however, maintained in quotes. 35. Cecil, Conservatism, 1912, 8. On the situation of conservatism at the turn of the century, see Green, Crisis of Conservatism. 36. Cecil, Conservatism, 1912, 9. 37. For the context, see Green, Crisis of Conservatism, 311–17. 38. Patterson, Character of Conservatism, 1973, 10. 39. E.g. Northam, ‘Is the Future with the Tories?’, 1958, 47. 40. See also Ball, ‘Principles of British Conservatism’. 41. ‘Lord Hailsham’s Convictions. Politics and Morality’, 1974, 39. 42. See Horne, Macmillan. On Macmillan and Keynes, see Green, ‘The Conservative Party and Keynes’. 43. Onward in Freedom, 1958, 4. 44. See Horne, Macmillan, 17. 45. For an overview, see Page, Clear Blue Water? 46. Black, Political Culture of the Left; Pugh, Speak for Britain!, 286–318. 47. See Bridgeman, Modernisation of Conservative Politics, 7. 48. Bowhay, ‘Some Reflections’, 1958, 58. 49. Eden, ‘Leader’s Speech’, 1956. 50. Macmillan, ‘Leader’s Speech’, 1958. 51. Hogg, The Case for Conservatism, 1947, 11. 52. See Hailsham, The Conservative Case, 1959. 53. See Garnett and Hickson, Conservative Thinkers, 22–39. 54. There has unfortunately been no study of the British discourse on mass society or affluent society; therefore, for the time being, see Black and Pemberton, An Affluent Society?; Jarvis, Conservative Governments. Extremely influential in the international discourse: Riesman, Denney and Glazer, The Lonely Crowd, 1950. 55. Butler, ‘The Conservative Record and Programme’, 1958. 56. Butler, Leader’s Speech, 1963. 57. Hogg, The Case for Conservatism, 1947, 23. 58. See e.g. St John-Stevas, The Right to Life, 1963; St John-Stevas, Law and Morals, 1964. 59. See Jarvis, Conservative Governments. 60. Hogg, The Case for Conservatism, 1947, 18. 61. Ibid., 69. 62. See ibid., 15. 63. See Ramsden, The Making, 102–48; Ramsden, The Age, 138–76; Howard, RAB, 140–77. 64. Ramsden, The Making, 109; Butler, Art of the Possible, 1971, 133. 65. See Ramsden, The Age, 197–98; ‘New Democratic Party’, 1946. 66. See e.g. Baldwin, Leader’s Speech, 1933: ‘Disraeli, after all was the founder of modern Conservatism’; Hogg, The Case for Conservatism, 1947.

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67. Ramsden, The Age, 198. 68. On the principle of modernity in postwar Britain, see Conekin, Mort and Waters, Moments of Modernity. 69. See Conservative Political Centre, The New Conservatism, 1955. 70. See Jones, ‘Illusion of Conservative Support’; Jones, ‘Bloodless Counter-Revolution’; Jones, ‘“New Conservatism”?’; Kandiah, ‘Conservative Leaders’; Tomlinson, ‘Conservative Modernisation’; Tomlinson, ‘“Liberty with Order”’. On the conservatism of the interwar period, see Ball, Portrait of a Party. 71. See Jones, ‘“New Conservatism”?’, 172. 72. Macmillan, The Macmillan Diaries, 11.10.1959, 251, emphases in original. 73. See e.g. ibid., 20.12.1961, 436. 74. National Union of Conservative and Unionist Associations, 79th Annual Conference, 1960, R.A. Butler, 121. 75. See Tomlinson, ‘Conservative Modernisation’; Mitchell, The Brief and Turbulent Life. 76. See Ramsden, Winds of Change, 179. 77. Hansard, HL Deb 15 May 1952 vol 176 cc1025-132, here 1095–96. 78. Pears, ‘Down with Conservatism!’, 1958, 12. 79. On Raison, see Langdon, ‘Sir Timothy Raison Obituary’; Dalyell, ‘Sir Timothy Raison’. 80. Howell and Raison, Principles in Practice, 12; Raison, Why Conservative?, 1964, 44–45. 81. E.g. Raison, Why Conservative?, 1964, 138. 82. E.g. Pears, ‘Down with Conservatism!’, 1958, 12. 83. Macleod, ‘The Political Divide’, 1958, 12; National Union of Conservative and Unionist Associations, 81st Annual Conference, 1962, Iain Macleod, 127. 84. On Disraeli, see Feuchtwanger, Disraeli; Smith, Disraeli; for the broader context of Victorian conservatism, see Rödder, Die radikale Herausforderung. 85. See Walsha, ‘The One Nation Group’; Bridgen, ‘The Conservatives and Pensions’; Bridgen, ‘The One Nation Idea’. 86. Nicholson, ‘Letter to the Editor’, 1958. On the crisis of financial policy, see Cooper, ‘Little Local Difficulties’; Green, ‘Treasury Resignations’; Jarvis, ‘1958 Treasury Dispute’; Johnman, ‘Opportunity Knocks’. 87. See Süß, Death from the Skies. 88. Maude, ‘I Was a Progressive Reactionary’, 1957. 89. Macleod, ‘The Political Divide’, 1958, 12. 90. See p. 30. 91. Oakeshott, ‘Conservative Political Thought’, 1954, 474. 92. Oakeshott, ‘On Being Conservative’, 1962, 169. 93. Ibid., 184. 94. Ibid., 192. 95. Oakeshott, ‘Contemporary British Politics’, 1947–48, 488. 96. See Franco, Michael Oakeshott, 104. 97. Macmillan, The Middle Way: A Study, 1938, 186. 98. Macmillan, The Middle Way: Twenty Years After, 1958, 10. 99. See Green, Ideologies of Conservatism, 157–91; Garnett and Hickson, Conservative Thinkers, 8–21. 100. See St John, Disraeli and the Art of Victorian Politics, 95–128; Rödder, Die radikale Herausforderung, 146–52. 101. Macmillan, The Middle Way: Twenty Years After, 1958, 10. 102. One Nation Group, The Responsible Society, 1959, 7.

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103. 104. 105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128. 129. 130. 131. 132. 133. 134. 135. 136. 137. 138. 139. 140. 141. 142. 143. 144.

Critchley, ‘Principles of Conservatism’, 1961, 810. Macmillan, Leader’s Speech, 1961. See Fairlie, ‘Tories Turning Left?’ Rejecting these calls: Corson, ‘Letter to the Editor’, 16.11.1959 and 7.12.1959. For a broader context, see Green, Ideologies of Conservatism, 219–24. Utley, ‘Toryism at the Crossroads’, 1960. On T.E. Utley, see Garnett and Hickson, Conservative Thinkers, 106–9. Utley, ‘Toryism at the Crossroads’, 1960. Butler, ‘Conservative Record and Programme’, 1958. ‘Conservative Party General Election Manifesto, 1959’, 130. See Tomlinson, ‘“Liberty with Order”’. See Jarvis, Conservative Governments. See e.g. Critchley, ‘Principles of Conservatism’, 1961. See Courtauld, To Convey Intelligence. ‘Tory Socialism’, 1961. Monday Club, Conservatism Lost?, 1963. ‘After Affluence’, 1963. Howell, ‘Modern Conservatism’, 1963, 21. See ibid., 23. See O’Hara, From Dreams to Disillusionment. Howell, ‘Modern Conservatism’, 1963, 26. See Wood, ‘Why “Indicative Planning” Failed’. See Tomlinson, ‘Decline of the Empire’. See Kaiser, Using Europe, 146; Tomlinson, ‘Conservative Modernisation’. On the connection between the rhetoric on Europe and the Commonwealth, see Toye, ‘Words of Change’; May, Britain, the Commonwealth and Europe; Wellings, ‘European Integration’. See Conservative Central Office, ‘Acceleration’, 1963. See Sandbrook, Never Had It So Good, 539–42; Tomlinson, Politics of Decline, 21–26. See Shanks, Stagnant Society, 1961, 233. See Tomlinson, Politics of Decline, 22. Ball, The Guardsmen; using the example of Macmillan’s aristocratic rhetoric: Evans, ‘The Oratory of Harold Macmillan’; on the Beatles, see Sandbrook, White Heat, 101–19. Goodhart and Branston, The 1922, 188. See Sandbrook, Never Had It So Good, 713–15. On Alec Douglas-Home, see Thorpe, Alec Douglas-Home. ‘Home Rule’, 1963. Wilson, Purpose in Politics, 1964, 27–28. See Dorey, ‘Harold Wilson’, 1963–64 and 1970–74; Pimlott, Harold Wilson, esp. 302–7. See Ramsden, The Making, 238–52; Ramsden, Winds of Change, 253–61. See Ramsden, The Making, 235–37. See ibid., 254–78. On the party’s role in the opposition, see Garnett, ‘Planning for Power’; Garnett, ‘Edward Heath’. See Ramsden, The Making, 241. See ‘Conservative Party General Election Manifesto, 1966’. See CPA, PUB 155/13, ‘Putting Britain Right Ahead. A Statement of Conservative Aims’, London 1965. Ibid. Heath, Old World, New Horizons, 36.

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145. See Crowson, Conservative Party and European Integration; Patterson, Conservative Party and Europe. 146. Ridley, One Europe, 26; the topic of Europe predominated in the 1966 Conservative election campaign – see Reinert, An Awkward Issue, 111–20. 147. On the election campaign in 1970, see Ziegler, Edward Heath, 217–26; Ramsden, Winds of Change, 304–18; Ramsden, The Making, 273–78. 148. Wilson, Leader’s Speech, 1966. 149. Jenkins, ‘Tory Search for a Soul’, 1968; from a critical conservative perspective: Utley, ‘Remaking Tory Policy: 3’, 1967. 150. See Conservative Political Centre, Great Divide, 1966. 151. See e.g. Heath, Leader’s Speech, 1965. 152. See Montagu, ‘Letter to the Editor’, 1967. 153. See National Union of Conservative and Unionist Associations, 85th Annual Conservative Conference, 1967, 29. 154. CPA, CCO 20/7/5, Paper on suggested ‘Tactics’ for Conservative Party, compiled by C.H.H. [C.H. Harmer], August 1967. 155. See ibid., Michael Fraser to Peter Crossman, 26.1.1968. 156. See Heath, Leader’s Speech, 1967. 157. ‘Edward Heath in Conversation with Robin Day’, 1969, 893. 158. Heath, Leader’s Speech, 1968. 159. National Union of Conservative and Unionist Associations, 84th Annual Conservative Conference, 1966, 36. 160. See Schofield, Enoch Powell; Schofield, ‘Enoch Powell against Empire’. 161. See ‘The Modern Tories’, 1968. 162. ‘Time for the Long View’, 1966. 163. See Ramsden, The Making, 271–72; Ziegler, Edward Heath, 178; Ramsden, Winds of Change, 255–56, 261. 164. See Cowling, ‘Intellectuals and the Tory Party’, 1968. 165. Vinen, Thatcher’s Britain, 40. 166. Rees, ‘A New Right?’, 1969, 48. 167. Cited in: Green, Ideologies of Conservatism, 229. 168. ‘New Tory Radicalism’, 1965. 169. See ‘Mr Heath Faces “Blurred Conservatism” Charge’, 1966. 170. See National Union of Conservative and Unionist Associations, 84th Annual Conservative Conference, 1966, Conservative Policy in Opposition, 5. 171. See Garnett, ‘Maude, Angus Edmund Upton’; Garnett and Hickson, Conservative Thinkers, 73–90. 172. Maude, ‘Winter of Tory Discontent’, 1966. 173. See Maude, ‘The End of Tory Ideology?’. 174. CPC, ACP3/14, Angus Maude, Modern Conservative Philosophy, 3.10.1966. 175. On Thatcher’s words in Woman’s Own in 1987: ‘… and who is society? There is no such thing’, see the analysis provided in Green, Thatcher, 43–46. 176. See Maude, The Common Problem, 1969, 283–90, emphasis in original. 177. Maude, The Consuming Society, 1967, 13–14, emphasis in original. 178. See Grimley, ‘Thatcherism, Morality and Religion’; a sketch with a few examples from the 1980s is provided in Geppert, ‘Wirtschaft, Gesellschaft’. 179. See Boyson, ‘Right Turn’, 1970b, 8–9. 180. See Harris, ‘Morality of Capitalism’, 1970, esp. 19–21.

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181. 182. 183. 184. 185. 186. 187. 188. 189. 190. 191. 192. 193.

See Powell, No Easy Answers, 1973. Ibid., 75–78. See ibid., 37–38; also, Schofield, Enoch Powell, 256–63. Worsthorne, ‘Priorities for Capitalism’, 1966, 23. Ibid., 25. See ibid. 25–26. Ibid., 33. On Peregrine Worsthorne, see Garnett and Hickson, Conservative Thinkers, 115–18. See ‘Party in Search of a Pattern: 3’, 1964. See The Monday Club, Conservatism Lost?, 1963. See Maude, The Common Problem, 1969, 287. See ‘Party in Search of a Pattern: 3’, 1964. See Heffer, Like the Roman, 350–51; Heffer, ‘Powell, (John) Enoch’; Shepherd, Enoch Powell, 271–74. 194. See Cooper, ‘Little Local Difficulties’. 195. See Heffer, Like the Roman, 367–68; on neoliberalism, see Stedman Jones, Masters of the Universe. 196. ‘Powellism’, 1965. 197. Powell, A Nation Not Afraid, 1965, VIII; Heffer, Like the Roman, 380–82. 198. Cited in: Heffer, Like the Roman, 354; Shepherd, Enoch Powell, 273. 199. See Shepherd, Enoch Powell, 325–69; Heffer, Like the Roman, 449–59. 200. Powell, ‘Conservatism and Social Problems’, 1968, 15–16, emphasis in original. 201. See Schofield, Enoch Powell. 202. National Union of Conservative and Unionist Associations, 86th Annual Conservative Conference, 1968, 19. 203. See Powell, A Nation Not Afraid, 1965, 79. 204. See Heffer, Like the Roman, 559–62. 205. See Perlstein, Before the Storm. 206. See e.g. Szamuely, ‘Intellectuals and Conservatism’, 1968, 5; on the context, see Collini, Absent Minds, 171–98. 207. See Mill, Considerations of Representative Government, 1861, 138. 208. See e.g. O’Sullivan, ‘Editorial: The Liberal Hour’, 1968, 3. 209. Szamuely, ‘Intellectuals and Conservatism’, 1968, 25–26. 210. See ibid., 13–14. 211. Ibid., 21–28. 212. Ibid., 30–31. 213. Ziegler, Edward Heath, 177. 214. Szamuely, ‘Intellectuals and Conservatism’, 1968, 16. 215. See ibid., 15. 216. Cowling, ‘Intellectuals and the Tory Party’, 1968. 217. See p. 54. 218. See Brent, ‘Butterfield’s Tories’; Crowcroft, ‘Maurice Cowling’; Williamson, ‘Maurice Cowling’. 219. See esp. Cowling, Conservative Essays, 1978. 220. See e.g. Macmillan, The Macmillan Diaries, 21.9.1961, 412–13; Raison, Why Conservative?, 1964; ‘Liberal Toryism’, 1967. 221. See Cockett, Thinking the Unthinkable, 192–96. 222. O’Sullivan, ‘Editorial: The Liberal Hour’, 1968, 7.

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223. See e.g. Critchley, ‘The Monday Club’s Idea’, 1968; Hogg, New Charter, 15: ‘It [PEST, MS] exists … to act as a pressure group for the modern application of traditional Tory principles’. 224. O’Sullivan, ‘Direction of Conservatism’, 1970, 31. 225. Ibid., 33. 226. See ibid., 33–34. 227. See e.g. Critchley, ‘Case for a Whig Revival’, 1969. 228. See Jarvis, Conservative Governments. 229. See CPA, PUB 117/29, Montagu, The Conservative Dilemma, 1970, 21, chapter title: ‘The Disaster of Liberal Conservatism’. 230. ‘The Times Diary’, 1973. 231. On the interpretation of the Baldwin era, see Williamson, ‘Baldwin’s Reputation’. 232. On Coleraine, see Powell, ‘Law, Richard Kidstone’. 233. Coleraine, For Conservatives Only, 1970, 12. 234. Ibid., 17. On Herbert Butterfield, see Bentley, Life and Thought; Collini, Common Reading, 138–55; Steber, ‘Herbert Butterfield’. 235. Coleraine, For Conservatives Only, 1970, 56. 236. Ibid., 118. 237. On the discourse over the consensus, see Toye, ‘From “Consensus” to “Common Ground”’. 238. Rippon, Right Angle, 1969, 8. 239. See Boyson, Right Turn, 1970a. 240. See CPA, PUB 117/29, Montagu, The Conservative Dilemma, 1970. 241. Meyer, ‘Editorial’, 1970, 5. 242. See Cockett, Thinking the Unthinkable; Denham and Garnett, ‘Nature and Impact of Think Tanks’; Denham and Garnett, British Think-Tanks; Jackson, ‘Think-Tank Archipelago’. 243. See Meyer, ‘Editorial’, 1970. 244. This was reflected in the title of the Monday Club newsletter: Monday News. The Newsletter of the Monday Club in Defence of Tory Traditionalism. 245. Kenmure, ‘Rescuing Toryism’, 1973, 9. 246. Ibid., 11. 247. See e.g. David Harvey’s influential neo-Marxist interpretation: Harvey, A Brief History of Neoliberalism; this interpretation is adopted in Doering-Manteuffel and Raphael, Nach dem Boom. 248. On the meaning of ‘property’ in the British conservatism of the twentieth century, and esp. in Thatcherism, see Francis, ‘“A Crusade to Enfranchise the Many”’; Davies, ‘“Right to Buy”’. 249. See e.g. Raikes, ‘Tory Philosophy’, 1974. 250. Florence Sutcliffe-Braithwaite reaches the same conclusion in her investigation of sociopolitical projects in Thatcherism: Sutcliffe-Braithwaite, ‘Neo-Liberalism and Morality’; this had already been observed by Hall in his 1979 neo-Marxist analysis of Thatcherism: Hall, ‘The Great Moving Right Show’, 1979, 17; revised and expanded: Hall, ‘The Great Moving Right Show,’ 1988. On the plurality of neoliberalism, see Jackson, ‘Currents of Neo-Liberalism’. 251. ‘Conservative Party General Election Manifesto, 1970’, 181. 252. Heath, Leader’s Speech, 1970. 253. See ‘Conservative Party General Election Manifesto’, 1970, 179.

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254. See e.g. Maudling, ‘Moderation in Politics’, 1970; St John-Stevas, ‘Basic Principles of Conservatism’, 1980; Patterson, Character of Conservatism, 1973. 255. Wright, ‘Future of the Conservative Party’, 1970, 391–92. 256. Cited in: Ramsden, Winds of Change, 302. 257. See ibid., 154–58. 258. See ibid., 302. 259. See Green, Thatcher, 36–38; Green, Ideologies of Conservatism, 234; Campbell, Edward Heath, 264–67. 260. See Ramsden, Winds of Change, 363; Cockett, Thinking the Unthinkable, 212–16. 261. Heath, Leader’s Speech, 1970. See Campbell, Edward Heath, 310–13. 262. On disappointment as a historical category, see Gotto, ‘Enttäuschung als Politikressource’. 263. See e.g. ‘Phase Two  Toryism’, 1973: ‘The collapse of the attitude and philosophy summed up in the “Selsdon Man” pharse [sic] has left a vacuum in Tory thinking. It is partly because the philosophy is weak that the Government gives the appearance of always reacting to events. … But the lack of a Tory philosophy behind many of the Government actions has left the party confused, and could leave the party vulnerable in the future’. 264. On Heath’s time as prime minister, see Ball and Seldon, The Heath Government, 1970– 1974; Sandbrook, State of Emergency. 265. This was also the result of Heath’s inept handling of forming a cabinet – see Heppell and Hill, ‘Prime Ministerial Powers of Patronage’. 266. Lejeune, ‘We Homeless Conservatives’, 1973. On the opposition to Heath’s course among the Conservatives in Parliament, see Norton, Conservative Dissidents. 267. See Green, Ideologies of Conservatism, 214–39. 268. See Cockett, Thinking the Unthinkable; Jackson, ‘Think-Tank Archipelago’; Denham and Garnett, British Think-Tanks. 269. See Cockett, Thinking the Unthinkable, 122–99; Denham and Garnett, British ThinkTanks, 83–115; Geppert, Thatchers konservative Revolution, 234–39. 270. See MTFW 110861, Nicholas Ridley, Speech at Selsdon Park, 19.9.1973. 271. See Cockett, Thinking the Unthinkable, 236–42; Denham and Garnett, British ThinkTanks, 117–50; Geppert, Thatchers konservative Revolution, 272–81; Sherman, Paradoxes of Power, 43–61. On Keith Joseph, see Denham and Garnett, Keith Joseph; Garnett and Hickson, Conservative Thinkers, 91–104. 272. See Scruton, Gentle Regrets, 45–50; Cockett, Thinking the Unthinkable, 218–19; Geppert, Thatchers konservative Revolution, 253–55. 273. See Beckett, When the Lights Went Out, 377–80, 382–85; Cockett, Thinking the Unthinkable, 220–23. 274. See Sandbrook, Seasons in the Sun, 382. 275. See Cockett, Thinking the Unthinkable, 219–20. 276. See Beckett, When the Lights Went Out, 280–85; Denham and Garnett, British ThinkTanks, 151–73. 277. See Jackson, ‘Think-Tank Archipelago’; Phillips-Fein, Invisible Hands; Geppert, Thatchers konservative Revolution, 244–72; Stedman Jones, Masters of the Universe, 134–79. 278. Cited in Jamieson, ‘The Whiggery of Sir Keith’, 1975; Keith Joseph’s speech before the Research Council is printed in Joseph, Reversing the Trend, 1975, 55–64, here 58–59. 279. MTFW 102487, Press Conference after Winning Conservative Leadership (Conservative Central Office), 11.2.1975. 280. CPA, ACP 2/3, Advisory Committee on Policy, Minutes of the Meeting, 19.7.1972.

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281. Beloff, ‘Pragmatism Is Not Enough’, 1976; also, Beloff, Tide of  Collectivism, 1978, 21–23; on Beloff, see Watt, ‘Beloff, Max, Baron Beloff (1913–1999)’. 282. On the interpretation of Heath’s government in Thatcherism, see Seldon, ‘The Heath Government in History’, 6–9. 283. ‘Not a Good Day for the Party’, 1975. 284. See Denham and Garnett, Keith Joseph, 265–76. On Joseph’s role in the party’s reorientation, see ibid., and Denham and Garnett, ‘Sir Keith Joseph and the Undoing’. 285. See Vinen, Thatcher’s Britain, 60–74; Thatcher, Path to Power, 1995, 271–81; WickhamJones, however, argues that Thatcher’s election was a conscious vote for an ideological shift to the right – see Wickham-Jones, ‘Right Turn’. 286. See Campbell, Margaret Thatcher, vol. 1, 312–410. 287. See Sherman, Paradoxes of Power, 84–85; Cosgrave, Margaret Thatcher, 1979, 25–26; Mount, Cold Cream, 2008, 328–32. 288. The specific political style of Thatcherism is emphasized in Kavanagh, Thatcherism and British Politics, esp. 12, as well as in Geppert, Thatchers konservative Revolution, 61–94. 289. See Charteris-Black, Politicians and Rhetoric, 165–94. 290. See Campbell, Margaret Thatcher, vol. 1, 401–10. 291. This is shown using the example of the Thatcherite depiction of society in Lawrence and Sutcliffe-Braithwaite, ‘Margaret Thatcher and the Decline of Class Politics’. 292. Thatcherism was initially fashioned as a counterconcept to Heathism in the left-wing press; see Saunders, ‘“Crisis? What Crisis?”’, 26, note 4. Only once the party was in government was it adopted as a positive concept of self-description in the Conservative vocabulary; see MTFW 128106, Nigel Lawson, Speech to the Zurich Society of Economics: Thatcherism in Practice. A Progress Report, 14.1.1981. 293. See MTFW, 102947, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Finchley Conservatives, 31.1.1976. 294. Cited in: Moore, Margaret Thatcher, vol. 1, 323. 295. On the ideology of Thatcherism, see Green, Thatcher; Green, Ideologies of Conservatism, 214–39; Vinen, Thatcher’s Britain. 296. MTFW 103105, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Conservative Party Conference, 8.2.1976. 297. MTFW 103443, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Conservative Party Conference, 14.2.1977. 298. See e.g. ‘Where Will the New Conservatism Lead’, 1975. 299. MTFW 128103, Conservative Central Office, News Service, 4.8.1980; Lawson, The New Conservatism, 1980, 1–2. 300. See MTFW 104377, Margaret Thatcher, Speech at Press Association Annual Lunch, 11.6.1980. 301. See Cowling, ‘The Present Position’, 1978, 14: ‘It has been calculation as well as instinct that has made it necessary to replace his [R.A. Butler’s] sort of liberal Conservatism by the new Conservatism of the 1970s’. 302. See p. 37. 303. See e.g. Alec Douglas-Homes’ view on the matter, cited in: Green, Thatcher, 34. The argument became an integral part of the Thatcherites’ self-description; see e.g. Tebbit, Upwardly Mobile, 1988, 135. 304. See Joseph, Reversing the Trend, 1975, 4; Denham and Garnett, Keith Joseph, 250–53. 305. MTFW 102605, Margaret Thatcher, Speech in Finchley, 31.1.1975. 306. Cosgrave, ‘The Strange Cases of Mr Gilmour and Mr Powell, Part 1’, 1975.

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307. See National Union of Conservative and Unionist Associations, 92nd Annual Conference, 1975, 23. 308. See Jamieson, ‘The Whiggery of Sir Keith’, 1975. 309. MTFW 104026, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Conservative Rally in Birmingham, 19.4.1979. 310. MTFW 109853, ‘Themes’, Steering Committee, 16.2.1978. 311. MTFW 103095, Margaret Thatcher, Speech at Wellington Parliamentary Lunch, 10.9.1976. 312. See MTFW 103764, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Conservative Party Conference, 13.10.1978. 313. See Evans, ‘The Not So Odd Couple’. 314. See Green, Thatcher, 41–46. 315. Joseph, Stranded on the Middle Ground?, 1976, 8. 316. St John-Stevas, Moral Basis of Conservatism, 1980, 2. 317. See Garnett and Hickson, Conservative Thinkers, 121–39. 318. Gilmour, Inside Right, 1977, 12. 319. Gale, ‘What Is Conservatism?’, 1979. 320. Ascherson, ‘Conservatism’, 1980, 16. 321. See e.g. Adonis and Hames, A Conservative Revolution?; Geppert, Thatchers konservative Revolution; Fry, Politics of the Thatcher Revolution. 322. MTFW 104011, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Conservative Rally in Cardiff, 16.4.1979. 323. MTFW 103411, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Great London Young Conservatives. Iain Macleod Memorial Lecture, 4.7.1977. 324. Hogg, Case for Conservatism, 1947, 11. 325. See e.g. Cosgrave, ‘The Strange Cases of Mr Gilmour and Mr Powell, Part 2’, 1975: ‘Each of them [Thatcher and Joseph] have tried to re-state the values of Conservatism – values of independence and hard work, of privacy and goodwill, of decency and of the family, and especially of order’. 326. Blake, Conservatism in an Age, 1976, 7. 327. See e.g. the October 1976 policy document The Right Approach, produced by Conservative Central Office: ‘In recent years, we have had to change many of our assumptions about the post-war world’. MTFW 109439, The Right Approach, 4.10.1976. 328. See MTFW 111771, ‘Stepping Stones’ Report, 14.11.1977, 28. 329. MTFW 109853, ‘Themes’, Steering Committee, 16.2.1978. 330. See pp. 65–66. 331. See Addison, The Road to 1945. 332. On the consensus narrative, see the comprehensive treatment in Toye, ‘From “Consensus” to “Common Ground”’. 333. Blake, Conservatism in an Age, 1976, 22. 334. See Kelly, The Myth. 335. Joseph, Stranded on the Middle Ground?, 1976, 25. 336. This argument had already been presented by Hugh Fraser in 1967; see Toye, ‘From “Consensus” to “Common Ground”’, 17. 337. National Union of Conservative and Unionist Associations, 92nd Annual Conference, 1975, Keith Joseph, 23–24. Thatcher had already warned in 1968 of the political consequences of the consensus for the party: ‘There are dangers in consensus; it could be an attempt to satisfy people holding no particular views about anything. It seems more important to have a philosophy and policy which, because they are good, appeal

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338. 339. 340.

341. 342. 343. 344. 345.

346. 347.

348. 349. 350. 351. 352. 353. 354. 355. 356. 357. 358. 359. 360.

to sufficient people to secure a majority. No great party can survive except on the basis of firm beliefs about what it wants to do’. Thatcher, What’s Wrong with Politics?, 1968, 14–15. Joseph, Stranded on the Middle Ground?, 1976, 19; on the significance of the consensus narrative for the Conservatives under Thatcher, see Green, Ideologies of Conservatism, 216–18. Conservative and Unionist Central Office, The Right Approach, 1976, 17. See MTFW 104011, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Conservative Party Rally in Cardiff, 16.4.1979: ‘Mr Chairman, in politics I’ve learnt something that you in Wales are born knowing. It’s this: if you’ve got a message, preach it! [applause]. The Old Testament prophets didn’t go out into the highways saying, “Brothers, I want consensus”. They said, “This is my faith and my vision! This is what I passionately believe!” And they preached it. We have a message. Go out, preach it, practise it, fight for it – and the day will be ours!’ See Toye, ‘From “Consensus” to “Common Ground”’, 17. Boyson, Centre Forward, 1978, 181. See the comprehensive treatment in Toye, ‘From “Consensus” to “Common Ground”’. Joseph, Stranded on the Middle Ground?, 1976, 19. See e.g. Conservative and Unionist Central Office, The Right Approach, 1976: ‘The balance which we seek has its roots not only in a distinctive, if too rarely articulated, Conservative approach, but also in basic common sense. That has always been one of the great strengths of Conservatism. The facts of life invariably do turn out to be Tory’ (emphasis in original). This is shown using the example of Thatcher’s rhetoric in Dorey, ‘Oratory of Margaret Thatcher’. MTFW 103926, Conservative Party Political Broadcast, 17.1.1979. See e.g. MTFW 103487, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Young Conservative Conference, 12.2.1978: ‘Socialism in Britain is not the wave of the future. It is the flotsam of the past. The long night of collectivism must soon come to an end. The time has arrived to move on to a new common ground: where people matter, where effort pays, where responsibility is freely exercised, and the power of the state firmly contained’. See MTFW 121912 and CAC, THCR 6/2/3/4 part 2 f124, Guest List, Sir Hugh Fraser and Conservative Philosophy Group, 9.2.1981. See MTFW 122951 and CAC, THCR 6/2/2/52 f76, Hugh Thomas briefing note, Lord Thomas’ Dinner, 26.10.1982. Quinton, Politics of Imperfection, 1978, 96. O’Sullivan, Conservatism, 1976, 12. Ibid., 150–52. See Howell, ‘The Best Way’, 1975. Howell, Time to Move On, 1976, 23. On the planning ideas and practices of the Macmillan and Wilson governments, see O’Hara, From Dreams to Disillusionment. See Howell, ‘Modern Conservatism’; Howell, A New Style of Government, 1970. Maude, The Common Problem, 1969, 201. See Maude, ‘Towards a Responsible Society’, 1975, 25–34. The privatization policy of the Thatcher governments of the 1980s stems from this anti-planning school of thought; see Geppert, ‘“Englische Krankheit”?’. MTFW 109853, ‘Themes’, Steering Committee, 16.2.1978. Joseph, ‘Economics of Freedom’, 1975, 5–24, here 8–9; emphasis in original.

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361. 362. 363. 364. 365. 366.

367. 368. 369. 370. 371. 372. 373. 374. 375. 376. 377. 378. 379. 380. 381. 382. 383. 384. 385. 386. 387. 388. 389. 390. 391. 392.

Ibid., 14. Percival, ‘Freedom of the Individual’, 1975, 35–46. See e.g. Jarvis, Conservative Governments. See Sandbrook, ‘Against the Permissive Society’. See Black, ‘There Was Something About Mary’; Black, Redefining British Politics, 105–38. MTFW 103008, Margaret Thatcher, Speech Presenting Templeton Prize, 13.4.1976; see Grimley, ‘Thatcherism, Morality and Religion’; on the construction of crisis in the 1979 election campaign see Hay, ‘Chronicles’; for an interpretation of Thatcherism as a narrative of crisis see Saunders, ‘“Crisis? What Crisis?”’. On Thatcher’s understanding of Christianity, see Filby, God & Mrs Thatcher; Crossley, Harnessing Chaos, 95–126. MTFW 103411, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Greater London Young Conservatives, 4.7.1977. See Grimley, ‘Thatcherism, Morality and Religion’, 88–90. See ibid., 88. Scruton, Meaning of Conservatism, 1980, 190. See ibid., 191. See ibid., 27. See Scruton, Gentle Regrets; Collini takes a critical stance towards Scruton’s philosophy: Collini, Common Reading, 196–208. See Steinmetz, Das Sagbare und das Machbare. Verbatim: MTFW 102777, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Conservative Party Conference, 10.10.1975: ‘Let us proclaim our faith in a new and better future for our Party and our people’. On the extreme Right in the United Kingdom, see Sykes, The Radical Right in Britain. See Brittan, Left or Right, 1968. This argumentation emerges time and again in the 1970s, see e.g. ‘Economic Prison’, 1978. Brittan contributed much to this; see Brittan, ‘Further Thoughts on Left and Right’, 1973, 354–73. See Collard, The New Right, 1968. See e.g. Gamble, ‘Thatcherism and Conservative Politics’, 113; Bosanquet, After the New Right, 1983; Levitas, Ideology of the New Right, 1986; Barry, The New Right, 1987; King, The New Right, 1987; Cowling, ‘Sources of the New Right’, 1989. See Hall, ‘The Great Moving Right Show’, 1979. Blake, Conservatism in an Age, 1976, 10. Cowling and Utley, ‘Letter to the Editor’, 1978. Seldon, ‘Who Will Rid Us’, 1975, 47. National Union of Conservative and Unionist Associations, 92nd Annual Conference, 1975, J. Dawon (Keighley), 36. MTFW 114757, Ralph Harris, Record of Conversation, 14.3.1974. Joseph, Stranded on the Middle Ground?, 1976, 28–29. CPA, ACP 2-4a, Advisory Committee on Policy, Minutes of the Meeting, 13.4.1977. MTFW 111182, Hailsham Diary, 29.3.1977. See e.g. Walker, The Middle Way Forty Years On, 1978. Gilmour, Inside Right,1977, 130; also: Gilmour, ‘Doing Things in the Conservative Way’, 1978. See e.g. MTFW 102833, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Taunton Conservatives, 20.2.1976.

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393. MTFW 103105, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Conservative Party Conference, 8.10.1976. 394. Lawson, The New Conservatism, 1980, 16. 395. MTFW 111907, Sherman memorandum to CPS colleagues, 18.11.1974. 396. See e.g. Watkins, ‘Where Have All the Phrases Gone?’, 1977; Watkins, ‘Is Mrs T a Tory?’, 1978. 397. Waldegrave, Binding of Leviathan, 1978, 46. 398. Patten, The Tory Case, 1983, VII. 399. Scruton, Meaning of Conservatism, 1980, 16, 19, 69; see also Cowling, Conservative Essays, 1978. 400. This is shown using the example of her rhetoric in Dorey, ‘Oratory of Margaret Thatcher’; Thatcher’s dichotomous worldview was also reflected in her words on foreign policy matters, as Stephen Benedict Dyson demonstrates in: Dyson, ‘Cognitive Style and Foreign Policy’. 401. See Beckett, When the Lights Went Out, 358–403; Sandbrook, Seasons in the Sun, 599–618. 402. Tebbit, Upwardly Mobile, 1988, 153–54. 403. See p. 61. 404. See Denham and Garnett, Keith Joseph, 306–7; Green, Thatcher, 115–17. 405. See MTFW 111771, ‘Stepping Stones’ Report, 4.11.1977, 18; the following conceptual chains follow further below: ‘Sick Society’: ‘materially impoverished, dishonest, stupid, arbitrary, unfair, and finally frightened; so that it is pitied, as childish and backward, rather than respected by other countries’; by contrast, the ‘Healthy Society’: ‘fairness, tolerance, openness to new ideas, respect for the law, material and intellectual independence – all in all, maturity and responsibility’, ibid., 29–30. 406. See e.g. MTFW 104053, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Conservative Trade Unionists, 29.4.1979. 407. MTFW 104011, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Conservative Rally in Cardiff, 16.4.1979. 408. MTFW 104579, Exchange of Toasts at White House Dinner, 26.2.1981. 409. Conservative Central Office, Conservative Party Conference, 1978, 1297/78, B1, Angus Maude. 410. Patrick Cosgrave, cited in: Ramsden, Winds of Change, 446. 411. See e.g. St John-Stevas, Moral Basis of Conservatism, 1980; Gilmour, Inside Right, 1977; Walker, The Middle Way Forty Years On, 1978; Patten, ‘Why Mrs Thatcher Should Join the Real Tories’, 1982; Patten, The Tory Case, 1983; Gilmour, Britain Can Work, 1983. For a concise overview of the positions of Thatcher’s critics within the party during the 1970s, see Geppert, Thatchers konservative Revolution, 327–41. 412. See e.g. Marks, ‘Jim Prior’, 1980; Aitken, ‘Mr Pym as the True Heir’, 1985. 413. E.H.H. Green demonstrated convincingly that Thatcherism can be explained by and is rooted in the history of British Conservatism – see Green, Ideologies of Conservatism; Green, Thatcher; this is pursued in Geppert, ‘Wie liberal ist der britische Konservatismus?’. 414. Geppert, ‘Konservative Revolutionen?’, 288. 415. See Vinen, Thatcher’s Britain; Pleinen, ‘“Health Inequalities”’; Tomlinson, ‘Thatcher, Monetarism’; Sutcliffe-Braithwaite, ‘Neo-Liberalism and Morality’.

Chapter 2

The Arduous Quest for Conservatism in the Federal Republic of Germany

? 2.1. Challenged by Liberal Democracy: The Concept of Conservatism in the Early Federal Republic of Germany It was not just National Socialism or the territorial expanse of the Reich that was brought down in 1945. Order, authority and tradition – concepts, feelings and values dear to every conservative – also crumbled to dust. They had been too severely abused, hollowed out and emptied; they had come too close to the sinister and abhorrent, and could no longer be easily extricated from them.1

The end of the supposed thousand-year ‘Third Reich’ and of National Socialist rule, which was responsible for millions of deaths and extensive devastation, also entailed the end of the lingua tertii imperii, the language of the Third Reich, as meticulously observed and analysed by Victor Klemperer, a victim of National Socialist persecution himself.2 The language and its conceptual worlds demonstrated how deeply National Socialist ideology had entrenched itself in German society. The idiom propagated and spoken in Nazi Germany also revealed one particular characteristic of National Socialism: its ideology was eclectic, relatively open, and often ambiguous; it was drawn from various ideational contexts, from which it incorporated and adopted concepts and notions.3 More than nearly any other political spectrum, this included Weimar-era conservatism. The overlaps, synergies, and discourse coalitions with National Socialism, in terms of concepts and ideas, have been described previously and in great detail.4 In the National Socialist public sphere, marked by a contained plurality, the lines between conservative and National Socialist conceptual worlds were blurred beyond recognition. This applied in particular to the conceptual inventory of the Weimar New Right, but also to those of the nationalist, antidemocratic conservatism that had emerged within the political spectrum of the Right, including the German National People’s Party (DNVP).

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The very term conservative became problematic after 1945. The political conservatism of the Weimar period was not only connected to the depths of National Socialist linguistic contamination, but was also held responsible for its role in both the delegitimization and subsequent destruction of the republic. Conservatives had then sought to form an alliance with National Socialism, thus permitting Hitler to gain power in the first place. As was commonly advocated in postwar Germany, one would have to break with the antiliberal tradition in German thought for any new democratic start to have any success. This principle lay at the foundation of the policies of the Western allies, which guided the process of re-education. Within this context, learning democracy was tantamount to an orientation towards Western liberal models and towards German traditions of political thought that were not suspected of having been permeated by National Socialism. German conservatism, with its antiliberal tendencies, was thus seen as completely unsuited to this end. The political language of German conservatism was thus discredited after 1945. In complete contrast with the United Kingdom, few conservatives dared to describe themselves as such. The term conservative was too prominent, however, to be completely condemned and relegated to linguistic obscurity. A peculiar journey would consequently unfold in the late 1940s and the 1950s to find a place and meaning for the term within the context of German democracy. What was left to be salvaged of it in the aftermath of the horrors of National Socialism? What sort of relationship could there be between German conservatism and the conservatism of Western democracies? The second German democracy would need to develop a political language that would support it and prevent its destruction from within, with Weimar ever looming as a cautionary tale. The 1950s thus served as a type of semantic laboratory. For conservatives, the search for a new political language would become an intense challenge. This manifested itself in the concept of conservatism itself, setting it on a singular and distinctly West German path.

2.1.1. Conservatism after the Catastrophe: Determinants of Conceptualization in the Early Postwar Period Who or what might be considered in any way conservative in Germany immediately following 1945 was by no means clear in the midst of the ruins left behind by National Socialism and genocide. What could any pursuit of conservatism seek to connect with? What could it then mean to be conservative, and what could the wish to preserve tradition mean in a state of complete collapse? Might it not in fact be better to dispense with conservatism once and for all, and seize the opportunity inherent in the collapse to break with a tradition that had led to unmitigated inhumanity?

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In the first years after the end of the Second World War, the term was in fact linked to known quantities from the past, and the situation in the Weimar Republic in particular. When one spoke of conservatism, it connected with those political forces of the 1920s that had helped National Socialism in its ascent, and had ultimately paved the way for the NSDAP to take on governmental responsibility. Hitler’s enablers included both the intellectuals of the Weimar New Right and prominent individuals such as Carl Schmitt and Martin Heidegger, as well as political parties and the DNVP in particular, that identified as part of the tradition of Prussian conservatism. This was surprising inasmuch as the DNVP had only been hesitant in describing itself as ‘conservative’. The term had indeed already been discredited by 1918, having been associated with the annexationist, hawkish and anti-parliamentarian positions of the German Conservative Party during the First World War.5 The intellectual New Right of the Weimar Republic would advance into this terminological vacuum, which had begun to develop during the First World War. Immediately following the war, it took possession of the term and reinterpreted it for its own purposes. This conservatism no longer entailed the preservation of institutions and social order but instead the preservation of the ‘essence’ within the ‘German people’ in contrast with the decadence of ‘the West’. For this, however, a radical, revolutionary break with tradition appeared necessary in order to bring this alleged ‘essence’ to the fore again, and with it a renewed form of conservatism. In the words of Arthur Moeller van den Bruck, what was to be ‘preserved’ had to be ‘achieved anew’ time and again.6 This redefinition of conservatism fundamentally changed its temporal dimension: while the structural principle of temporality was ostensibly preserved, the past was dehistoricized, mythicized, and ultimately cast into a utopian future as a wishful projection. Even the conservative ideal of continuous development was rejected.7 The concept of conservatism, in this sense, thus stood on particularly shaky ground. Doubts over the resilience of such a definition emerged within the intellectual circles of the New Right themselves.8 By the end of the 1920s, the ‘paradoxical concept’9 of a Conservative Revolution prevailed over conservatism in itself. This idea had been introduced in 1927 by Hugo von Hoffmannsthal in a cultural-philosophical sense, but already in an antiliberal and nationalistic spirit. Wilhelm Stapel and Edgar Julius Jung subsequently adopted it in the early 1930s to characterize their own efforts with a clear political thrust.10 Jung propagated Conservative Revolution as a genuinely German countermovement opposed to the ideals of the ‘French Revolution’, and as a movement against everything that ‘the West’ seemed to embody – liberalism, parliamentarism and individualism. Conservative Revolution, as Jung defined it in 1932, was the return to reverence for all those elementary laws and values without which man loses his connection with nature and with God, and is unable to construct any true order. Equality is replaced by inner value, social conviction by a just integration

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into a tiered society, mechanistic elections by the organic emergence of leadership, bureaucratic coercion by the inner responsibility of genuine self-governance, and mass happiness by the rights of the national personality [Volkspersönlichkeit].

Jung had German supremacy over Europe in mind: ‘a new order, a new ethos, and a new unity of the Occident [Abendland] under German leadership’.11 Of decisive importance was the temporal structure in which the idea of Conservative Revolution was anchored, and which could be expressed much more convincingly in its paradoxical terminology than through conservatism as previously defined: a political and social order was to be realized that was oriented towards the principles of the constitution of the world before the upheavals of the French Revolution. The past was to come into its own again through a revolutionary act, with the wheel of history being turned back by force. Jung was not, however, interested in restoring the ancien regime, but in the revolutionary restoration of what was eternally valid: ‘We again see the world as it is, for we ourselves are not only of this world but sense the metaphysical, and feel it as cosmic law within us’.12 The negation of progress ultimately manifested itself in the renunciation of a linear understanding of history. ‘Form’ was to be found in the eternally valid, which seemed to be removed from any history of development. For Jung, the revolutionary act put an end, once and for all, to a liberal future-oriented false path, replacing it with a static model of time. In this vein, Hermann Rauschning defined ‘Conservative Revolution’ in 1941, referencing Hoffmannsthal and Jung, as a movement directed against the ideas of the French Revolution.13 The term did not become a fixed category until after 1945 with Armin Mohler’s work on the right-wing intellectuals of the Weimar Republic, in which he systematized their thinking with clear analytical contours.14 Mohler presented the theories of the Conservative Revolution as an independent system of thought and one that was decidedly not National Socialist, with Conservative Revolution and National Socialism appearing in his work as two strands of political thought, independent of one another. Mohler pursued conceptual politics with immediate political intent, concluding his book with an accentuated sense of regret regarding the refusal to engage with conservative-revolutionary ideas due to their ‘compromising proximity to National Socialism’. He denounced this trend as ‘sinister characteristics of the present intellectual state of affairs’.15 Mohler, who was born in 1920 and served as private secretary to Ernst Jünger from 1949 to 1953, defined the Conservative Revolution in very general terms as a European movement in opposition to the French Revolution, in which ‘the world proved victorious which appeared to stand in opposition to the “Conservative Revolution”’, a world that ‘believes in gradual progress, which deems all things, relations and events to be rationally fathomable, and which attempts to attain a grasp of every subject individually in its own right’. Mohler thus adopted the terminology of the Conservative Revolutionaries, separating the ‘Conservative Revolution’ from

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the ‘reactionaries’ and ‘restoration’, as it was not just about ‘restoring any ancient regime’, but in fact attacking the ‘foundations of progress’.16 Mohler argued that the Conservative Revolution had hitherto only been theoretical and not yet put into political practice, further underscoring its distinction from National Socialism. The choice of the term ‘conservative’, with its semantic roots connected to conservation and preservation, did, however, call for an explanation. As Mohler put it, the term ‘conservative’ was filled with new content by the intellectuals of the Conservative Revolution.17 Unlike ‘reactionaries’, the representatives of the ‘new conservatism’ did not seek to ‘hold fast to particular outmoded forms’. Mohler added, with reference to Moeller van den Bruck, that being conservative did not mean ‘adhering to what was yesterday but instead a life based in that which has always been valid’.18 He was, however, incorrect in attributing the quote.19 The bon mot in fact derived from a 1927 article by Albrecht Erich Günther in the publication Deutsches Volkstum.20 According to Mohler, the second part of the semantic phrase Conservative Revolution, i.e. revolution, was closely connected to this specific understanding of conservation: as soon as something became outmoded, it needed to be eliminated, and if necessary through force, as it was better to have ‘a swift expurgation than slow decay if the downfall has been preordained in any event’.21 Since ‘everything is already present’ in such an understanding of conservatism, ‘revolution’ was meant as merely ‘the result of a restructuring’ of what was already there.22 Mohler transported the self-understanding of right-wing Weimar intellectualism to the postwar era, and endowed it with an academic aura by turning the term Conservative Revolution into one of historiographical analysis. Mohler’s regrets over the lack of popularity held by the ideas of the Weimar New Right was shared within those intellectual circles that he described in his book. After 1945, the majority of the pioneers of the authoritarian turn had retreated into the ‘safety of silence’, where they continued to talk with and about one another, and in the process, mediated by younger admirers such as Mohler, Gerhard Nebel and Egon Vietta,23 were able to have an effect on the intellectual public of the incipient Federal Republic of Germany.24 This was only possible, however, if – unlike the situation in Weimar – they recognized the limits that the Bonn Republic set for them. Unlike its Weimar predecessor, Bonn conservatism could only be expressed publicly as conservatism within the framework of liberal democracy. It is in this context that the interpretations of the term put forward by the various camps in the 1950s must be understood. It was an open question at first as to what ‘conservative’ was to mean in the political situation following 1945, and especially after 1949, if one wished to make the term a useful one within the political culture of democracy. The attempts at fleshing out the concept of conservatism in the 1950s are thus to be chiefly understood as cautious initial steps.

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The usage of the term conservative was by no means without preconditions, however. As we have seen, German history had provided sufficient sources regarding its semantics. German interpreters of conservatism also turned towards the United Kingdom, where conservatism was enjoying particular vitality within a liberal democracy. Forced to grapple with ‘Western’ conceptual traditions, the German postwar interpreters of conservatism looked to the north-west, especially as British conservative tradition offered a wealth of very different, more or less liberal points of departure.25 They, moreover, looked across the Atlantic as well – or at least they thought they were doing so. Engagement with the history and political culture of the United States, which was pervasive throughout occupied Germany, also offered points of connection for conservatives. Alexis de Tocqueville, the French intellectual of the first half of the nineteenth century, played a particular role here, as his De la démocratie en Amérique (1835/40) became a standard work for conservative reconciliation with democracy.26 This ‘Western’ frame of reference was particularly well suited, as it had become difficult to refer back to the German tradition and history of the previous century; German conservatives first had to painstakingly reconstruct the history that they sought to reference, along with the past they believed they were committed to preserving. What could be more fitting than a return to the beginnings of modern conservative thought, and to recall its history of European entanglement? In addition to Alexis de Tocqueville, Edmund Burke’s thinking played a central role in this, whose writings had already been translated into German by Friedrich von Gentz in 1793.27 Hans Freyer, a figure central to Weimar rightwing intellectualism, would indeed choose a text by Burke in 1951 to return the ‘basic political concept’ of conservatism, in its supposedly pure form, closer to its ‘origins’ – without, however, justifying or discussing the selection of the Burke passage.28 The attempts in the early Federal Republic to redefine the contours of conservatism were moulded, above all, by the structure of the political space in which the political discussion unfolded. This involved political party formation, but also touched on the connection between intellectual and party-political discourse. The peculiarities of the German situation become readily apparent when compared to that of Britain. As we have seen, the term ‘conservative’ or ‘conservatism’ had, since its introduction to the English language, been clearly linked to a political camp that was represented in Britain by a party. The formation of parties in Germany from the 1850s had, as is well known, taken a different course. The German party system in the Kaiserreich was characterized both by a strong pillarization, as supported (and defended) by social-moral milieus, and by denominational fault lines, as further reinforced by the federal nature of the state. And in contrast to the United Kingdom, where the Liberals and the Conservatives took turns forming governments with their two large camps (with the Labour Party eventually being integrated into the system), a wide range of parties competed

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with each other in federal imperial Germany, each claiming to represent different aspects of liberal, conservative, socialist and Catholic convictions. The confessional opposition and federalism ensured that, in addition to liberalism, conservatism and socialism, political Catholicism could develop into a fourth political movement, both intellectually and as a party. This conflictive plurality resulted in the development of different terminological worlds, shaped by the various parties and the federal system. In contrast with the United Kingdom, the emerging parties were reluctant, in particular, to use the liberal and conservative labels as formulas of self-description. One decisive factor in the further development of the concept of conservatism was its appropriation by the parties of Prussian governmentalism, the German Reich Party (Deutsche Reichspartei, also referred to as Freikonservative, that is Free Conservatives) and the German Conservative Party (Deutschkonservative Partei), from the 1870s onwards.29 As Thomas Nipperdey noted, to be ‘Prussian and East Elbian moulded both the character and limitations of the conservatives’ in the German Empire,30 to which one might add Protestant as well. The term thus took on a clear set of connotations. This certainly did not fit into the conceptual world of the Centre Party (Zentrum), the party of political Catholicism, which was federalist and Catholic, and indeed opposed Prussian governmentalism. The concepts of the Imperial Era that designated political movements – conservative, liberal, Catholic, social democratic – perpetuated themselves into the Weimar Republic. They were then reactivated after 1945, especially as the party system that at first developed reflected a clear continuity with Weimar – with one exception: the formation of the CDU/CSU as cross-denominational parties. This left the principle of denominationalism behind, which had been a heavy burden on the Weimar Republic. Former politicians of the Centre and the Bavarian People’s Party (BVP), as well as the German National People’s Party (DNVP), the German People’s Party (DVP) and other minor parties of the Weimar era,31 all found a new political home in the ‘Union’, a ‘child of the occupation era’.32 They sought to establish ‘Christian’ politics in the aftermath of the National Socialist catastrophe, with an orientation towards Christian principles, democracy and anti-communism. They described themselves as ‘Christian’, and viewed the Union as the ‘party of the centre’33 – we will delve, further below, into the pursuit of suitable self-descriptive concepts within the Union parties. During the 1950s, the CDU and CSU absorbed the minor, mostly regional parties, which had been positioning themselves as the successors to Weimar-era conservatism. In most cases, leading politicians of those parties joined the Union parliamentary group in the Bundestag, which pulled the rug out from under the parties and weakened their voting potential, resulting in their inability to meet the 5 per cent threshold to enter parliament. This left them with only a marginal role to play. This development affected, in particular, the All-German Bloc/League of Expellees and Deprived of Rights (Gesamtdeutsche Partei/Block

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der Heimatvertriebenen und Entrechteten, GB/BHE) in 1955, the German Party (Deutsche Partei, DP) in 1960, and the Bavaria Party (Bayernpartei), which was sidelined in favour of the CSU during the 1962 Bavarian Landtag election.34 The trend towards a three-party system with two large popular parties (CDU/CSU and the Social Democratic Party of Germany, SPD) alongside a small liberal party (FDP) had yet to be apparent, however, by the end of the 1950s. Many politicians, party strategists and academic and media observers expected the demise of the FDP and the emergence of a two-party system in accordance with the Anglo-American model, which was to be ushered in once and for all through the introduction of a first-past-the-post electoral system.35 Much was in flux during the Federal Republic of Germany’s initial decade. The dynamics of the political system corresponded with the dynamics of the political concepts, with the two contingent on one another. The debates over conservatism in the 1950s replicated the discursive space of the Weimar Republic, while also positioning the concept within new contexts. The strategies of intellectuals differed here: while some retreated to the arcana of intellectual discussion far removed from party politics, others specifically sought out contact with politicians or entered, in their particular academic manner, into the conceptual debate themselves. Conceptual imputation, often at the expense of political opponents, was joined by self-confident strategies of conceptual appropriation. All in all, the concept had much more life to it than all the goodbyes to German conservatism would have led one to expect. The discursive appropriation of the concept of conservatism in the 1950s focused on four centres of gravity: (1) the intellectuals of the Weimar New Right and their students; (2) the German Party; (3) the Catholic Occidental Movement (Abendlandbewegung); and (4) culturally critical writing. As we shall see, this was essentially a negotiation process over whether and how a key concept from the language of anti-liberalism was to be adapted to the conceptual landscape of the young liberal democracy. The convoluted, complex appropriation of democratic thought within the German conservatism of the 1950s can be viewed in condensed form through the prism of semantic expansion on the concept of conservatism.

2.1.2. Silence and Tentative Conceptual Definitions: Conservatism in the West German Debates of the Weimar New Right To this day, the main representatives of West German conservatism in the 1950s are seen as those protagonists of the Weimar New Right who established themselves within the new democracy after 1945, and who accepted it to a greater or lesser degree. According to a thesis first put forth by Martin Greiffenhagen, they brought about an influential variety of conservative thought with their

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‘technocratic conservatism’.36 The analysis of their work towards constructing a concept of conservatism opens up a new perspective on the group. Their design was by no means as unambiguous or clear-cut as often claimed. Their conceptual work indeed illustrates the uncertainty of right-wing Weimar intellectuals, and the unsteady ground upon which they sought to secure their convictions for a new era. While Armin Mohler aggressively strove to anchor the concept of Conservative Revolution within the conceptual worlds of the young Federal Republic of Germany, thus also reviving the Weimar New Right’s school of thought, their leading protagonists would recognize the futility of such an undertaking. Carl Schmitt went into retreat; there are no known public statements of his on what ‘conservative’ was to signify in West Germany. That ‘partisan of esoteric discourse’ did not appear to seek to contribute to the conceptual worlds of the democratic state.37 His student, the constitutional law scholar Ernst Forsthoff, who had made crucial contributions to the theory of the ‘total state’ and to the legitimation of National Socialist rule, went on to distance himself from the Nazi regime. In the course of this process, beginning in 1943, he would delve extensively into the subject of conservatism and work on a major book project regarding the history and character of conservative thought – a project, however, that he set aside once and for all in 1950.38 This is hardly surprising, taking into account the definition of conservatism that Forsthoff developed as an alternative to National Socialism, in which he idealized the early nineteenth-century bourgeois designs for German conservative thought. Forsthoff was also convinced that the key to conservative thought lay in the negation of the French Revolution and the ideas associated with it: ‘He is to be described as conservative who has not undergone the inner assimilation of the nineteenth century to the Revolution’.39 Forsthoff’s rejection of liberal constitutional theory was central to his understanding of conservatism. Legitimacy was only to be ascribed to the traditional order of an organic state, while Forsthoff viewed any constitution founded on a revolutionary path as being marked by the characteristic ‘mechanics of orders dictated from above’.40 For him, as soon as conservatism even began to consider questions of legitimacy, it ceased to be conservatism.41 Forsthoff thus viewed conservatism as transmitting to modernity the universal, unquestioned world of thought of a pre-revolutionary, idealized world. After the war, he believed that the hour had come for conservatism, expecting that the forces that the French Revolution had set free – liberalism, democracy, socialism – had been exhausted.42 The course of history would, however, teach him otherwise, and Forsthoff’s understanding of conservatism was inconceivable within liberal democracy. It was only logical for him to cease work on his study of conservatism in 1950, and to go silent. A realignment of the concept of conservatism with the democratic spirit contradicted his anti-liberal and

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anti-democratic convictions.43 This and other concepts of political orientation must have now appeared to him only as deideologized and empty terms.44 As his biographer, Florian Meinel described, he ‘turned away from what was represented as conservatism in West Germany’.45 As Forsthoff wrote to ErnstWolfgang Böckenförde in 1972, ‘The word “conservative” has not been part of my vocabulary for decades … as it no longer means anything to me’.46 Other representatives of the New Right did not find it as easy to relinquish a key concept in their political language after 1945. Ernst Jünger, who along with Martin Heidegger and Carl Schmitt was part of the ‘network of silence’ described by Daniel Morat,47 reactivated, like Forsthoff, the inventory of meaning of the Weimar New Right while, in his case, Jünger deliberately positioned his conceptual definition within the intellectual discourse of the early Federal Republic. Jünger found the opportunity for just that in his essay Rivarol, which appeared in 1955.48 ‘The word “conservative”’, Jünger suggested, ‘does not number among happy coinages. It conceals a character that is connected to the times, and binds the will to the reconstruction of forms and conditions that have become untenable’. He referenced the established conceptual definition there that referred back to the inventory of meaning that had emerged in direct contention with the French Revolution. Jünger believed that the solutions offered by Chateaubriand and Burke no longer spoke to the present, as if to ‘enter half-ruined palaces that have become uninhabitable’. Instead of searching for historical inventories, Jünger suggested reflecting on the eternal, something ‘outside of time, to which neither regression nor progress leads’.49 He thus reactivated the anti-liberal ideology of the unpolitical, which had provided Weimar-era conservatism with its characteristic face. Conservatism was to be set apart, and above everyday politics.50 Jünger’s definition of conservatism, much like that of Forsthoff, extracted conservatism from the structures of modern temporality. Jünger believed that there was reason to hope for the emergence of a new conservatism in the present, for the creation of new traditions out of eternal truths. He also expected a ‘new, credible word for “conservative”’ that would not need to be ‘invented, but born’, once he had concluded that the concept of conservative belonged to a bygone age.51 Jünger did, however, also view language as a conservative power, a reservoir of knowledge and experience – ‘the mighty fortress, the core opus of tradition’.52 From out of its depths, he hoped for a reconstitution of tradition that would begin to make it possible for one to form a vitally essential ‘bond’.53 What this eternal notion was to be in specific terms, however, remained shrouded in a metapolitical and post-historical haze. Liberal democracy – that much was certain – numbered for Jünger among those forces deleterious to a ‘healthy order’,54 and was certainly not compatible with conservatism. Jünger ultimately continued to wait for a reconstruction of conservatism to overcome the historical development that had begun in 1789 – even if no longer

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by revolutionary means. Here again the rejection of ‘action’ and the cultivation of ‘placidity’ can be seen, which was characteristic of the deradicalization of the Weimar New Right, beginning in the mid-1930s. That this ‘deradicalization cannot however be confused with a democratization or liberalization’,55 applies both to Jünger’s understanding of conservatism and to all of his work in the decades following 1945. It is also evident how strands of ideas from the Weimar New Right were transferred to the postwar concept of conservatism for both Hans Zehrer, the former editor of the central ‘young conservative’ (jungkonservativ) publication Die Tat, and for Wilhelm Stapel, the former editor of Deutsches Volkstum.56 This becomes clear in the way they grappled with Mohler’s characterization of Conservative Revolution, with both providing comment as contemporary witnesses. For Zehrer it was certain, and in this he agreed with Mohler, that two major movements stood dichotomously opposed in modernity: one spanning progress, the Enlightenment and humanism, and the other involving conservatism. The concept took on its core meaning from this historical-philosophical postulate – as had been the case during the Weimar era. Zehrer located the beginning of the modern view of the world not, however, in the French Revolution, but in the Renaissance, which had set a ‘dynamic historical process’ in motion that ‘has passed over and surmounted the forces of the conserving and the organic, and which has now reached its furthermost extreme in communism’.57 This is again a historical-philosophical interpretation of the concept of conservatism, and the forces of modernity are soon mentioned again: ‘In intellectual terms this is called humanism, in scholarly terms rationalism, in historical terms progress, in scientific terms materialism, in political terms liberalism, in social terms socialism’. Zehrer believed, however – and this distinguished him from Schmitt, Jünger and Forsthoff – that this movement had reached its end in the present, and that the ‘intellectual leadership’ then lay in the ‘hands of the conservers’. The concept of conservative thus connected with the realities as little as was the case for other political concepts – and in this way Zehrer’s argumentation was similar to that of Jünger. These concepts belonged to a bygone era, an era that had been surmounted. Zehrer saw in the present a ‘post-humanistic conservatism’ of the metapolitical – a figuration removed from any real, temporal politics.58 Obviously, replacing the term turned out to be not that simple. Uninclined towards small-scale thinking, Zehrer postulated this conservative rule for the entire world as well, bearing the East–West conflict in mind. Zehrer clearly associated ‘the West’ with the conservative forces that he favoured, while the communism of ‘the East’ appeared to him as the final spawn of the ‘humanistic’ movement.59 For Zehrer, this applied to National Socialism as well, which, in his consistency, he described as ‘radical-liberal’. He was only able to agree with Mohler’s interpretation here: Zehrer also drew a thick line between the

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Weimar-era ‘conservative-intellectual movement’ and National Socialism. This served as a means both of personal exoneration as well as of opening the doors for participation in the democratic public sphere. Zehrer’s interpretation fitted into the broadly diverse choir attuned to the theory of totalitarianism, which was heard loudly after 1945.60 For these theoreticians, the underlying evil of modernity lay in the negation of the Christian God, with humanity’s perdition stemming from secularization. Such an interpretation was far removed from the considerations of one such as Ernst Jünger, who had studied Friedrich Nietzsche, as was also the case for Armin Mohler. Hans Zehrer found fault with this, remarking that the ‘conservative without Christianity’ was like a ‘lady sawn in half’. As Zehrer rhetorically asked, what can a ‘conservative person’ build upon if not ‘the Christian faith alone’.61 Zehrer’s turn towards Christianity, which could be observed beginning in the 1930s, made a transformation of his concept of conservatism possible; it recognized the realities of the postwar era, if resignedly so, and could thus find its way into the conceptual worlds of the early Federal Republic, despite all its criticism of liberalism and democracy. For Wilhelm Stapel, conservatism had to derive its strength from the ‘“nature” of a community [Lebensgemeinschaft]’, from the ‘original life force[s] of the German people’, among which he included Christianity.62 Stapel thus contradicted the Nietzschean, cyclical philosophy of history that was central to Mohler’s views, rejecting as well his concept of Conservative Revolution: ‘By nature and substance, conservatism can never be revolutionary, and can never become as such. If, after a revolution, previously supressed forces return to rule, this is not a conservative victory but in fact a reaction. The conservative and the reactionary are of different natures’. The centre of the meaning of the word ‘conservative’ lay, according to Stapel, in the ‘conservation of continuity’. This conceptual definition also perpetuated the anti-democratic effects of the 1920s and 1930s – and it did not apply to its völkisch foundations alone. The conservative, Stapel argued, reviled democratic party politics and stood above all and any parties while striving for the ‘renewal of the political ethos’. Conservatism thus entailed, here as well, the supremacy of the eternally valid, linked to an elitist, anti-democratic stance. As during the Weimar era, Stapel’s concept of conservatism evoked a ‘society free of politics, a community whose order is untouched by political struggles’; it was to find its legitimacy in irrational principles that ultimately were not seen to be in need of justification.63 Stapel’s hope that the political thought of the Weimar New Right in its Christian form, which he presented as genuinely conservative, could break new ground, points to his own particular form of biographical continuity. Thus, while Zehrer submitted to the postwar realities and integrated them into his view of history, Stapel fundamentally shut himself off to them entirely.64 By contrast, the deradicalization of Hans Freyer’s political thought, much as was the case with Hans Zehrer, took its course through reflection on

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conservatism – without him however championing the concept itself. Freyer was a sociologist and a theoretician focused on the politisches Volk (political nation) who had once propagated a ‘revolution from the Right’.65 After turning away from National Socialism, he sought refuge in a historical-philosophical view of the world, which argued in lines so broad that the National Socialist genocide, not to mention individual culpability, was lost in the mists of world history. As with Zehrer, his völkisch nationalism was transformed into a vision of a Christian Occident (Abendland). In Weltgeschichte Europas, which was published by Dieterich in 1948, Freyer presented his ideas to the postwar society as a ‘conservative credo’.66 This hinged in particular on his reckoning with the concept of progress. While he still spoke in 1931 of using ‘revolution from the right’ to ‘dispense with the remains of the nineteenth century’ and thus ‘free the history of the twentieth’,67 after his experience of National Socialist rule and its war of extermination, he turned his theoretical thought to the society that had emerged since the nineteenth century – albeit reluctantly, and ultimately with a sense of resignation.68 Whereas he continued to see great danger in the ‘dialectics of reason’, and warned of the destructive power of liberal ideals, despite all of his scathing cultural criticism, he no longer supported any position with regard to the present that urged their being surmounted.69 Freyer understood the nineteenth century to have been formed by the ‘ideas of 1789’: ‘That which is decided in this century, that which becomes definitive, does so in their light or at least in their name, in succession to them or in contention with them’.70 This indeed applied to conservatism as well, it too being a child of the French Revolution. With the recognition of conservatism as the offspring of modernity, as a dialectical force born of the liberal revolution, the decisive step lay in the conceptualization of conservatism as a part of democracy. Conservatism could be conceived as a genuine part of the constitutional-liberal system, both historically and in terms of the present, and was thus no longer committed to overcoming it but instead to serve as a corrective within the system. Freyer referenced a specific German history of conservatism here, which he held up as a model and point of connection to the present. The Prussian reforms of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries were his ideal, which, according to Freyer, demonstrated how ‘bold and free conservative men’ were able to think if they saw great danger to the values they were responsible for protecting.71 In doing so, they had taken on ideas from their opponents in order to stand up to them – ‘they too were under the influence of the revolution’.72 Such a ‘productive conservatism’, as it was expressed, was, however, believed to have been stunted due to ongoing radicalization. The consequence for conservative thought lay in ‘finding refuge in irrationality without resolve for the future, and refuge in authority due to an incapacity for freedom, political romanticism in the foul sense of the word’.73 Freyer not only thought he observed this development in the Germany of the nineteenth century but in fact all across Europe –

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with the exception of Great Britain. For him, British history was the result of ‘conservative achievement’, and was thus the ideal image of a conservatism suited to the times.74 Freyer’s reinterpretation of progress, which he first developed in Weltgeschichte Europas and then laid out over the course of the next decade, provided the crucial underpinnings for his postwar understanding of the nineteenth century. He found a way to connect the idea of progress and the conservation of tradition. Seeing progress as continually ‘draining’ the substance upon which it drew, he posited that ‘sustaining forces’ (haltende Mächte) were needed for their ‘ability to regenerate’. Their significance did not lie in ‘decelerating the advancing process, but to melt into it and to inform it through osmosis of that which can never autogenously emerge in secondary systems: vibrancy, human meaning, human richness and fertility’.75 ‘Sustaining forces’ had a decisive role to play in the industrialized society of modernity, which Freyer saw as being ruled by anonymous ‘secondary systems’ – anonymous bureaucratic orders, by dint of which individuals lost their own power of control – and these forces saved humanity from complete ‘alienation’ (Entfremdung).76 As Freyer emphasized, conservatism, as understood in this way, did not act to hinder or decelerate, as that which ‘only remains static and only resists change cannot play a role in history for long’. Conservative thought easily fell into this ‘false position and idea’, he maintained, and this needed to be countered.77 Freyer expressed his hope in these ‘sustaining forces’ as early as 1948. His Weltgeschichte Europas is indeed to be read as a manifesto of his revised and deradicalized conservatism. When worlds collapse, as Freyer stated in terms of a general philosophy of history and yet also with relevance to the present, ‘the belief in sustaining forces becomes a guarantor for the future; it is indeed not the belief in them but they themselves that become this when they are present and act in the midst of the collapse’.78 In this way, the deconverted prophet of National Socialism self-confidently established his place in postwar Germany. Like Zehrer, he propagated conservatism as the sole possible force bearing promise for the future. That both of them self-evidently saw a significant role in this for themselves as supposed experts on these ‘sustaining forces’ was undoubtedly a welcome effect of this conceptual policy. They did in fact secure personal influence for themselves in the West German public sphere of the late 1940s and the 1950s. Arnold Gehlen’s comment on Freyer’s Theorie des gegenwärtigen Zeitalters (1955), his most significant social-philosophical publication after 1945, that the central thesis of the book was a ‘conservative’ one, hit the mark.79 Gehlen attested to the ‘open-minded conservatism’ of his academic teacher, with which he clearly sympathized himself. He provided a definition of conservatism in this context that cannot be found as explicitly in Freyer’s book: ‘Conservatism … seeks to maintain and preserve an organic and historical legacy of standards and

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attitudes, and in times such as ours, which are so attuned to the ideological, its difficulty and disadvantage lie in its intrinsic inability to bring about problems, planning, headlines – in short, it cannot be organized.’80 Once again, the notion of a supposedly unideological and thus unsystematic conservatism, removed from all party-political representation, loomed over the definition. This testified, on the one hand, to the perpetuation of the anti-party convictions of the Weimar New Right in their West German concept of conservatism and, on the other, to their reservations concerning a democratic public sphere that was to be found in many places in the consensus-oriented 1950s. Gehlen, however, challenged Freyer’s trust in the unquestioned existence of ‘sustaining forces’. Which ‘sources of historicity’, Gehlen asked, could be ‘tapped’ in the case of Germany ‘if they need to be disavowed to a large degree while other parts are placed under great scrutiny, and yet others linger intellectually in a state of “non-committal relevance”, when even grey-haired avant-gardism has become a facade, and everywhere the personal obscures the factual’.81 The matter of potential conservation, in light of the complete bankruptcy of intellectual traditions, was indeed the central problem for Weimar-era right-wing intellectuals after 1945. All their attempts to lend meaning to the concept of conservatism ultimately failed because they were not able to solve this problem. Gehlen’s attempt to furnish conservatism with substance bears witness to this state of disorder. He saw a promising path for a re-establishment of the intellectual in devastated Germany only in a philosophy that drew upon utopian thinking (and not upon tradition) – a remarkable figure of thought for a conservative. The Gehlen of 1955 thus closely approached the inventory of ideas of the Weimar New Right, promoting the restitution of a lost and buried heritage by turning away from the decayed and re-establishing upon new ground that was understood to be eternally valid. This reconstitution of conservatism in the Federal Republic was to unfold, however, in the arcana of philosophy, well removed from politics. This figure of thought, which was meant to revive the ‘spirit’ as a ‘metapolitical authority and interpretive force’, was prevalent in West German newspaper columns of the 1950s.82 It dealt with reality, with the existing world, which could not be overcome but only ameliorated. It was therefore also able to delimit itself from previously predominant traditions in the thought of the New Right, which had led down the dead-end road to National Socialism. A mere ‘repainting of facades’, which in Gehlen’s view included Hegelianism, could hardly provide answers to the questions of the day. Gehlen’s ‘farewell to utopia’ should be understood within the context of this fundamental ambivalence between the utopian surmounting of the system and its resigned acceptance.83 The definition of the concept of conservatism, which he put forward four years later in 1959, conveyed this farewell to utopia. Unlike his definition

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of 1955, Gehlen took into account both tradition and progress. In doing so, he distinguished between the ‘radical’ conservatives, who adhered exclusively to the old and closed themselves off to any innovation, and the more flexible ‘European’ conservatives, who, being by nature undoctrinaire, defended that which currently existed, well aware that it could never be ideal. This defence would only be maintained until ‘the progressives became traditionalists as well’. Gehlen focused on one characteristic that he connected to conservatism: the ‘synthesis of tradition and progress’. In the course of habituation to progress, it itself becomes tradition, which conservatism is then to conserve as per its task. Gehlen first saw a ‘synthesis of progress that had become custom and tradition, and held as self-evident’, in the Anglo-Saxon cultures, recognizing this in the modern industrial welfare state as well.84 The United Kingdom was again cited here as an example for a positive connotation of conservatism. The German farewell to radicalism led, according to Gehlen’s interpretation, to a welfare-state conservatism, which he viewed as highly indicative of the times. In 1959, the journalist Hans Schuster presented a very similar interpretation of these times, as we shall see below.85 Helmut Schelsky was a third sociologist in the 1950s, in addition to Freyer and Gehlen, who was considered a driving force behind the framing of a conservatism that recognized democracy. As described by Dirk van Laak, Schelsky was a typical ‘modern conservative with a Conservative Revolutionary background’.86 He did not himself work on the concept of conservatism, however, which was indeed a striking omission. This may have been the result of his conviction that the traditional concepts of political orientation had lost their meaning and were no longer of use in providing contours for political positions of the time.87 This ‘poet of objectivity and polemics’ viewed this process, in connection with the loss of utopia and de-ideologization, as signs of the time.88 Schelsky believed his day to be characterized by an omnipresent ‘restorative’ tendency – reconnecting with known forms, concepts and patterns of action, that might create a facade of stability, but could ultimately prove to be inadequate for a fundamentally changed society. His rather inauspicious assessment in 1955 was that such a ‘stagnant perspective primarily addresses reality through a merely technical and organizational reproduction of the world’.89 Schelsky also recognized, however, something that was in fact positive in the individual need for such reassurance: the restorative expressed ‘the yearning for that which we once unquestioningly possessed and, as we increasingly sense, contained fundaments of being that we much too unknowingly or thoughtlessly forewent’. Individuals thus recognized the meaning of tradition that is unequivocally necessary for the restoration of their personhood in the changed social reality. The path to being human, according to Schelsky, came via an understanding of the value of tradition. It was no coincidence that he referenced Arnold Gehlen in support of this interpretation.90

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It was based precisely on this, the effect of the ‘restorative’ on the individual, that Schelsky developed a positive vision for the future, which, as he hoped, would be able to dislodge society from its stagnation, so diagnosed. ‘Perhaps’, he conjectured, ‘the new industrial-society traditionalism of the Occident [Abendland] is already arising from the inconspicuous shell of a restorative time-consciousness, adverse to ideology and planning’.91 This was not marked by a restorative stance, in particular, but by one of renaissance – of reawakening, reviving the good and old upon new ground. Schelsky evidently did not hold that this vision could be expressed in the traditional concept of conservatism, so he instead attempted to coin an alternative concept with his ‘industrial-society traditionalism’. While not particularly successful in this, Schelsky did contribute to providing conservatism with a clearer outline within West German democracy. So what characterized the concept of conservatism as used by representatives of the Weimar New Right after 1945? Most readily apparent was the disheartenment with which these men approached it. None of them attempted to place the concept of conservatism at the centre of their work, or to define it anew. Any undertakings at such a definition occurred in passing, if at all. By all accounts, they shied away from plainly labelling their ideas with the proscribed concept of conservatism, particularly as this would have called attention to their own biographies, which were heavily marked by National Socialism. In this sense, Mohler’s construction of the Weimar New Right as a conservative revolution had clearly left its mark. Those, however, who like Carl Schmitt and Ernst Forsthoff rejected democracy, also rejected a redefinition of the concept of conservatism. They were only able to conceive of it in an anti-liberal vein – from this viewpoint, conservatism only had a place in the vocabulary of democracy as a concept of radical opposition. The liberal conceptual variants that emerged in the course of the 1950s, and especially the 1960s, thus appeared to them as bereft of meaning. Their frame of reference here was the political culture of the Weimar era. In view of this, and in light of its extreme polarization, ideologization and doubts about democracy, this concept of conservatism, along with other concepts of political stances, made good sense. The democratic culture of consensus in West Germany appeared, by contrast, to be ‘deideologized’, without any real alternatives, and ultimately depoliticized.92 Those who engaged with democracy – for whatever reasons – adapted their concept of conservatism to it. They relinquished any hopes of overcoming the system and recognized reality – a concept central to this context. In the words of Paul Nolte, they were characterized by a ‘pragmatism with functional arguments’.93 This transformation of their political thinking centred on a reconciliation with modernity. Conservatism was no longer defined as the polar opposite of modernity but instead as a force inherent in it. Even if this

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recognition of modernity was still often coupled with a sense of resignation, the intellectual step taken was a decisive one. The opposition between progress and conservation that provided the basis for the concept of conservatism was now conceived within the framework of modernity. History – chiefly since the French Revolution but also reaching back to the Renaissance – continued to be interpreted as a struggle between these two principles, and was practically absorbed into far-reaching cultural-philosophical interpretations. The National Socialist regime could, in this manner, vanish into the mists of history, and even be twisted into being the spawn of ‘liberalism’ as a means of whitewashing conservatism. Gehlen, Freyer, Zehrer and Schelsky also reduced the concept to its temporal dimension, and in doing so, pushed problematic aspects of meaning into the background. It is conspicuous that all the attempts at a definition concentrated on the relationship between tradition and progress, and on the potential for continuity in change that was of particular significance to conservatives. As we have seen, it was a long process for those such as Arnold Gehlen to finally be able to conceive of continuity as a synthesis of tradition and progress – and to depart from the figure of thought of overcoming progress through the re-establishment of tradition in a revolutionary act. Given the hesitancy towards defining the concept of conservatism, there were only hints of how to answer the question of which traditions it was even still possible for Germans to connect with. This was a central question posed by all who viewed themselves as conservative, and indeed was a question introduced by Gehlen in his 1955 discussion of Freyer. Sociologists focused on the topic intensively. All the aforementioned figures agreed that continuity could now only be borne by the individual seen as a reservoir of experience and tradition, maintaining the heritage within itself, and hence having to be protected from ‘alienation’ in the system of industrial and ‘mass’ society. On the other hand, however, the individual found ‘relief’ within the institutions of modern industrial society, while also playing the role of a conservative force within this figure of thought.94 It is unmistakable that the ideal of the heroic person of action continued to have an effect on such views of the individual, which had shaped the Weimar New Right.95 What could the individual actually conserve in active terms? Helmut Schelsky’s answer was unequivocal: it was necessary to counteract the pull of the system of industrial society with ‘a system of action and values fundamentally opposite’.96 This task fell to West German conservatism. Two things can be concluded here: first, the individual had a central position in a democratic conservatism that was developed by certain representatives of the Weimar New Right after 1945; and second, the conservation of established forms of action and orders of value were granted crucial meaning. These attributions would be important for the further development of the concept of conservatism in West Germany.

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At the same time, anti-liberal reservations continued to leave their mark on the concept of conservatism of the Weimar New Right in the Federal Republic. Continuities can be seen, first, in their stance of cultural criticism with regard to the society of their time, as described in detail by Axel Schildt and Paul Nolte.97 The critique of technology and the masses, trust in the institutions, the construction of the Sachzwang (objective constraint)98 and the figure of the elite:99 all of these concepts surrounded the concept of conservatism, especially as this was at times externally attributed to the sociology of Freyer, Gehlen and Schelsky. Der Spiegel, for example, placed Gehlen within the category of internationally active ‘neoconservatism’, which was viewed as extending to the ideology of both Walter Lippmann and Stalin.100 It was later in 1971, in what was, as we shall see, an ideologically explosive and intellectually heavily polarized situation, that the political scientist Martin Greiffenhagen coined the concept of ‘technocratic conservatism’, within which this current of thought continues to be subsumed today.101 Secondly, their West German concept of conservatism preserved elements of the Weimar New Right’s intellectual world in the framing of conservatism as unpolitical, as equally opposed to the democratic conflicts of the parties as it was to civic participation. The ‘politicization of the unpolitical’ that formed the core of Weimar conservatism thus continued to have an effect on the Federal Republic.102 In the process, anti-parliamentarian and anti-liberal figures of thought underwent a singular symbiosis with the typical conservative self-view of being fundamentally unideological, which (as clearly emerged with regard to the British concept of conservatism) was fully compatible with democratic ideals. For this to occur – and this was decisive – conservatism had to be conceived as a possible political position within the liberal constitutional state. Both options resonated within the concept of conservatism as outlined by the advocates of the Weimar New Right in West Germany of the 1950s. This characteristic ambivalence paved the way for their slow reconciliation with representative democracy. The role that British conservatism would play in the democratization of the German concept of conservatism became clear here as well. For the converted men of the Weimar New Right, it was proof that conservative thought and action were possible in a democracy, and that tradition could be balanced with progress. This connected them with the activists of the German Party.

2.1.3. A Self-Confident Appropriation: The German Party’s Concept of Conservatism The German Party (Deutsche Partei, DP) formed a second centre of gravity of a discursive and self-confident appropriation of the concept of conservatism in the early Federal Republic of Germany. It was the only party to describe itself

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unqualifiedly as ‘conservative’, so the definition of what was to be understood as conservative politics stood at the centre of its programmatic debates. The party aggressively sought to depart from ‘wishful visions’,103 aiming to demonstrate that a new beginning for German conservatism could prove a political success after 1945. By the end of the 1950s, however, the party was already facing its political end – its departure from conservative ‘wishful visions’ did not appear to have been a success. The DP emerged from the Lower Saxony State Party (Niedersächsische Landespartei),104 which had been founded in 1945 from the remains of the German-Hanoverian Party (Deutsch-Hannoversche Partei, DHP) and the Guelph movement (Welfen), before deciding in 1947 to change its name to the German Party in order to expand its area of activity to include all of the Western zones of occupied Germany. The party would, however, ultimately remain a regional party in northern Germany, and in Lower Saxony in particular. Its geographical expansion opened the party up to political groupings in which former National Socialists had the greatest say in matters, propelling the party down a course of ‘national opposition’. As a decidedly ‘right-wing party’, the DP, which formed its own parliamentary group in the Bundestag in 1949 and was part of Konrad Adenauer’s first coalition government, also advocated the concerns of Wehrmacht and Waffen-SS soldiers and officers as well as former National Socialist leadership members, railed against denazification and supported the honouring of the old flag of the Second German Empire, which was associated with the German war of expansion and extermination.105 At the same time, there was considerable in-fighting among the new individual state party associations, especially those in Hamburg, Berlin, Hesse and North Rhine-Westphalia, along with the founding group in Lower Saxony.106 A representative of that group, Heinrich Hellwege, became party leader as well as the minister president of Lower Saxony between 1955 and 1959.107 While the former strove towards a ‘national opposition party’,108 the latter called for a path of ‘conservative renewal’.109 The concept of conservatism was pursued here deliberately. After the party’s catastrophic national result of only 3.3 per cent in the 1953 Bundestag elections, with eight of its fifteen elected Bundestag members gaining their seats as a result of electoral pacts made with the CDU, the DP leadership decisively changed course to distance the party from the Right and to clarify its party programme. A focus on the concept of conservatism was expected to raise the party’s profile, while it was always made clear that ‘conservative’ had nothing in common with ‘reactionary’, even if the concepts had been ‘easy to confuse in Germany’.110 Chaired by Hans-Joachim von Merkatz,111 a policy committee worked on a draft that was viewed as programmatic in nature, and which was ultimately adopted as Zwanzig Thesen einer zeitnahen konservativen Politik (Twenty theses on contemporary conservative politics) at the 1955 DP Federal Party Conference

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in Bielefeld. The committee had been given the task of spelling out what the party understood as ‘conservative politics’. The committee’s deliberations did much to demonstrate how heterogeneous the ideas on the matter had been, as von Merkatz admitted.112 In 1952, Hans Mühlenfeld, who was both the deputy party leader and chairman of the DP parliamentary group in the Bundestag, had already sought to meet the need for clarity on what conservatism could signify in the Federal Republic. Mühlenfeld was another representative of the Lower Saxon DP milieu. His book Politik ohne Wunschbilder: Die konservative Aufgabe unserer Zeit (Politics without wishful visions: The conservative task of our time), taking the form of a scholarly treatise, sought to ‘reformulate conservative thought in a manner suited to the present’ and particularly to purge it of all of its historical political baggage.113 In 1957, von Merkatz would also publish his own work on the place of conservatism in the history of ideas.114 The DP was thus very systematic in its appropriation of the concept, and its intellectualization strategy was not only coincidentally reminiscent of the conceptual politics of the British Conservative Party. The gaze from Lower Saxony towards the United Kingdom was both historical and political in its background; the links between the two had been close since the House of Hanover ascended to the British throne in 1714. That would become a point of reconnection once the British became the occupying power in Lower Saxony.115 For Heinrich Hellwege, these Hanoverian links even entailed a ‘thousand-year Lower Saxon mission’ and a ‘transitional bridge’ to the ‘Anglo-Saxon world’.116 Mühlenfeld also went on to greatly ascribe to British influence the new attractiveness of a modern post-1945 form of conservatism. ‘The success, style and ethos of [conservative British] politics, viewed in their historical entirety, indeed provided a more visible and impressive justification for conservative thought than its theoretical treatment could ever do’,117 Mühlenfeld submitted. The British parliamentary monarchy served as a particular model and was cited to provide legitimacy for monarchic ideas, as were common within the Lower Saxon wing of the DP.118 This must not, however, obscure the fact that the reception of the conservative British model was extremely selective, with no traces in programmatic documents of any discussion of the Conservative Party in the 1950s. It is, moreover, difficult to deny that this involved a political-strategic aspect. By emphasizing the British connections of a renewed form of German conservatism, the DP supported, within the party, its positive stance towards Adenauer’s policy of integration within the West, while also distancing itself from right-wing extremist, nationalist movements – likely also with respect to the British occupation authorities, which had intervened vigorously in reaction to the right-wing extremist infiltration of the FDP.119 Mühlenfeld also referenced British conservatism to support a second, central argument in his book, as he sought to bring about the ‘theoretical-conceptual cleansing’120 of conservative thought in Germany. According to him, this had

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been ‘deformed’ in the course of the nineteenth century through its adoption of legitimism and nationalism, defining elements in the thought of liberalism, its very opponent. Most prominent here was a departure from the critique of rationality and progress, as conservative thought had become ideologized to the point of ‘inverting its original intentions to their extreme opposite’.121 While the ‘official conservatism’ had mutated into a ‘quasi-ideology’,122 a ‘pseudoconservatism’123 of the elite, he purported that ‘true conservatism’, removed from any sort of politics, had persisted in the ‘maintenance of practices and customs, folk culture and Heimattradition (homeland tradition)’, ‘conserved, as it were, in the background of the individual German regions’, and upheld by a ‘widespread class of people who … take the still unacknowledged yet blatant bankruptcy of the modern ideologies as cause to reflect on their role at large’.124 Mühlenfeld accomplished two things with his interpretive device – brought to the point with the concept of pseudoconservatism: he was able to cut the nationalist and anti-democratic lines of continuity in German conservatism, cleansing it of them in his design for the postwar era; and he succeeded in exonerating the Lower Saxon conservative milieu from all accusations of entanglement, a milieu that had carried the torch of this nationalistic and anti-liberal movement over the course of decades and, particularly in its conjuring up of feelings of Heimat, brought down the Weimar Republic and paved the way for National Socialist tyranny.125 Only the upheavals set in motion by the Second World War were able to open the door for the revival of this ‘true’ conservatism, Mühlenfeld held. He attributed this to four factors: first, the aforementioned British influence; second, the war had deeply shaken the idea of a utopia based on progress to be displaced by an ‘entirely different and unfamiliar, now undogmatic and unsystematic idea about the development of the future’, which was to say a genuinely conservative one;126 third, the war had led to the social disempowerment of previously leading social classes, so that ‘conservative thought, as a whole, could no longer merely be traced back to their own self-interest’;127 and fourth, in the face of the realities of ideologically driven politics, socialism and liberalism alike had been forced into a process of deideologization, and thus into an acceptance of conservative ideas. The sense here was that the time was right for conservatism, even if the concept itself did not have a good reputation and indeed often evoked ‘an entire range of negative feelings’.128 The ‘impulses of conservative thought scattered everywhere’ – some of them, Mühlenfeld claimed, ‘often appeared under a different name’ – so he understood part of his work to be helping to identify what was truly conservative in the face of a lack of conceptual clarity.129 Just as the historical narrative that supported the Mühlenfeld and Merkatz distinction between pseudoconservatism and ‘true’ conservatism had torn down German conservative heroes from their pedestals, it had also raised others to be their leading figures. Merkatz followed Mühlenfeld’s historical construction

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in his 1957 treatise Die konservative Funktion: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des politischen Denkens (The conservative function: A contribution to the history of political thought), focusing it on the incubation period of modern conservative thought at the turn of the nineteenth century. For Merkatz, conservatism also appeared as a movement that opposed the upheavals of the French Revolution, which involved the emergence of two polar opposite political currents that went on to influence the course of history through to the present day. Justus Möser and Edmund Burke served as his primary conservative sources – a German– British duo. The message here was that German and British thinking built upon one another, with pure British conservatism having German roots just as German conservatism fed from the British. Both were moved by the same concern, which was to conserve ‘the freedom of man as an individual and as a group in the historically evolved and thus naturally emerging character and distinctiveness of his nature’,130 and both had ‘clear-sightedly’ recognized the ‘disadvantages of placing reason upon a throne’.131 Building on this and taking into account the ‘diversity of life in its natural order’, conservatism would need to continually change, just as that ‘which needed defending was constantly changing’. For Merkatz, this meant that ‘political conservatism’ could position itself as being ‘monarchist or republican, legitimist or democratic, constitutional or parliamentarian’, and still remain true to itself.132 This argument also served to render the concept of conservatism viable for the times, as the DP’s aim was to represent ‘contemporary’ conservative politics and – in the West Germany of the 1950s – this meant democratic conservative politics.133 However, what form would this actually take? What would be characteristic of a contemporary form of conservatism à la DP? When the statements made on the matter are boiled down, three elements emerge. First, the DP’s concept of conservatism was anti-rationalistic. For Merkatz, the function of conservatism was to be the ‘counterbalance to rationalism’.134 For Mühlenfeld, contemporary conservatives were faced with the task of reconstructing ‘the prerequisites of existence, as they correspond with human nature, in the struggle against the antinatural artificiality of the predominant order of life, against the incursions of rational progress that arose therein, against the deleterious effects and influences of technical civilization’135 – and thus not conserving but reconstructing, which is decisive here. Mühlenfeld did not indeed reject progress per se but distinguished between ‘progress in the world of things’, which was to be welcomed, and ‘incursion(s) of rational progress into the world of man’, which were to be rejected and would upend the order of time, the concatenation of past, present and future.136 How precisely this sociopolitical reconstruction of the ‘natural’ order was to proceed remained nebulous, even when it came to the DP’s political principles. A conceptual package was offered instead, meant to represent the political point

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of view: ‘Heimat, land and soil, property; family, customs, tradition; freedom, rights and religion’ – those were Mühlenfeld’s ‘principles of meaning’ for conservative thought, which fundamentally ran counter to the aims of ‘rationalistically’ driven, ideological politics.137 Mühlenfeld also defined ‘structural elements’ of conservative thought that were to erect barriers to the absolute primacy of rationality: ‘viewpoint and experience, natural development, growth and becoming; difference and diversity; the concrete, special and particular; balance and mediation’.138 These congealed as guiding concepts for the DP as well. Mühlenfeld found, secondly, that conservative politics in West Germany was meant to protect the individual ‘in his natural-historical form that had emerged over the many centuries’.139 Only once the individual becomes one with his own particular history does he acquire ‘personality’ in his own ‘place’, whether it ‘high or low’.140 A decisive role was therefore played by the connection of the individual to social orders that had emerged, characterized here as ‘natural’, historical and unchangeable. The ongoing emphasis on ‘diversity’ as a fundamental conservative constant reflected a belief in ‘inequality within the order of life’ and in the leadership role of the elites.141 If an individual broke out of these orders or if the orders were cast in doubt by ‘progress’, this would in turn lead to the loss of individuality.142 This also applied to the human relation to transcendence. While religion – and this was always equated with Christianity – played a significant role within the DP’s design for conservatism as the ‘fundament from which the principles of conservative thought first derive their true force’, this was not the case as a force in and of itself but as the ‘religion of the fathers’ and as ‘historically emergent faith’ manifesting as a ‘canon of values’.143 Even if Merkatz afforded the Christian faith a more significant role than did Mühlenfeld, his school of thought was also anchored in the idea of Christianity guaranteeing and delivering ‘eternal values of life’ to the proper state and social order, which promised to provide security and support to the individual.144 Here too, the individual was a focal point in conservative speech and thought. This conception of society was closely tied to the third characteristic of the DP’s concept of conservatism. A conceptual balance was needed here as the party held fast to its anti-liberalism while still deeming it necessary to find its own place within the liberal democracy. These efforts to adapt and democratize conservative thought focused on the concept of freedom, and the conservative thinkers involved were able to draw upon historical conceptual work. Merkatz referenced the British thinker Edmund Burke here in particular, in that the meaning of ‘historical life’ lay in freedom and justice for the individual. Freedom, however, could only be a ‘defined freedom’ under historically evolved law as otherwise it would end in ‘anarchy and destruction’. Freedom thus needed to be brought into balance, with the freedom of the individual tempered in relation to the ‘authority of the will of the state’ as well as to social orders. The structural principle of synthesis and balance also informed the language

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of Merkatzian conservatism. As often as he referred back to Burke and thus connected with the liberal tradition of British conservatism, he was equally concerned with adding a national flavour to his concept of freedom. As he presented before the 1955 DP party conference, freedom was never a concept per se but was ‘an old German idea, ever raising the question of what I have it for’.145 The concept of the nation was hoisted high in the DP, especially during the most intensive periods of in-fighting within the party; meanwhile the party leadership sought to distance itself from all forms of chauvinistic ‘nationalism’. The call for the ‘continual renewal of the national community through actions and mutual trust … in all areas of politics, the economy, and life in society’ was of course not a merely coincidental evocation of the National Socialist promise of just such a community, the ‘Volksgemeinschaft’.146 Freedom was also seen here as the freedom of the nation with regard to the external world, while still remaining solidly anchored in the Western alliance, and embedded within a Europe built in accordance with Abendland ideals.147 In his exegesis on the concept of freedom, Merkatz also brought the concept of responsibility into play, as state authority in a democracy had to be chiefly upheld by the voluntary recognition of individuals, who accept their own limits and place within the existing order while also taking on responsibility for the maintenance of this social order. The more freedom each individual is afforded – and this was a conditio sine qua non in a liberal democracy – the more important the concept of responsibility became in conservative thought, which attributed great importance to the authority of the state and to historically rooted social orders. At the same time, the conservation of normative orders became an increasingly clear point of focus in conservative thought. Consequently, the concepts of values and morals (Werte and Sittlichkeit) also took on central importance to the political languages of conservatism within West German democracy. While, therefore, the concept of freedom was qualified as applied to the individual, it was also expressly emphasized, particularly when the freedom of the individual appeared threatened within the ‘uniformity of today’s democracy of the masses’ and under the ‘levelling, equalizing’ rule of the ‘so-called egalitarian democracy’.148 The vocabulary of conservative cultural criticism, which struck out against the masses and technology, also informed the thinking of the DP.149 In view of the ‘anonymity of the organizational apparatus’,150 individuals were seen to only be able to maintain their freedom in ‘small units’ such as the family, congregation and professional associations – individuality being fulfilled here in well-ordered contexts such as those afforded by ‘institutions’ (another central concept). Freedom was, at the same time, maintained economically through private property and productivity as well as ‘self-provision’ and ‘self-responsibility’.151 Freedom was a difficult concept for the ‘new’ conservatives of the DP in the 1950s, who, while attached to things of the past, also sought to leave them

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behind, ready to tread new paths. Their concept of freedom was consequently an ambivalent one – just as ambivalent as their designs for conservatism as a whole. Their departure from previously venerated ideals of German conservatism only succeeded in part. In his book Die konservative Funktion, Merkatz only indirectly reflected on the ambivalence connected to the concept of freedom – and here again in reference to Burke. Merkatz saw him as ‘liberal’ because ‘he was conservative. But his conservatism was not liberalism in the later sense of the concept’.152 A liberal impulse had lain at the roots of modern conservatism, albeit one that also displayed specifically conservative traits. This would then serve as a point of connection for conservatives within liberal democracy, he implied. Merkatz had to grapple directly with this ambivalent relationship between liberalism and conservatism in 1956/57, when the DP merged with the Free People’s Party (Freie Volkspartei). The latter had recently been founded by sixteen FDP members of the Bundestag, who had left the party due to differences in foreign policy.153 Merkatz argued that the nineteenth-century lines of conflict had worn away, and that ‘concepts such as conservative, liberal, democratic, republican’ were no longer ‘contradictory opposites’ in democracy. Instead, ‘personal freedom in its original liberal sense’ was ‘only thinkable in an order based on moral-religious values in accordance with conservative views’. Liberalism and conservatism were thus ‘two sides of one and the same coin’. This liberal–conservative alliance was particularly timely as the central line of ideological conflict had shifted to the present. The path to the future was then a choice between a ‘libertarian social and economic order anchored in personal freedom and responsibility’ and a social order in which the state becomes ‘an absolute equalization fund, and society a singular consumer cooperative under the rule of an almighty bureaucracy’.154 The spectre of the ‘welfare state’ and mass consumer society united conservatives and liberals in the early Federal Republic, which further raised the standing of the concept of individual freedom in conservative thought. The accentuation of individual freedom also corresponded with personal worlds of experience, which Merkatz underscored at the DP’s Federal Party Conference. He explained that one thing had become clear following defeats in two wars and the country’s complete collapse: ‘We know what the freedom of personality means in all areas of human life’. For him, this constituted ‘the centre of conservative politics’.155 The great esteem for freedom did, however, reach its limits within the DP. As Hellwege, who was increasingly isolated within his party, stressed in a 1960 Spiegel interview, ‘we reject limitless individualistic freedom’. Leading politicians had left him and the DP to find a new political home in the CDU. That this also included Hans-Joachim von Merkatz, the DP’s politician-intellectual, speaks volumes. The CDU’s strategy of embracement proved a success.156 Merkatz saw no other place than the Union parties for the political future of conservative beliefs.157 Neither the collapse of

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conservatism’s social basis through the upheavals of the war, nor the ‘deideologization’ of the parties, so widely discussed at the time, marked the end of the DP,158 but its ambivalent stance toward democracy, consumer society and the welfare state. The more the Federal Republic solidified and the social market economy began to find success, the clearer the contradictions within the DP programme came to light and the stronger the intra-party squabbles grew. The DP did not indeed follow the programmatic course of the British Conservatives, despite all assertions of conservative commonality. Their concept of conservatism remained firmly lodged in the past. Hellwege ultimately had difficulty with reconciling the programmatic differences between the conservatism of the DP and the Christian Democratic programme.159 In 1963, Adenauer spoke jovially of his satisfaction with the success of his ‘vacuum-like’160 policy of integration, confirming that the DP ‘had so much in common with the CDU at a deep level’.161 The chancellor did not, however, state whether the CDU could then be described as ‘conservative’.

2.1.4. Conservative Positions and the Christian Abendland: The Abendland Movement The Abendlandbewegung (Occidental Movement) formed a third centre of gravity with regard to the discursive appropriation of the concept of conservatism in the Federal Republic of Germany during the 1950s. While extensive work has been done on its structure, programme, public relations and leading figures, its significance to the West German concept of conservatism has been afforded less attention in the research. The movement, however, developed into an important forum in the pursuit of a new conservative political language, a forum that was of particular significance as it was predominantly Catholic-informed. After 1945, chiefly Catholic thinkers created new intellectual spaces, first in the journal Neues Abendland (founded 1946), then in the Abendländische Aktion movement (Occidental Action, 1951–53) and lastly in the Abendländische Akademie (Occidental Academy, 1952–66) as a means of establishing in the democratic public arena their anti-liberal and anti-parliamentarian views, undergirded by federalist ideas for Europe.162 Continuities with the Abendlandbewegung of the Weimar Republic, in terms of individual biographies and the history of ideas, were strongly emphasized, and former sympathies with aspects of National Socialist ideology were denied, with a history of persecution and resistance constructed in its place.163 This was particularly so once Emil Franzel became the editor of Neues Abendland in autumn 1947, leading the publication ‘on a decidedly right-wing conservative course’.164 Franzel also oversaw the introduction to Neues Abendland of a concept of conservatism with positive connotations. He had no objection to the conceptuality, even if he

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found Mohler’s interpretation of conservative revolution to be too narrow, and he called for the inclusion of the Christian conservatism of the interwar era.165 He indeed argued similarly himself that the ‘conservative revolution’ sought nothing other than the ‘return from a lawless order to an order of law’ that followed divine revelation.166 The appropriation of the concept of conservatism in intellectual Catholicism is indeed quite remarkable, as it had previously been viewed as a Prussian and Protestant concept. The postwar Occidentals were, however, able to pick up on Catholic attempts to define the concept both during the Weimar era and in Catholic conservative exile.167 After 1945, this self-attribution only made sense, however, in the context of the interdenominational thrust of the movement. A Christian alternative, and not a purely Catholic one, was formed to the development of the Federal Republic, which was denigrated as ‘liberal’ and ‘democratic in form’. While only a minority of the Protestant camp, including figures such as Wilhelm Stählin,168 found their way through the open Catholic door, the interdenominational aspiration and campaign to gain Protestant support continued unabated. With their self-designation as conservative, they had found, in any event, a relatively loose blanket term that promised to paper over the theological and constitutional differences that marked the Abendlandbewegung.169 Unlike the intellectual representatives of the Weimar New Right, the Occidentals were proactive in their adoption of the term, expanding it to include a broad field that developed into a dense semantic web. That this was compatible, if not entirely identical, with the semantic web developed by the DP was demonstrated best by the efforts of Hans-Joachim von Merkatz in the Occidental Academy. Beginning in the late 1940s, Franzel made use of the concept of conservatism within Occidental discourse, while also connecting with his own conceptual continuities.170 Others would also adopt the concept, as did Robert Ingrim in 1953, who believed that he could now found his ‘hope for the success of the Occidental alliance only upon conservative forces’.171 It finally took its place on the grand Occidental stage in 1956 at the annual convention of the Occidental Academy in Eichstätt, which focused on the conservative stance in politics.172 The list of speakers was balanced both in terms of denomination and political position, as was a principle at the Occidental Academy. The speakers included the Protestant theologian Wilhelm Stählin,173 the influential Catholic theologian Gustav Gundlach,174 the DP politician Merkatz and the right-wing Catholic journalist Paul Wilhelm Wenger.175 The implicit message here was that conservatism served as an umbrella for all the positions represented within the Abendlandbewegung. A ‘conservative stance’, as was emphasized in the summary of the convention, ‘lies beyond all party-political concepts and connections’. This alluded to a topos of conservative identity. It was not by chance that the convention set out to describe the conservative ‘stance’, which was meant as a pre-political attitude towards life inherent in

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human nature. As Wenger underscored, the ‘maxims’ of conservatism were thus ‘timeless and unchangeable: they are presented to us and can only be changed at the cost of the destruction of the substance of humanity’.176 Conservatism was, for this reason, seen here as ‘anti-ideological’ in its essence – while ideologies formed an ideal image of the world to subsequently work towards its realization, conservatism, by contrast, was dedicated to the given – a common topos within the definition of conservatism, which connected, in the German context, with the veiled Weimar-era reference to the ‘unpolitical’ (which was in fact exceedingly political).177 As Wenger saw it, conservatism was concerned with nothing other than ‘helping to preserve the natural order of fundamental structures in the course of change in society’, with conservatism being founded ever since on ‘four iron pillars’: the ‘order of creation, natural law, historical tradition and politically experimental experience’.178 Wenger expanded with great clarity on what he meant by this in a talk held at the Occidental Academy, calling for a corporatist order with an authoritarian leadership and a selection of elite, patriarchal, small-scale, agrarian social structures, and political commitment to the Decalogue in line with the heritage of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation.179 He was alone in his caustic attack on the constitutional order of the Federal Republic at his 1956 appearance in Eichstätt, and came across like a relic from the early years of the Occidental Movement. The movement would soon come under intensive journalistic challenge, beginning with Der Spiegel in summer 1955, and when Interior Minister Gerhard Schröder announced a comprehensive ‘examination’ to the Bundestag, the academy worked to take the wind out of the sails of all allegations that it sought to undermine the democratic order.180 Stählin, Gundlach and Merkatz presented arguments that were fundamentally founded in cultural criticism – and believed to be supported by a broad cross-section of the public181 – but never called the democratic order into question. Gundlach made no secret of his preference for corporatist orders as the expression of a ‘healthy pluralism of concrete human reality’, and for the realization of ‘super- and suborders’ as a means of forming a ‘society anchored in the personal navigation of existence’;182 he also emphasized as a characteristic of conservatism that it was determined to ‘fully affirm the present world’ – a present world ‘set into the hereafter’.183 There was no other present world than the Federal Republic on the horizon, so conservatism had to act there despite all its scepticism towards democracy. What was it then that conservatism was meant to preserve? It was not in fact a constitutional order but the ‘living, real man in the fabric of his life’. The Abendlandbewegung’s concept of conservatism was characterized by its Christian core. ‘Human society in freedom and dignity’ was only viewed as possible in connection with a Christian reference to God.184 The Catholic influence on this definition of conservatism was reflected in the central position granted to the

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individual, as indeed is evident in the terminology, with words revealing this focus such as Mensch, Person, Personhaftigkeit, personhaftes Sein and Personalität, and employing the language of Catholic theology, and neo-scholastic personalism in particular.185 The most decisive – and least surprising – exposition of these thoughts can be found from the writings of Gustav Gundlach, an advocate of Jesuit personalism.186 He postulated that conservatism viewed human freedom not as deriving from the state, as typical for Hegelian state philosophy, which had deeply influenced conservative statism in Germany. It was not the ‘social structure’ that carried the person and defined Personhaftigkeit (personhood), but this in fact rested on the ‘specific person’s own structure as the basis of any wholeness’. Gundlach departed here, with the stroke of the pen, from the prevalent form of conservative thinking in Germany from the nineteenth century onwards. He did not see organic views of social order or other ‘biologically tinged ideas of social structures’ as conservative but as ‘pseudo-conservative’ and the outgrowths of ‘errant holistic thought”.187 He referred here to his own insightful analyses from 1932 that were published in Stimmen der Zeit.188 Gundlach proclaimed that man was ‘capable and called as a person to lead his existence time and again to a concrete wholeness in its true sense’189 – and he evidently maintained his belief in the fulfilment of the individual in ‘wholeness’. He underscored the meaning of institutions as ‘necessary structures of order in accordance with divine providence’, which were moulded by and inextricably linked to man. These structures were only justified, however, as long as their ‘personal core’ could still be recognized. This meant, specifically, that a conservative could advocate marriage, family and personal property, and for a state whose authority was ‘represented by persons and not by reified functional orders’.190 Stählin, a Protestant with Catholic inclinations, defined the core of conservatism in this way as well, in that man was to be ‘conserved in the structure in which man alone has and is able to have his truly human existence’.191 The Occidentals, at the same time, never tired of integrating change and renewal into their concept of conservatism, or of exploring their understanding of temporality. Counterconcepts to this included Beharrung (persistence), Reaktion and Restauration. As Stählin expressed this understanding of time with impressive imagery: ‘History with a conservative position, is a chain, in which one link connects with another, and not a beam in which every point appears the same’.192 Past, present and future were seen to interlock, connected in harmony, all in line with the modern Christian idea of the history of salvation; the structural principle of temporality, characteristic for conservative language, manifested itself here in theological concepts. The Occidentals, moreover, saw this harmony of temporal layers to be threatened by an unconditional belief in progress. Merkatz indeed viewed the Abendlandbewegung as a ‘movement of renewal’ that would lead to a ‘rebirth’ of the lost salvatory values of the ‘Christian Occident’, and he

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called his followers to ‘resolutely impart upon the term “conservative” the sense of renewal’.193 The Occidentals indeed went to great lengths to purge the concept of conservatism of its historical political baggage, while nevertheless remaining, to different degrees, captivated by its anti-liberal substance. The dense semantic web that provided the contours for the concept of conservatism in the Abendlandbewegung included concepts such as Abendland (the Occident), Autorität (authority), Christentum (Christianity), Föderalismus (federalism), patriarchalisch (patriarchal), Heimat (homeland), Überschaubarkeit (clarity/comprehensibility), Mannigfaltigkeit in der Einheit (diversity in unity), Ehe (marriage), Familie (family), Privateigentum (private property), Staat (the state), Geschichte (history), Heimatboden und Vaterland (home soil and fatherland), Macht (power) and Verantwortung (responsibility). Liberal concepts were qualified through connections with other concepts, as exemplified in particular by the concept of Freiheit (freedom). Wenger, for example, only deemed freedom to be acceptable when ‘reconciled with and connected to true authority’.194 The structural principle of synthesis and balance was employed here. The concept of freedom was difficult for the Occidentals – as well as for the politicians of the DP – if for no other reason than it was seen as a concept central to liberalism, which, along with Bolshevism, served as an unconditional counterconcept to conservatism. The two were connected to all other counterconcepts such as ‘progress’, ‘individualism’,195 ‘abstract equality and freedom’,196 ‘economism and technicism’,197 ‘social atomization’,198 ‘collective’ and ‘collectivism’,199 ‘anonymous masses’,200 ‘centralism and uniformism’201 and ‘ideology’, to name a few. Lastly, little distinction was made between liberalism and Bolshevism – both were viewed as the denial of the divine order of salvation and thus as deriving from the same secular roots.202 The Occidental ‘fundamental antithesis to modernity’,203 which manifested itself in its concept of conservatism, did not have a future. It had already passed its zenith in 1956, as clearly demonstrated in the political squabbles following the St Ulrich Jubilee in Augsburg the year before.204 The Occidental views of order had lost their appeal, proving to be precisely what their protagonists were convinced they were not: ‘Constructs and pipe dreams … without the foundations of real life’. The supposed Occidental ‘sober-mindedness’ that was a ‘characteristic of a true conservative position’, as Stählin had ascribed to himself,205 had turned out to be an ideological illusion.

2.1.5. Between Abashed Silence and Ambivalent Thematization: Journalistic Interpretations of the Concept of Conservatism Surprisingly little was said about conservatism in the intellectual publications, newspapers or magazines of the early Federal Republic, or likely on West German

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radio or television either.206 Conservatism was rarely a topic for discussion by public intellectuals, who never made any attempts to grapple with or even argue over what form of conservatism might be suited to the times. The concept did not seem to arise in the political language of the intellectual observers of the young democracy, but instead remained confined to the spheres in which the advocates of conservatism themselves moved. This abashed silence continued to envelop the broader intellectual arena through to the end of the 1950s, forming the impression that conservatism was no longer of relevance in the new republic. The concept was even avoided by those who viewed themselves to be conservative and were committed to the renewal of conservative thinking. This was, for example, the case for Margret Boveri,207 as well as for the Tatkreis network at Die Welt and Christ und Welt.208 Rudolf Pechel, who, through his experience of the National Socialist dictatorship, moved from being a supporter of the Weimar New Right to an advocate of the republic, and who, in his Deutsche Rundschau, propagated a type of conservatism compatible with liberal democracy after the war,209 still avoided any exposition of the concept itself. In 1951, Pechel instead printed an excerpt from the book Zerfall und Wiederaufbau der Politik (Collapse and reconstruction of politics) by the Swiss writer and politician Peter Dürrenmatt, which described in detail the principles of ‘conservative politics’. In doing so, Pechel provided a platform for a voice from an untarnished foreign country. The writings of a Swiss author appear to have been acceptable for a German magazine to establish a position on conservatism in the early 1950s – which, on its own, suffices as evidence for the difficulties with the concept. Dürrenmatt proposed a form of conservatism that was characterized by its ‘sense for the present and reality’, its unconditional human orientation, its recognition of the authority of the Christian God, and its principles of equilibrium and balance. Conservatism did not stand here for ‘extreme’ politics but, on the contrary, for ‘politics of balance, gradual development, the tension between ideas and reality, vibrant calm and measured steps’. The semantics of equilibrium were employed here as well to place conservatism within the democratic present. If his contemporaries were ‘ashamed of the word “conservative”’, they should still at least ‘commit to its essence’210 – and thus be conservative without describing themselves as such. This abashed intellectual silence was overcome in the discussion of relevant books. A discourse would then in fact be able to emerge over what ‘conservative’ was to signify in the present. In this way, the conceptual coinages were reflected, commented upon and transferred to a broader public in the centres of gravity described above, which were distinguished by a relatively solid internal structure due to either institutionalization or intellectual networking. The example of Armin Mohler already served as an illustration of how mediators, in terms of Karl Mannheim’s ‘free-floating intelligentsia’,211 played a major role in the process of diffusion.

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Hans Mühlenfeld’s book in the early 1950s called for a reaction on the part of writers, and it was indeed discussed widely.212 The two most substantial contributions to this were provided by Otto Heinrich von der Gablentz in Politische Literatur and Franz Josef Schöningh in Hochland.213 Two very different writers joined in their criticism of Mühlenfeld’s approach – the Protestant von der Gablentz, who was a member of the Kreisau Circle, a founding member of the CDU, and political scientist,214 and the Catholic Schöningh, who was editor of the Süddeutsche Zeitung (SZ) and the publisher of Hochland, and had been involved in the organization of the Holocaust between 1942 and 1944 as deputy chief of the German occupational administration in Galicia District of the Generalgouvernement.215 While both supported Mühlenfeld’s diagnosis of the conservative blunder in taking on nationalistic ideas during the nineteenth century, they were convinced of the necessity to revive the original, true conservatism, and saw British conservatism as a model for this, they had doubts about Mühlenfeld’s ideational reference points of conservative thought. They maintained that the eternal order that Mühlenfeld believed conservatism was meant to preserve lacked legitimacy. As von der Gablentz argued, the mere appeal to das Gewachsene (the innate or organic) offered ‘no standard for historical responsibility’, and could only be found ‘in the dimension that lies behind nature and history, that of religion’.216 Schöningh also lamented the lack of a ‘deeper Christian foundation’ in Mühlenfeld’s definition of conservatism, where he believed the ‘actual spiritual roots’ of conservatism lay.217 The view of Christianity as the essence of conservatism crystallized ever more clearly in the discourse of the 1950s. Von der Gablentz held that contemporary conservatism was meant to counter the ongoing process of secularization, and that the ‘conservative stance’ was represented by the Christian parties in continental Europe, which would, not by chance, take the political place once held by conservatives.218 The CDU and CSU were consequently the conservative parties of the present. He disagreed with Schöningh not only in this regard; the latter continued to maintain his party-critical position of the interwar period, believing conservatism to have been robbed of its essence, mutating into ‘one ideology among many’, as soon as it connected itself with a political party.219 Conservatives were instead to enter the political discussion independently, and to warn of the dangers of collectivism – with ‘patience, tenacity and humility’.220 With his recommendation for a conservative style of politics, Schöningh did, however, agree with von der Gablentz when he called for ‘caution’, borrowing here from British conservatism in that ‘conservative’ was seen to mean ‘cautious, careful’ in English, while Germans thought first of ‘cans of food conserves and the conservators of monuments’ (i.e. a lifeless conservation of the antiquated). As von der Gablentz insisted, a conservative attitude implied, by contrast, being ‘cautious with all of reality, careful with things, and humane with people’.221

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Schöningh and von der Gablentz advanced the principle of balance and not a reactive principle of opposites as an ingredient of conservatism, finding new concepts for this such as Behutsamkeit (caution) and Geduld (patience) that were intertwined with the concept of conservatism. They also connected the concept of conservatism with the Christian – a synthesis of its own kind, which was hence not only propagated by the Abendlandbewegung or in the writings of Hans Zehrer. For American observers such as the historian Henry L. Roberts, the criticism of a lack of Christian legitimacy in Mühlenfeld’s idea of conservatism must have been quite surprising, as they viewed his book as an attempt to develop conservative theory on a religious basis.222 When he received a copy of Russell Kirk’s The Conservative Mind in 1953, Golo Mann also began to ponder the question so seldom posed in the journals of the early Federal Republic, that of what ‘conservative’ could mean in the present day.223 It makes sense here that Mann’s review appeared in Der Monat, the journal of the Congress for Cultural Freedom, which pursued the mission of a transatlantic dialogue under the banner of anti-communism.224 The reviewer was also well suited to the role of transatlantic mediator as he had spent several years as an émigré in the United States, and was in full command of the subject matter as a translator of Edmund Burke and with his own work on Friedrich von Gentz.225 The pursuit of conservatism in West Germany of the 1950s indeed always implied looking to the West while, in turn, serving to form the image that was held of the West.226 In his critical treatment of Kirk’s first work, Mann took exception to his partisanship, his tendency to view modernity in a purely negative light and his absolutist claims with regard to conservatism. Mann, by contrast, painted an image of conservatism as a ‘fragment of the intellectual universe, provoked by other fragments, which it existed to balance out’.227 This reflects Mann’s scepticism towards the formation of any theory that builds on unity and exclusivity instead of the partial and diverse. Lastly, Mann answered Kirk’s proposed synthesis with a conservative argument: the ‘heart of conservatism’, he submitted, was ‘love of the past’. What did the past have to teach the Germans, however, who were faced with an entirely new present? Mann’s response was, once again, a genuinely conservative one: it was not ‘systems … from which one could reliably derive what was to be done here and now’ that currently offered help but solely engagement with the great men of the conservative tradition. They could not, however, provide instruction for action as this would remain the realm of ‘intuition, enterprise, goodwill’.228 Golo Mann’s proposals – political action in reality, guided by historical experience, instinct and practical reason – corresponded with things put forward as conservative, without him, however, referring to the concept himself. They also reflected his own ideal of a liberal conservatism that emerged in his study of Burke and Gentz,229 and not least his own experience of discovering conservatism. For Mann, conservatism was a fragment with an

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impact on the present that one could seize upon and adopt – or also reject – and which itself changed, again and again, in the process of moving with the times. As fragmented as Golo Mann imagined the impact of political systems of thought to be, the intellectual treatment of conservatism in the 1950s would prove to be just as fragmented. This would only change towards the end of the decade with the emergence of a debate over what is conservative, one that did not arise merely by chance. A conceptual vacuum had apparently opened up once it became clear that the assertive advocates of a West German conservatism, the German Party and the Abendlandbewegung, were rapidly losing their significance. What position could conservatism even seek to attain in the Federal Republic when it had lost its last institutional supporters? Their attempts at an interpretation came to nothing, as did conservative cultural criticism.230 This applied as well to the representatives of the Weimar New Right, who did not wish to come to terms with democracy, or at least not in full, and who were now only portrayed by a young, critical generation of intellectuals as being ‘old’ or having ‘given up’.231 Only those intellectuals from circles that were open to modern society and attempted to come to terms with it theoretically, such as Schelsky and Gehlen, seemed to hold a recipe for a conservatism with a future.232 Even they, however, shied away from calling themselves conservatives. This resulted in uncertainty, helplessness and resignation at times, but also proactive readjustment. An intellectual debate over what is conservative thus began towards the end of the decade, which featured a wide spectrum of positions and which reached its zenith and conclusion with the well-known Konservativ 1962 forum in Der Monat magazine. The uncertainty when it came to the concepts of political language in the new democracy was of central importance here. This had already emerged in a 1957 article by the political scientist Siegfried Landshut, who saw his present day as nothing less than the end of an era. He had spent many years in exile in Egypt, Palestine and the United Kingdom and, upon his return, helped to build up the field of political science in the new Federal Republic.233 Putting the distance provided by his preferred method of conceptual history to use, Landshut analysed the concepts of restoration234 – a concept central to the 1950s – and conservativism.235 He defined conservatism as being as ideological as its progressive opposite, thus characterizing this conceptual world as dichotomous. However, the opposition of progressive and conservative stances, which had marked the course of history since the French Revolution, had already become obsolete, he believed, due to the radically changed society. Landshut argued that the old concepts no longer fitted the new era, and that they had become ‘anachronisms’. He held that, in the end, only a conservative position would be possible – a position supporting the ongoing ‘restoration’ of that which had held ‘validity for 200 years’, something that certainly applied to liberals but also to ‘neo-conservatives’ who had come to terms with democracy, whether

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voluntarily or not. Landshut saw no other choice but to conserve the liberal world that had been permeated by forms and ideas from the Enlightenment.236 From this perspective, no greater liberality could be imagined in the twentieth century than had been envisioned in the nineteenth. The contradiction between ideologies had come to an end – and with it, the concepts that described them. The mutual permeation of liberalism and conservatism that Landshut described from the position of an academic observer, and for which Alexis de Tocqueville served him elsewhere as an authority,237 led by contrast to a sense of resignation in the case of Hans Schuster, who, in 1959, was in pursuit of the ‘German right’ in Merkur. Not a trace was seen of the ‘conservative renewal’ that had been hoped for half a decade earlier. Instead, the concept conjured up ‘a whole scale of negative feeling’ – and, as Schuster laconically put it, this came in spite of (or even because of) the ‘times themselves [becoming] conservative’. For Schuster, conservativism solely entailed a reaction and resistance to progress. As long as West German society basked in a tranquillity marked by the motto ‘no experiments’, however, there could be no starting place for conservatism to be formed.238 There was indeed no longer a place in West Germany during the late 1950s for a concept of conservatism as envisioned by Schuster – one based on an anti-progressive position, on the principles of opposition and on ideological conformity. Marion Gräfin Dönhoff employed the notion of deideologization, which was common in the late 1950s, to place the end of the German Party in 1960 within its historical context.239 With the ‘process of levelling of classical ideologies’, the parties grew increasingly close to one another so that the old directional concepts of conservative, liberal and socialist lost their distinctive character, and West Germany moved towards a two-party system with a right–left structure. With the loss of meaning of the traditional concepts, conservatism also lost its conceptual and substantial character, according to her thesis. Dönhoff identified specific German reasons for this process: the two lost world wars had ‘annihilated the social structure from the bottom up’ so that there was no longer any ‘continuity’ with the nineteenth century, a century marked by ideas; but it was now forgotten, with pragmatism ruling instead. She also saw the German development as part of a process of change that affected the entire industrialized world; ideological politics no longer counted but instead the pragmatic politics of increasing prosperity. A life in the present, with no ties to the past, without ideals, without alternative plans for the future – for Dönhoff, political conservatism was deprived of any prospect of existence. She nevertheless hoped for conservatism to live on as a ‘mindset’, while only vaguely indicating what she meant by referring to an episode from Prussian history.240 Morality, individual freedom, responsibility, nobility, patriotism, orientation towards the common good – that is what readers were expected to take from it. This corresponded with the ideals and topoi that Dönhoff connected to the resistance figures of 20 July 1944.241

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In any event, Dönhoff’s words spoke primarily of nostalgia. Conservatism was relegated to history, a thing of the past that no longer had a future to speak of. While Dönhoff drew the curtain over conservatism and Schuster fell into resignation, Friedrich Sieburg discussed the substance and goals of contemporary conservatism in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung.242 He, too, found there to be a basic conservative disposition in West German society, with a coalescence of conservatism and liberalism alongside an ossification of political and social life. Where could a rejuvenated conservatism in fact begin? What should it ‘seek to conserve’? That which already exists, Sieburg responded: West German democracy – the ‘parliamentary institutions’ and ‘the highest level of economic, political and personal freedom’. Being conservative, moreover, meant accepting responsibility for all of German history and thus included ‘the guilt of the recent past’. This, conversely, entailed that a positive reference to the past had to be possible as well.243 Sieburg mapped out a conservatism that existed solely in West Germany and that had already absorbed liberalism. Its pivotal point was individual freedom and ‘autonomy with reference to society and the state’.244 Sieburg evoked here the broad conservative criticism of the expansion of the welfare state, which took from individuals their responsibility for their own lives and rendered them puppets of state bureaucracies. Only when individuals freed themselves from these constraints could an oppositional (i.e. conservative) attitude be possible towards the advancing inherent logic of a system that focused on the masses instead of the individual.245 As we have seen, these patterns of interpretation were present in all blueprints developed for conservatism in the 1950s. Sieburg picked up on this and sharpened it further. The free individual, independent of the state, became the ideal in Sieburg’s concept of conservatism.246 This was only a variation on the theme of the existential crisis of the individual in modernity, which had been the ‘key problem’ in his thinking since the early 1920s.247 Sieburg did not, however, believe in the rapid realization of his proposed conservatism, in light of the actual situation in the welfare state. His analysis of conservatism thus remained one of resignation. For the young historian Rudolf von Thadden-Trieglaff, who responded to Sieburg’s commentary with a letter to the editor, this was also an incomplete analysis. If a renewed form of conservatism was to have a chance, it would only occur once its relationship with its own past had been clarified and its substance precisely established. The ‘category of conservation’ would not, in any event, suffice to define the phenomenon.248 Armin Mohler would react similarly somewhat later,249 with both of them calling for a clearer definition of a concept that had begun to lose any clarity of substance and for which there was now a relatively broad range of meaning. The ideas for a ‘conservative renewal’ held by the Jewish writer, philosopher of religion and historian Hans-Joachim Schoeps were, by contrast, quite

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clear-cut. Schoeps had returned to West Germany after years in exile in Sweden, and was a professor of the history of religion and ideas in Erlangen.250 Schoeps’s point of orientation was Prussia, a ‘different Prussia’,251 that he, in contrast to the widespread interpretation after 1945, did not view as nationalistic and authoritarian or as the source and origin of the German catastrophe, but as an organically evolved constitutional state, committed to Christian values, with hierarchical but balanced structures, wisely led by a responsible aristocratic elite and guaranteeing justice through its patriarchal social policy. Prussia would become a lifelong core topic for Schoeps. It was both a point of reference for him and an ideal that was central to the monarchist conservatism he developed in the 1950s and vigorously supported in his writings, with mere variations in nuance through the 1970s. Schoeps did however speak of a ‘later period of degeneracy of the Prussian tradition’, blaming the Prussian kings for neglecting to extend freedoms to the nobility sufficiently early, thus preventing the emergence of a ‘leadership class of the nation’, in contrast with the situation in the United Kingdom.252 He also strongly criticized the Prussian conservatives, whose ideological backbone had been broken back in 1866 by Bismarck, ‘their greatest son’.253 Prussia’s Conservative Party, which had never ‘intellectually moved past the GerlachStahl era’, had moreover betrayed conservatism, and with it the idea of the Prussian state, by turning to the Bismarckian politics of conquest and the nation state.254 The name conservative was used both in parallel and in succession by the following to adorn themselves: major agriculturalist interest groups, ethnic nationalists, panGerman imperialists and bourgeois cultural and property-holder reactionaries, until a secret national-liberal councillor, after selling out the conservative ideal of a Prussia anchored in the rule of law, steered the liquidated remains of the former party into the total state of Adolf Hitler, the mortal enemy of all that is truly conservative.255

This was a variation on the theme of pseudoconservatism, which was cultivated in the circles of the German Party and served the same function for Schoeps as it did for Mühlenfeld and von Merkatz: postwar conservatism was able, in this way, to cleanse itself of these lines of tradition and, at the same time, to find national points of reference in early German conservatism (Frühkonservatismus) for its project of ‘renewal’. This involved conceptual politics, adjusting the horizon of meaning for the concept of conservatism, and was to be shifted in its substance, following the British model. The continual, organic development in the UK, carried out without need for revolution, was attributed to the adept politics of conservatives, who knew that revolutions could be pre-empted through reforms. In this light, the misguided history of the Prussian conservatives proved ‘tragic for the course of German history’.256 Schoeps’s overt advocacy for the re-establishment of the monarchy, for which

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he still saw opportunity in the 1950s, primarily based its argumentation on the British model of a vibrant parliamentary monarchy as the ideal synthesis of tradition and modernity.257 Schoeps thus criticized Prussia without having to give up his ideal of a Prussian state. While others saw Prussia as the source of the German ‘special path’ (Sonderweg), Schoeps interpreted the German path to catastrophe as a betrayal of Prussia. Despite all of his criticism, Schoeps, on the whole, contrasted the distorted negative image of Prussia with an image that was, however, no less distorted in its excessive positivity.258 But what was this ‘conservatism of tomorrow’,259 which was oriented towards yesterday’s Prussia, to be like? It needed to recognize the course of history and place itself on the firm ground of ‘reality’, and this meant accepting democracy. Every other option, as Schoeps stressed, was ‘reactionary’. He thus defined conservatism, and most typically so, as a specific idea for the ordering of temporality, the ‘essence’ of which emerged in a ‘departure from the given’ in the ‘translation of that which was valuable in the past into the future’.260 For Schoeps as a monarchist, this treasure of course lay firmly in the Prussian tradition. By the end of the decade, different designs for conservatism had emerged in the media, which more or less moved cautiously towards a redefinition of the concept of conservatism. The abashed silence among West German writers during the first postwar years gave way to an ambivalent treatment of conservatism. These efforts exhibited clear lines of continuity in terms of their conceptuality with earlier conceptual definitions, and were in many ways closely intertwined with those of the early and mid-1950s. They all were distinguished by an affirmation of reality, tracing the concept back to its Latin roots (conservare) and deriving from this a typical order of temporality, based in the continuity of the dimension of time. They also recognized balance as a fundamental principle of conservatism, and worked at its semantic variation. The German conceptual visions of conservatism, moreover, sought their orientation in other countries, working to integrate individual thinkers and traditions into their construction of the history of German conservatism. They chiefly referred here to the United Kingdom, but also to the United States and Switzerland. Two variants in the understanding of conservatism emerged, which were more or less ideal-typically presented in two texts by the Zurich-based philosopher Hans Barth and the German-Swiss writer Armin Mohler. Barth published an anthology of fundamental texts on conservative thought in 1958, developing in his weighty introduction his understanding of conservatism, which the choice of source texts reflected in its orientation.261 For Barth, conservatism did not merely signify conservation but also the recognition of historical change and, thus, reforming in order to ‘improve’.262 Conservatism was seen here as originally dialectical, wise beyond itself, ‘aware of its need for complementation’.263 Conservatism thus had nothing in common with a ‘restoration’, and

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so texts by authors such as Joseph de Maistre and Carl Ludwig von Haller were nowhere to be found in Barth’s anthology. As Barth emphasized, however, conservatism did require an ethical source, a ‘system of values’ as a ‘measure of differentiation’. This source lay for Barth in ‘natural law as defined in Christianity’, which would balance out the tension between human freedom and obligation.264 Barth also viewed conservatism as the response to the French Revolution and the rationalist thinkers of the eighteenth century. As, however, conservatism was in ‘need of complementation’ due to its dialectic foundations, liberalism was inherent in it from the beginning.265 Alexis de Tocqueville was hence an outstanding conservative: deemed to be a liberal by his contemporaries, and describing himself as a ‘particular sort of liberal’, the French aristocrat of the 1830s and 1840s recognized the development towards democracy as ineluctable; but he nevertheless did everything he could to harmonize it with old traditions and institutions. Edmund Burke and Alexis de Tocqueville were the two heroes in Barth’s conservative pantheon, and the United Kingdom and the United States were the states in which their sort of conservatism could develop – formed by the will to achieve dialectical balance, with liberal presuppositions, a Christian understanding of the world and an Anglo-Saxon orientation. This was one variant on the concept of conservatism of the late 1950s. The other variant was constructed by Armin Mohler, who neutralized Barth’s definition by classifying it among other manifestations of conservatism and labelling it as ‘liberal conservatism of the Anglo-Saxon and … the distinct Swiss type’.266 This sort of conservatism could only prosper in countries with a continual development and without upheaval. For the Federal Republic, however, ‘on soil ploughed through and through by totalitarianism, such as that of Germany, which continues to be swept by “political myths” even if in an altered form’, a form of conservatism would not be suitable that was oriented towards the cautious further development of the existing situation. Mohler’s attack was not aimed at Barth, whom he viewed as at least not avoiding the formation of conservative theory, but instead at von Merkatz and, with him, the German Party. He saw it as a ‘national-liberal party’ in ‘its substance’, holding up high the concepts of the ‘individual’ and ‘private property’. These were, it was to be concluded, not genuine parts of the conservative vocabulary from Mohler’s perspective.267 The German Party, however, lacked, primarily, an ideological goal that did not get lost in the shuffle of ‘anti’-stances, as well as solid conservative pillars of ideas that went beyond the conservation of the natural.268 As Mohler succinctly put it, ‘the “gardener conservatism” that hearkens back to Burke’ is not suited to the Federal Republic.269 This settlement of accounts with the German Party had a history: Mohler had been approached by Hellwege in 1952 to work with the party, and he played a role in constructing its basic programme that year. By January 1953, however, Mohler had distanced himself and broken

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with the party, which viewed his ideological differences, especially with von Merkatz, as being insuperable.270 The newly reframed conservatism, and that of Hans Joachim von Merkatz in particular, intentionally broke with anti-democratic thinking, integrated liberal figures of thought into it, oriented it towards the Anglo-Saxon model and sought a balance instead of focusing on the extremes – it was precisely this that Mohler sought to oppose. For him, conservatism was just the opposite: a fixed system of ideas, certainly not Christian, drawing from the German anti-democratic tradition of thinking, and forming a radical anti-liberal counterprogramme. He unsurprisingly found Schoeps’s approaches to ‘conservative renewal’ to be sympathetic.271 In his 1960 omnibus review, Mohler outlined the second variant of the concept of conservatism, as developed in the vacuum of the late 1950s. In the following two decades, he was to elaborate, refine and represent it with enthusiasm. He received support for this from an unexpected place. In 1961, the young political scientist Martin Greiffenhagen published, for the first time, his thoughts on a theory of conservatism. He presented the core of his interpretation in essay form, which he later published as Das Dilemma des Konservatismus in Deutschland, a comprehensive monograph.272 Greiffenhagen’s influential thesis stated that a dilemma lay at the base of modern conservative thought, a dilemma that was ultimately not to be solved but in which the destructive drive of conservatism was itself anchored. This dilemma arose from the fact that conservatism opposed modern rationality and drew upon pre-rational sources while it, from the beginning, ‘presented its arguments within the horizons of this rationality and was hence rational in its approach per se’. Greiffenhagen’s central thesis was that ‘thought opposing rationality is itself rational, and conservative preservation is in reality a wish to preserve; this means, however, a deliberate recourse to a vanished world and an attempt at the reclamation of ideas that are slipping or have already slipped away’.273 A very deliberate focus was necessary in order to substantiate this thesis: Greiffenhagen excluded all those variants of conservative thinking that had been aware of this dilemma from the beginning and had recognized the Enlightenment foundations of modern conservatism. And he consequently also rejected all the readjustments to the concept of conservatism in the Federal Republic of the 1950s, which, drawing on thinkers of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries – in many variations, as we have seen – appropriated this tradition, indeed referring back to German lines of tradition. The political scientist Greiffenhagen thus reduced German conservatism to an adverse position towards enlightened modernity, while banishing anything else from the German genealogy of conservative thought as the ‘Anglo-Saxon liberal form of conservatism’.274

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It was therefore only logical for him when he pointed to the Weimar New Right as the purest form of German dilemmatic conservatism, for which he adopted Mohler’s concept and interpretation of the conservative revolution: In the conservative revolution, conservatism emerges clearly as that which it was from the beginning: as a backlash to the liberal spirit, based however in a reflexiverestorative position that remains dialectically linked to liberalism, particularly in its appeal to ‘dichotomy’. In its revolutionary form, conservatism appears modern from the start with the programmatic and ideological aspects of its essence, and its spirit of acting and planning.275

Greiffenhagen thus established his thesis in connection with the political thinking of the Weimar New Right. But how did he handle the conservative readjustments of his day? The dialectical principle, as the form of thinking typical of conservatism, was applied to conservatism itself after the dialectical attempt of the Weimar New Right to forcibly eliminate the opposite poles of modernity had failed. Conservatism now interpreted itself as an independent factor in the historical interplay of opposites: Greiffenhagen posited that the struggle between conservatism and progress was essentialized and viewed as eternal. Conservatism, however, lost crucial fundaments in the process, as all that was natural now needed to be thought of as progressive in its very foundations. All that remained, Greiffenhagen asserted, was the view that conservative thought was solely reactive and that conservative substance could not exist per se. He thus restricted conservatism to a ‘resigned defence of a position’ that attempted to ‘dialectically justify the restorative character of conservatism’.276 But in a society in which rationalism and Enlightenment principles dominated, conservative positions appeared implausible if based solely on irrationality.277 The dilemma of conservatism became fully visible in the new focus on the individual as well. Once again, an idea of ‘rationalist origin’ functioned only as a means of dialectically eliminating an old opposition, namely that of the individual and society. This was now to unfold in favour of the individual, but without recognizing the rationalistic preconditions of individualism.278 This, Greiffenhagen found, was the end of the history of conservatism in his day, with the Enlightenment prevailing instead.279 While Mohler naturally saw this differently, he did agree with Greiffenhagen in regard to defining the concept of conservatism using the variant of the New Right. Greiffenhagen’s scholarly work on the concept, which entailed a high level of philosophical reflection, thus intersected with Mohler’s conceptual politics, to which he had always lent an academic touch. Nevertheless, the impact of Greiffenhagen’s thesis would only reach its full effect with the publication of the book in the feverish times of the early 1970s. When, in spring 1962, the editors of Der Monat provided a platform for discussion of conservatism in the West Germany of the day, they were not in

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fact launching an entirely new conversation but moving ahead with something already in the air. The oft-cited Konservativ 1962 discussion forum provided great impetus to the discussion of conservatism in the Federal Republic, giving it an appearance of relevance by placing it in a position of prominence. It added focus to a debate that had been ongoing since the late 1950s in the informed public, and sought to bring clarity to a situation of conceptual uncertainty. For the editors at Der Monat, this was about nothing less than a situational description of West German political culture, which they viewed as being formed by two political camps of the Left and Right. While the Left was actually discussed using that label (i.e. Linke), the editors substituted conservative for Right, believing ‘Right’ to be ‘vague’ and ‘emotionally burdened’.280 It would become rapidly apparent in the articles of the forum, however, that ‘conservative’ would be seen as problematic as well. The journal invited well-known advocates of conservative concerns: Armin Mohler, the radio journalist Dietrich Schwarzkopf, Golo Mann, Hans-Joachim von Merkatz, the writer Caspar Freiherr von Schrenck-Notzing, the journalist Klaus Harpprecht, Hans Zehrer, Peter Dürrenmatt and Eugen Gerstenmaier. An article was announced to be forthcoming from Emil Franzel but it was never published. That would have fully covered the Catholic spectrum in the conservative debate of the 1950s – and the editorial team was in fact otherwise able to present the entire range of current proposals for conservatism. The two camps that had formed in the course of the debate on conservatism beginning in the late 1950s came into focus here: those who proposed conservatism should be built on the ground of the liberal democracy, and those who pursued conservatism in the tradition of the Weimar New Right. Armin Mohler and Caspar von Schrenck-Notzing supported the latter, while the liberal variant, though allowing for a wide range of interpretations, shared a fundamental recognition of democracy and a view of conservatism as the offspring of modernity. As we will see, the two variants of conservatism would continue to influence the political culture of the Federal Republic – through to our own day. This underscores the significance of the journalistic debates of the later 1950s and early 1960s. How did the forum’s participants approach the topic? How did they define West German conservatism in 1962? As Dietrich Schwarzkopf commented, the ‘modern conservative’ had, first and foremost, the task of ‘conserving and further developing freedom’. Freedom was understood here to serve conservatism as ‘the opportunity to freely display a political individuality within the boundaries delimited by a respect for the same freedom held by others’. Conservative was thus ‘synonymous with liberal’, and the conservative was viewed as ‘democracy’s regulative factor to ensure freedom’. Schwarzkopf understood this to be ‘restorative’ – and, in this light, the adoption of the German Basic Law was a restorative act. For Schwarzkopf, this conservative defence of freedom entailed complete support for the ‘diversity’ of an ‘existing order’, moving forward with

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‘deideologization’, the promotion of ‘legitimate authority’, the ‘normalization of political awareness’ (which was understood to include the acceptance of the formation of national traditions and a positive relationship with German history) and ‘respect for individuality’.281 Schwarzkopf made explicit reference here to a line of tradition of ‘liberal conservatism à la Burke’,282 while Golo Mann also praised ‘this Burke, who wrote the wonderful handbook of conservatism’. If conservatism was now building upon liberalism, however, and if it was historically intertwined with liberalism, what was there now to distinguish the two? Golo Mann approached the question with a historical argument. Conservatism distrusted uncurtailed power, which was thus to be limited. The suitable means for this included natural law, adherence to a constitution and a state built on principles of decentralization. Viewed historically, this represented core liberal demands, albeit made by only some liberals: ‘The liberals who distrust power, not just the power of kings but every form of absolute power, belong more to the conservative camp; the Rousseau-Robespierre liberals to the revolutionary camp’.283 Conservatism, as defined by Mann, continued the moderate tradition of early liberalism, with its focal point the rejection of revolution. If Golo Mann still held, in the early 1950s, that he could now only establish conservatism as a fragment of memory, it would appear much more solid to him a decade later – surely not as a system but as a conglomerate of connected and complementary ideas and concepts, formed as an antithesis to the ‘other collection of concepts held together by the superordinate concept of “revolution”’. Mann named a number of such conservative ‘core principles, core theses, affirmations and negations’: reform in the sense of the ‘practically necessary’, doubt in human ‘perfectibility’ and in the possibility of planning to end all suffering in the world, an ‘affinity for the material’, the struggle against the ‘absolute power of society’ and the principle of social usefulness, distrust of a proposed Allvernunft (complete rationality).284 Mann decidedly rejected defining conservatism as the moment of conservation. He believed, in any event, that conservatism had to emerge from the issues of the present day, and so the ideas of the nineteenth century could be shelved. This centred on what conservative thought would be able to achieve in an era of accelerated change – with conservative thought understood here to be the adversary of revolutionary dynamics. While Golo Mann took a historical approach to the complicated mixture ratio of conservatism and liberalism, Klaus Harpprecht focused his analysis on the concept of progress, a subject of considerable conservative efforts from the very beginning. This included gaining an understanding of the tension between progressing and conserving, between future aspirations and appreciation for the past. Harpprecht believed that conservatives did in fact accept change and even initiated it themselves at times. Only ‘progress at any cost’ needed to be resisted unconditionally.285 His call for the ‘defence of the old-fashioned’ thus meant

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that a conservatism suited to the times needed to resist the steadily advancing development towards social uniformity, with its ‘duty’ being to ‘preserve the diversity of the world’.286 Peter Dürrenmatt’s conclusion was very similar: a conservatism adapted to the present meant, chiefly, ‘opposition, resistance, endurance’.287 According to Dürrenmatt, the most urgent task for the conservatives was to ‘separate state and society’ and, connectedly, ‘to clarify the concepts of property and responsibility’.288 The Swiss author, furthermore, proposed another variant for the development of conservatism in its confrontation with liberalism. While there had previously been a common narrative involving the conceptualization of liberalism and conservatism as originally being antipodes, the move away from anti-democratic views required a revision. Not unlike Golo Mann, Dürrenmatt honed in here on decisive points in history. He viewed ‘European conservatism’ as ‘a centre in a situation predominated by the extremes’, which emerged from the opposition of ‘Jacobinism and reaction’ – and was thus a product of ‘synthesis’ from the beginning.289 Readjustment, redefinition, recognition of realities and the embrace of liberalism – that was the direction in which Mann, Dürrenmatt and Schwarzkopf sought to move the pursuit for conservatism at a time of accelerating change. And they did indeed view their work on the concept as a pursuit. Armin Mohler’s pursuit was, by comparison, more concrete in nature: he sought a chance to gather conservative forces following Adenauer’s departure from the scene. He felt, without a doubt, that he knew what conservatism was. His definition was that of the Weimar New Right: not an ‘adherence to what had been in the past, but a life derived from the eternally valid’.290 From this point of view, it was now only a matter of finding substance, or cores, emerging from the particular historical situation in which ‘conservative energies’,291 which Mohler believed he could observe throughout the Federal Republic, could be concentrated. He proposed two such cores for a conservative movement: first, resistance against a ‘moralization of politics’, which he understood to entail the jettisoning of the Nazi past from West German politics.292 Demands for reunification and the ‘recovery of lost provinces’ were seen as legitimate and as a right to the ‘self-assertion’ of the ‘Volk’ and ‘nation’, while the ‘moralization hype’ over ‘war criminals’ was to be put to an end.293 Mohler thus aimed for nothing less than a proud and resolute view of the national in the era of the Eichmann trial.294 Second, Mohler believed there to be a ‘monumental need’ for the individual to be ordered within something ‘overarching’ – eternal orders that can only be experienced in the ritual. Human beings, he believed, ‘do not wish to be free from everything, but free for something’. He most explicitly evoked the experience of ‘community’ in the National Socialist regime, which offered ‘opportunities to meet unsatisfied wishes for self-placement, which could at least have represented a subjective sense of fulfilment’. The idea of the ‘Volk’

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as a ‘peculiar unit’, an independent, difficult-to-grasp creature with a heroic history that lives on in the ritual, reared its head again in Mohler’s definition of conservatism – as did the closely related idea of the Volksgemeinschaft (national community).295 Both were not only fundamental elements in National Socialist ideology, but also in the political thinking of the Weimar New Right. A few weeks later, Caspar von Schrenck-Notzing put forward arguments that were well in line with Mohler’s ideas. He was not interested in conservation as an ingredient of conservatism, or in an unquestioned continuation of conservative strands of ideas. He instead found it necessary to seek out that which was ‘suited’ to the current situation. For him, conservatism was a ‘turning point’ and ‘protest’ that accordingly manifested itself in ‘conservative action’.296 Schrenck-Notzing celebrated the extremes, praised decisionism and glorified action, words that the German public had already heard during the Weimar era. It may not therefore come as a surprise to hear that SchrenckNotzing viewed the Weimar New Right as the ‘last heyday’ of German conservatism.297 For the 1960s, he supported Sachgerechtigkeit (appropriateness) as the crystallization of conservatism, politics oriented solely towards necessity and utility, institutional logic and unemotional decision-making.298 This, too, had been well known since the Weimar era, and the conservative sociology of Gehlen and Schelsky, which claimed that only technocracies were now in power everywhere, provided new fuel to these explanatory models.299 SchrenckNotzing now sought to place this Sachgerechtigkeit in an adversarial position in opposition to a supposed ‘neo-Pietism’ that lined up with Mohler’s ‘moralization’ along with ‘provincialism’, which included what others saw to be the centre of the concept of conservatism: small units, federalism, decentralization, Heimat, ‘soil’, customs and traditions. A conservatism ‘for the institutions and against sentiment’ was seen as tied neither to culture nor to tradition, but was globally applicable.300 Schrenck-Notzing thus advocated an international movement in a ‘post-European world’, using ‘conservative’ as synonymous with ‘the Right’.301 This equivalence cannot be found as explicitly in Mohler’s article, as it was apparently his strategy to take full possession of the concept of conservatism. Robert Hepp, on the other hand, who entered into the Monat debate with a letter to the editor, departed fully from the concept of conservatism as it had become too blurry for him, and now took on the meaning of ‘all or nothing’. The 24-year-old Hepp, who was in close contact with Mohler at the time, studied with Schoeps in Erlangen and went on to receive his doctorate in 1968, serve as a professor of sociology in Salzburg, Saarbrücken and later Vechta, and act as an active representative of the New Right in the media.302 In his letter to the editor, he suggested an alternative concept: ‘The New Right has emerged as a reaction to pure reaction’.303 It can be assumed that the French Nouvelle Droite was the inspiration for this, which Armin Mohler described in detail and used as

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a model for his concept of the political Right after 1945.304 Within this context, Mohler also revealed his attitude towards the concept of conservatism, which he had already placed in the tradition of the Weimar New Right in his 1962 Monat article. He had expressed himself more decisively a few years earlier, stating that, in the present, the Right ‘can serve no conservational function but only an explosive one’.305 When Mohler employed the concept of conservatism in 1962, it was therefore with purely functional aims: the concept of the Right was frowned upon in the political language of the Federal Republic, while conservatism was considered legitimate. This also involved having the predominant power of interpretation at a time when a liberal concept of conservatism was beginning to establish itself. Mohler sought to prevent this – and could find no better way to do so than laying claim to the concept and defaming competitors as non-conservative. As we have already seen, he did this with regard to the German Party with particular relish, and he took the opportunity to do so in Der Monat as well. He ridiculed all liberal interpretations as ‘gardener conservatism’ bereft of a programme, and left only with ‘caretaking’ and the occasional ‘pulling out of weeds’.306 In view of Mohler’s attacks, subsequent authors in the Monat forum felt it necessary to defend their variants of the concept of conservatism. Dietrich Schwarzkopf felt the need to introduce himself as a ‘modern conservative’, underscoring his distance to all attempts to continue to lead the ‘conservative revolution’.307 Von Merkatz, who presented his well-known theses here, also accused Mohler of having non-conservative – and indeed ‘pseudoconservative’ – views, as his advocacy for conservative theory itself called the essence of conservatism into question.308 Klaus Harpprecht in fact named Mohler directly: ‘Conservative revolutionaries’, he wrote, ‘are not to be trusted. They are always honing a myth. … Crisis is their elixir of life. They are enamoured with the monumental’. Their goal was none other than ‘permanent upheaval’. The ‘conservative’ pursued the exact opposite: ‘human moderation’, the suppression of the mythical and archaic, manageable lifeworlds, ‘stasis alongside movement’ and a distrust of all that is ideological.309 A stalemate emerged towards the end of the half-year-long Monat debate over a conservatism suited to the times. Two versions of the concept of conservatism had been presented with a number of more or less specific suggestions for approaches to conservative politics in the 1960s. That one did not speak of conservatism, that the concept of conservatism was frowned upon and thus to be avoided, that it was only linked to negative associations, these all turned out to be a topos already established in the political language of the Federal Republic. This did not, however, mean that this topos did not still have an impact. Conservatism remained – despite, or even perhaps due to, the wide range of efforts to delimit the definition – a concept that was to be used with caution. The focused conceptual politics of Mohler and Schrenck-Notzing,

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which attained legitimacy through their reception in political science, played a major role in the concept remaining unstable. Apart from Mohler and Schrenck-Notzing’s dreams of a conservative joining of forces, all other contributions to the forum cast doubt on the prospects of an explicitly conservative party in West Germany of the 1960s. In his reluctance to attach himself to a party, Dietrich Schwarzkopf saw an affirmation for conservative individualism,310 Golo Mann presented his convictions that only parties that combined both conservative and progressive ideas had a chance in the society of his time,311 and Hans-Joachim von Merkatz found conservative elements in all the parties in the course of the deideologization process.312 That was fully understandable in his case, as this intellectual advocate of conservatism in the 1950s had left his German Party to join Adenauer’s CDU. In 1962, even Eugen Gerstenmaier, the leading figure of the Protestant wing of the Union, declared ‘conservative’ to be unsuitable as a label for a ‘large party in Germany’ – which could only have meant the Union – because, as he put it, he had learned from his own mistakes. He reported that he met with vigorous opposition when he described his party as ‘conservative’ at the 1958 CDU Federal Party Conference. Gerstenmaier felt that this was completely unfounded, however, as conservative was then being associated with matters that were far removed from his views: ‘Their opposition was in response to the danger of being branded by political adversaries as being reactionary, propertied bourgeois and deutschnational (German nationalist)’. While this sort of attribution of meaning was ‘false’, he added, it was common in Germany, which was why the concept was to be avoided ‘for psychological and not for programmatic reasons’.313 In short, this meant that the Union parties were conservative parties, but they could not identify as such due to the complex semantic realities of the Federal Republic. That was a powerful assertion.

2.2. Christian Politics in Secular Times: Discourses of Self-Understanding in the CDU and CSU during the Late 1950s and Early 1960s The 1958 CDU Federal Party Conference in Kiel was a particular moment for the Bundestag president and deputy party leader, Eugen Gerstenmaier. He put great efforts into his keynote address, working day and night for two weeks in close cooperation with government ministers from his party,314 as he recalled, an address that was to get to the heart and ‘centre of what constitutes our work’.315 He did not seek to ‘polemicize’, but aimed at a ‘clarification of our point of view, where we are coming from and the goal we are striving to reach’.316 For Gerstenmaier this was about nothing less than a concise summary of the CDU’s self-image. He spoke about ‘constitutional order and the image of

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society’, and specifically in that sequence, as he was convinced that the ‘majority’s image of society is determined by the constitutional order’.317 He was not only open for a discussion on his speech but he clearly demonstrated its particular necessity to Adenauer, who would have much preferred a debate that was planned and steered ahead of time. Kai-Uwe von Hassel, minister president of Schleswig-Holstein and another deputy party leader under Adenauer, supported Gerstenmaier at the CDU Federal Board meeting to prepare the conference with a willingness ‘to discuss questions openly as well’.318 Von Hassel hardly expected that Gerstenmaier’s meticulously crafted speech, despite all assurances to the contrary, would prove polarizing and set in motion a fundamental several-year-long debate over the CDU’s identity. The party had never before had as much open discussion. This would unfold at party conferences, which would develop into a clearing house of political language, within associations close to the party, in the churches, at church academies and in various newspapers and journals of the political spectrum represented by the Union parties. This discussion reflected the need for programmatic agreement now that the Federal Republic was firmly in place. The moments of integration during the early years of the Federal Republic would appear hardly sufficient to provide the party with an identity suited to the times, while also holding together the various internal wings of the party.319 While Adenauer saw this differently, and in fact believed that it was necessary to boost their profile, he did appear to more strongly support the clarification of ‘fundamentals’ following the Kiel party conference.320 In addition to these intra-party impulses, concepts of political orientation had all begun to shift in the West German public arena towards the end of the 1950s, as we have seen above. This demanded a more precise definition on the part of the Union parties as well. This linguistic change hit the Union parties with full force. How were they to position themselves terminologically in the difficult landscape of political language in the Federal Republic? What concepts did they wish to use to describe themselves? What characterized the core of the CDU/CSU brand? What connected northern German Protestants, Catholics from the Rhine and rural craftspeople? The concept of conservatism practically followed the CDU and CSU around in the course of these fundamental debates – and they were increasingly being referred to as ‘conservative’ by the end of the 1950s. But were they not just that? And if they were not conservative, what were they in fact? The response of the CDU and CSU to this at the end of the 1950s was quite clear. They held fast to the concept that they had fashioned into their trademark from the party’s founding: Christian or Christianity.321 As part of the party’s name, it was not particularly easy to simply ignore, so it was formulaically abbreviated to the letter C. Christianity shone like a guiding star over the Union. And yet, it was not the only star in the Christian Democratic and Christian Social sky of the late 1950s and early 1960s. Christian indeed connected other

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self-descriptive concepts, or gave them direction. Its relatively open meaning also contributed to this – as a concept, it was broadly compatible and proved highly integrative. This was the case in terms of the Union’s denominationalism, which, though still advanced in both Protestantism and Catholicism, had found a strong platform of commonality in Christianity. This also applied to the party’s social heterogeneity. The shared faith was to provide a basis to bridge opposing interests, even if these were not to disappear entirely. In this way, the definition of the concept in the late 1950s and early 1960s upheld the founding consensus. This was coming under attack, however, from an increasing number of quarters. Advancing societal secularization and liberalization gnawed at the self-image of the Union parties. What could the C continue to mean in times of secularization?322 The self-description of the Union parties was differentiated at three levels: in their positioning themselves as representatives of a political orientation; defining themselves as a specific type of party; and attributing to themselves a characteristic political style. While the British concepts of conservatism and Toryism did combine these three components in themselves, the Union parties lacked this sort of overarching self-descriptive concept once Christianity, which had been able to serve this purpose during the party’s first years, began to lose its explanatory power. The complex conceptual worlds that emerged from this difficult semantic situation lie at the centre of this chapter; indeed, the history of the concept of conservatism in the political language of the Federal Republic can only be understood in this context.

2.2.1. An Explosive Party Conference Speech: Eugen Gerstenmaier and Liberalism in the Union Parties In what way was Gerstenmaier’s ninety-minute party conference speech so explosive? Beginning with the widespread thesis that a two-party system with socialist and Christian camps was about to prevail, the Protestant theologian cautiously sought to integrate traditions of liberal thought into the historical party narrative. Many viewed this with outrage: liberalism was believed to be irreconcilable with the fundaments of the Union parties. Gerstenmaier was shaking up the position of his party within the canon of political orientation that had been established in the early Federal Republic. He was well aware of this, and proceeded carefully. He recalled Wilhelm von Humboldt’s understanding of the state as well as Friedrich Naumann’s synthesizing concepts, and made the freedom of the individual the focal point of the ‘Christian-social view of society’ with ‘the person of responsibility standing on his own two feet in a structured and orderly community’.323 Here he lent new sociopolitical weight to the concept of freedom, which had been central

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to the CDU/CSU as a constitutional principle from the very beginning and was part of the post-totalitarian consensus. Gerstenmaier indeed integrated the concept of freedom as the legacy of liberalism into his advocacy for the ‘social constitutional state’ (sozialer Rechtsstaat), which the Union felt obliged to bring about on the basis of the Basic Law. He also warned of its limitations, however, evoking the dangers of the ‘socialist welfare state’. Christian solidarity could only be transferred to the state, he believed, if this did not restrict the freedom or productivity of the individual, and did not ultimately lead to ‘unfree uniform masses, steered by state command’.324 The ‘apostolic commandment to “bear one another’s burdens” is an obligatory aspiration … but not a rallying cry for compulsion’, Gerstenmaier underscored with the authority of a theologian, using a rhetorical device that was common to the Union parties, in which arguments were supported by biblical quotes to lend them absolute legitimacy. Their explosive power was also defused, however, in that they were interpreted in line with the particular political position in question. Theologians of both denominations played a large role here, taking on an aura of expertise, and the politician Gerstenmaier continued to view himself as an intellectual guardian of the conceptual inventory of his party. Not only biblical concepts but concepts from the discipline of theology thus entered the political language of the CDU and CSU. This clearly distinguished the internal party discourse in the Union from the one carried out in the Conservative Party. Gerstenmaier’s focus lay in Catholic social doctrine, which had had a deep influence on the Union’s sociopolitical profile. Its three underlying principles were personalism or personality, solidarity and subsidiarity, concepts that were on point and recognizable as specialist terms, were understood as theological concepts and could be adapted to different contexts.325 When Gerstenmaier attempted to place limits on the meaning of the concept of solidarity – with a theological rationale – he also placed restrictions on the interpretive authority of the social-Catholic party wing, which had previously dominated social policy discourse within the party. That Gerstenmaier did not in fact neglect to refer to the nineteenth-century Catholic and Protestant traditions of social conservatism was drowned out by the storm of outrage that followed his presentation. He had gone too far in overstepping the linguistic rules of his party. This triggered a fundamental debate over the course of several years, which primarily focused on the political language of the Union parties. Its language had previously been characterized by its clear demarcation towards both liberalism and socialism. Hans Katzer, chairman of the Sozialausschüsse, which was the organization of Christian employees and workers within the Union parties, and one of its leading voices,326 in his reply to Gerstenmaier, called for this conceptual constellation to be brought back into alignment: ‘The Christian Democratic Union has grown strong as a party of the centre. It has grown strong because it has stood up equally against socialism and liberalism’.327

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The consensus motto of the Partei der Mitte (Party of the centre) indeed played an important role in the integration of the diverse political groupings during the party’s founding phase, as it both stressed the party’s novel interdenominational character and its ability to integrate different social classes, while also calling upon those within the party to seek out the centre, balancing out divergent confessional and social interests within the commonality of Christian conviction.328 The call within the Conservative Party for a middle way, balance and synthesis served the same purpose.329 Katzer, however, described other violations of Christian Democratic conceptual conventions from Gerstenmaier’s presentation. While he had in fact spoken of ‘personalism’ and ‘subsidiarity’, he had not invoked the concept of ‘solidarity’. For Katzer, all three had to be combined in order to outline the ‘Christian-social idea’ in full. The conceptual limits that Gerstenmaier had set thus hit the nail on the head. Katzer felt he had to bring another area of semantic focus back into alignment as well. Gerstenmaier had ended his speech with the call of ‘forward, friends, forward in freedom’, taken from the British Conservative Party – see below for more on this transnational conceptual transfer. That was too much in terms of the semantics of freedom for Katzer. He recalled the motto of the 1949 German Catholic Convention in Bochum, Gerechtigkeit schafft Frieden (Justice creates peace), which held great meaning for the Catholic social movement.330 He responded to Gerstenmaier, and thus to the entire market-liberal wing, that speaking of freedom but not of justice was not suitable for a Christian party.331 Gerstenmaier’s semantics were perceived as liberal by the representatives of the Catholic social wing, with ‘liberal’ referring here to the economic order.332 They were joined in this as well by Catholic publications, academies and associations, all portraying the dangers of a ‘growing liberalization of the Union’.333 The denominational oppositions apparently erupted in the discussion of Gerstenmaier’s speech, just as the discourse on social and economic policy took on even greater denominational character. Gerstenmaier was chiefly accused of muddying the Christian self-image in that he – fully in line with Protestant tradition – softened its distinction from liberalism. It was therefore not unexpected that a Protestant and well-known economic policymaker supported him in the discussion at the Kiel party conference. Federal Minister of Finance Franz Etzel did not wish to allow Katzer’s conceptual definitions to simply stand either. He first reminded his fellow Catholic party members that the ‘concept of solidarity … is contained in the Christian “thou” and love for one’s neighbour’. He pressed for equal footing for Protestant language in the CDU’s conceptual inventory, while also recalling the Christian principle of balance in the ‘party of the centre’, in which a ‘synthesis of interests’ was to be found through the Christian ‘thou’ of familiarity.334 Etzel, moreover, worked on the formation of the Union parties’ position with regard to liberalism, here too attempting to mediate and find Protestant–Catholic

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commonalities. He had, he underlined, regularly rejected liberalism as the chairman of the economics committee during the earliest years of the party: ‘We do not pursue laissez faire, laissez aller policies’, he stressed, or any politics of ‘liberalism in the old sense of the word’. The Union parties instead embraced the ‘social market economy’, finding a concept that ‘fully contains this distinction’, even if ‘scholars’ employed the concept of neoliberalism to this end instead. Etzel urged Katzer to differentiate between concepts, while reminding him of the consensus within the party for the term ‘social market economy’.335 While the Union parties did not now need to describe themselves as ‘neoliberal’, he maintained that this externally attributed concept should be accepted, especially as the prefix ‘neo-’ also entailed a distinction from the market liberal conceptions of the nineteenth century. Etzel argued here fully along the lines of the neoliberal intellectuals that he defended. They had put forward an alternative model of order within an international network as a reaction to the economic and political crises of the 1920s and 1930s, a model that was set apart from both the ‘old variety of liberalism’ and concepts involving state intervention.336 They specifically described themselves as neoliberal.337 Economists from Europe and the United States organized themselves as an ‘international research community’ in the 1930s, first in the aftermath of the 1938 Colloque Walter Lippmann in Paris, the short-lived International Centre of Studies for the Renovation of Liberalism (CIRL) in Paris, and then in the Mont Pelerin Society beginning in 1947. The German wing of the network, represented by Wilhelm Röpke, Alfred MüllerArmack, Walter Eucken and Alexander Rüstow, which was also described as ordoliberal, coined the popular term ‘Third Way’ between ‘old liberalism’ and collectivism. They viewed their particular conception of order as a ‘synthesis’,338 coming into conflict, in this regard, with younger American members of the Mont Pelerin Society, centred on Friedrich August von Hayek, Ludwig von Mises and Milton Friedman, for whom the German critique of liberalism went somewhat too far. Concepts from Catholic social doctrine found their way via Röpke and Müller-Armack into ordoliberal thought, which was, whatever the case, moulded by Christian convictions,339 while also permeated by patterns of cultural criticism and Abendland thought, following the model of a strong state.340 The ordoliberals also drew from early liberalism in the Englishspeaking world, synthesizing very different traditions of political thinking in Europe in the process – and all refracted through the lens of Cold War totalitarianism theory.341 The ordoliberals formed, as Josef Mooser explained with reference to Wilhelm Röpke, ‘a new liberalism for the “true” twentieth century, i.e. one liberated from “collectivism”, in the language of the conservatism of the nineteenth century’.342 They aimed at the establishment of a new order that was more than just an economic order. The ordoliberals strove

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for a holistic social constitution with a balance of freedom and obligation, based on Christian values and norms, while presupposing the self-responsibility and self-effacement of the individual.343 They shared many convictions not only with Protestants in the Federal Republic, but also with segments of Catholicism, even social Catholicism.344 The social policy concepts were by no means as clearly coded in denominational terms as the social Catholic wing of the CDU would have it. The CDU had an excellent representative of this network in Ludwig Erhard, who, as the federal minister for economics, embodied the success of the social market economy and personalized its identification with the Union parties.345 Erhard was known as a ‘liberal’ within the CDU346 – a party that he would not in fact join until April 1963, once it had been decided that he would succeed Adenauer as chancellor347 – the holistic ideas of cultural criticism and social harmony that predominated in his thought notwithstanding.348 His reserve when it came to vigorous Christian pronouncements and his distance to the churches did much to support this view, especially among professing Catholics in the Union parties.349 At the 1958 CDU Federal Party Conference in Kiel, Federal Minister of Finance Etzel took on the concept of freedom in his defence of Gerstenmaier and his plea for ordoliberalism.350 ‘Human nature’, which was the ‘centre point’ of all economics, he stated, corresponded with a ‘life of freedom and responsibility’, and only if the ‘economy provides people with freedom’ was there indeed a liberal political order. Economic and civil freedom thus presupposed one another, while democracy was only seen as feasible within a free economic system. Etzel followed here in the footsteps of ordoliberalism as well.351 He connected the concept of freedom with that of responsibility, however, and provided it with a Christian basis. This concept of responsibility was closely tied to that of property, another key concept for the Union parties that was emphatically embraced by all the party wings.352 Property ‘built upon an awareness and capability for responsibility’ had to be connected to ‘the morality and the felt style of a respected person’, Etzel maintained, thus connecting the concepts of freedom, responsibility and property along with the additional central concept of morality, which was predominant in the moral discourse of the Union parties in the 1950s.353 Etzel sought to draw boundaries to freedom through individual responsibility; it was up to individuals to regulate the use of their freedom themselves. The Catholic social policymakers, on the other hand, were more suspicious of such an exclusive obligation of the individual. That ‘freedom is not the same as intemperateness’, as Konrad Adenauer expressed it in his speech at the Kiel party conference,354 was part of the basic consensus within the Union. The Catholic social politicians also emphasized that the freedom of the individual was fundamentally limited by the freedom of others – a classic Kantian

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argument.355 Freedom needed to be connected back to the social order, resulting in a tension that could be expressed in the conceptual pairs ‘freedom and order’ and ‘freedom and law’.356 Freedom was also limited by power, as Theodor Blank emphasized: ‘Power must be viewed with interest by the social policymaker as one of the causes of a lack of freedom’. It was, moreover, the task of the state to tame this power, ensuring both a ‘social order’ and ‘social justice’.357 Etzel’s speech did not, however, represent the end of the conceptual dispute at Kiel, as Eugen Gerstenmaier himself spoke to conclude the proceedings. He first underscored his own intellectual socialization, which occurred in neither the ‘old’ nor the ‘new liberalism’, nor in fact in the circles around the ‘highly esteemed Friedrich Naumann’, but in ‘the tradition of Christian Social Protestantism’.358 Having said that, he reminded his Catholic colleagues of the concepts of personalism in neo-scholastic theology,359 and, in particular, of the ‘mysterious inspiring power of neo-Thomism in French social thought’, which was committed to protecting people in their ‘personal core’ and ‘from enslavement by the overwhelming power of the impersonal, of non-personal apparatuses’.360 He could have pointed here to the concept of personalism and the anthropological components of ordoliberalism as well.361 As Gerstenmaier explained, both Catholic and Protestant theology was convinced that the freedom of the individual was under threat by the ‘welfare state’ – implicitly calling upon the Catholic social wing to take notice. ‘That is personalism!’, Gerstenmaier added, underscoring his claim to the term.362 Gerstenmaier stressed his openness to liberal thought yet again: ‘When one speaks of liberalism, this does not yet mean, not even for us, that everything connected to it over the course of 150 years was the devil’s work’.363 His message was that it was, instead, well worth drawing from this tradition. On the way towards a two-party system, he welcomed to the Union, moreover, all those who saw themselves anchored in the liberal tradition. The major conflict of his time, Gerstenmaier believed, lay between Christian and socialist forces, between ‘freedom’ and ‘obligation’, between ‘massification’ and ‘self-reliance and responsibility’, between the ‘social constitutional state’ and ‘socialist welfare state’ – among any number of other such antitheses.364 Gerstenmaier’s goal was an anti-socialist movement under the Christian banner, as he viewed his times as driven by an either/or choice, locked in a sort of battle on two fronts – so that the liberals had no other option but to join the Christian Democrats in their fight for ‘the personalistic view of society against the threat posed by the socialist welfare state’.365 In the face of the socialist adversary, Gerstenmaier, guided by the structural principle of opposites, cautiously re-evaluated the conceptual inventory of the Union. It was no coincidence that he closed his speech with a programmatic alignment with the Conservative Party, taking this, in retrospect, as an indication that the CDU was a conservative party.366

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2.2.2. The Christian-Social Wing of the Union and the ‘High C’ The alarm bells rang loudly within the social wing of the Union parties in reaction to Gerstenmaier’s stirring the conceptual pot of political orientation. It would seem that the divided Christian Social movement, which was organized around different centres of power and which impeded itself in its dispute over unified versus political trade unions in the course of the 1950s,367 ultimately found a common anchor in the rejection of the cautious integration of liberalism that Gerstenmaier supported. The denominational fault lines were not, however, as clear as they might have appeared at the party conference. Both Catholic and Protestant members were organized within the Sozialausschüsse of the Christian Democratic Workers’ Association (Christlich-Demokratische Arbeitnehmerschaft, CDA), which functioned as an independent association of the Union, viewing itself as a bridge between the party and society. Despite its intended federal scope, it remained generally limited to its core Catholic region along the Rhine, it continued to cling to the Ahlen Programme of 1947, which had long since been shelved in the party itself, and it increasingly lost its influence. Beginning in 1957, the CDA found itself on an ‘open course of conflict with the party’, not only due to the influence of the workers in the party remaining ‘precarious’368 but also because calls for further liberalization were becoming increasingly loud.369 The internal party dispute over the concepts ultimately marked the final battle of retreat for a movement and its conceptual worlds that had decisively shaped the CDU in its early years. The CDA’s Catholic bias was rarely as clear as it was in its response to Gerstenmaier’s speech at the Christian Social Workers’ Congress in March 1960. After a long, conflict-ridden run-up, the majority of the associations tied to the Christian Social movement managed to assemble for a Weimarstyle congress, dedicated to establishing their current position.370 The sticking point here, the conflict within the camp between supporters of the Deutscher Gewerkschaftsbund (German Trade Union Congress, DGB), and those of the Christian trade unions, was in fact avoided, as the delegates instead focused in depth on the critique of liberalism and socialism, as Die Zeit observed half a year later.371 This concerted effort to determine the Christian position was in fact more of a position ex negativo: while one main speech invoked a clear demarcation towards liberalism, another did the same towards socialism, and only then did Hans Katzer define what was ‘Christian Social in our time’.372 The concept of conservatism, by contrast, played only a subordinate role in this dispute. Conservatism was apparently not viewed as an absolute adversary to the Christian Social movement. The CDU politician Heinz Budde, a member of the Federal Board of the Katholische Arbeitnehmer-Bewegung (Catholic Workers’ Movement, KAB), lecturer at the Catholic-Social Institute in Bad Honnef and chairman of the

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Arbeitsgemeinschaft katholisch-sozialer Bildungswerke (Working Group of Catholic-Social Educational Institutes),373 first tackled the task of separating out the Christian-Social from the liberal. The main elements of the concept of liberalism that shaped the political language of the Union in the 1950s appeared paradigmatically in his presentation. Right at the beginning, Budde indicated that he would form his view of liberalism from the strict perspective of Christian Social doctrine and not in terms of ‘general categories’. Liberalism had a specific meaning in these circles, of which the protagonists were well aware. They attributed their particular sensitivity to liberal thinking and liberal politics to the historical experience of the Christian Social movement, with working people experiencing the effects of liberalism ‘first-hand’. This conceptual definition was connected to a historical narrative with focal points, including nineteenth-century industrialization, economic liberalization and urbanization, as well as the approaches of Catholic social reform. The narrative was personified in its veneration of Wilhelm von Ketteler, Adolph Kolping and Pope Leo XIII. Apart from this history of experience, Budde added, the ‘Christian worker’ was in a ‘natural conflict of interest with the typical supporters of the liberalist idea’.374 The contrast between capital and labour informed Budde’s definition of liberalism.375 He recognized the centre of liberal thought in ‘individualism’; individualism functioned as the complete opposite of the political language that was cultivated in Christian Social circles. While the Christian idea of ​​society was based, he explained, on the integration of every person into a God-given order, within which moral norms also manifested, liberalism paid reverence to the ‘atomized society in which individuals stood parallel to one another, unconnected and without interrelating’. Such a ‘mechanistic conception of society’, which assumed that society could be constructed based solely on human reason, thus corresponded with a ‘materialistic concept of the common good’ reflecting the ‘greatest happiness for the greatest number’. This was diametrically opposed to the ‘Christian idea of the common good’, he added, which instead had as its goal a ‘state of social order’ in which people could self-reliantly realize both their ‘earthly and supernatural well-being’.376 Atomism, mechanism, materialism, individualism – for Budde, it was those four concepts that brought the essence of liberalism into focus. They served here as counterconcepts sharpening his own conceptual inventory, defined as Christian. The concept of freedom itself – the key concept of liberalism – was not, however, as easy to extract from the conceptual repertoire of self-description. The Catholic social movement of the 1950s also, indeed, claimed the concept of freedom. While liberalism set the freedom of the individual above all else, negating all relational ties, which were only an ‘end in itself’, Christianity understood that ‘true freedom of the person is only thinkable and possible under the Godgiven obligation towards moral law and in respect of the needs of the common good’.377 Freedom was viewed in parallel with self-responsibility, obligation with

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state action, and the balance between freedom and obligation was presented as an ideal. Christianity stood for balance and liberalism for conflict, as Budde followed this principle of asymmetrical opposition in the ordering of concepts in his speech. The liberalism of the nineteenth century, which had held the banner of freedom high, Budde explained, did not in fact extend this freedom to the workers, thereby perverting the ‘liberal idea of freedom’.378 For if freedom was ‘indivisible’, then ‘political freedom [was] not conceivable without social freedom and security’. If one were to speak of ‘political freedom’, one must not remain silent with regard to ‘social freedom’. Budde equated ‘social security’, a core concept of the Christian Social wing of the Union, with ‘social freedom’. The democratic impulse towards freedom was extended into social policy as well. If this did not occur, and if, furthermore, the state was not recognized in its substance being organically in accordance with ‘human nature’ but was instead conceived as a contractual instance among free people, this ‘absolutization of freedom’ would necessarily lead to the ‘self-abolition of freedom … and, if unimpeded in its historical development, ultimately to totalitarianism’.379 Only once the ‘formal democracy’ of the ‘constitutional state’ developed further into a ‘social democracy’ would true freedom be safeguarded.380 Budde connected the definition of the concept of liberalism in totalitarianism theory, which, as we have seen, was common in the Protestant circles of the 1950s and, not least, within the Abendlandbewegung, with the sociopolitical demands of the Christian Social movement. He also added a democracy theory angle to it. The concept of ‘social democracy’ that was discussed in the Christian Social movement of the 1950s was based on corporatist models that did in fact stand in conflict with the liberal views of parliamentary democracy.381 All in all, the ‘social market economy’ appeared to be the ideal model for the desired synthetic economic order.382 Christian, in addition to its horizon of meaning connected to the widespread totalitarianism theory of the 1950s, also had a moral-political horizon of meaning,383 as Konrad Adenauer established in 1953: ‘With regard to the general loss of tradition and the complete social upheaval currently underway within the German nation, clear principles are necessary to ensure the viability of the state order in Germany. These can only derive from Christian principles of order’.384 The Christian was thus conceived as a bulwark against social change, as a slowing, conserving ultimately conservative principle. Due to the meaning that was ascribed to the Christian for the new German state, all tendencies of social liberalization were interpreted as an attack on the codex of Christian morality and linked to related fears. Subsumed under the concept of secularization, it evoked the totalitarian threat.385 This vague concept of the Christian united the heterogeneous political circles within the Union from the very beginning, while also papering over the differences hidden beneath the

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surface.386 This formula was activated in Budde’s presentation at the Christian Social Workers’ Congress as well. With liberalism now addressed, socialism was next in the programme. This role was taken on by Rupprecht Dittmar, who maintained the denominational balance as a Protestant, was a CDU member and active on the main board of the Deutsche Angestellten-Gewerkschaft (German Salaried Employees’ Union, DAG).387 His task was a complicated one; while there was an anti-socialist consensus in the Union parties, which culminated in anti-communism,388 the reforms of the SPD, which resulted in the 1959 Godesberger Programm, negated one of its main points of attack. The concept of socialism had undergone a staggering change of meaning, so it could no longer function merely as a universally applicable counterconcept. The SPD’s opening to the churches and its departure from atheism thus became an increasingly difficult problem for the Union.389 The Catholic Academy in Bavaria had already invited churches and the SPD to a discussion forum in 1958, and the Federal Board of the CDU followed the beginning of this dialogue with great concern.390 Adenauer, who was alarmed and greatly vexed by the church’s high-handedness, believed Social Democracy to be casting doubt on the ‘personal freedom of the person in the face of the absolute power of the state’, and warned here of the rule of ‘functionaries’.391 He ultimately believed that communism would infiltrate the Federal Republic if the SPD came into power. Gerstenmaier, by contrast, was more relaxed with regard to the opening up of the SPD. Rather far-sightedly, he saw the actual threat to lie in ‘tendencies toward secularization’ within the CDU itself.392 Despite all their resistance, the CDU and CSU ultimately lost their exclusive claim to represent Christian interests. The conceptual opposition of Christianity and socialism became blurred. This opening represented a massive challenge to the Christian Social wing of the Union parties. While a clear delineation was necessary to maintain its own clear profile, Christian Social trade unionists worked together with Social Democrats in the DGB, and pursued very similar interests in their day-to-day affairs.393 They, moreover, shared the concept of the social, which was vehemently emphasized within the party by representatives of the Christian Social wing and which formed part of their own name and self-characterization. Dittmar thus strove towards differentiation, chiefly with regard to the concept of socialism, which he viewed as no longer a ‘clear concept’ since the onset of Social Democratic revisionism at the turn of the century. Dittmar distinguished between two variants: ‘humanitarian socialism’, as was present in West German politics, and ‘Marxist socialism, which, in its Bolshevik form, has brought and continues to bring slavery, fear and misery to the people within its sphere of power’.394 He did, nevertheless, initially define two general characteristics of socialism – so this differentiation was quickly abandoned

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again. Like Budde in his treatment of liberalism, Dittmar declared the ‘image of humankind’ to be the criterion central to the difference between Christianity and socialism, with Christians viewing people in a transcendental context, in contrast to ‘Marxism’. Socialism and the Christian Social Movement, moreover, were distinguished by fundamentally differing concepts in response to the social question. While socialists held that they could ‘construct the best form of society’ through revolutionary transformation, members of the Christian Social Movement sought after a structured social order oriented towards human nature, following a path of ‘never-ending social reform’ and not a ‘class struggle’.395 Dittmar had spoken of ‘socialism’ here in fully general terms. His definition became more problematic as soon as he tied this to reformed Social Democracy following Godesberg as well, which now embraced a ‘changed non-committal socialism’, in which ‘remains of philosophical materialism and of the Enlightenment’ did however live on.396 Dittmar represented the Christian Social Movement in his willingness to work together with the reformed Social Democracy, however, whenever ‘humanitarian socialism struggled against the negative effects of capitalism’.397 That distinguished the Christian Social wing of the Union from the party as a whole, and hardly anyone spoke out more strongly for an absolute distance from the Social Democrats than did Konrad Adenauer, even after Godesberg. ‘They are Marxists pure and simple. They have also remained as such’, he proclaimed as late as 1963 at the conference of the CDU state party leaders.398 Adenauer never dismissed the nexus between the West German Social Democrats and the Communist regimes of Eastern Europe, which had been one of the fundamental axioms of the Union parties from their founding. Possible coalitions were explored, however, for tactical reasons from the early 1960s, which then solidified under Erhard’s chancellorship and culminated in the Grand Coalition between the CDU and SPD under Kurt-Georg Kiesinger in 1966 – with Willy Brandt as vice chancellor and federal minister for foreign affairs, despite being soundly vilified by the CDU in the 1961 federal election campaign.399 This necessitated a recoding of the political language of the Union parties, which had been a matter of negotiation since the late 1950s.

2.2.3. Attempts at a Conceptual Compromise: Christian Politics and Conservatism The lines of conflict that emerged in reaction to Gerstenmaier’s presentation at the party conference now had to be smoothed over for the sake of appearance. A need was felt to define consensual concepts for the party’s self-image that took into account all divergences of vocabulary. Now that the Federal Republic

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had been well established with its own characteristic political culture after ten years of existence, the CDU and CSU evidently needed to reflect on and clearly identify their basic foundations. Heinrich Krone, chairman of the CDU/CSU parliamentary group, was appointed to take on this task for the next federal party conference,400 which took place in Karlsruhe in April 1960. His presentation, which replaced the report from the parliamentary group, was conceived as a Catholic version of the foundational sociopolitical presentation by the Protestant Gerstenmaier, which had previously been a source of great furore. Krone’s self-assessment of the Union corresponded with the ubiquitous discussion within the party over centre and balance. He viewed the CDU/CSU as an independent force between liberalism and socialism, with reference here to the parties’ established self-description within the conceptual context of political orientations within the young Federal Republic, and made this position clear by means of semantic opposites: it could not be the aim of Christian Democratic politics ‘to succumb to liberalism or to deny the state all functions of social order and responsibility’, nor could it be to ‘over-govern society and practically bring about nationalization through excessive regulation, as is the intention of socialism’.401 Krone’s presentation was understood as an unswerving rejection of liberalism. The Parliamentary Group chairman was satisfied with the effect of the party conference on the Catholic world in calming down the heated discussion,402 and yet less satisfied with the half-hearted coverage provided in the Catholic press.403 He saw the ‘liberal press’, by contrast, to have in fact understood the significance of the party conference. Here, he was mainly referring to the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung (FAZ), which once again underlined how much Krone’s definition of liberalism was derived from Catholic milieu integralism. Alfred Rapp wrote in the FAZ that Krone’s position was a thing of the past, ultimately based on the conflicts between liberalism and political Catholicism of the nineteenth century, and warned the Union parties of the consequences of holding such a position. He maintained that it was ultimately a step backwards from the earlier opening which had emerged from the view that the contradictions of the past had to be overcome. The implicit allegation was that Krone’s political language was no longer suited to the times and was the product of a ‘past not yet overcome’ with reference to the history of the nineteenth century.404 Krone spoke of three political orientations: liberalism, socialism and Christianity. But what about conservatism? Especially following the fall of the German Party in 1960, once a political force to be taken seriously, the concept was no longer used within the CDU or CSU for an independent, institutionalized party-political orientation. It was, nevertheless, part of their repertoire of political concepts, yet without having a prominent place in their self-description. Adenauer’s praise for civil servants at the 1951 CDU Federal Party Conference as a ‘valuable element of true conservative thought’ was

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paradigmatic in this regard.405 Robert Tillmann’s plea, two years later, for ‘real restructuring’ following the National Socialist ‘catastrophe’, which could only take the form of a ‘progressive solution’, was also paradigmatic, although, as he stressed in his citation of Jakob Kaiser, ‘no true progress’ was possible ‘if vigorous conservative elements are not also present’.406 And Hans Erich Stier’s foundations of Christian Democratic policy presented at the first Federal Party Conference in 1950 was equally paradigmatic as a policy of evolutionary conservatism anchored in a Western, Christian position.407 Too many of the groups that had converged in the Union had arisen from a political culture in which the concept of conservatism was deeply anchored. This was particularly true with regard to Protestant circles, but it also extended to Catholicism. Conservative was reduced to its temporal dimension, to a stance of reverence for the traditional, an impulse towards preservation in the awareness of constant ongoing change. Krone defined conservatism in his speech at the 1960 Federal Party Conference with the following words: [Being] Christian Social is a commitment to God’s law and order in the realm of human coexistence. Christian Social politics is in this sense conservative. Whoever confuses conservatism with reaction or even with political or social restoration, and believes that our economy and society have reached a universally valid and ultimate proper constitution for the common good, is not, however, Christian Social.408

Krone distinguished conservative from reaction and restoration entirely in keeping with the definition of concepts in journalistic and intellectual discourse. Connecting conservative and Christian Social views was a particular form of synthesis, which followed his strategy of intra-party reconciliation. He responded in this way to Hans Katzer, who, at the Christian Social Workers’ Congress, had put a clear end to all efforts to introduce the concept as a term of self-description for the Union parties. He indeed interpreted the close of Gerstenmaier’s Kiel party conference speech as such a move, when he connected the Union’s platform with that of the British Conservatives, and translated their slogan ‘Onward in Freedom’ as Vorwärts, Freunde, vorwärts in Freiheit (Forward, friends, forward in freedom), calling it out to the party conference delegates.409 Was the Union to become a conservative party? Katzer saw trouble looming not only with regard to liberalization, but from a completely different direction as well. His response was thus categorical: ‘One cannot replace Christian Democratic with conservatism’.410 Conservatism was therefore not suitable as a self-descriptive concept, as the preponderance of Christianity should not be called into question. And yet, Katzer also did not seek to strike the concept from the Christian Democratic vocabulary entirely – in contrast to ‘liberal’ and ‘socialist’. ‘Conservative means to preserve’ was the definition he provided, adding: ‘The Christian is conservative inasmuch as he holds fast to inalienable moral values. He does not render homage to a blind faith in progress’. Conservative was

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placed in proximity to Christian within the semantic network, with conservative subordinate to Christian and connected to the concept of values that was central to the Union parties. It was, at the same time, defined in terms of its temporal dimension and positively distinguished from faith in progress with its liberal connotations. Katzer instead conceived of change as the evolutionary ongoing development of society into an evermore perfect ‘justice of the common good’, for which political ‘flexibility’ was needed. He consequently distanced himself and the Union parties from ‘a political system of conservatism … that only aims to conserve the societal “status quo”’.411 Katzer, not least, forewent a historical definition of the concept, in strong contrast to the conceptual definitions of the German Party and to the intellectual discourse. ‘Conservative’ only described an attitude, no more and no less. Katzer repeated his definition nearly verbatim at the 1960 Karlsruhe Federal Party Conference, after Krone had already endorsed it there. The Union’s ‘binding programme’ was its C, ‘translated as “Christian” and not as “conservative”’.412 Katzer was met with opposition here from a quarter that he had likely had as a main target audience: politicians who had left the German Party to join the CDU. This matter was particularly pressing in spring 1960, as nine leading members of the DP parliamentary group were set to switch their allegiance to the Union, which they went on to do in September, causing quite a stir. The Sozialausschüsse took clear critical positions in the situation, warning the party of a dilution of the ‘fundamental goals adopted following the war’.413 A warning of this kind seemed all the more apposite following the appearance of Alexander Elbrächter at the Federal Party Conference in Karlsruhe. A Protestant from Lower Saxony, Elbrächter had previously joined the CDU/ CSU Parliamentary Group in 1958, following the integration of the Free People’s Party (Freie Volkspartei) into the German Party.414 He introduced himself at the 1960 party conference as a ‘conservative politician’, who was ‘proud to be conservative’.415 The pre-eminent characteristic of a conservative, he proclaimed, was that he sees ‘reality as it is’. With a view to the British model and the history of the nineteenth century, Elbrächter argued for the willingness of conservatism to reform, affirming that ‘conservatism and social reform’ were not mutually exclusive, and resolutely opposing any semantic equation with the reactionary. Being conservative was, moreover, an ‘inner attitude’ and not suited to any defamatory depiction of ‘decisions in political practice’. Elbrächter also reminded his fellow party members of the slogan the Union used in its successful 1957 Bundestag election campaign – the party’s oft-cited call for ‘no experiments’ (Keine Experimente) – which put into words how conservative was understood in general usage. Elbrächter claimed that the ‘traditional categories of political classification’ no longer corresponded with the terms now ‘wrongly attributed to them’, referring here both to the concept of liberalism and to that of conservatism, the focus of his extensive efforts.416

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Criticism was soon to follow, as lodged by Rupprecht Dittmar, who doubted that conservatism had ever been characterized by a sense of reality, referencing here the conservative parties of the Second German Empire and the DNVP of the Weimar Republic. He believed that the Union could never serve to represent conservatism, apart from the conservation of ‘good old intellectual content’, but not that of ossified ‘forms’. The CDU/CSU was thus to follow the formula of conserving values, while however departing from these forms, all in accordance with the dynamic process, anchored in the Basic Law, on the path towards a ‘social constitutional state’.417 Despite all differences of opinion, it is striking that a concept of conservatism reduced to its temporal dimension was the consensus within the Union in the late 1950s and early 1960s. This is also borne out by the discussions held within the Bavarian CSU. It was CSU leader Hanns Seidel418 who stood out with his keynote address to the 1959 CSU Party Conference, as he called upon his generation to support younger party members in their development into ‘conservative innovators’. For him, the characteristics of a conservative position included a ‘responsibility for strengthening fundamental values, respect for the historical roots of a society, but also contempt for its self-importance, respect for others and the recognition of one’s own weaknesses and limits’, with Seidel vaguely referring here to a particular ‘American writer’.419 Whoever that may have been, it can be assumed that the concept of conservatism – which had been cultivated from the mid-1950s within the Abendlandbewegung,420 a movement closely networked with the CDU/CSU – had left its mark on the political language of the Union parties. The debates held there over a ‘conservative stance in the political realm’ made the concept socially acceptable within Catholicism at the very least, paving the way for its positive integration into the semantic network surrounding Christianity within the Union parties.421 Seidel’s integration of the concept of conservatism is instructive here, especially with a view to the later conceptual politics of Franz Josef Strauß, who could surely identify with the characterization as a ‘conservative innovator’.422 Known in the CSU as a ‘liberal’,423 Seidel was honoured at the 1961 party conference, on the occasion of his retirement, with a quote from his speech to the party conference four years earlier. His efforts towards a conceptual and political synthesis practically appeared to be ideal-typical by nature: We, time and again, encounter the opinion that a fundamental conservative position cannot be reconciled with true liberality, and that ‘Christian’ and ‘liberal’ are unbridgeable opposites. A Christian party … is subject to the fiat of conscience, and if one wishes to deem this fiat conservative due to its advanced age, so be it. This does not change the fact that liberality truly anchored in human dignity is practically a natural prerequisite for Christian behaviour, and thus also for Christian politics.424

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While the CDU was embroiled in internal struggles over the concept of liberalism, with many in the party speaking out for a strict demarcation between Christianity and liberalism, the CSU party leader sought to describe his party as liberal, introducing the alternative concept of ‘liberality’ in the process. The political parties of his time, Seidel believed, could scarcely continue to be encapsulated in ‘static typifications’, especially in such that emerged in the nineteenth century.425 They were in fact undergoing continual change so that flexible, dynamic categories were necessary instead. Seidel’s strategy of enriching the semantic network surrounding Christianity and Christian with the concepts of liberal and conservative followed this conviction. This accorded with the policy of integration towards smaller bourgeois parties that the CDU and CSU pursued successfully throughout the 1950s. Seidel, lastly, transferred this to the semantic level. It is doubtful, however, that he was certain of the support of the majority of his party in this regard. The 1957 CSU basic programme affirmed that the ‘liberal era of individualism with its peak capitalistic manifestations’ was now only relegated to history,426 and only a year earlier, the two main speakers at the CSU Party Conference, the Protestant theologian Walter Künneth and the Jesuit Oskar Simmel, divided Christianity and liberalism from each other in the usual fashion.427 Simmel’s tirade against ‘Western liberalism’, however, also included a conspicuous level of nuance applied to the concept of liberalism, beginning in fact with the concept of freedom portrayed as being genuinely Christian. The ‘true concern of liberalism’ of protecting the person in ‘his inviolable moral freedom’ could only be carried out by a ‘Christian party’.428 A softening of the strict semantic opposites was already in the air in 1958. This was supported by the observation that the Federal Republic was moving towards a two- or three-party system, as reflected throughout the press, especially once the end of the German Party and its absorption into the CDU appeared to be only a matter of time. If the country’s party system was in the midst of such a phase of fundamental change, and seemed to be in the process of adopting the model based on the English-speaking world, this would also entail, as the common view had it, the end of a developmental arc that the country’s parties had taken, beginning in the nineteenth century. In 1958, Hans-Joachim von Merkatz, who was still a DP minister, proposed this thesis in the CDU journal Die politische Meinung. He identified the emergence of a ‘two-bloc system’ with ‘liberal Social Democracy’ standing in opposition to the ‘bourgeois’ parties of the governing coalition. The concepts of ‘conservative, liberal and socialist’ were only partly suited to describe this constellation, von Merkatz believed, as they had lost their original significance and were hence no longer able to express the essence of what was new.429 The attributions to the concepts did in fact vary considerably, and demonstrated how much the concepts of political orientation had shifted. Anti-communism was predominant in the selection of concepts

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within the Union itself. There was no doubt that its counterpart in a twoparty system was to be socialism, even in a revised form. Eugen Gerstenmaier’s impulse to integrate liberalism into the Union was founded, as we have seen, in the conviction that it was the only way to counter the ‘threat posed by the socialist welfare state’.430 The boundaries here were blurred at times between efforts to oppose socialism in terms of domestic policy and ties to the free ‘West’ in the international conflict with the communist Soviet empire. This was the case for Franz Josef Strauß in particular, who believed the differences between the parties in West Germany to mirror the global geopolitical fronts. He underscored this view in his first keynote speech at the 1961 party conference, following his election as CSU party leader: What is in fact the conflict with communism? It is the struggle against state-organized and supported atheism, with dialectical materialism. This does not involve an opposition of the liberal or democratic socialist image of man, on the one hand, and the communist image of man, on the other, but instead that of the Christian image of man and the communist image of man – or to put it differently: man as being created in God’s image and man as a tool of a class of functionaries in a supposedly classless society.431

For Strauß, the opponents here were Christianity and communism, as he continued to uphold 1950s concepts of anti-communism, and he was joined by Konrad Adenauer in this regard.432 The Union was to be Christian and to oppose the forces of atheism. The idea of a two-fronted political situation emerged from intra-party constellations, but it also received external reinforcement. The end of the German Party was explained as part of a trend towards a two-party system, shaped by the ‘basic types of the Right (CDU) and Left (SPD)’, as Marion von Dönhoff argued.433 Writing in Die Welt, Georg Schröder expressed his certainty that the Federal Republic no longer needed a ‘conservative party of the Right’ now that the CDU had ‘developed into a party of the moderate Right’.434 Left and Right – these were of course by no means precise concepts to describe the political constellations. Left did appear somewhat clearer than Right, as it was identified with ‘socialist’ and ‘social democratic’. But what was Right to signify? Even the CDU-affiliated writer Rüdiger Altmann was unable to come up with clear concepts to describe the CDU in his analysis of the late Adenauer era. His diagnosis was that it was ‘at ideological odds with itself’. While the Catholic-dominated Sozialausschüsse worked towards a ‘social ideology’, others moved towards a form of ‘neoconservatism’, although these efforts would also grind to a halt. The CDU could therefore only be described as conservative ‘in a certain sense’, while there was unity solely in the ‘need to stand on the right’. As Altmann wrote, the CDU had become a big tent ‘for non-socialist

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voters’. Altmann left the question open as to how the party was to develop once Adenauer had left.435 Ralph Dahrendorf did not use the terms Right and Left to describe the emerging new party system in the Federal Republic, but the British-trained sociologist felt that the model taken from the English-speaking world was about to gain traction. Dahrendorf had placed his hopes in the SPD at the time, and spoke before the 1960 Junge Generation und Macht (Young generation and power) congress, which the SPD held in Godesberg, presenting his thesis of the SPD being on its way towards becoming a ‘major liberal party’ in opposition to the CDU as a party of the ‘new executive upper class’ and as a ‘conservative’ party. Characterizations had thus shifted, which posed a challenge to the Union. The fact that Dahrendorf’s remarks were followed closely in the CDU journal Die politische Meinung underlines the exploratory efforts within the Union of the late 1950s and early 1960s.436

2.2.4. The Self-Image of a Christian Worldview Party The two Union parties defined their self-image in their discussion of the concepts of political orientation that had been established in the political language of West Germany. They were able to lay claim to their own space within the political arena in this way. They did not, however, stop there. The CDU and CSU also connected themselves with a specific party type, that of Weltanschauungsparteien (worldview parties). In stark contrast to the question of whether they were chiefly liberal, conservative or Christian Social, there was broad agreement that the CDU and CSU were worldview parties – that is, parties that were based on Christianity as a unifying worldview and that derived and justified their actions from it. Hermann Ehlers summarized, in 1953, the Union parties’ founding consensus on the definition of the concept of the worldview party: With the new beginning of our political path in 1945, it was not due to theoretical considerations but based on practical experience, proven in hardship and death, that we came to the conviction that there can be no other sustainable basis for our political action than our responsibility before the word of God.437

In 1958, Rainer Barzel described the West German party system as a ‘multiparty system shaped by worldview’,438 in which the CDU, as a Christian party, had the task of pursuing ‘politics of the Ten Commandments’, and it had ‘to do God’s will and to fight for God’s ordained order to become reality’.439 This positive interpretation of the concept stood in tension with its use in the field of political science, in which the ‘worldview party’ type was held responsible for the political inflexibility of the Weimar party system, and ultimately for its inability to manoeuvre.440

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The concept of the worldview party summed up the Union’s Christian self-image well. But what was that to signify in the late 1950s and early 1960s, when the relationship between churches and parties began to fundamentally change? What could a commitment to Christianity mean for the CDU and CSU in a liberal democracy, who, in line with the Basic Law, sought to pursue politics for those demographic groups that were far removed from the churches as well? And lastly, what effect did the commitment to being a worldview party have in a political situation in which the end of ideology was being proclaimed, and the political camps appeared at the very least to be in the midst of a process of complete realignment? It is hardly surprising that the theologically well-versed Eugen Gerstenmaier reminded his Protestant party colleagues in particular, time and again, of the obligations entailed in being a worldview party. While the concept was not questioned among the Catholics of the CDU, it was ‘a problematic concept within the consciousness of Protestantism’441 – and continued to be so.442 Gerstenmaier’s own way of describing this worldview party was a ‘people’s party formed by Christianity’. He made reference here to the second concept that made the rounds within the Union as a category of self-description for this ‘new type of party’. While ‘worldview party’ described the Christian basis of the CDU/CSU along with the integration of the two denominations, ‘people’s party’ (Volkspartei) expressed another characteristic of the Union: its aim to represent the interests of all social groups of the federal West German society. As Adenauer put it in near classical terms at the 1958 Kiel party conference: ‘We are a major people’s party, a people’s party that extends through all classes and professions, and that is at home in all German states’.443 The two concepts, worldview party and people’s party, were mutually related. Why then did the Protestants of the CDU have difficulties with the concept of a worldview party? The concept implied that the CDU and CSU exclusively represented Christian doctrine in politics, corresponding with the conceptual opposition of liberalism and socialism on the one hand, and Christianity on the other. The political ties in German Protestantism of the 1950s were less clearly established, however, than were those in German Catholicism. While Catholics, apart from a small group of intellectual Catholic leftists centred around Walter Dirks and Eugen Kogon, found their political home in the Union parties, Protestants had been divided in terms of political parties since Gustav Heinemann left the CDU in 1952 (at the latest), and certainly with the founding of the Gesamtdeutsche Volkspartei (All-German People’s Party, GVP) and its absorption into the SPD in 1957.444 This political division was underpinned both in terms of theology and of the particular individuals involved.445 The Protestant wing centred on Gustav Heinemann, which had fallen out with Adenauer over the Western integration of the Federal Republic of Germany, was chiefly supported by former members of the ‘radical’ Councils of Brethren

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within the Confessing Church. The latter was founded in 1934 in opposition to the German Christians, who sought to bring about a church cleansed in accordance with the principles of National Socialism. The Confessing Church then split into two wings: the ‘radical’ Councils of Brethren, on the one hand, and the representatives of the intact regional state churches (which had not been merged into the National Socialist-led Reichskirche and had been united in the Luther Council, the Lutherrat, since 1936) along with certain Councils of Brethren, who did not wish to follow the radical course of full refusal to integrate into the Nazi regime, on the other.446 Deeply influenced by the dialectical theology of Karl Barth, the theologians, pastors and politicians of the ‘radical’ Council of Brethren wing would later fight for the implementation of Christian doctrine in the Federal Republic without compromise. They called in particular for the unconditional following of commandments of reconciliation and peace, and consequently advocated a neutral, unarmed Germany between the geopolitical blocs.447 It was mainly those Protestant circles that had experienced the Nazi regime from within their intact regional churches that joined the Union parties, even while equally prominent representatives of the Brethren wing such as Hanns Lilje448 and Hans Asmussen,449 who had fallen out with his former colleagues in the late 1940s, had also found their way into the CDU/CSU. The leading theologians of the Union tended to adopt a conservative, Lutheran theology that adhered to a modified Two Kingdoms Doctrine, such as Walter Künneth,450 the aforementioned Hans Asmussen and Helmut Thielicke.451 In terms of political parties, the Union parties’ Protestants had had their political home during the Weimar Republic in the German National People’s Party (Deutschnationale Volkspartei, DNVP), the German Democratic Party (Deutsche Demokratische Partei, DDP), the German People’s Party (Deutsche Volkspartei, DVP) or the Christian Social People’s Service (Christlich-Sozialer Volksdienst, CSVD). They now found a forum in the Protestant Working Group of the CDU/CSU (Evangelischer Arbeitskreis der CDU/CSU), which was called into being in 1952 upon the initiative of Hermann Ehlers as a means of amplifying the voices representing Protestant interests, both within the party and among the general public, following the spectacular departure of Gustav Heinemann from the CDU.452 And not only that, the ‘language of the CDU’, whose Catholic-influenced vocabulary had been ‘not only difficult to understand but also difficult to accept for Protestant ears’, as Wilhelm Hahn recalled, was now ‘translated, even transformed, so that it was freed from the eggshells of the Centre and was also compatible with the ideas of Protestant political ethics’.453 Both the Protestant Working Group of the Union and the Kronberg Circle fundamentally understood that their mission included providing a platform for a conservative Protestantism tied to the Union parties.454

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The political division within Protestantism made it difficult for the CDU and CSU to become worldview parties. How completely did the Union parties seek to form German society in accordance with Christian standards? What relationship did their political plans have with church doctrine? And finally, who decided what Christian politics was to mean in the West Germany of the day? The conflict, which had simmered throughout the 1950s,455 came to the notice of a broader public in 1960, when the socialist and politically active theologian Helmut Gollwitzer took the Union’s politics to task. He accused the CDU of ‘conventionalizing Christianity’, cutting off its radical (social-revolutionary and pacifist) roots and adapting to the materialism of the ‘economic wonderland’. In terms of its ‘Protestant underpinnings’, the adoption of the word ‘Christian’ in the party’s name was thus ‘unacceptable’. He did not recognize a ‘Christian character’ in the CDU, whether in terms of programme, individual action or everyday party politics, and found it to be ‘as un-Christian as all the other parties as well’. For him, the party was only trampling upon the holiness of the Christian name, as ‘Christian’ entailed a radical programme in opposition to the society of his day: oriented towards the Gospel, radically different, of ‘dynamic, revolutionary character’, outside of the world and without compromise.456 The concept of the Christian was hence narrowed down here to its theological core; any political or historical layers of meaning were to be condemned according to Gollwitzer’s interpretation. This by no means meant, however, that Gollwitzer did not take on a political position himself. On the contrary, he advocated positions in the late 1950s that had already been presented in the 1930s by members of Karl Barth’s circles, and which had served to polarize Protestant theology ever since. With his arguments, Gollwitzer questioned the basis upon which the Union parties had been built: he cast doubt on whether the CDU and CSU were in fact pursuing Christian politics at all. Gollwitzer’s accusations were taken very seriously, and the Protestant CDU politician with the highest profile, Eugen Gerstenmaier, reacted to them himself. He was able to speak as a theologian in his response, which was printed in the FAZ and additionally published as a pamphlet.457 In its title, Gerstenmaier posed the question of whether the CDU had been ‘cheapening the Christian name’.458 Gerstenmaier used this opportunity, in 1960, to define the self-image of the CDU as a ‘Christian party’. This was not the first time he had undertaken this task,459 so he was able to refer back to ideas already expressed in Protestant debates reaching back to the mid-1940s.460 The party had neither set as its goal in 1945 to ‘construct a Christian state’,461 nor had ‘the CDU/CSU … become a church aid association or a missionary enterprise of the churches in the political arena’, and nor was it ‘an initiative of the pious to refine political mores’. The CDU and CSU were, however, ‘committed to Christian principles’,462 and they acted as ‘Christian parties in a secular state’.463 They were political parties ‘like

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others as well’, however they upheld their responsibility, ‘in their programme, goals and practice, to God’s commandments and orders’.464 He connected this Christian character, first and foremost, to the individuals involved, to the politicians active in the party. The ‘Christian’ in the name of the CDU/CSU is a creed, a guiding principle for ourselves. … Our name does not serve to adorn a mass party as an embellishment … but with this C, the CDU/CSU places its programme and practice, its view of humanity and its sense of right and wrong within a context that then entails something decisive, even if the party bears the same political trappings and uses the same rough language as other political parties.465

According to this definition, ‘Christian’ did not refer to being a ‘saint’, was not an exclusively theological concept, nor a concept outside of the conceptual framework of political language; but it did have its own distinct political dimension. Gerstenmaier’s definition also served to narrow down the concept of the worldview party and was met with approval not only from the Protestant wing but also the leading Catholics of the Union parties.466 It was not only the parties’ Protestants who were accused of doing nothing to counter the shift towards secularization. Critical voices also emerged among Catholics towards the end of the 1950s, not least in response to Gerstenmaier’s speech at the Kiel party conference. The debate, set in motion by the reaction of the Christian Social workers’ wing to the ‘liberalization of the Union’, had its repercussions. The movement towards a two-party system, which necessitated an opening up to voters beyond church milieus as well as the general deconfessionalization of politics, which the Union also served to actively promote,467 had led to this Catholic ‘discomfiture’468 over the process of leaving the character of a ‘worldview party’ behind.469 This came as a response to discussions about a ‘Protestant discomfiture’.470 The SPD itself had parted from the concept of a worldview party and began to describe itself more neutrally as a ‘party of the people’, precisely because it was able, in this way, to reach out to church-oriented voters.471 The most severe attack on the Union came from the young journalist Josef Othmar Zöller in 1961 in the Catholic weekly newspaper Echo der Zeit. He wrote that the ‘price of being a people’s party’, the price of integrating different groups and denominations, was the abandonment of ‘ideological unity’ and a coherent ‘view of history’ so that the CDU/CSU was only characterized by ‘the negation of Marxism in toto’. He amplified this with these words: ‘It is the dilemma of German parties, especially those that call themselves Christian, that they are not able to counter the demonic idea from the East with a cohesive idea of Christian social order, oriented towards a nearly unified view of history’. He closed with the rhetorical question of whether the ‘free West’ would not, in this way, ‘subvert the preservation of its intellectual substance’.472 It was clear to all

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who could read between the lines: Zöller was suggesting nothing else than that the Union parties break with their interdenominational founding consensus and develop into a Catholic party following the model of the old Centre Party. Heinrich Krone opposed this, first in Echo der Zeit, and then also in Evangelische Verantwortung, lighting a beacon for the Union’s interdenominationalism. He provided a comprehensive historical description here of the ‘Christian movement’, which had its ‘roots in overcoming the Enlightenment and in the renewal of Christian ideas’ in the early nineteenth century.473 The CDU and CSU were thus in no way ‘ahistorical’ or ‘without tradition’.474 And like Gerstenmaier in his reaction to Protestant accusations, Krone corrected the concept of a ‘Christian party’ in reaction to Zöller’s Catholic undermining of the Union. A party could not be ‘a church nor its politics a religion’, he wrote, nor could it lay ‘sole claim to Christian morality’. The Christian character instead meant that the CDU/CSU should ‘act in politics on the basis of Christian faith’, and ‘establish Christian ideas of order in state and society’. Krone stressed that only in this way would ‘Christian goals of order and society’ be at all feasible – no more and no less.475 Even Franz Josef Strauß, who in his first keynote speech as the newly elected CSU party leader could not avoid taking a position on the Christian character of his party, was well aware that ‘one needs be cautious with the concept of Christian politics, as one must examine very carefully the extent to which one can describe a political conception as specifically Christian, as its implementation in reality is accompanied by inevitable compromises’.476 He wished only to speak of ‘Christians in politics’,477 thus reducing the Christian claims of his party to the individual action of each politician. Strauß had great difficulty with the concept of a worldview party. With the concept firmly established in the party’s self-description, not least through the efforts of Hanns Seidel,478 the new Leader needed to find a means of diminishing its weight. While the CSU was ‘consciously a Christian worldview party’, it was to remain open to those who might be critical of one or other of its principles. The CSU was, moreover, ‘not only a worldview party but was active in practical politics and political reality’. Strauß – making use of Herder Publishing’s dictionary of philosophy, and apparently of Seidel’s Weltanschauung und Politik479 as well – finally submitted his own very individual definition of ‘worldview’: Worldview (Weltanschauung) is neither an image of the world (Weltbild) nor a religion. Worldview is the ‘overall conception of essence and origin, meaning and purpose of the world and the image of humanity’… Worldview is the observation and construal of the cosmos in terms of natural science and natural philosophy, religion is the individual bond between people and God. The leading figures of a worldview party should have an image of the world as well as religion; this is not part of their public scope of influence but rather their context and support when they need to seek out new paths or are faced with making decisions.480

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What the ‘leading figures’ of the worldview party CSU were able to make of their party leader’s somewhat odd expositions remains an open question. It was no coincidence that the concept had slipped away silently from the conceptual inventory of the Union parties by the mid-1960s. Probably the last systematic attempt to describe the CDU as a worldview party was carried out by Josef Hermann Dufhues in 1964, who was acting party leader (Geschäftsführender Parteivorsitzender) at the time. He introduced a distinction that was already implicit in all previous definitions, the distinction between worldview and ideology. Ideology as the ‘comprehensive doctrine of truth about the world and humanity’ excludes ‘revelation as the source of knowledge, and chooses only to recognize science; it even considers itself to be science’. It appears ‘in the form of a doctrine, a system, a programme with theoretical underpinnings and dogmatic claims’. This was not the case for ‘worldview’. The CDU was, Dufhues claimed, a ‘party of Christian existence in the world, not a party of ideological dogmatism’.481 The resistance to any form of ideology had always lain at the core of the conservative self-image, he maintained. Being a worldview party meant pursuing politics in a characteristic style, and the Union parties portrayed themselves in this manner as well.

2.2.5. Politics in the Style of the Union: Self-Attributions and the Structural Principles of Political Language The CDU and CSU sought to pursue their politics as people’s parties and worldview parties, drawing together Christian, liberal and conservative positions. Not only that, politicians and party strategists never tired of stressing that these principles led to a specific style of politics and that the CDU and CSU had their own particular manner of carrying this out. The description of a political style particular to the Union parties, as presented in countless contexts, has led to the emergence of rich semantic networks, while forming the basis for the structural principles of the Union parties’ political language. So how did CDU and CSU politicians characterize their daily affairs? As Josef Hermann Dufhues emphasized, the Union parties’ political style was fundamentally far removed from any sort of ideological obstinacy. This entailed a rejection of all forms of dogmatism, and included the recognition of the Christian worldview as ‘open and dynamic’ and consequently oriented towards ‘progress’,482 with the Union viewed as ‘a party of progress’.483 Dufhues derived the concept of progress both from the Book of Genesis as a divine mandate for man to subdue the earth, and from a belief in the coming Kingdom of God as the endpoint of human history.484 The qualification of the concept of progress and its adaptation to the principle of continuous temporality unfolded in the Union by means of the concept of the Christian, whereas the concept

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of conservatism was employed to this end in British conservatism. In both, however, its anti-socialist thrust provided for its coherence.485 Dufhues thus subsumed the concepts of self-description for the CDU and CSU under the concept of the worldview party, which had been common in both parties from their beginnings. While the politicians of the Union agreed on pursuing worldview-based ‘politics of Christian responsibility’,486 they rejected any accusations of ideological conduct. The concept of ideology was reserved for competing political movements: for socialism, liberalism, Bolshevism, nationalism and National Socialism.487 Ideologies were, they maintained, tied to their respective periods of development and could not therefore provide answers to the problems of the present; the Union parties, by contrast, drew upon the eternal sources of Christianity and were consequently well equipped to take on ‘temporal problems … with timeless principles’, as Karl Arnold explained it in his treatment of the ‘Era of New Technology’ that he believed to be emerging in his day.488 In opposition to the concept of ideology, the CDU and CSU ascribed other positive concepts to themselves and their political style. A brief look at the minutes of CDU’s federal party conferences and the CSU party conferences suffices to underscore the ubiquitous presence of the relevant semantic networks, spread throughout a wide variety of contexts – realism,489 temperance,490 objectivity491 and rationality492 – each with their own adjectival variants, and these shaped the Union parties’ political language. The two parties sought to pursue politics with a starting point in reality – and not in utopian dreams of a world as it should be,493 seizing here upon a central conservative concept of self-description in the 1950s. They viewed party programmes with great scepticism as a result of this plea to embrace reality. Adenauer rejected with particular vigour any attempts to adopt a new programme to fill the programmatic vacuum that was perceived towards the end of the 1950s, based on his experience with the Ahlen Programme, in that it was difficult to ever part from any pronouncements, once they had been written down and adopted in a party programme.494 For him and many others, Christianity sufficed as a programme.495 Ideology and doctrine very clearly served as opposing concepts in the Union’s self-description. Even when Adenauer was forced to concede, in 1961, that the ‘Christian fundaments’ of the CDU had been neglected due to social and cultural change, he did not react by encouraging efforts towards bringing about a programme but instead only assigned Rainer Barzel to conduct an investigation into the ‘mental and social picture of the present and the future tasks of the CDU’, also taking into account the ‘intellectual foundations’ of the party.496 In this vein, Barzel determined: The Christian Democrats have not sought out a programme, have not exhausted their strength with ideologies, traditions, prejudgments or restorations, and have

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not presented foreign ideas or ideologies to sway the people; but they have been the voices and supporters of ideas that have spontaneously burst forth from the people themselves. The ‘people’s party’ emerged on its own, just as did its Christian foundation.497

Whatever the case may have been, the anti-programme sentiment was deeply anchored in the Union parties. It was not, however, shared by the party’s up-and-coming young politicians. The chairman of the Junge Union (Young Union), Gerhard Stoltenberg, who had been born in 1928 and held a doctorate in political science, called time and again for ‘programmatic clarity’, stressing that the CDU required ‘no ideology’ and surely did not intend to ‘bring about a basic programme à la Godesberg following the SPD’s approach with all of its questionable nature that has already emerged in the course of two or three years’. It was his hope that an open discussion of Barzel’s theses, which had received little approval from the Federal Board,498 would reduce the intra-party, often denominationally based tensions and, above all, ‘eliminate … the conceptual misunderstandings’ that had resulted from the dissimilar conceptual inventories among Catholics and Protestants.499 Gerhard Stoltenberg had captured, in practically seismographic terms, the significance of concepts and hence of the political language of the Union parties. As long as the party had a lack of fixed programmatic definitions, and concepts remained unwritten without the authoritative seal of approval by a party conference, this had the advantage, on the one hand, that different groups could join together in one large tent with a political language that integrated by dint of its flexibility; while, on the other hand, the party could rapidly lose its identity in a situation of cultural change, with effects at the level of language. The oft expressed ‘discomfiture’ within the Union in the late 1950s and early 1960s ultimately reflected nothing other than conceptual uncertainties that had emerged everywhere towards the end of the Adenauer era. The anti-programme sentiment within the Union parties was not founded solely in its unideological self-image but touched upon another characteristic of its self-description as well. The argument here was that adopting programmes entailed a wish to bring about a future that pursued the human ideas of the present. Time, however, lay in God’s hands;500 it was moving towards the endpoint of God’s Kingdom, and was therefore categorially beyond the reach of any human design. It was again Eugen Gerstenmaier who put this understanding of time into words in 1958: Change in society is part of the eternal ebb and flow of history. Even when it would seem otherwise, we do believe, together with the Christians of the entire world, that history does not spin with man in a senseless vortex, but that, buoyed by God’s breath, it moves towards a great goal. We are therefore more resistant towards clinging to the untenable than are others who lack this scope of personal and political

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action. We engage with tomorrow when we stand by that which retains its validity throughout any change in state orders or social forms, as it holds eternal validity founded in the true calling of man.501

Gerstenmaier pleaded for the exploration of temporal dimensions in Christian Democratic politics. Past, present and future were to be related to one another, with one emerging from the other with no preference for any particular dimension of time. For Ludwig Erhard, this lay at the core of the ‘social market economy’, which was able to ‘harmonically connect past, present and future without sharp factures or major upheavals’.502 It was, moreover, not only the representatives of the Protestant or ordoliberal wing of the Union parties that advocated this understanding of time. Hans Katzer also sought to conserve the past inasmuch as this involved eternal Christian values; at the same time, he distanced himself from a ‘blind faith in progress’, and consequently pleaded for an ‘evolutionary flexibility in politics’.503 It was no coincidence that he grappled here with the concept of conservatism, the semantic roots of which pointed towards that which needed conserving. This understanding of temporality was, as we have seen, written into the concept as it was conceived of within the Union parties.504 The Union thus rejected revolution, pleading for reform instead. Its political language was structured in accordance with the same structural principle of temporality that was the case for the Conservative Party.505 The appreciation of the past and orientation towards reality in the present went hand in hand with the differentiation of the concept of progress, another major fixture in the political language of the Union parties, especially as it had become a general guiding concept of the late 1950s and the 1960s.506 A sense of living in a time of rapid change was indeed common within the CDU and CSU, and continued to gain currency from the beginning of the 1960s. Progress was seen as a sign of the times. Union politicians recognized its driving force to lie mainly in the technological development that was sweeping along with it all areas of human life. Minister President Franz Meyers of North Rhine-Westphalia welcomed his party colleagues to the 1962 Federal Party Conference in Dortmund with the note that they were meeting in a region in which the future had already arrived: ‘The world in which we will have to live and work tomorrow is now emerging here in the Ruhr District under the conditions of a technical era of the masses’. It was precisely there that Meyers viewed the task of the CDU, to ‘get a grip’ on this development and to shape it ‘in accordance with the Christian Democratic view of order’. It was necessary to this end that the party ‘work towards the future and to make this future into the basis of its political thought and action with clarity and temperance and without any socioromantic dressing’.507 The future was thus to be embraced but with an objective attitude and without descending into utopian dreams. This was underscored as well by the minister of labour and social affairs, Theodor Blank, who spoke out in 1958 for

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the expansion of the ‘welfare state’, while distancing the Union’s concepts from a ‘faith in progress, that euphoric nonsense of the previous two centuries’, which had been ‘refuted by hard reality’.508 An unrealistic, utopian concept of progress was pinned on the liberals and the Left, in an interpretation fully in line with the theory of totalitarianism. As the North Baden party leader Franz Gurk put it in 1960: ‘The entanglement of high-handed people, who have a blind faith in progress, in a limitless nihilistic egoism, on the one hand, and an all-encompassing newly imposed slavery to the functionaries of the total state, on the other’, had led to the totalitarian catastrophe so that the only present option was to reconnect the concept of progress to ‘Christian truths’.509 This was seconded by the CSU as well. As party leader Hanns Seidel stressed at the 1959 CSU Party Conference, its ‘optimism’ was not ‘framed by the withered garlands of progress dating back to the nineteenth century’ but was ‘an optimism grounded in the vitality of Christianity’.510 The demarcation made here in opposition to all utopian attempts towards shaping the future also implied such a distinction towards the ideas involving the scientific planning and steering of complex systems that were becoming increasingly popular at the time, and that were seized upon by the SPD in particular.511 The Union parties were a good deal more cautious in this regard than the Conservative Party, in which ideas of planning had begun to take deep root in the early 1960s.512 It was argued here that planning threatened the freedom of individuals, subjugating them to untransparent bureaucratic apparatuses,513 and was seen to ultimately lead to a communist dictatorship. Planning was especially viewed as negating the human character in general, with its aim of reducing ‘vibrant life to mere figures over the long term’. ‘Human behaviour’, however, represented a quality in and of itself that was neither quantifiable nor predictable. The future could not therefore be controlled through the use of numbers, so planning would either ‘fall behind life’ or ‘inflict violence upon it’, as Ludwig Erhard explained in a controversial 1962 speech before the European Parliament regarding the ECC Commission Memorandum on Economic Policy (Action Programme of the Community for the Second Stage), for which he insinuated ‘centralistic’ tendencies and those towards a ‘planned economy’.514 The anti-planning front – which however continued to refer only to economic steering, as concepts of spatial planning had long become accepted policy,515 while the Bundeswehr and NATO operated in accordance with military planning516 – began to fall apart in the mid-1960s.517 A cautious shift of meaning with regard to the concept of planning would ensue through a distinction made between socialist and Christian Democratic planning. As Anton Böhm established in his 1964 appeal to his party to think towards the future, ‘planning and planning are two different things’. Christian Democratic planning was not to aim at a concentration of power, but rather ‘consist in nothing other than the formation of a context of preventive

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or exacting measures introduced as a means of responding to a foreseeable future situation’.518 The fundamental openness of the future was therefore not to be infringed upon within the worldview parties CDU and CSU. Not only Franz Meyers but also Josef Hermann Dufhues advocated returning ‘Christian content’ to the ‘largely meaningless concept of “progress”’.519 This would lead to a ‘yes – but’ response whenever one spoke of progress as an abstract, and not of types of progress in particular areas – so the concept was treated with nuance, fitted into semantic networks, connected to other concepts, foreseen in this way with boundaries to its meaning in the process. At the same time, its future-embracing substance was attached to a clear link to the past. Three examples can serve to illustrate this: Rainer Barzel called in 1962 for a fight against the ‘secularization of progress with sole regard to the material’ world in order to view ‘progress’ in the future as well as ‘progress towards more morality, more humanity, more respect’. Josef Hermann Dufhues characterized the CDU in 1964 as a ‘party of economic and social progress’, qualifying this however in that his party did not strive towards ‘progress at any cost’ and ‘especially no progress at the cost of stability. We wish for progress without adventure’.520 And lastly, Ludwig Erhard, whose sympathies for temporal continuity also touched on the concept of progress, was of the opinion that the CDU had to ‘form a bridge between past and future. … It has the particular obligation, however, to connect our best tradition, our Christian ties with what we refer to, in a positive sense, as progressive and open to the world’.521 How deep this definition of the concept of progress burrowed its way into the party’s self-description was evidenced by none other than Konrad Adenauer at the 1965 CDU Federal Party Conference in Düsseldorf. While being driven back and forth between the congress and his home in Rhöndorf, he had time to ponder the relationship of his party to progress. Adenauer saw ‘progress’, and progress for which his party had been responsible, in the traffic, both for work and leisure, there on the newly built Autobahn, which he declared to have been the product of ‘the work of our party’. The 88-year-old Adenauer, at the same time, called for the ‘intellectual values’ of the ‘past’ to be taken seriously and, more specifically, not to neglect ‘the Christian fundaments of our party’ in all satisfaction with progress. Past, present and future were to be connected and the good of the past conserved for the future. Adenauer was thus able to describe the CDU as the ‘party of conservative progress’.522 Marga Beitzel, a delegate from Schleswig-Holstein, seized upon this characterization. The description of the CDU as the ‘party of conservative progress’ at first seemed paradoxical to her, but she then went on to resolve it with a memorable image: ‘It is correct to think of conservatism as being equated with tradition. Tradition is not, however, to be understood here as a couch, but as a springboard’.523 The concept of progress was inserted in this way into the concept of conservatism. A safe leap into the future was to be achieved on the basis of traditional Christian values.

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This corresponded with what the Conservative Party thought and said about progress.524 The dimension of the past was defined here with the rather general concept of Christian tradition, as we have seen in different places. This conservation of the Christian was also reflected in party history. The specific principle of Christian Democratic and Christian Social temporality would have been implausible if it did not also reach back into the party’s own history. Finding a historical narrative was a particular challenge, however, for a party only founded in 1945, especially in the aftermath of the twelve-year Nazi regime. The Union parties included men and women who had played an active role in the resistance, others who had lived through the regime in a more distanced form of political opposition, some who had supported the regime in part and indeed others who had developed sympathies for the regime and who had been active in different ways towards the implementation of National Socialist goals.525 It was difficult to overcome these lines of tension, which were only exacerbated by denominational differences. While rarely addressed openly, they posed a challenge to the construction of a party-historical narrative: ‘Who among us has not felt this tension of mentality’, Dufhues submitted, ‘that lies in conserving the tradition of our history as an obligation, as an awareness of continuity, while having the need to distance ourselves from past history like no other generation has ever done before’.526 For the Union, the year 1945 became an unquestioned beginning to its history, recalled as a salutary turning point, a complete break with the past. The history of the country, like the history of the party, began in the years 1945 and 1949, with both closely connected in the Union parties’ narrative.527 Konrad Adenauer repeated this narrative with constancy. Even at the tenth anniversary of the founding of the Federal Republic, he underscored that the federal government had done all it could ‘to show the world, even to prove through sacrifices, that Germany has turned away from the spirit of darkness that brought about this bloodbath of nations, that our people has broken away from the totalitarian politics of fanaticism and cruelty that ushered in our doom’.528 The year 1945 also entailed a new beginning, manifested in the founding of the CDU and CSU. As interdenominational people’s parties founded in Christianity, they were something new in the history of parties as their founding fathers sought out ‘new paths for the future’ in the aftermath of complete collapse.529 This narrative of rupture and new beginnings was complemented by one of continuity in Christianity. Fully in line with the interpretations of the totalitarianism theory, it was taken as read that Christianity emerged victorious from the struggles of the ‘Third Reich’. The Union parties viewed themselves as the continuation of the Christian resistance, which was in fact the case for some of the Union politicians. They believed that they embodied the ‘good’ Germany that had resisted the temptations of totalitarianism. And those who had in fact

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become involved with the Nazi regime – in whatever manner and to whatever degree of intensity – surely did not speak out against this view. As a member of the Kreisau Circle, Eugen Gerstenmaier lent particular legitimacy to this narrative. It was in fact Gerstenmaier who emphasized the significance of this most particular relationship of continuity between past and present: ‘The resistance against tyranny and the sacrifices made to that end have conserved Germany’s last remnant of authority in its darkest years, without which a state cannot exist, without which a people descends into the darkness of an absence of history’.530 This narrative of the continuity of Christianity was underpinned by the reconstruction of Christian party politics of the nineteenth century – both Protestant and Catholic – with the Union parties placing themselves within this tradition.531 The Union parties’ political style was to be shaped by a balancing of temporal dimensions. The CDU and CSU pursued balance in other contexts as well, as it became a principle of their politics. As we have already seen with regard to the debates over the liberalization of the CDU, the party described itself, from its beginnings, as a party of the centre. Being in the centre meant balancing, maintaining distance from the extremes, assessing the situation, mediating, bringing about an equilibrium, attaining moderation, arriving at a new synthesis. This outlines the semantic network that the Union constructed around the concept of the centre. The position within the centre was of course a relational one – the extreme poles to both sides of this position could be defined flexibly. Talk of the centre in the political language of CDU and CSU would spread and play a strong role in self-descriptive discourse as well as in the formulation of concrete policy in a variety of political areas. The Union’s occupancy of a place between liberalism and socialism was but one version of its self-positioning in the centre. In 1959, Hanns Seidel viewed his CSU as the party of the centre between the two extremes of the ‘Left and Right’ – between ‘Bolshevism’ and ‘radicalism on the right’.532 Beyond this localization within the political landscape, the principle of balancing guided the party’s further portrayal of its own substance. A classic presentation of this was offered by Rainer Barzel in his programmatic memorandum to the party’s Federal Board in 1962: The intellectual place of the CDU/CSU is the synthesis between faith and knowledge, between the needs of the whole and those of individuals, between general norms and distinct situations – it is the moral rootedness of politics of tradition and of progress, of freedom and justice for all.533

The semantic network surrounding ‘centre’ and ‘balance’ was also employed to describe the internal situation within the Union parties, in which different wings contended with one another and diverging expectations clashed. The credo here was that a ‘great people’s party’ always needed to ‘take into account a balance of interests’.534 The will for balance here presupposed the existence of

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opposing forces. The two structural principles of balance and the formation of opposing forces were seen to presuppose one another in a dialectic process – as had always been the case in conservative thought.535 The synthetic principle of a combination of opposites to bring about a new order apparently structured the political language of the Union parties – all the way down to its sentence structure. The preposition between, copulative conjunctions and phrases such as and, as well and not only … but also, as well as adverbs and phrases such as at the same time were all employed to this end. The content and meaning were limited by the connection of opposing concepts, as has already become clear here in several places. Rainer Barzel’s memorandum can serve as an example once again: We should have found an understanding by now for stabilization at the centre of reality: freedom in order, individuals within the whole, human rights not without human obligations, subsidiarity alongside solidarity, German statehood within a united Europe and the freedom to ward off the communist threat to the world.536

This principle of balance was used not only in programmatic texts but also in debates regarding individual areas of policy. The Union parties felt called here, for example, to ensure a ‘balance’ within the ‘field of tension in the federation and the states’,537 to bring about an economic system in such a way that ‘speculation’ does not exceed ‘the right level’, because: ‘when it [became] immoderate’ it became ‘senseless, negligent’;538 meanwhile the individual needed to be protected from excessive consumption so that ‘this calamitous self-serving freedom’ could be overcome through ‘moderation and self-discipline’.539 The right balance could thus also be individualized and the Union parties’ role understood to be a moral one, with the task of supporting moderation. The appeal for moderation was particularly prominent in the debates within the Union parties on the criticism of consumption in the late 1950s and early 1960s, with an equally strong impact on the ordoliberal publications of the era.540 The principle of balance was also pursued in other central concepts connected to particular political ideas of the late 1950s and early 1960s that involved a balancing of social and financial burdens (e.g. Lastenausgleich, Familienlastenausgleich, Länderfinanzausgleich). The structural principle of political language shaped, in addition to syntax and semantic networks, the meaning of individual programmatic concepts, as was the case for the concepts of partnership and the social market economy. In the language of the Union parties, partnership described the ideal relationship between employers and employees as equal partners, who sought to balance their interests in an awareness of their interconnectedness: ‘Partnership is an expression of cooperation beyond any class struggle … Partnership ensures … that differences do not lead to opposition but to common cause, not struggle but engagement, as the differences are placed within the framework of a greater commonality’.541

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The social market economy was also understood synthetically, that is as a concept that balances out opposites and allows them to emerge in a better order. This sought to ‘harmonize personal freedom, growing prosperity and social security on the basis of a free order of competition’, as Ludwig Erhard summarized its central idea in 1960. The two conceptual components ‘social’ and ‘market economy’ illustrated this synthetic quality. Maintaining moderation and finding the centre, ensuring balance and equilibrium, the Union was not the first party to use these concepts and expressions to describe their own political style. As we have seen, this had been part of the foundation of conservative political language from the emergence of modern conservatism in the early nineteenth century, while the structural principle of balance also shaped the political languages of the British conservatism that thrived in the 1950s and 1960s. Anton Böhm, the CDU-affiliated deputy editor-in-chief of the Rheinischer Merkur, confirmed precisely this element in the characterization of the CDU and CSU as ‘conservative’, which was commonly asserted in and around 1960: Conservative means neither reactionary nor quietistic; those who deny this are missing reality. But if one does wish to characterize the Christian Democratic parties as ‘conservative’, this can now only mean that they are the forces of moderation and a solidarity-based balance of interests under the maxim of the common good.542

The number of voices describing the Union as conservative increased in the early 1960s – whether in the sense of conservative elements in their programme or in the sense of a conservative party within a three-party system in accordance with the model provided by the English-speaking world.543 The decision by Eugen Gerstenmaier to contribute an article to the Konservativ heute forum in Der Monat in 1962 was thus by no means a random act. He used this platform to separate the concept once again from its undemocratic semantic inventory, and to make it acceptable for the Union parties to use.544 The debates in which CDU and CSU grappled with their own self-image, and all the unchallenged affirmations of matters viewed as self-evident at party conferences, in party journals, at electoral campaign events, in party committees and in interviews, all served as arenas in which the concepts of the Union parties’ political language were negotiated. They were updated, gained currency through their repetition and were brought into a new balance. The structural principle of repetition and updating provided both for the stability of the semantic networks and for shifts that could go so far that the meaning of individual concepts expanded or changed to such a degree that they became controversial. The debate over liberalism was also a struggle over the historical conceptual inventory from which the political language of the Union parties drew. While the Conservative Party was able to draw upon a broad historical reservoir of texts, aphorisms and concepts, the construction of tradition in the CDU and CSU was an ongoing

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challenge, and the possibilities for conceptual references to texts that had been written before 1945 would first have to be laboriously negotiated. It was not by chance that Gerhard Stoltenberg addressed the 1962 CDU Federal Party Conference with a call to clear up the ‘conceptual misunderstandings’ that appeared to be accumulating in the party.545 Stoltenberg surely had in mind here the meeting of the party’s Federal Board in May 1962, in which Barzel’s study was discussed contentiously and ultimately without a clear outcome; the only agreement was that it had been ‘too churchy’ and too Catholic.546 This questioning of old certainties was undoubtedly connected to the process of establishing the Federal Republic and the generational change, as von Merkatz pointed out to his party board colleagues: We must not forget that the underlying experience of the CDU and of Christian Democrats in Europe emerged from the catastrophe of the war and of totalitarianism. This experience is, however, fading among younger people so that the experience of our Reich’s collapse is gradually growing less dynamic and is becoming history.547

This sense of having successfully completed the initial period of the young republic while also standing at the threshold of a new age of technical and industrial innovation was not only widespread in the CDU and CSU, but was underscored by their leading politicians: Ludwig Erhard spoke here of the ‘second phase of the social market economy’;548 Hanns Seidel was sure of being ‘at the beginning of a new era’, of living in a world ‘that confronts the human spirit and human will with decisions that have fully different dimensions to those made in earlier centuries’;549 Franz Josef Strauß saw the ‘first chapter in German postwar history’ – symbolized by the new chancellor taking office – coming to an end in 1963 with a ‘new period with new tasks and new tests’ about to begin;550 and although Rainer Barzel rejected the phrase ‘second industrial revolution’ that the SPD had adopted as its own,551 he did place himself and the CDU within the ‘atomic age’ with all of its social upheaval.552 The leadership crisis that had been simmering in the CDU for several years, the organizational reform that remained to be carried out, and diminishing voter loyalty, particularly in the Catholic milieu, all contributed towards increasing the impression that the Union parties had lost their connection to a changing society.553 Erhard’s unhappy chancellorship only served to intensify the misery. As Klaus Harpprecht commented on the CDU’s situation in summer 1965, there was ‘depressing proof of deep fatigue … a lack of principles, order, consistency’.554 The crisis in the Union was also a crisis of its political language. The political concepts began to slide in the Union parties during the late 1950s and early 1960s, as semantic insecurity characterized the entire conservative spectrum. As the writer Hans Schuster perspicaciously pointed out in 1961, the Federal Republic, after ten years of state ‘consensus’, now needed a ‘new political language’ to reflect this, as the old concepts taken from the ideological debates of

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the Weimar era no longer sufficed. The oft-lamented deideologization of the parties was, from this perspective, a positive development towards a general acceptance of democratic ‘basic values’ that were removed from the ‘pluralistic bustle’. This new political language was, as Schuster saw it, still only visible in its rudiments.555 The CDU and CSU sought advice from prominent intellectuals, not only as a means of responding to the accusation that they were far removed from ‘intellect’ and were entirely missing the boat when it came to the new era. Discussions at the Federal Party Conference in Hanover included the literary scholar Walter Jens, the jurist and CDU minister of culture Paul Mikat, the sociologist Arnold Gehlen, the journalist Hans Schwab-Felisch and the author Martin Walser, and were led by Eugen Gerstenmaier with the title Geist – Stiefkind der Nation (Intellect – Stepchild of the Nation), while focusing more on it being the ‘stepchild of the CDU’ than the ‘nation’; the speakers, moreover, argued over the relationship between intellectuals, politics and power.556 Walter Jens characterized the CDU in a manner that they by no means wished to hear: as the party of ‘stubbornness, of looking backwards, of occupying itself with the achievements of yesterday’, of the ‘status quo’, of ‘no experiments’, of a ‘melancholic backwards gaze at the Christian Abendland’. Intellectuals, by contrast, he maintained, looked forward towards the future, were willing to take risks, sought to take action and dared to experiment.557 Civis, the journal of the Association of Christian Democratic Students (Ring Christlich-Demokratischer Studenten, RCDS) also hosted a forum that year on the topic of the CDU and its intellect, which was published in its entirety in Evangelische Verantwortung. The contribution by the writer Johannes Gross was not particularly flattering to the party. He posited a ‘loss in political substance’ with the ‘return of the Federal Republic to normality’, and he viewed the CDU as being stuck in an ‘ideological swamp’ because it sought to be ‘in no way reactionary … but progressive, if indeed in a conservative manner’; the CDU had ‘answers to questions that are no longer asked’.558 The CDU appeared to have lost its competence when it came to conceptually representing the firm ground it purported to stand upon. Like Johannes Gross, Gerhard Stoltenberg accused his party of this in 1964, if perhaps in a more polite form: ‘Many old phrases and answers of the forties and fifties no longer suffice in the rapid, frantic change of the times, of society’.559 This verdict was certainly more far-sighted than that of Arnold Gehlen, who excitedly expressed his dismay at Gerstenmaier’s panel discussion over ‘the intellectuals’ having ‘occupied the mass media’, ‘spiriting away the language’ of the conservatives with all their might.560 The left robbing the conservatives of their concepts – this notion would become a fixed component in conservative self-image over the next two decades. No matter who was ultimately responsible for this loss, the CDU and CSU would need a new political language.

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2.3. ‘We Carry Concepts of Concealed Language around with Us’: Language Loss, Language Criticism and Conceptual Offensives in the 1960s and 1970s 2.3.1. The Loss of Language in the Union of the 1960s, and Strauß’s Conceptual Initiative The Union of the 1960s was driven by the erosion of its linguistic interpretive powers. Ludwig Erhard’s principle of a ‘formed society’ (formierte Gesellschaft), which he adeptly introduced at the 1965 CDU Federal Party Conference, surely did not lead to a solution of the problem – on the contrary, the formed society revealed the Union parties’ loss of language with particular clarity. As Hans Schuster wrote in Merkur, it became an ‘inexhaustible source of fun and guessing games’.561 The inability of the Union to express itself in a political language suited to the times could hardly have been plainer to see. This loss of language had been challenging the Union parties at a very fundamental level since the late 1950s. The ‘formed society’ was an attempt to regain sociopolitical interpretive power. Erhard believed that the society of his time was on its way towards becoming such a formed society; one that, while marked by a pluralism of interests, is then combined into a larger whole through the democratic cooperation of all. This social unity, brought about through the harnessing of modern pluralism, was to strengthen the state while pushing back against ‘organized interests’, in particular, those associations and lobby groups that Erhard believed to be torpedoing his ideas of harmonious unity. He wished for – and believed that this wish was shared by all of society – the ‘stabilization of the order of life and, at the same time, … a sensibly structured society … that, even if not entirely straightforward, still provides a sense of security’. Such a society should ‘unite and reconcile itself with the state’ towards a ‘far-reaching will for progress’.562 Erhard, in this vein, proposed founding a German Gemeinschaftswerk (common undertaking) to finance common public projects and to redress the imbalance between private and public wealth, something that the SPD was continually calling for. A special fund was to be created to this end, drawn from the additional annual income from the federal and state governments that would arise from a progressive tax, as well as from proceeds from privatization.563 This proposal fundamentally touched on the country’s balanced federal system as well as on the budgetary sovereignty of the parliaments, and the fact that Erhard was also aiming at a ‘reform of German democracy’564 made the establishment of this Gemeinschaftswerk a matter of foremost constitutional political importance. He would, however, meet strong opposition to this from within his own party, which was at no point involved in the process of devising either the idea of the formed society or the Gemeinschaftswerk, as reflected in the heated discussion of

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the Federal Party Board following the Federal Party Conference, which Erhard – as was often the case – did not attend.565 While the party presidium issued a declaration that supported Erhard’s concept, so as not to raise the impression, before the upcoming election campaign, that the party did not stand behind its chancellor, even the presidium members Adenauer and Gerstenmaier did not later wish to recall any agreement of theirs with the ‘Seventeen Theses of the CDU’ at the Federal Party Board meeting.566 While they insisted on the envisaged Gemeinschaftswerk, they refused to adopt the idea of the formed society.567 This likely had something to do with the fact that even Erhard’s CDU colleagues were not really able to imagine what that might actually entail. Eugen Gerstenmaier, as he himself explained, still did not know ‘what “formed society” is’ even months after the Federal Party Conference; nor did Konrad Adenauer, as he expressed it in his own words, understand what the German Gemeinschaftswerk was supposed to be, even after reading extensively on the subject.568 The term ‘formed society’ appeared to have been intentionally vague, as indeed indicated by the writer and political advisor Rüdiger Altmann, who had coined the phrase. Altmann, who was influenced by Carl Schmitt along with Rudolf Smend and Wolfgang Abendroth, was a member of Erhard’s innermost circle and responsible for developing the idea through various draft stages.569 Altmann presented the phrase as something practically unfathomable, yet electrifying due to its unfathomability: ‘What is unsettling about the formed society derives from the apparent tension between the linguistic transparency of the word and its ideological opacity’. The term thus encompassed ‘a cavity … in which particular motives and initiatives are held at the ready. Hence the provocative neutrality of the word, the forgoing of ideological content, the impression of a certain void alongside a heightened superficiality – just one word, so weighty, so light’.570 The top CDU politicians were not, in any case, inclined towards this kind of unfathomability. Asked by Spiegel journalists whether he could be more concrete about the formed society, Rainer Barzel, chairman of the CDU/CSU Parliamentary Group of the Bundestag, could only resort to referencing an interview with Ludwig Erhard in Der Spiegel, in which Erhard had defined the term.571 That interview, however, only revealed Erhard’s own helplessness when it came to providing a more specific characterization of this description of society. He had to admit in the end that he would not know how he could explain ‘to 8,000 or 10,000 people’ what a formed society in fact was. As the two Spiegel journalists sardonically replied, it was ‘hard enough in front of two people’.572 It was not, however, the vagueness of the term ‘formed society’ that was chiefly responsible for this irritation, but the semantics, which (contrary to Altmann’s claim) were anything but ‘ideologically opaque’ and ‘provocatively neutral’. The word formieren used in the phrase derived from military language,

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and had become a concept characteristic of the National Socialists in the course of their militarization of political language. When Ludwig Erhard spoke of the formed society in 1965, enriched with concepts such as order, structure, state, authority, unity of will, Volk, nation and, not least, the Gemeinschaft (community), he was evoking the semantics of the National Socialist Volksgemeinschaft (national community), even as he worked to counter this himself by emphasizing democratic principles. The two Spiegel journalists who interviewed Barzel in March 1966 got to the heart of the matter, observing that concepts such as the formed society ‘were quickly placed in connection with early ideas of the German Volksgemeinschaft’.573 The concept of Volksgemeinschaft did not necessarily have to be directly evoked in order to reactivate these layers of meaning – even if it remained omnipresent in the background.574 Karl Schiller alluded to these layers of meaning in his remarks during the Bundestag debate following Erhard’s government declaration as the newly re-elected chancellor. There, he submitted that the formed society was redolent of ‘standing at attention … not on the basis of following orders and the law, no, standing at attention for reasons of higher insight’.575 During the election campaign, the SPD responded with its economic concept of the ‘responsible society’.576 Die Zeit, in particular, used the term ‘formed society’ as a means of depicting Erhard, and the Union parties in general, in an anti-liberal light. The newspaper published Heinrich Böll’s speech at the opening of the theatre in Wuppertal, in which the author described the role of artists and intellectuals in a free society as the virtual opposite of Erhard’s harmonic social ideal: [The] affliction [of art] is that it is only free … when the material that it has ordered and formed is recognized as such (i.e. first disordered and reformed): indeed, ordered and formed, disordered and deformed – not normed and fixed in formation. It is that which society does to art: norming, fixing in the marching orders of the free market economy – fragmenting freedom into freedoms.577

Artists therefore accused Ludwig Erhard of attacking artistic freedom, and not without reason, during that summer of 1965, in which Erhard was not sparing in his most offensive criticism of intellectuals who actively supported the SPD, escalating into a warning about ‘manifestations of degeneracy’ in art and literature. His targets, denigrated as ‘pipsqueaks’, ‘lowbrows’ and ‘incompetents’, saw artistic freedom to be under threat, and the Union parties to be the home of anti-intellectualism.578 The accusation of anti-liberalism was henceforth closely tied to the concept of formed society, and could be activated in the widest range of contexts. Die Zeit, for example, reported on the problems of young males who had adopted the Beatles’ hairstyle and earned ridicule and beatings for it in return for placing themselves ‘outside the short-haired formed society’.579 This again touched on

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the logic of exclusion inhabited by the concept of the Volksgemeinschaft. The FDP politician Hildegard Hamm-Brücher penned a political and yet most impactful attack in Die Zeit in September 1966 – also using Formierung (formation) as a signal word to semantically underscore her ideas. Her piece, Gedanken zur Zukunft des Liberalismus in Deutschland (Thoughts on the future of liberalism in Germany), unleashed its impact in reaction to the distorted image of an anti-liberal present shaped by the Union parties. She picked up here on the parties’ self-description, which, as we have seen, employed the concept of liberalism as a counterconcept – a semantic strategy of self-delineation, which, to the chagrin of many, continued to be cultivated into the mid-1960s in the Catholic workers’ wing of the party.580 As Hamm-Brücher argued: In the twenty-one years of the postwar era, the basic structures and ways of thinking and acting of an authoritarian, illiberal society has ‘formed’ once more behind cleverly constructed democratic facades, shielded and supported by an archconservative majority now declared to be ‘Christian’. … The sociopolitical perpetuation of the nineteenth century and the restoration of a seemingly paradisiacal order are preventing the postulates of our constitution from being convincingly realized in the lives of our citizens in coexistence.581

While Hamm-Brücher charged the CDU and CSU with not advancing the liberalization of society, she did not accuse them of being anti-democratic; the New Left did, however, characterizing the term ‘formed society’ as ‘fascist’.582 Erhard, who had long been suspected within the Union parties of being liberal, had in fact done much towards his party being able to be codified as anti-liberal by the mid-1960s. The formed society episode, which was to remain but an episode – albeit an intensive one – was a clear demonstration that the ordoliberal language of the 1950s was no longer able to keep up with changing times in the 1960s. The ‘universalistic, utopian and integrative social thought so conceived … in German conservatism’ had come to an end.583 The now critical public no longer wished to be marshalled by the state; democratic pluralism was viewed as an opportunity and not a danger, and all the effusion for integration in national unity was now viewed with fundamental suspicion.584 As Lutz Köllner wrote, also in Die Zeit, Erhard had outlived ‘his own achievement in rare political anachronism’.585 A man who spoke the language of the postwar era could no longer be understood in the 1960s. Few recognized this as astutely as Bruno Heck. The CDU general secretary since 1966, Heck was the driving force behind the programme process that would ultimately culminate in the adoption of the Berlin  Programme in 1968. Following the CDU’s painful defeat in the July 1966 state parliamentary election in North Rhine-Westphalia, where it had previously been so accustomed to success, it appeared all the more necessary to come to an understanding on principles within the party and to formalize the results in

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words.586 Even Adenauer no longer resisted this process. Heck pursued an ideological approach here, convinced that the parties had to function as ‘ever open forums for discussion’ in a democracy in order to ‘safeguard the participation of the individual in the state and to protect every individual’s freedom while also bestowing authority on the state’.587 The conviction that dissent was both integral to and productive for a democratic society gained traction in the Union parties as well. For the first time in its history, the CDU organized a discussion process that was inclusive of all levels of the party, granting the floor of the 1968 Berlin Federal Party Conference, where the Aktionsprogramm was discussed and subsequently adopted, to all who availed themselves of the application process. Heck was well aware of the significance of his plans. It was his goal to equip the Union parties for the future – and for that he required a new language, as he explained in Berlin in 1968: The language of politics changes as well. My friends, we carry concepts of a concealed language around with us that can no longer be understood; they no longer mean anything and lead more to the impression that, behind the conceptual masks, God knows what is happening. We need a language that is fresh for our changed circumstances, a language that gets under the skin. The people need to understand us, and we them.588

Heck’s sensitivity to language likely stemmed from his study of Latin and German literature, as exhibited in his translation of Sallust and Cicero, published by Klett in 1946.589 In a period when, according to him, there were few ‘truths still held unchallenged … and institutions … whose authority is not doubted’,590 Heck did not tire of reminding his party, beginning in the mid1960s, of the significance of its political language. By contrast, no thematization of political language or level of linguistic self-reflection was to be found in the British Conservative Party of the 1960s. Heck did not, however, expect that the CDU’s Berlin Programme would already require a revision in the year following the party’s loss of federal power in Bonn. And yet, the never-ending programmatic discussions, the ongoing succession of commissions and working groups, the intensive debates within a wide variety of party bodies that would mark the CDU throughout the 1970s,591 and especially the continual work on language – and its necessity – all attested to this. That a one-off expression of the programme would not suffice not only became clear in light of the 1969 change in government, with the Union parties taking on the role of opposition for the first time, but also due to the CDU’s own internal turmoil. The lines of division had, however, shifted since the early 1960s: religious denomination no longer shaped party-wing allegiance in the late 1960s; attitudes towards worker participation in companies and beyond, along with differing attitudes towards the new SPD-FDP Ostpolitik (eastern

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policy) instead determined the position in the party. The West German debate over worker participation, which engaged the country for over a decade, connected a wide variety of economic concepts and sociopolitical ideas that were bitterly fought over within the Union parties, while the new Ostpolitik drove a wedge between the CDU and CSU in particular.592 All throughout the programmatic debates, the wings of the party had to agree on a generally acceptable choice of language – and then represent this to the world. When Manfred Wörner addressed the main problem with the Berlin Programme, that it simply avoided any controversial issues,593 it was by no means a sheer coincidence that this was a representative of the new generation of politicians and a protégé of Bruno Heck. Wörner protested that the language of the Berlin Programme did not speak to many people in the election campaign, as it offered only a language of compromise that was quickly set aside and ignored by the two wings of the party soon after its adoption, which ‘also gave rise to the external impression, not without good reason, that this party does not speak with a single language’. Wörner’s remedy for this malaise was to engender a culture of debate within the party. As the young executive chairman of the Konrad Adenauer Foundation prophesied, the CDU would not manage to speak a clear and authentic language to the outside world, or a convincing one, if we do not also first find the courage to come to an agreement within our circles and to overrule a minority if necessary. … An openness for what is to come, courage to take a risk-laden decision, those should be [the] qualities of our politics.594

This applied equally to the manner in which the Union parties pursued politics within the party as well. Such self-critical thematization of the party’s own political language had, as we have previously seen, already emerged within the Union during the early 1960s, to be taken up again in 1968/69. The initiatives here always aimed at the reformulation of the party’s conceptual worlds, and were ever driven by the suspicion that the party had been lagging behind language change in general, along with the decided wish to equip the CDU for the future. Following the logic of the argument, the Union had to adapt to the language of the present, and not vice versa. This argument was turned upside down by none other than Franz Josef Strauß in 1968. And it was no coincidence that this was all connected to the concept of conservatism, which was proving so difficult for the Union parties. The CSU was also involved with the creation of a party programme in 1968 – adopting not only an Aktionsprogramm, like its CDU sister party, but also a Grundsatzprogramm as a ‘basic programme’. While all of the CDU’s discussions touching on the phrasing of passages lending expression to the party’s basic orientation were nipped in the bud by the party leadership (thus leaving lines of conflict unresolved),595 the CSU leadership permitted an extensive discussion of this kind at its December

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1968 party conference. This developed in connection with the expression of the CSU being a conservative party. The reservations regarding the adoption of the concept were well known: ‘It is believed that conservative means backwards, restorative, obsolete, outdated’, which contradicted the programme’s intention of being ‘progressive and future-oriented’.596 In a debate that spanned hours, the concept of conservatism, as commonly used in the political language of 1960s West Germany, was unpacked in all the layers of its meaning: ‘conservative’ was seen as a counterconcept to ‘progressive’, while also evoking the ill-fated tradition of German conservatism. As Bundestag member Walter Althammer expressed it: ‘[B]ecause we know that the word “conservative” still holds these connotations the way it is understood in Germany today, we believe that we should avoid any misunderstanding here by opting for a form that is not desired’. Numerous members of the CSU had no particular need to be ‘stamped … with this predetermined word’.597 In the 1960s, a decade oriented towards progress and the future, many politically active members of the CSU did not wish to have their politics viewed as conservative. The young Alois Glück saw a ‘contradiction between the progressiveness of the CSU’s politics and the expression “conservative force”’, especially as the CSU party programme was meant to lend expression to the party’s modernity.598 Those party conference delegates who opposed adopting the concept in the basic programme did, however, affirm that they were not opposed to expressing a stance of respect towards the traditional. They also understood the desire to conserve what was good as a fundamental characteristic of the CSU. This did not make sense to the supporters of the word ‘conservative’, however, especially as the statement made the rounds, more or less behind closed doors, that ‘we are all conservative but we had better not say so’.599 For Franz Josef Strauß, upon whose personal initiative the concept of conservatism was reintroduced to the draft proposal against the objections of the party conference working group, albeit only by a narrow majority, the discussion was awfully ‘odd’ in that ‘we have the same wishes in the matter, even the same thoughts, so that there is hardly the slightest bit of difference, but we are afraid of the magical continued impact of concepts of the past, which we believe we cannot endow with modern meaning: we are thus capitulating before our own selves’.600 While the CSU Augsburg city councillor Erich Maiberger reminded his party leader ‘as a philologist’ that the CSU was not able to ‘regulate’ or ‘decide on language’ but that ‘language develops’ and ‘demonstrates a change in meaning’ so that ‘“conservative” does not today mean what we would like to say’,601 Strauß was of a different opinion. He did in fact believe the CSU could be effective in the forming of concepts: ‘If we, the Christian Social Union, expressly commit to translating scholarly insight into pragmatic action as a political party, we will also have the power to attach new connotations to the “conservative” concept’.

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The Union was thus meant to actively work to have an impact on language and steer language change using modern insights. While Strauß apparently felt that he and the CSU could achieve this with regard to the concept conservative, he was less optimistic when it came to liberal. This was, in his view, ‘misused and partly used up’, and therefore not suited to the basic programme. This was much to Strauß’s regret, as he claimed: ‘I would like to say of myself that I am conservative and liberal’. It was precisely this mixture that Strauß sought to express in his conceptual use of conservative. He continued: In the future, however, we should conceive of, formulate and use the concept ‘conservative’ in such a way that conservative means marching at the forefront of progress, that conservative means conserving what is worthy of conservation from our heritage … but that conservative also means continually creating new values that are worth conserving and thus bringing about continuity between past, present and future.602

Strauß integrated several different components into his concept of conservatism: first, sounding out the temporal dimensions involved; second, connecting the concept of progress that was omnipresent in the 1960s with the semantic network in and around conservatism; third, conceiving of change as drawing from the good of the past; and fourth, referring back to the concept of values as that which was to conserve and protect. He equipped this with a future-oriented bias, stressing that new values were to be ‘created’ and to be conserved in the future. Here, Strauß, on the one hand, positioned himself closer to the critics of his language policy within the party with regard to conservatism, who connected progress to a final departure from traditional forms. ‘The word “Christian”’, as Maiberger reminded Strauß of the dominant self-descriptive concept of the Union, ‘not only contains that which we conserve, the word “Christian” entails that we are extraordinarily revolutionary’.603 On the other hand, the definition revealed Strauß’s proximity to Armin Mohler as well. The creation of new values worthy of conservation was among those ideas characterizing the New Right during the Weimar Republic, as later transported by Armin Mohler to the context of the Federal Republic. Mohler saw in Strauß the greatest political hope of the right-wing camp, the incarnation of a Gaullist leader, who seemed capable of leading a national-revolutionary mass movement from the Right.604 Strauß in turn honoured the support that Mohler’s writings provided during the Spiegel Affair, his efforts in the confrontation with the Left and his Gaullist stance.605 Mohler anonymously composed the introduction to an apologetic on the Spiegel Affair, as commissioned by the CSU,606 wrote regularly for the Bayernkurier under the pseudonym Nepomuk Vogel,607 threw himself into the breach on behalf of Strauß in various publications,608 and introduced to Strauß his close friend, the young Marcel Hepp (born in 1936), Robert Hepp’s brother,609 who would go on to become Strauß’s

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personal aide. Hepp ran Strauß’s private office until his early death in 1970, and was managing editor of the Bayernkurier beginning in 1967.610 He in turn suggested that Mohler be made academy director of the Hanns Seidel Foundation in 1967, although this did not come to pass.611 Mohler was, moreover, involved with the Demokratisch-Konservative Korrespondenz, a press service that existed from 1964 to 1970, which (financed to a large degree by the CSU through 1966) was meant to stand up to the supposed left-wing media dominance and served as a mouthpiece for Strauß.612 The Carl Friedrich von Siemens Foundation, which Mohler led and expanded into a right-wing think tank, was based in Munich, only a short distance away from the CSU Headquarters.613 Strauß would disappoint, however, when it came to meeting Mohler’s expectations in the early 1970s in terms of German domestic policy, global policy, the confrontation with the Left, and even at the personal level. In recognition of his efforts dedicated to Strauß, Mohler had hoped for a political science professorship in Bavaria but was bitterly disappointed.614 The fact that Strauß developed from a staunch Gaullist to a convinced Atlanticist in the late 1960s only made things worse.615 Strauß had no intention of playing the ‘Red Chinese card’, as Mohler would later observe with frustration: ‘Strauß has always said: your arguments may be right but does that take us to 50 percent? – that got on my nerves’.616 Strauß did not wish to call liberal democracy into question, and that divided him from Mohler, who took a decidedly opposite position and preferred authoritarian solutions. Mohler’s influences would, however, be reflected in Strauß’s understanding of conservatism as he expressed it in 1968. Yet, it would be an oversimplification to chalk this all up to the influence of the New Right. Strauß did not allow himself to be entirely taken in by Mohler’s right-wing circles. As described above, the concept of conservatism had already been held high in the CSU by Hanns Seidel in the late 1950s and early 1960s, and in a manner that accorded with Strauß’s belief in the fusion of liberal and conservative ideas. Strauß, who had been part of the liberal wing of the party since the early postwar era, reminded the delegates to the 1968 party conference of this with reference to Josef Müller’s influence on the programmatic development of the CSU. The ‘connection of liberal and conservative’, he said, had been a solid foundation for the CSU from the first years of its existence.617 In Strauß’s vocabulary, ‘liberal’ referred to the self-description of the circle of party reformers around Müller and Seidel, who had left the Bavarian People’s Party (BVP) behind as an exclusively Catholic party that raised the profile of Bavaria in opposition to the Reich. They recognized the Federal Republic as a Western democracy while also supporting ordoliberal concepts.618 In doing so, Strauß stuck to the concept of the Christian, but relativized it in the same way he had previously done in 1961 as the newly elected party leader: ‘The substance of our politics needs to breathe the Christian spirit, even as the speech of our politicians need not always drip

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with the “Christian”. … We remain a worldview party but a worldview party that needs to pursue pragmatic methods in this world to attain its essential worldview aims’. Here, he also boosted the concept’s potential for meaning, which he closely tied into the semantic network in and around conservative: ‘We stand on the ground of Christian moral law, we stand on the ground of Western tradition, we stand on the ground of European tradition’, Strauß proclaimed with his characteristic staccato cadence.619 This strategy also coincided with Strauß’s proposal for a compromise with regard to the basic programme in that the ‘CSU is a conservative force as well’. What the CSU was supposed to be in addition to conservative was a question that many began to ask, as the programme did not in fact make this at all clear.620 Marcel Hepp’s leading article in the following edition of Bayernkurier, in any event, omitted the Christian foundations but rather focused on conservatism as an anti-revolutionary polemical concept directed at the Left.621 The speakers who followed Strauß at the 1968 party conference did not take up his call to bring about new values – the idea apparently stood far from the established temporal narratives within the party. They instead stressed again and again that it was a Christian task to conserve the values of the past, that which was ‘abiding and everlasting in man’ in ‘the image of God’,622 as Richard Jaeger put it, and to transplant this into an ‘era of progress and motion’, as Fritz Pirkl added. It was precisely this that Pirkl understood as ‘true conservatism’, which he differentiated from a ‘conservatism of forms’.623 In full continuity with the conceptual definitions that emerged in the late 1940s, the focal point of the concept of conservatism developing in the CSU of 1968 lay in the continuity of the temporal dimension. A break with the past as a means of creating something new and worthy of conservation, as Strauß’s remark implied, cast doubt on this principle and was consequently not pursued. Strauß’s link to the ‘conservative revolution’ also eluded the journalists who were covering the party conference.624 They instead all focused on his vigorous integration of the concept of progress – letting all qualifications go by the board. The abbreviated Strauß quote ‘conservative means marching at the forefront of progress’ became a West German political aphorism – not least due to Strauß’s own efforts in the matter – and it is still used today in all sorts of contexts. Strauß’s definition was in fact somewhat more complex, connecting with the concept’s horizons of meaning that began to emerge in the late 1940s. If we compare his definition with the very similar concept of conservatism commonly held in the Conservative Party at the time, it becomes fully clear that Strauß was not introducing something new at the 1968 party conference, during that eventful year, but was consistently – and most intentionally – propelling its development forward. Strauß was well aware of his power with language, as was reflected in the party conference discourse.

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Coining concepts in political language and with particular vigour – the CDU also took on this strategy beginning in the late 1960s. It was not the student movement, which followed a targeted language policy and developed a characteristic jargon as a means of bringing about a ‘counterpublic’,625 but in fact the SPD’s language policy that initially set this in motion. The Social Democratic election campaign managers very specifically sought to expand the semantic content of concepts while coining new concepts, particularly for the Left, such as equal opportunity and quality of life.626 It was, however, first and foremost, the debate over the concept of ‘democratization’, which the SPD had adopted and used to combine its reform aims for a government led by Brandt, that served to trigger the Union parties’ conceptual policy offensive.627 It was therefore no coincidence that Bruno Heck, who was so well attuned to language, was at the forefront of the debate over the form that West German democracy should take. While democracy became a key concept in the Union’s vocabulary, ‘democratization’ became a term of degradation identified with socialism – or, more specifically, a supposed Social Democratic strategy of socializing the West German state system.628 As Erwin Teufel put it at the 1969 CDU Federal Party Conference, they would have to ‘develop the concept of democracy further’ while setting it apart from the Social Democratic concept of democratization.629 The CDU had finally come to discover language policy for its own purposes.

2.3.2. The Union Parties’ Language-Policy Offensive: Sematest and Linguistic Policy Consulting in the 1970s The discourse on the political language of the Union parties, which had been established internally for around a decade, prepared the soil in which the seeds of language criticism could ultimately thrive, seeds that had been sown by the student movement. Language criticism was integral to the political culture of the Federal Republic from the very beginning – first as criticism of the continued influence of National Socialist vocabulary,630 then as conservative criticism of a ‘bureaucratic’ welfare state system,631 as criticism of a traditional political language that would not reflect the realities of the Federal Republic,632 and especially in the form of criticism of GDR language policy, which was very prevalent throughout CDU/CSU circles.633 The New Left, inspired by Herbert Marcuse, sought to undermine the established order of rule by questioning its concepts.634 As Marcuse put it, the goal was to bring about a ‘break with the continuum of rule’, in part through a ‘break with its vocabulary’.635 From the late 1950s, the prevalent sense in the Union parties of only catching up with language change suddenly had a politically plausible justification. The Left seemed to be in the process of systematically taking over the language

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and manipulating the basic societal consensus – therefore edging the Union parties out of any political competition. As Bruno Heck warned his party: Our people expect from the Union parties that we cast light on the fog, that we clarify concepts and that the order of values in the country is not corrupted out of recklessness or even questionable calculation into a Babylonian confusion of language. It must be said what is valid and what is not. … For much too long, we have allowed the Left to lay claim to the timetables of the future. The Left has been successful in dominating our political language with its vocabulary.636

This argument, based in language criticism, was omnipresent in the Union parties from that point on, as reflected when Walter Wallmann warned against using ‘the term GDR’,637 when Konrad Kraske, in his analysis of the ‘language of the SPD’, felt as if they were being ‘sent back to the darkest days of the most reactionary class struggle’,638 and when Gerhard Stoltenberg spoke of the National Socialist roots of the ‘concept of the “system”’.639 The concerns that Norbert Blüm expressed at a 1973 meeting of the Federal Board was undoubtedly shared by his fellow party members: ‘If you have no word for a new problem’, he said, then ‘you have not recognized the problem either’, and ‘if you only meet a new problem with old responses, old words’, you will be ‘misunderstood’.640 This theme was introduced, with language becoming a mainstay of discussion within the party and its political strategy, long before the business attorney and corporate manager Kurt Biedenkopf became CDU general secretary in June 1973,641 when Helmut Kohl took over from Rainer Barzel as the head of the party.642 The ‘contemporary concepts’ had not only just lost ‘their innocence’ in 1973, as Martin Geyer would have it. They had lost it long before, if this had ever been the case in the first place.643 Biedenkopf geared up efforts on language policy, organized them systematically and provided them with a strategic thrust.644 He famously spoke in depth on these goals at the 1973 Federal Party Conference in Hamburg, which was meant to launch the party reforms that Kohl and Biedenkopf sought to introduce. His appeal to his party had and still has such a strong impact, both because it was superbly phrased, making use of suggestive language, and because he was speaking to a party in a phase of openness towards new ideas, in the aftermath of the failed vote of no confidence and the changes at the top of the party hierarchy – and in the face of a general public that was sensitized to such arguments due to intellectual language criticism. Biedenkopf spoke expansively in Hamburg on the ‘revolution of society through language’: Instead of government buildings, concepts are occupied, with which they govern … the concepts, with which we describe our state order, our rights and obligations and our institutions. The modern revolution occupies them with content that makes it impossible for us to describe a free society, and thus also impossible to live in one.645

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Biedenkopf accused the Left of no more and no less than the revolutionary upheaval of West German democracy and the establishment of a socialist dictatorship through the stealthy pursuit of conceptual politics. Margaret Thatcher would follow suit in this regard in 1976.646 The argument gained in plausibility as a result of the language-critical approach to the language of the GDR regime that began in the 1950s. The polarization of the political culture of the Federal Republic in the early 1970s reflected Biedenkopf’s logic of only allowing support or opposition – for a democracy with its solidly established conceptual inventory, or against this democracy and thus for socialism with its twisted vocabulary, alienated from its true meaning. Biedenkopf’s concept of ‘clear language’,647 which he prescribed for the Union parties, indeed assumed that the political concepts of a democracy bore an unmistakeable, unshakeable and consensual conceptual core; it was only in this way that the notion of the manipulation of concepts could be sensibly justified along with the alarmism that Biedenkopf invoked in his party.648 Political language criticism drew upon the democratization discourse of the period around 1968, while being itself one of the important ‘factor[s]’ involved.649 Biedenkopf expanded on his ideas on democracy theory in an essay, stating: A democratic polity depends on a solid inventory of commonalities that make it possible to carry out conflicts in a humane fashion and without damaging the whole. This inventory of commonalities includes, first and foremost, a political language, which makes it possible, if not to communicate, then at least to understand one another, preserving the communication process in society.

Biedenkopf added that the CDU had the task and also the ‘opportunity’ to ‘rediscover this language’.650 CDU strategists did not doubt that the party could succeed here. Biedenkopf’s appeal to occupy the concepts thus reflected, not least, an inexhaustible trust in the ability to steer policy with a basis in the latest scholarship. With this in mind, the newly elected general secretary reorganized the CDU’s headquarters, forming three main departments (I. administration, personnel and organization; II. policy, documentation and information; III. press and public relations). A ‘planning group’ was established as part of Department III, which, led by Warnfried Dettling, was to develop political concepts and strategies using the latest academic insights, thus serving as a intra-party think tank.651 Peter Radunski took the helm of Department III, which was also tasked with electoral campaign planning. The 34-year-old Radunski had previously led the Semantics Project Group during the 1970 electoral campaign for the Hessian Landtag, and before that was active in the semantic analysis carried out, beginning in 1968, at WIKAS (Wissenschaftliches Institut der Konrad-AdenauerStiftung), the CDU’s own opinion research institute at the Konrad Adenauer Foundation.652 The second root of Christian Democratic language policy of the

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late 1960s and early 1970s was clearly reflected in Radunski’s own career path as well. The understanding of the meaning of concepts had always been present in opinion research, public relations and political consulting,653 although the topic first became the subject of theories in political science towards the end of the 1960s, and was subsequently a focal point in political practice.654 Languagecritical discourse did much to establish language as a ‘political category’ in political consultancy.655 The creation of slogans, along with work on conceptual meaning, was now being cemented through the use of opinion surveys, so that opinion research provided a ‘basis’ for political language criticism in the 1970s.656 Political language was also ascribed great meaning in the programmatic and strategic efforts of the planning group. One strategy paper from 1974 viewed the ‘translation’ of politics into ‘a tangible language and concrete action’ as being decisive in the ability of the CDU to assert its positions.657 The topic was henceforth reflected in the more general efforts of the party as well.658 Work on political language was now also expected to be carried out as professionally and scholarly as possible. To this end, August 1974 saw the creation of Sematest: Institut für Kommunikations- und Sprachforschung (Sematest: Institute for Communications and Language Research) as a registered association based in Stuttgart.659 A key role was played here by Gerhard Mahler, the state secretary in the Baden-Württemberg government under Hans Filbinger and the successful election manager of the state’s CDU.660 Sematest was financed by the CDU headquarters and state associations as well as the Baden-Württemberg Ministry of Education and Cultural Affairs. While Sematest was officially based in Stuttgart, its offices were located in Bonn to make contact easier with the Konrad Adenauer Foundation and the CDU headquarters.661 Sematest’s tasks lay in the analysis of the language used by West German political parties, and the SPD and CDU in particular, the creation of ‘linguistic personality profiles of top Union politicians and the chancellor’ as well as comprehensive language consulting for the CDU. The financial part played by the BadenWürttemberg Ministry of Education and Cultural Affairs for an association that was solely founded to provide political consulting to the CDU (although it was not phrased as such in its statutes) skirted the very edge of legality, and required some form of justification at the very least. The researchers therefore also worked on ‘child language analyses’, which were to provide ‘the teaching of German with a broader empirical foundation’ and ‘contribute towards the recovery of the didactics of German’ from its figurative ‘rubella infection’.662 It was no coincidence that the CDU semantics offensive was, if perhaps as a sidebar issue, connected to educational policy, which was marked by deep-seated ideological divides and therefore heated debates.663 Scholars with sympathies for the CDU were recruited for work at Sematest in relevant fields: Hans Messelken, a professor of language didactics at the Pädagogische Hochschule Rheinland (Rheinland School of Education), was

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responsible for and organized the research conducted at Sematest;664 Peter Lindemann, an expert in data processing, who consulted for IBM and was based at the University of Mannheim, was a member of the ‘steering committee’ that ran Sematest, as was Werner Kaltefleiter, political scientist at the University of Kiel, who ran the Institute of Social Sciences of the Konrad Adenauer Foundation between 1970 and 1974; while the founding of Sematest was inspired by the Münster-based political scientist Gerhard W. Wittkämper, an expert in planning.665 The ‘steering committee’ was composed of Mahler, Lindemann, Kaltefleiter, Messelken and Dettling as representatives of the CDU headquarters.666 The association, which first had one, then two and lastly three academic staff members, worked from the beginning with computer-supported linguistics methodology, while Messelken’s own work on empirical language didactics served as a point of orientation.667 Work together with the Linguistics Working Group at the Siemens Company in the summer of 1975 promoted the further development of software for automatic text recognition.668 Messelken was the intellectual head of Sematest, gearing his work towards both Karl Bühler’s and Arnold Gehlen’s linguistic theories, and thus decidedly adopting a conservative position in the field.669 He understood the ‘debate over language’ as the ‘competition among future realities’, and therefore placed great importance on conceptual policy.670 Messelken viewed the language change of his time as an active one, perceiving it as the result of speech acts, and emphasizing the behavioural dimensions of action.671 Consequently, he was well predisposed to Biedenkopf’s interpretation. Trouble would soon be brewing, however, within the Christian Democratic semantic world. While the political strategists expected rapidly applicable results, the Sematest researchers followed the logic of the academic tradition – first dealing with the methodology, preparing analytical instruments and laying the ‘foundations’. This took an entire year, so tangible results were yet to follow by the middle of 1975.672 Dettling finally lost his temper in September 1975 when he heard from a Sematest employee that the programmatic texts of the party’s political planning, which had been sent to Sematest with a request for suggestions regarding readability, were being completely rewritten there instead. The Sematest staff did not view their work as a sort of stylistic workshop, instead hoping to properly shape the political language of the CDU – and that would require more than just a few changes to fully completed texts. This attitude was met with little understanding, however, at CDU headquarters. As Dettling warned Messelken: ‘It is becoming evermore difficult for me to maintain goodwill towards Sematest here at Headquarters’.673 Mahler also became involved, and asked him for ‘clear words’ on the matter, convinced that Sematest had to be ‘placed on a shorter leash’.674 As a result, Dettling checked in on the work conducted at Sematest on a weekly basis, establishing particular areas of endeavour to be pursued, and he held the association to more stringent responsibility with regard to its daily business.675 In 1976,

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for example, the researchers were involved in the preparation of the Municipal Policy Programme, the Agricultural Policy Programme, the draft of the Basic Programme, the Federal Party Board’s Call to Vote and individual thematic brochures.676 Sematest produced guidelines for the creation of spoken and written texts,677 evaluated politicians’ speeches678 and worked with Dettling on a ‘linguistic early warning system’, meaning the researchers tried their hand at linguistic prognoses.679 News of Sematest was not permitted to reach the outside world however, and even the names of the researchers were kept secret – and successfully so.680 There was, instead, rather nebulous talk in the halls of the party’s headquarters of a ‘Semantics Project Group’. Sematest analyses were published under the names of politicians; for example, the author of the analysis of Helmut Schmidt’s speech was listed as Gerhard Mahler.681 Sematest was nevertheless dissolved as of 30 September 1976. Mahler was no longer able to secure financing from the Baden-Württemberg Ministry of Education – supposedly for financial reasons.682 Biedenkopf also appeared to be no longer able to find funding for a continuation of the work,683 and even the plan to relocate Sematest to the Konrad Adenauer Foundation did not seem to be happening.684 Messelken would ultimately need to apply to the VW Foundation for ongoing funding as a research project.685 Looking back, he saw a lost opportunity for the CDU to keep up with the SPD in terms of communications theory – he did not indicate, however, that this had much to do with his own failed efforts. Instead, the CDU allowed itself to be coaxed ‘into the semantic jungle of names and terms – and, like Absalom, caught its hair on a particularly thick theoretical branch’.686 After the experience with Sematest, the political strategists at CDU headquarters surely saw this somewhat differently – from their perspective, excessive theory and methodology had practically impeded the application of academic research to the drafting of new policy. The aim of the researchers to steer the political language of the party, ideally in its entirety, was, moreover, neither feasible nor in line with the realities of party-political endeavours. Messelken’s December 1976 recommendation for a continuation of the linguistic work at a ‘central office’ at the party’s headquarters, where all party texts could be edited centrally as modelled after the Federal Press Office, must have further intensified these feelings.687 The CDU had lost its interest in an academically oriented linguistic think tank, and one of the greatest advocates of this work on political language was lost when Biedenkopf left the position of general secretary in March 1977. Biedenkopf had, in any case, already declared victory with regard to his offensive in conceptual politics at the 1975 Federal Party Conference: ‘We have taken hold of important concepts and added new important concepts for the description of political goals. … We have thus regained the initiative in a decisive area of politics’.688 This made it sound as if the semantic project had already been completed. Gerhard Mahler warned the party of this in his article in Sonde, a

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journal of the RCDS, which had adopted reform in the CDU as its own cause, and called instead to intensify all efforts to ‘develop a political language of the centre’.689 Biedenkopf’s self-assured announcement of success thereby enveloped a second dimension of concerted language-policy efforts on the part of the CDU. This was, from the beginning, a means in the party-political struggle over the public sphere – while Biedenkopf indeed called upon the divided CDU to come to a conceptual unity, he also chose his first party conference as the CDU general secretary to reach the largest possible audience for his language-policy intervention. The CDU thus presented itself, one the one hand, as a party pursuing political strategy in pace with the times. The announcement alone that the Union parties were conducting language policy had an effect and became a self-fulfilling prophecy. On the other hand, the CDU established itself as a party that drew upon intellectual – in this case, language-critical – discourse, and contributed to it in return.690 The political scientist Wolfgang Bergsdorf, who, after completing his doctorate in 1970, was hired by the CDU headquarters and was promoted in 1973 to manage the office of the new party leader, Helmut Kohl, became known for his language-critical work in political science, all inspired by Hans Messelken and Sematest.691 He would go on to attain his Habilitation in the field at the University of Bonn in 1983.692 The CDU’s activities in language policy, which were so effective in terms of reaching the public, rapidly became a topic of scholarly debate.693 That this ‘spirit’ was not the sole property of the ‘Left’ was a message that Biedenkopf was seeking to convey. The SPD understood this message all too well.694

2.3.3. Intellectual Language Criticism with Conservative Aims Language would become the centre of intellectual discourse during the late 1960s and early 1970s. A number of eloquent social scientists and philosophers discovered political language criticism as a tool in their engagement with the intellectual Left. They were all more or less closely connected to the Bund Freiheit der Wissenschaft (Association of Scientific Freedom, BFW), founded in 1970, which was joined by university professors and schoolteachers who saw it as their task to stand up to left-wing demands and political plans in science and education policy. The BFW developed into the most important platform for intellectual conservatism in West Germany, and emerged as a result of the events of 1968, about which more below.695 It was Hans Maier who had brought the language-critical interpretation of the New Left into play. The political scientist, born in 1931, was part of the generation of 1945: those born between around 1922 and 1932 who had experienced the fall of the Third Reich in their youth, and whose identities were closely tied with the new democratic beginnings after the war.696 Having

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grown up in the Catholic milieu of Freiburg, Maier adopted the West German democratic project as his own. He was a student of the Freiburg-based political scientist Arnold Bergstraesser, who had returned from his American exile after the war. At the age of 31, Maier was granted a political science chair at the Geschwister Scholl Institute of Munich’s Ludwig Maximilian University, where he came to know thinkers such as Eric Voegelin.697 In his confrontation with the surging National Democratic Party of Germany (Nationaldemokratische Partei, NPD) in 1967, Maier became aware of the significance of political language;698 sensitized in this way, he criticized the language of the New Left as well as of political theology.699 In 1968, he attacked the ‘cohorts of imitators’ of Jürgen Habermas, Theodor Adorno and Ernst Bloch – interestingly, however, not them directly, whom he believed had ‘significant’ things to say. He portrayed their imitators, however, as making use of a ‘clichéd and fossilized, malignantly percussive German, a formulaic language whose purpose was not to inform but to declaim and to drown out’.700 With the words ‘malignantly percussive German’, Maier chose to conjure up the clear image of another ‘drummer’, who had once taken a complete hold over language. The National Socialist destruction of democracy loomed large in the context of Maier’s language criticism. He strove to ‘root out’ and ‘unveil’ the NPD’s vocabulary of democratic camouflage and to uncover the anti-democratic thrust of those right-wing extremists.701 Confronted by the student movement on a daily basis, Maier then did the same with the Left, in which he saw a similar danger looming for the young West German democracy. He was convinced, through his careful observation, that there was a close connection between ‘language and social change’.702 Maier not only suspected such an intention on the part of the intellectuals of the New Left and student activists, but also among the social-liberal governing coalition in West Germany, and the SPD in particular. Speaking at the 1970 CSU Party Conference, he accused the Social Democrats of ‘word abuse’.703 He systematically expanded on his thoughts about language and politics in a speech he gave to the Bergedorf Round Table (Bergedorfer Gesprächskreis) in May 1972.704 Maier accused the Left of deliberately manipulating key political concepts of the West German democratic order. He presented the examples of the expansion of the concept of society and the superimposition of the concept of state, a boom in the use of the concepts of emancipation, Freiraum (area of freedom) and Betroffensein (direct concern), the dynamization of the concept of democracy via the concept of democratization and the semantics of struggle. His deliberations were first met with strong critical discussion by those in attendance, revealing the chasms that had arisen between conservative and left-wing language criticism. It was not that language changed society but, on the contrary, that society changed the language, as the educational reformers Hartmut von Hentig and Hellmut Becker argued, while viewing this solely as

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a positive. New language use could break down rigidity, and allow neglected perspectives to come to the fore. They believed Maier’s criticism to be ineffective and merely politically motivated.705 The discussion rapidly focused on the matter of setting standards. When Maier claimed that political concepts had lost their actual meaning, when he presupposed that they had been removed from their ‘normal context’, this led to the question of the definition of ‘normal’ as well as the authority that monitored compliance with this definition. Maier drew from the classical tradition in the development of political concepts – grounded in history and founded in the history of ideas. The liberal tradition of political thought was, for him, the standard for the ‘normal context’ of the conceptual meaning. Maier underscored his view in that ‘all discussion of concepts’ had a ‘language horizon behind the concepts, within which there could be either correct or false ways of thinking’.706 This was doubted by those who held, in line with the analytic philosophy of language, that language represented a system of its own reality, as was the case within the Bergedorf Round Table, for the German language scholar and German Academic Exchange Service (Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst, DAAD) president, Hansgerd Schulte.707 The meaning of concepts changed here in accordance with the experiences of individuals – another, eternal reality did not exist behind the concepts themselves. The Freiburg-based political scientist Wilhelm Hennis,708 along with Hans Maier, explicitly distanced himself from nominalist philosophy, which he linked to Carl Schmitt’s thesis ‘that all political concepts are polemical concepts’. As he explained, ‘[e]ach concept has thus but a tactical aim’, as in this view political language was not useful as a means of communication, and, following Hobbes, was ‘now only a means of struggle, with which one chiefly injures and lies’. This prevented free communication from being possible in a democracy; furthermore, ‘[t]hose in the social sciences and political science who stand on the ground of nominalism … can only save society as an ordered system if they say yes to tyranny’.709 For Hennis, the current system involving an ‘arbitrariness of concepts’ was extremely alarming,710 and he did not believe that Maier’s address did justice to the ‘dramatic’ situation.711 A democracy would indeed require an arsenal of consensual concepts in order to be functional. As early as July 1971, Hennis wrote words of warning in the Süddeutsche Zeitung about this sort of left-wing language strategy. He believed West German society to have already been caught up in a ‘rapid rush towards a concrete form of utopia, for which dictionaries are being rewritten’.712 George Orwell’s dystopia of a totalitarian surveillance society, as described in his novel Nineteen Eighty-Four, informed this nightmarish image. It was one of the novel’s main theses that the exercise of power was conducted through the domination of language, a language-critical thesis that Orwell expanded on more extensively elsewhere. He believed the great danger to lie with totalitarian truth relativism in its denial that concepts

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could have a ‘true’ real meaning.713 Both Maier and Hennis shared this fear. Nineteen Eighty-Four served as an important backdrop for conservative language criticism. And yet, how were universally shared concepts of democracy to be defined? Who was to organize any such attempts towards bringing about a definition? What should characterize such a Hüter der Begriffe (guardian of concepts)?714 For Hennis, who introduced this catchphrase to the discussion, in a free society, this function could only be carried out in a ‘pluralistic’ manner – whether by churches, schools or ministries of education.715 He referenced institutions here, something immediately criticized by the Bergedorf detractors, who placed their stock in the rationality of free discourse. ‘The term “guardian of concepts” is reminiscent of the “guardian of the constitution”’, responded Hellmut Becker, thus answering Hennis’s analogy to Schmitt in kind: Carl Schmitt is indeed difficult to avoid, whether one is arguing from the Left or from the Right. The catchy phrase ‘guardian of concepts’ suggests, of course, an institutionalization. I have the impression, Mr Hennis, that, with your concept of linguistic anarchy, you have denied the possibility of rational discourse on the concepts.716

Hennis vigorously denied this. ‘Guarding’ concepts, was instead the task of each citizen in a democracy, and they were to be empowered to this end through political education. The institutions, in turn, were only justified in their existence if they were legitimized by the citizens in a democratic process.717 What Hennis did not mention in the illustrious Bergedorf Round Table Talk was the role of political scientists as ‘guardians of concepts’, which he had already described as early as 1968 and which reflected his own self-image. The great political thinkers in history had always viewed new ideas within the framework of traditional concepts, further developing them while also conserving them. Particularly in times of change, as Hennis viewed his own present day, ‘practical reason’ demanded the maintenance of ‘politics as traditionally understood’ in light of ‘the fully speculative perspective on the future’. He concluded: ‘This also meant insisting that things continue to be called by name’.718 In his short publication on electoral reform, written in 1968, Hennis’s language criticism still targeted the general tendency towards conceptual change in West German politics, the expression of a ‘nouveau style of old German Realpolitik, dressed up in technocracy, absolutely certain of its cause and its abilities, happily limited in its aims and therefore relatively harmless in geopolitical terms’.719 Hennis found it difficult to support the idea of ‘nothing being settled, nothing being right’.720 He concluded that the remedy should be to again raise awareness of political concepts that had been handed down from antiquity. This was, for him, the task of political scientists as ‘guardians of concepts’, one that Hennis had always sought to fulfil with his ‘adherence to old concepts’.721 In the early

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1970s, Hennis was certain of the cause of this linguistic change – it was no longer technocracy and Realpolitik but the Left that he now viewed as the source of this dangerous manipulation of language. His language criticism had grown politicized and radicalized after 1968. At Hamburg-Bergedorf in 1972, Hennis did not, however, insist on his term ‘guardians of concepts’. He instead suggested referring to ‘tradition’ instead – a tradition within which concepts were conserved and which perpetuated itself within these concepts. This got to the heart of what Hennis and Maier meant: they were concerned with the question of how a basic normative consensus could be secured in a pluralistic society,722 and how ‘responsibility for society’ could be perceived, which was only thinkable in a democracy as a ‘moral or theological concept’.723 Just like Ernst-Wolfgang Böckenförde, they were convinced that the liberal, secular state subsisted on conditions that it could not itself ensure.724 If the basic normative consensus were to erode, it would place democracy in danger. When Maier and Hennis complained about the ‘manipulation’ of concepts, they were referring to the foundations of West German democracy.725 This accounted for the particular weight they placed on the text of the German Basic Law in their arguments. It was there that the concepts of democracy were conserved as the sole document that provided the political language of the young republic with a framework. As the Munich-based philosopher Hermann Krings observed, Maier and Hennis sought to ‘hold fast not only to the spirit but also to the letter of the Basic Law’.726 These two political scientists fought for the conservation of the language of liberal democracy, which had received a second chance with the founding of the Federal Republic of Germany; it was in its establishment that they found their lives’ work. The emotional intensity with which they participated in the debate over political language is only understandable within this experiential context. Hennis and Maier believed that German democracy once again faced the acute danger of turning into a dictatorship. References to the Weimar Republic were thus omnipresent in their contributions to the language-political debate.727 Hans Maier argued that the separation of concepts from reality and their strong utopian nature had overwhelmed and destabilized democracy.728 They were critically weakened as well by the fact that the Weimar Constitution had not firmly established basic democratic concepts, leaving them ‘available for disposition’. The Basic Law of the Federal Republic would therefore require precisely this protection.729 Hans Maier and Wilhelm Hennis sought to conserve the liberal spirit of the Basic Law that they believed to lie within its concepts. The conservative semantics of conservation did in fact characterize their own political language in the struggle over the language of politics. The phrase ‘guardians of concepts’ would seem to illustrate this. They, moreover, believed that political concepts had a particular quality unto themselves. Their critics from the Left took notice of this.

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As Hartmut von Hentig put it, it was ‘not concepts that have to be conserved … it is instead interesting that concepts seamlessly conserve something themselves. Conservatives themselves perhaps advocate particularly strongly the conservation of concepts here, while others are more focused on changing conditions’.730 He hit the mark with this observation. The conservatives’ sensitivity to language derived from the significance that linguistic structures had for the tradition and identity of conservatism. Asked at Hamburg-Bergedorf about his political position, Maier described himself as a ‘liberal who does not score own goals’.731 As we shall see, he did not otherwise have any qualms about the concept of conservatism. He was concerned with the preservation of liberalism in democracy. This provided the concept of conservatism with a new, stronger impact. Hans Maier and Wilhelm Hennis would not be the only intellectuals to grapple critically with the change in political language or to connect this with a manipulative strategy on the part of the Left. Hermann Lübbe,732 Kurt Sontheimer733 and Helmut Schelsky734 – despite great differences in their political thought – advocated the language of the Basic Law just as strongly and with very similar arguments.735 They appealed to a broad public in this regard, pursuing a multimedial strategy, moving from the academic world to the political world. Just as they published articles in academic journals and edited volumes, they also presented their ideas in a reduced form in major daily newspapers. They received attention for their language-critical columns in Deutsche Zeitung – Christ und Welt in particular.736 The few key texts written by Maier, Lübbe, Sontheimer and Schelsky were reprinted again and again in a variety of different contexts. Hennis was no exception here, explicating his argument using the concrete example of the concept of democratization.737 The high public visibility of conservative language criticism extended the reach of the texts, providing its ideas with additional impact. It became evident here how closely politics and academics had converged, but also how strongly political science had become politicized and polarized after 1968. It was nowhere clearer than it was for Hans Maier, who had become Bavarian minister of education and cultural affairs within the cabinet of Alfons Goppel in 1970. While he did not join the CSU until September 1973,738 his path into the political world already bore this out with clarity. He was elected to the party’s board in 1974 and then to the Bavarian Landtag in 1978, representing the Günzburg constituency.739 Intellectual language criticism and Christian Democratic language politics went hand in hand here. The intellectual Left finally took up the gauntlet and joined the ‘struggle for language’, with the warning that the ‘struggle over political concepts’, insinuated by the conservatives, ultimately endangered the ‘liberality of our republic’.740 Both sides saw freedom as being under threat. The role of language in politics had become a hot topic in political discourse. Party-political and intellectual discourse were more closely intertwined than had normally been the case in the Federal Republic.

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The fear of a revolutionary, Marxist upheaval was what motivated the language-critical contributions of Maier, Lübbe, Sontheimer, Schelsky and Hennis, and allowed political differences to recede into the background, as in the case of Schelsky. A strong impetus emerged from ‘1968’ towards the formation of an intellectual liberal conservatism in the Federal Republic.741 This had an effect on party politics as well. Lübbe and Hennis broke with the Social Democracy in which they had previously found their political home. While Sontheimer did not leave the SPD, he did maintain his distance from the party, while establishing contacts with the Union parties. Schelsky, by contrast, a decisive generation older than Maier, Lübbe, Sontheimer and Hennis, and anchored in technocratic conservatism as a student of Arnold Gehlen, was close to the CDU and CSU in any case. The fact that these five very different public intellectuals were perceived as a group in the heated and polarized atmosphere of the 1970s was founded in a profound agreement regarding the interpretation of their times in the prism of political language. The intellectual liberal conservatism after ‘1968’ was rooted in language criticism. Firstly, the five were connected in their interpretation of language change as being politically induced. Control of language entailed power, which meant that influencing political language functioned as a technique of domination. The discourse on political language hence also included a conservative view of the place of power in democracy. They attributed neutrality to themselves and denied their own language policy – and that was the crux of it. They refused to accept the conceptual dispute as part of democratic discourse, and canonized those ascriptions of meaning that they themselves deemed correct. Secondly, they operated with an intentionally undifferentiated view of the ‘Left’, in which the SPD served as the extended arm of Marxist revolution and were well on their way towards hollowing out democracy to pave the way for a socialist regime. The GDR and its language policy served as a cautionary example and a negative foil. Thirdly, they presented a particular language-political narrative of the history of the Federal Republic of Germany. The Basic Law and the Adenauer years had established a new democratic political language, not least through the commitment of liberal intellectuals, thus drawing a decisive line under the inhumane language of National Socialism. The young West German democracy was based on this political language, providing a ‘unity of language and understanding’.742 They believed that the New Left and the student movement had attacked this basic linguistic consensus and, with help of the mass media, had intentionally launched a change of the language intended to lead straight towards a socialist dictatorship. This narrative would prove influential – even critics from the Left did not dispute it. It was based on the idea that the political language of the Federal Republic had remained stable between 1949 and 1968 and was able to

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reflect the political realities of the time. It overlooked the linguistic incertitude of the early republic, ignored any linguistic insecurities among conservative intellectuals and within the parties of the Union from the late 1950s, and neglected the cultural and social driving forces behind the language change that had since emerged. This view of West German language history has been maintained in the literature on language history to this day.743 Fourthly, the conservative language critics presented their arguments against the backdrop of Weimar, as the example of Maier illustrates. Orwell’s dystopian novel Nineteen Eighty-Four supported this point of reference. Fifthly, they defended the basic political concepts of liberal democracy, with which they felt a connection themselves. This applied just as much to the generation of 1945, who were formed by consensus liberalism, as it did to Helmut Schelsky, who was born in 1912 and of an older generation, learning to accept Western democracy only after 1945.744 Their understanding of democracy centred on the democratic institutions, whose very existence served as a guarantee for the viability of the young West German democracy. While Maier assumed that no institution could function without a basic conceptual consensus,745 Schelsky deepened this connection, stating that ‘all identities of language and understanding’ were ‘founded in institutions’, and could only be maintained in that way.746 Sontheimer stressed that a ‘political language which, like that of the Left, reinterprets everything in terms of processes, procedures and developments, and which only perceives as structures the moment of oppression and paralysis, tends to contribute towards the dissolution of such structures’.747 As the argument went, if the consensus on political concepts were to erode, the institutions would fall apart as well. The significance that Lübbe, Maier, Sontheimer, Schelsky and Hennis saw in language also resulted from the appreciation of a discursive public, although only one of a particular ‘civilized’ type. They stressed, time and again, that dialogue and a constructive struggle for a better solution would only be possible if the opportunity to participate was evenly distributed and hence if there was a set of shared concepts. Hermann Lübbe particularly emphasized the necessity of a political ‘struggle over words’ and its dimension of action.748 Kurt Sontheimer lamented that ‘language, which should be a means of understanding, of communication,’ had deteriorated into ‘a means unto itself, self-gratification in dealing with bloated concepts’.749 And Hans Maier called for those left-wing ‘language games to be exposed that are in truth rebuffed dialogues’.750 While democracy thrived on debate, it was only democratic, as the argument went, if one did not render others speechless. Sixthly, the texts written by the quintet of language critics were permeated by the semantics of objectivity and sobriety. They called for ‘clarity, comprehensibility and purity of language’,751 and established that ‘political language has to attain a particular level of sobriety … an instrument for the objective

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description of reality’.752 The language of the Left was portrayed, by contrast, as emotional, overladen with promises for the future, removed from reality, abstract and overheated, ultimately bound to end in violence. That this sober style fed on the self-image of conservative language critics was reflected clearly in the published correspondence between Hans Maier and Heinrich Böll. Maier saw a generational component at work here: ‘As you have rightly seen, my (intermediary) generation is indeed somewhat emotionally reserved. We now see so many people all over who speak their heart “shot out of a canon” that reserve could in fact be an attitude worth defending’.753 This self-description had the ring of a commentary in agreement with Schelsky’s 1957 thesis that characterized the ‘youth’ of his day as a ‘sceptical generation’.754 This served as an assurance of identity for those intellectuals, in the late 1960s and early 1970s, who viewed themselves as liberals and who were being challenged by the young people of the time.755 They evoked a political style that was described as sober, objective, antiutopian, pragmatic and realistic, thus referring to key concepts in and around the semantic network of the concept of conservatism. This was also connected to an idealization of the language of the Adenauer era.756 That Schelsky, who himself coined the phrase ‘sceptical generation’, maintained a style in his enraged tirades of the 1970s that was so far removed from sobriety hardly conformed with this self-description, and set him apart yet again from Maier, Hennis, Lübbe and Sontheimer.757 Seventhly and lastly, the construction of a specific political style was connected with a theoretical argument reminiscent of Niklas Luhmann’s semantic theory.758 This viewed concepts from the language of social sciences, especially from left-wing theory, as being removed from their contexts and transferred to the language of politics. As Sontheimer saw it, the ‘language of left-wing theory’ rendered any discussion nearly impossible in academic discourse itself. This language often connected a ‘highly speculative element’, into which key words and key theorems were shoehorned, with an ‘extremely artificial, bombastic sounding manner of expression, crammed full of foreign words’.759 This ‘artificial language’ of the social sciences was viewed here as manipulating reality in political discourse and distorting political concepts. Politics was in need of its own language instead, requiring its own terminology, just like any academic field. The occupation of political language by the ‘jargon’ of left-wing theory, Schelsky believed, not only led to the erosion of political concepts but to ‘wearing out the academic language’. Academic categories thus turned into ‘empty phrases’.760 The language of politics and academic language had to be cleanly separated, he thought, and left within their own particular systems. This would protect the political language of democracy and would endow the young republic with the stability that it so urgently needed. That the conservative language critics did not pursue language policy any less than did their left-wing counterparts was not, however, a matter upon which they themselves reflected.

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2.4. ‘1968’, 1969 and the Reformulation of the Political Languages of Conservatism The strength of the Left, whether in intellectual or party-political terms, was a challenge to all those who looked upon it critically. The sense that the Left had taken a hold of the language was omnipresent. Intellectuals who viewed themselves as conservative believed they had to regain interpretive dominance over the language, as did the CDU and CSU. Far-reaching and often very heated debates over the concepts would follow, which will be the central point explored in the following section. While the intellectuals focused on the concept of conservatism, the Union parties saw the difficult semantic situation come to a head in the 1970s. In this struggle over concepts, they not only contended for power but, in particular, for their own identity.

2.4.1. In a ‘Struggle over Naming’: Intellectual Conservatism in a Liberal Spirit The conservative language critics chose a few concepts to exemplify their thesis of the Left’s manipulation of political language, including society, emancipation, frustration, democracy, the welfare state and freedom. Hermann Lübbe opted for the concept of conservatism in 1974. This was not an arbitrary choice, as this chapter will demonstrate. Conservative indeed became a cohesive concept for those intellectuals who, after ‘1968’, felt called to derive a conservatism from the liberal spirit and to anchor it in the West German political landscape. They put a great deal of effort into this difficult concept of the political language of the Federal Republic in a ‘struggle over naming’, as Lübbe put it.761 The 1970s were riddled with bitter intellectual disputes over the concept of conservatism; this is worthy of a comprehensive look, as its significance to the history of the FRG’s political language can hardly be overstressed. Hermann Lübbe seized upon ‘conservative’ not in order to demonstrate the success but indeed the unpredictability of conceptual politics. In this ‘struggle over naming’, he argued, the rather vague concept of conservatism had been taken up as a designation for the ‘enemy’ by ‘extreme marginal left-wing groups within the governing parties’, beginning in 1969. Its meaning was heightened to involve the defence of the ‘illegitimate holding of privileges’. Lübbe felt that soon nobody would wish to be described as conservative – and the left-wing verbal strategy would appear to succeed. The ‘marginal left’ had then moved on, Lübbe continued, to ‘attack representatives of the left-centre as conservatives’, which muddied the meaning of the concept, reducing it to absurdity. This ‘campaign of attribution’ rapidly fell apart, however, and the ‘fear of being called conservative’ dissipated. The path was then open for another shift in meaning,

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which Lübbe believed to be occurring at the time. Conservative now stood for ‘politics in accordance with explicable fundaments of practical reason … which regards everyone as part of the majority except for the marginal left and other extremists’. The horizon of meaning expanded here again so that, in the end, what one is when called a conservative now meant something different.762 To a certain degree, Lübbe maintained, language was beyond political control, if it led to such ‘unintended side effects’ in the ‘conceptual struggle’.763 Lübbe’s analysis of semantic shifts in the concept of conservatism clearly derived from his own very personal history involving this ‘struggle over naming’. As a member of the SPD and former state secretary in the Ministry of Education and Culture and later in the State Chancellery of North Rhine-Westphalia (1966–70) as part of the Social-Liberal government under Heinz Kühn, Lübbe was one of those university professors who, as ‘liberal critics’, had been increasingly moving away from their party since 1968 to become conservatives.764 Lübbe self-confidently adopted this self-description, which had begun as an external attribution – and worked to fill it with his own content, acting as very much the strategist in this ‘struggle over naming’. His cultural-political commentary of June 1974 upon the invitation of Deutschlandfunk radio, which was subsequently published in written form in Die Welt and Gesellschaftspolitische Kommentare, was an excellent opportunity in this regard.765 Lübbe began with his theses involving the concept of conservatism in the ‘struggle over naming’, and concluded it with his definition of conservatism, consciously pursuing conceptual politics. He maintained that conservatism was no longer about upholding progress but about overcoming its ‘side effects’. Conservative action had to follow if things ‘irreplaceable’ and ‘indispensable’ were ‘threatened’ and in danger of vanishing. The question thus arose of ‘what we must do to live in human dignity in the future as well’, a future that ‘has long since begun’. Lübbe’s solemn warning rang plausible in 1974, at the height of the first oil price crisis, accompanied by ubiquitous predictions of ‘limits to growth’ and prophecies of doom and planetary destruction.766 Lübbe only needed to refer to ‘environmental protection’ to point his audience to the ambivalence of progress. Indeed, the concept of progress also underwent a remarkable shift in the early 1970s, as will emerge clearly below. With this in mind, Lübbe established four ‘conservative patterns of behaviour’, which constituted for him the ‘characteristics of conservative conduct’. Conservative, firstly, referred to a ‘culture of mourning the loss of irretrievable good, as the cost of progress’ – this did not imply a rejection of progress but the recognition of its ineluctability. It followed, secondly, that conservatives needed to dedicate themselves to the ‘protection of the indispensable’ from all dangers. A basic openness towards change was necessary for this, inasmuch as what was deemed indispensable could only be conserved if it could be adapted to the prevailing ‘conditions’. With reference to the Glorious Revolution in

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England, Lübbe also took into account a revolutionary turn of events. It must, however, be said that revolution, in Lübbe’s conservative view, did not serve to re-establish the eternal, as had been the case for the Weimar New Right’s ‘Conservative Revolution’, but solely to change the conditions for the continuation of the existent. Whether these nuances were understood by everyone is to be doubted, especially as the concept of revolution brought those semantic networks into focus, from which Lübbe sought to distance his concept of conservatism. Thirdly, Lübbe introduced a rule regarding the framing of the burden of proof, in which it was not the maintenance of the existant that needed to be justified but progress instead. Fourthly, Lübbe argued that conservatism stood out in that it was averse to utopian thinking and instead focused on ‘preventing catastrophe’. These fundaments of political conduct appeared ‘sensible’ to him, being in line with enlightened rationality. He concluded that this would in fact put pressure on those who fully refused to be called conservative. They would then be on the side that they did not wish to be, that of unreason and irrationality.767 Lübbe’s vision of conservatism can be boiled down to that of the practice of reason. He would return to this idea time and again over the following fifteen years, with the intention of bolstering the concept of conservatism’s liberal context of meaning.768 His definition of conservatism was a deliberate act of conceptual politics, along with Kurt Sontheimer, another member of the quintet of language critics, who considered the re-evaluation of conservatism to be part and parcel of language politics, a topic that took off among public intellectuals in 1970 and reached its zenith in 1974–75. The essence of conservatism kept the intellectual public enthralled for a number of years. Numerous individual articles and features on the subject found their way into newspapers and magazines, and onto radio and television; meanwhile, conferences and discussion groups were held and academic studies reviewed. Intellectuals, not previously known as interpreters of conservatism, became involved, politicians attempted to define conservatism, journalists interpreted the phenomenon, and new relevant journals were founded. The 1970s saw the rise of an intensive discourse on conservatism in West Germany, with the debate over the essence of the concept of conservatism forming its core. The Bund Freiheit der Wissenschaft (Association of Scientific Freedom, BFW), founded in 1970 by professors as a platform for their protest, was soon perceived by the left-liberal media as the organizational base for a ‘conservative fronde’.769 But views that portrayed it as even more extreme were also to be read or heard: the Hessischer Rundfunk cultural programme Titel, Thesen, Temperamente warned against the international formation of a ‘right-wing front’, while Wolf Lepenies felt that ‘three-quarters of those gathered at the inaugural congress in Bad Godesberg could be described as the “academic NPD”’. And the far left of West Germany believed, as Wolfgang Abendroth expressed it, that the

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‘Harzburg Front of grim memory’ was emerging once again.770 The initiators of the BFW, however, had explicitly rejected all attempts at being labelled, stating that the association was formed at a time in which ‘the old opposition between “conservatives” and “reformers” had been outlived in matters of university policy’,771 and that their goal was a ‘non-partisan alliance of democrats’.772 It was about protecting the constitution and democracy so that those who supported this by taking on a reactive counterposition (as was, in fact, characteristically conservative), were upholding the ideals of the Enlightenment. Those who turn ‘critique’ into a weapon of dogma, and university reform into an anti-constitutionalist instrument, have good reason to write of reaction. Reason is a reaction to unreason, the state a reaction to anarchy, science a reaction to raw emotion and pretentious absolutist claims.773

This language-political strategy did not succeed in the polarized political culture of early-1970s West Germany. This resulted not only from aspersions on the part of ‘the Left’ but also from the positions of spokespersons of the BFW, who – apart from Richard Löwenthal – came out clearly against the SPD’s policy of university reform.774 Helmut Schelsky served, as Nikolai Wehrs phrased it, as an ‘absentee provider of catchphrases’.775 The Bavarian minister for education and culture, Hans Maier of the CSU, was, moreover, one of the BFW’s initiators and most active representatives; Hermann Lübbe, a Social Democrat with a high profile in cultural policy, did not emerge as a particular defender of Social Democratic university policy, and nor did the former SPD supporters Erwin Scheuch or Wilhelm Hennis, who left the party in 1970.776 Besides Löwenthal, only Thomas Nipperdey hoped to provide a Social Democratic voice within the BFW through the mid-1970s.777 The fact that three representatives of 1970s conservative language criticism were active there played a role in not only expressing their positions but in ratcheting them up into an anti-Left alliance. As early as the founding of the BFW, language-critical arguments were presented within the framework of the discourse on democracy. Maier, for example, called upon the founding assembly to ‘undo the deliberate confusion of the false concepts’ in order to be able to uncover any ‘reality’ of the situation in university policy,778 and Lübbe tasked the BFW with advocacy ‘for the correctness of the basic concepts and principles’ of democracy.779 Their involvement in the BFW, on the other hand, ensured that the language-critical interventions by Hennis, Maier and Lübbe would both be understood to be conservative and as a concerted action. The platform of the BFW, which they made intentional use of, solidified the conservative label they were tagged with – one they would in fact embrace and take on the offensive themselves in the coming years. Their comments, thoughts and political designs were categorized as conservative. This constituted a power of interpretation in the discourse on conservatism that was not to be underestimated.

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The backdrop for the discourse involved the diagnosis of a changing Zeitgeist, perceived as a departure from the revolutionary designs of the student movement and a longing for stability and tradition. The 1970s, as the journalist Leonhard Reinisch wrote in Merkur in 1972, was to be ‘the decade of the new conservatism’.780 This diagnosis filled the Left with concern and conservatives with hope, with the intention of furthering this development. It became even more relevant as it coincided with the critique, often ecologically founded, of unquestioned scientific progress and limitless economic growth, which found its way into the mass media.781 Furthermore, an economic crisis was on the horizon, with the collapse in 1973 of the Bretton Woods currency system, which dated back to 1944, and the oil price crisis appearing to signal the end of an era of exceptional growth.782 A polyvalent discourse on the crisis emerged in 1970, reaching its zenith in 1973 with the reception of the pessimistic study The Limits to Growth by the Club of Rome, an internationally active, elitist think tank that focused on research about the future.783 It was claimed that if economic expansion were not to be strongly curtailed it could soon lead to environmental collapse and the end of humankind. The oil price crisis of 1973/74 ultimately revealed the vulnerability of Western industrial states’ energy policies to broader sections of the public, which would lead to a need for conceptual clarification (especially for the concept of growth)784 and to completely opposite scenarios meant to address the crisis. While some propagated their critique of growth, others conversely called for growth to be stimulated in order to overcome the problems at hand.785 In a nutshell, the crisis discourse of the early 1970s was an expression of doubt over the paradigm of progress, and ultimately a discourse on the order of time dimensions. Conservative arguments were viable for precisely this reason, and crisis rhetoric was only too gladly used by conservatives, as it supported their own position all too vividly.786 The crisis rhetoric culminated in the hesitant but then increasingly self-confident diagnosis of a Tendenzwende (reversal of tendencies).787 The concept, at first used as an ascriptive and not a self-descriptive concept, was intertwined with the concept of conservatism from the very beginning. In March 1974, Rolf Zundel, a Zeit journalist with an affinity for the SPD–FDP coalition government, noted a general shift towards conservatism and described this ‘stable, national trend’ as such a Tendenzwende. ‘Man trägt wieder konservativ’ (People are dressing conservative again) was the title of Zundel’s analysis in a language that had an intentionally fashionable ring to it.788 The concept would then become fashionable itself, and was adopted by the writer Gerd-Klaus Kaltenbrunner throughout the year with programmatic intentions; it even became the subtitle of the first volume of his paperback series initiative, published by Herder.789 Kaltenbrunner hoped for his ‘plea for reason’ to be understood as a strategy to address the crisis, with the volume based on the supposition of a current ‘crisis in Western societies’, which was ‘particularly’ viewed as a ‘crisis of reason’.790

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This ‘reversal of tendencies’ towards reason hence promised to provide a way out of the crisis. Crisis rhetoric and the concept of a Tendenzwende were inseparably connected with each other in the conservative self-description. The semantic alliance was cemented at a Munich conference of the Bayerische Akademie der schönen Künste (Bavarian Academy of Fine Arts) in November 1974, which was held with the cautiously questioning title Tendenzwende? Zur geistigen Situation der Bundesrepublik (Reversal of tendencies? On the intellectual situation in the Federal Republic of Germany). Four of the six speakers – Hermann Lübbe, Hans Maier, Golo Mann and Robert Spaemann – numbered among those intellectuals who had particularly put themselves forward as conservatives, beginning in 1970.791 They were also part of the preparatory group for the conference, centred on Wilhelm Hahn, the Baden-Württemberg minister of education and culture, which sought to make the conference as effective as possible in terms of reaching the public, and as intellectually significant as conceivable through the invitation of selected speakers.792 When the conference proceedings were published half a year later, the publisher Ernst Klett – who in 1971 had publicly come out himself with his hope for a conservative shift – was rather surprised at the explosive spread of the Tendenzwende concept, which, as he concluded, had led to it becoming unsuitable as an analytical tool. Whether it had ever served that end is doubtful, however. Hermann Rudolph, a journalist for the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, who was himself not poorly disposed to conservatism, was not particularly impressed, in the aftermath of the Munich conference, by the ‘explanatory power’ of the ‘figure of thought’, even if it did come across as self-evident.793 Klett determined the concept to have crossed the country as a ‘whore of a word’ that was ‘pleasing to all who wanted something different and believed that something to already be in sight’.794 Tendenzwende indeed became the ‘word of the hour’.795 The concept was ultimately used to cover all phenomena that seemed to indicate a shift towards conservatism.796 As Rolf Zundel wrote in late 1974, this ‘reversal of tendencies’ was clearly ‘more than just imagination’, as times had been particularly favourable to the conservatives.797 The usage of the term, however, was clearly less prevalent among those described as such than by those who sought to distance themselves from any conservative ‘reversal of tendencies’.798 The latter were paradoxically contributing to the visibility of the phenomenon – the favourability towards conservatism had much to do with attention from the media that all kinds of conservative stances were suddenly receiving under the label of Tendenzwende. As mentioned previously, those who were attempting to design a new form of conservatism made use of the concept cautiously. Kurt Sontheimer was still using it in 1977 to lend weight in the present to his observation concerning the ‘loss of the future’. As he put it, the Tendenzwende ‘was an expression used to reflect the future losing its power to inspire’. Sontheimer’s use of the concept

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also drew upon the conservative interpretation of the crisis, with a utopian overload on future horizons named here as the cause.799 For Robert Spaemann, by contrast, the concept contained too much that could be misunderstood: ‘What is just and rational seldom lies in tendencies or turned around tendencies, at most in the existence of the occasional turn as such, in which tendencies pay penance to one another for their injustice’.800 The extent to which the concept served as an attributive concept with critical intentions in the late 1970s became evident at the conference on education policy with the title Mut zur Erziehung801 (Courage to educate), organized in 1978 by Wilhelm Hahn and seen as the follow-up to the Munich Tendenzwende event in 1974 – and which was also described using the concept. Even if the conservatives soon viewed the concept as one that was exhausted and had run its course, and even if they believed that its short half-life again confirmed their diagnosis of crisis, which in turn implied a crisis of language, the concept was in fact very successful in establishing the conservative interpretive model of a precipitous crisis of left-wing thought within the broader public discourse. The concept did, however, span a horizon of expectations – both positive and negative – which would continue to accompany conservatives well into the 1980s.802 Throughout the mid-1970s, however, conservatives spoke of their times from the perspective of crisis. Kurt Sontheimer, for example, spoke in 1974 of expecting a ‘mix of resignation and reaction’. He believed the causes for this to lie not in recession or the oil price crisis but in the utopian overload on political language, whose theorizing ‘formulas’ now only appeared to be ‘worn out’. They ‘failed due to their discordance with experience’ and were ultimately shattered in the face of reality. This resulted in uncertainty everywhere, which manifested itself in a longing for conservative answers. While Sontheimer welcomed this, he called for the impulse of ‘radicalizing enlightenment’ not to be allowed to dwindle off but to be continued in line with prevailing realities. He felt that the problems broached by the student movement remained present and needed to be solved through ‘achievable, moderate, gradual changes’.803 It was not reaction but reasonable reform, geared towards democratic realities, that Sontheimer put forward as his version of the concept of conservatism. The Munich-based political scientist had already made his sympathies for conservatism known back in 1971, when he called upon all true conservatives to define themselves as such and not to capitulate before the difficulties of conceptual politics. This appeal was directed primarily towards the Union parties. It was they who had established a ‘new conservatism’, beginning in 1949 – one that was genuinely oriented towards the new Federal Republic, the market economy and industrial society, and was thus Western and democratic. He found that, since the 1969 change in government, conservatism had been shaped into a ‘strong defensive bastion’ to fend off further democratization: ‘It would serve to boost the profile of our intellectual-political landscape if the

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zealously pursued and yet otherwise furtive conservatism would again give way to its honest avowal’, Sontheimer demanded, as there was ‘no shame in being a conservative’. Conservative politics in the United Kingdom, the homeland of a conservatism anchored in democracy, was, moreover, ‘in no way more backward’ than it was ‘for the average politician of the CDU or even CSU’.804 Sontheimer was thus one of the first who sought to find a new common conceptual denominator for the political polarization that had clearly been advanced through the student movement and the change in government. He believed, however, that the ‘new conservatism’ lacked a political philosophy (even if there were points of connection with the thought of Gehlen and Forsthoff) and that it had emerged solely from West German political practice. Theoretical work on the concept was thus deemed necessary as a means of stabilizing the political language of democracy, here posing a challenge to political science. Reflection on political language sounded the underlying chord for the West German debate over conservatism in the 1970s. The conservative linguistic sensibility derived, as we have seen, from the confrontation with the language-political strategies of the New Left and, to an equal degree, from the crisis discourse on the loss of language that had been so virulent within West German conservatism from the late 1960s. The fact that the concept of conservatism was now becoming a nucleus of conservative language-political efforts had three causes. First, the concept, as described above, had been separated from its anti-democratic and anti-liberal context, in the course of the 1950s and then during the early 1960s in particular, to be integrated into the conceptual web of the language of West German democracy. While this surely did not apply to the New Right around Armin Mohler, it did for the vast majority of interpreters of conservatism. The liberalization of its meaning not only allowed the concept to find acceptance within the Union parties, but the debate within them was indeed decisive in the liberalization of the concept. The claim that the concept could not be used during the first twenty-five years of the Federal Republic due to its National Socialist past reflected a misunderstanding of the reality. This claim was regularly underscored by representatives of the liberal consensus in the 1970s in their interpretations of conservatism, thus permitting their own personal experience of 1968 and their own conceptual efforts to appear all the more significant. While the concept certainly had numbered among the difficult concepts in West German political language, and the Union parties did not exactly wear it on their sleeves, it had slowly established itself as a concept to be used in positive self-description from the 1950s. The liberal semantic content that was ascribed to the concept in the 1970s – despite all proclamations to the contrary – continued and expanded on these liberal semantic efforts. Secondly, politics in the Federal Republic was viewed, from the mid-1960s, in terms of a dichotomy of progress versus pertinacity.805 The positively charged

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adjective ‘progressive’ was contrasted with the adjective ‘conservative’.806 This became clear in the debate at the 1968 CSU Party Conference on the adoption of conservative into the party’s basic programme.807 Decisive impulses on the semantic opposition of conservative and progressive also derived from the discussions on the reforming of the Catholic Church in the Second Vatican Council, which drew attention from well beyond the Catholic public in the 1960s. Camps indeed formed within the Catholic Church along the lines of the two concepts.808 As both terms were Latin in origin, they were well suited to debate, whether held in Latin, as the Catholic lingua franca, or in other languages. In this context, ‘conservative’ was used to describe views that sought to maintain the traditional liturgy, the hierarchical form of the church and papal primacy, while ‘progressive’ described those who called for a church more in line with modernity.809 The semantic opposition of conservative and progressive would not, however, have been understandable without previous interpretive efforts on the concept of conservatism. It indeed radically reduced the concept to its temporal dimension, an aspect that was particularly emphasized, and with regularity, in the debates within the Union parties. Nevertheless, the conception of change that was true to the liberal concept of conservatism, which took continuity across the temporal dimension – and thus change – into account, was ignored by those who declared themselves to be progressive and who simply equated conservative with reactionary or restorative. Conservatives were portrayed as people who clung to the old and resisted any sort of change. The dichotomization, however, also established the concept of conservatism as the dominant counterconcept to progressive in the West German political vocabulary. As the political polarization took on increasingly distinct characteristics after 1968, not only did this conceptual dichotomization contribute considerably to it, but the concept of conservatism was practically preordained to be used as a self-descriptive within the intellectual camp emerging in opposition to the social-liberal coalition. Kurt Sontheimer’s aforementioned appeal to ‘furtive conservatives’ to actually refer to themselves as such in the face of the democratization politics of the Left, viewed as undermining the fundaments of the Federal Republic, was an eloquent statement to this end.810 It was no accident that the efforts to hone the concept of conservatism focused, to a large degree, on spelling out conceptions of change and finding nuance within the category of progress. That it was in fact the concept of conservatism that emerged as the nucleus of the language-political efforts of the liberal interpreters of conservatism had its third cause in a situation that Hermann Lübbe had described at the time: the New Left had adopted the concept and used it in their political language as a counterconcept to hone their own semantic networks.811 It was not, however, as clearly dominant there as the conservative interpreters would have led one to believe. The concept conservative was in fact connected in the semantic

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network to the key concept of fascism that was omnipresent in the language of the New Left, with conservative nearly being equated with fascist.812 From this perspective, conservative was no longer truly useable as a self-descriptive in a democratic sense. Political scientists and historians also contributed significantly to the anti-liberal connotation of the concept of conservatism in the early 1970s, providing a historical depth to the political language use of the student movement and the intellectual New Left. This conceptual coinage had a much more significant influence on the development of the West German political language than that of the intellectual circles of the New Left, as it entrenched itself in the narrative of German history. The historical interpretation of the conservatism of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries has continued to shape this narrative through to today. The left-wing treatment of conservatism by political scientists and historians began with Heide Gerstenberger’s 1969 dissertation on the New Right of the Weimar Republic,813 which was followed by Helga Grebing’s Habilitation thesis Konservative gegen die Demokratie (Conservatives against democracy),814 an analysis of the conservative criticism of democracy in West Germany after 1945, as well as Martin Greiffenhagen’s theoretical yet no less influential study Das Dilemma des Konservatismus in Deutschland (The dilemma of conservatism in Germany), whose central thesis had however already been published back in 1961.815 As much as Grebing and Greiffenhagen’s studies differed in their approaches, they were similar in their perception of West German conservatism. Greiffenhagen focused his argumentation, as described above, on the designs laid out by Gehlen, Freyer and Schelsky, which he grouped together in the concept of technocratic conservatism. Here too, he saw a continuing anti-rationalistic impulse at work, which he viewed as the driving force behind modern conservatism and held it responsible for the destructive ‘dilemma’ that this was caught within. In this interpretation, West German conservatism stood in continuity with the conservative revolution of the Weimar Republic, in which Greiffenhagen believed the purest form of dilemmatic German conservatism to have been realized. Greiffenhagen ignored the various liberal variants of West German conservatism as they did not fit into his typological framework. This was generally the case in the Left’s confrontation with the conservatism of the 1970s. For them, it was about attesting to a perpetual theory of conservatism, which crystallized in anti-democratism, and about the ‘history of conservatism as a masquerade and permanent pupation of anti-enlightenment evil’.816 Gerstenberger, too, who conducted research on Arthur Moeller van den Bruck and the Ring Circle, drew from the phenomenon of the Weimar New Right general conclusions on conservative movements in ‘democratically constituted, highly industrialized countries’.817 Gerstenberger’s interpretation was meant as ideological critique and was based on neo-Marxist theory. This applied to Helga Grebing’s work on the Federal Republic as well, in which she defined

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conservatism as ‘the immanent countermovement to the historical process of democratization’,818 a phenomenon of the bourgeois society ‘to maintain its economic, social and political position of power and dominance, or to recapture any such position that had been lost’.819 Conservatism always entailed, in this view, a statement against democracy or, as she qualified it, against an ‘expansion of the perspective of democratization that became possible through the development of productive forces’. Conservatism could thus stand for the ‘maintenance of legitimate political democratic positions’ in order to prevent further steps of ‘democratization’ through to a society free of authority.820 Grebing was apparently not able to entirely dismiss out of hand the liberalization processes underway in the conservatism of her day. She sought, at the same time, to substantiate her theory historically, under the assumption, however, that conservatism had always been the ideology of the class that was in power and served to preserve that power. In this vein, she viewed the development of Germany since the turn of the nineteenth century as having been formed by the power strategies of the ‘feudal aristocracy’, to which the bourgeoisie had surrendered its ‘guiding values and principles’ after 1848/49 so that the two combined together to form the ‘ruling conservative class’ of the Kaiserreich. The ideological adhesive holding together this new social and economic conservatism – with interests that were by no means identical – was the shared aggressiveness, especially, within the country, in opposition to the emancipatory and democratizing effects of the theory and practices of the workers’ movement and, internationally, in opposition to democratic nations.821

As Grebing described it, confronted by a democratic state after 1918, this conservatism once again sought to conserve the relations of property and rule by means of an ‘authoritarian state’ – which extended to a relinquishment of power to the fascists as a guarantee of economic and social stability. Grebing, nevertheless, viewed the conservative resistance to National Socialism as only logical as a conserving yet anti-democratic impulse in opposition to the revolutionary dynamics of the Nazi regime. It must be noted here that Grebing distinguished between conservatism and fascism, thus contradicting neo-Marxist theories of fascism. In view of the successes of the NPD, however, Iring Fetcher, in 1967, had portrayed the concepts of conservatism and right-wing radicalism as practically overlapping. While he did establish differences between the two, it was still without any distinct separation: ‘The conservative who makes use of the legal means of a liberal democracy can become a right-wing radical when the movement for the furthering of the democratization process does not seem stoppable by other means’. As was the case for Grebing, Fetcher’s definition also placed the core of conservative thought and action in its resistance against an ongoing democratization

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process that sought to bring about a socialist society free of authority.822 The neo-Marxist political scientist Reinhard Kühnl, who was a student of Wolfgang Abendroth, and is cited here only as an example for a broader trend, went as far as the complete blurring of any conceptual distinction, placing the concepts of conservatism and fascism side by side.823 He expanded on his interpretation in the numerous studies he published on fascism theory, with the aim of explaining the West Germany of his day.824 As Kühnl saw it, fascism was pounding loudly at the door of the Federal Republic in the 1970s.825 Grebing, by contrast, spoke for an analysis of the political tendencies of the time, founded in the theory of democracy, thus maintaining a distinction between conservatism and fascism.826 It was the postwar society, as Helga Grebing’s narrative continued, that provided the best conditions for conservatism, one that was formed by the petty bourgeoisie and focused on security and tradition, while permeated by ‘a continuity in conservative political thought that was unbroken by National Socialism’.827 She developed, on this basis, a typology of conservative thought in West Germany that, rather unsurprisingly, confirmed her initial hypothesis of conservatism as a genuinely anti-democratic movement. Making distinctions was indeed not Grebing’s ‘thing’, as Hans Günter Hockerts remarked in a critical review in 1974, accusing her of ‘Manichean’ thought with a struggle between ‘good and evil, light and dark’.828 The place of conservatism in this dichotomous picture was perfectly clear. Grebing’s interpretation, which sparked opposition on both sides of the political spectrum,829 was perfectly cut out for the debate on the German Sonderweg, or ‘special path’, into modernity. The theory of the Sonderweg, viewed positively through 1945 as the centre of the nationalistic historical narrative, was perceived negatively by a younger generation of West German historians in the 1960s and 1970s, who were formed by the liberal consensus, and contrasted by them in stark hues with the liberal development of the ‘Western’ democracies. Even as they idealized the liberality of ‘the West’ and covered up any ambivalence, this ‘master narrative’ among West German historians contributed decisively to the support and development of the young democracy.830 This was based, to a considerable degree, on an interpretation of the politics of Prussian conservatives as feudalistic, anti-liberal and authoritarian, one that blocked any development of the Kaiserreich towards more liberality or democratic participation.831 In this interpretation, Prussian conservatism – Southern German and West Prussian conservatives were ignored or simply subsumed here – bore the main culpability for Germany’s catastrophic path towards National Socialist tyranny. The German Sonderweg was primarily viewed as the ‘special path’ of German conservatism. This interpretation had contemporary conservatism as its aim, as such a ‘criticism of ideology’ indeed served historians of the liberal consensus with ties to Social Democracy ‘as a hinge to convert political

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positions into epistemic and methodological positions’.832 The ‘critical social sciences’ sought here to counter the national-conservative consensus of the historical scholarship of the 1950s, while also fending off a restrengthening of an authoritarian political conservatism in the Federal Republic by delegitimizing traditions as anti-democratic that might serve to place this conservatism in a positive light. It was for precisely this reason that ‘“critical social history” and, with it, the “interpretation of the Sonderweg” in German history, inserted itself forcefully into society’.833 Grebing extended these horizons of interpretation, in line with critical theory, to include the Federal Republic, and used concepts based on the history of the nineteenth century to generate descriptive typological categories. Paradoxically, however, she distanced herself from both Social Democratic and neo-Marxist Sonderweg theory. She posited that the development towards fascism, according to the Marxist theory, was to be interpreted as a ‘universal tendency (of capitalism)’ and thus not as a phenomenon limited to Germany in particular. It would be better, in her view, to investigate the function that fascism performed in different countries at different times, and why it was so successful in Germany between the wars in particular.834 The analytical distinction between conservatism and fascism was necessary to this end. Thomas Nipperdey was also rather clear in his position against one of the foremost works in critical social history, portraying the depiction of the Kaiserreich by Hans-Ulrich Wehler as an ‘artful black-and-white painting’ and ‘viscous narrative’.835 Due to the atmosphere marked by the revolutionary student movement at the Free University of Berlin, Nipperdey had moved from there to the quieter Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich in 1971, and was a leading member of the BFW. As a member of the SPD since 1968 (and until 1983), Nipperdey numbered among the liberal-consensus professors of the 1945 generation, who at first supported the reforms called for by the extra-parliamentary opposition and the student movement, but who later turned away from them due to their radicalization and the social-liberal university policy, and who believed liberal democracy to be in serious danger due to accelerating demands for socialization and democratization.836 While Nipperdey’s criticism of Wehler’s interpretation of the Kaiserreich was multifaceted, it involved, first and foremost, denouncing Wehler for a lack of the objectivity that is so essential to historians and accusing him of brutalizing history through the positing of critical theory. His critique also focused on Wehler’s unnuanced depiction of conservatism as a monolithic, inscrutable ‘power cartel’ that led to ‘considerable exaggerations, omissions and distortions’.837 Nineteenth-century German conservatism, Nipperdey countered, was multifaceted and included forces of reform alongside social conservative and traditional conservative currents. There was not a simple single line of continuity that could be drawn forward to 1933, Nipperdey argued;838 he would henceforth become known as a ‘leading historian of the conservative camp’.839

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History was, in any event, to take on a significant role in the political language of liberal-spirited conservatism, with historiographical expertise becoming all the more important. Looking towards the past not only served to safeguard conservative temporality but was central in other regards as well. For one, the emphasis on the historical development of the world led to a clear distancing from all organic, mythical and mystical thought traditions, traditions that had previously been celebrated in German conservatism. ‘History and historical experience’ were seen here by Christian von Krockow as the ‘sole building blocks of human culture and political order’, picking up on Burke’s ‘natural artificiality of everything human’.840 In another regard, reflecting on history had a compensatory function. In an age of accelerating change, in which the memory of the past seemed to be slipping away, in which traditions were no longer understood and in which experiences were no longer culturally (i.e. historically) anchored, in such times, Hermann Lübbe argued, it was all the more important to work on and with history. In this way, history safeguarded identity – whether individual or national.841 Nipperdey measured historical research in terms of the categories of historical plurality and historical objectivity. The concept of conservatism of his time was also marked by plurality (and less so by objectivity). Two variants in particular would emerge, however, that had already been expressed in the discussions in the late 1950s and early 1960s, and which were now being expanded upon a decade later. While intellectuals such as Hermann Lübbe, Kurt Sontheimer and Wilhelm Hennis were working towards the establishment of a liberal-spirited conservatism, which was described by Jens Hacke as a ‘philosophy of bourgeois culture’,842 Armin Mohler and Caspar Schrenck-Notzing, as well as Gerd-Klaus Kaltenbrunner, applied their efforts towards having conservatism understood as an anti-liberal opposition. In the atmosphere of the extreme political polarization of the 1970s, however, the Left did not distinguish between the two variants of the concept of conservatism, which proved to be a powerful means of discrediting the liberal variant in its equation with right-wing versions. On the other hand, the liberal interpreters of conservatism promoted this idea themselves by being published in Kaltenbrunner’s edited volumes, in his initiative book series, in the Criticón journal, and when they appeared together at discussions.843 Viewing the Left as a common opponent served as a driving force to unite the heterogeneous conservative camp. The polarized language, which increasingly featured pairs of contrastive terms, also contributed much to this. In what manner, however, did the liberal interpreters of conservatism flesh out the concept of conservatism? Even if sophisticated analyses cannot be offered to that end,844 we can at least provide a basic picture of how conservatism was discussed. As the example of Hermann Lübbe demonstrated above, the definition of the concept was quite fluid within the categories of progress and conservation.845 A balance was sought between past, present and future.

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A classical structural principle of conservative speech was brought up to date and interpreted from a liberal perspective. This involved the question of how change and preservation could be harmonized, how ‘openness to change itself’ could be ‘institutionalized as a political system while also being safeguarded against the dangers of despotic capriciousness’, as Christian von Krockow emphasized in 1971.846 He explained that politics was founded on the recognition of a ‘basic openness to change in face of never-ending future horizons’, and thus stood in opposition to a decisionistic, illiberal concept of politics.847 The structural principle of temporality characteristic of conservative speech permeated thought on democracy as well. The argumentation involving temporality had two starting points: taking positions in opposition to the revolutionary bearing of the New Left, as well as positions against utopian thinking and theories of planning that were certain of the future. It was not progress, however, that was being rejected here, with the classical distinction between progress and tradition instead being declared obsolete. It was again Lübbe who lent philosophical expression to these thoughts. The goal was no longer to make progress possible in the present but instead to manage the ‘consequences of those forms of progress that have long been underway’. Lübbe included here, first and foremost, the loss of stabilizing tradition. It was for this reason that he placed so much meaning in history: ‘It is not the hindrances of tradition that are so burdensome, but the rising difficulties of re-establishing disburdening traditions under conditions of accelerating social change’.848 In the prevailing ‘crisis of progress’, all energies had to be focused on the ‘securing, indeed conservation of conditions endangered’ by progress itself.849 It was the task of conservatives to conserve the conditions of progress, which Lübbe placed within the context of modernity. Golo Mann, whose liberal voice was to be heard in early discussions on conservatism,850 criticized unconditional belief in progress and enthusiastic utopianism. Just as out of the question as stagnation, Mann insisted, was ‘combining the total planning of processes, sciences, production and distribution with upholding basic human rights or combining forced total equality with individualism’, as ‘human reality’ would offer ‘enormous resistance’ to this.851 Mann saw democracy, human rights and individual freedom as being under threat should the continuity of the temporal dimension fall out of balance. Instead of utopian fantasy, he recommended an orientation towards reality – and in doing so made reference to another key concept in conservative language. When it came to the categories of conservation and change, Edmund Burke was sure to be involved. For Ernst Klett, Burke was ‘our man’,852 and Waldemar Besson even called for a ‘German Burke’ as a ‘conservative counterpart’ to the progressive intelligentsia that was so dominant.853 Such a figure was to take up a position that was ‘beyond reaction and utopia … that sought not only dynamism but also stability, that wished to see the newly gained and justifiably

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highly praised virtue of criticism to be complemented by the urgently needed virtue of listening and putting things in perspective’. Instead of ‘permanent reform’, such a person would call for a policy of ‘calculable steps in a consensus of generations’ that would harmonize the ‘tendency towards conservation and the adroitness for improvement’ and safeguard ‘stability in the midst of the dynamics of change’. The argument of continuity was used to delimit the concept of conservatism from the concepts of restoration and reaction. Besson lastly called upon the older generation to join Burke in opposition to ‘the tyranny of the future over the past’.854 Burke was thus also turned into the forefather of the ‘new conservatism’ of the 1970s, as the phenomenon would soon be described,855 by dint of his being British, but even more importantly, by his not being German. Waldemar Besson called for a ‘German Burke’ because he did not think anyone could be found in German history: ‘Our conservatives were always in rapid danger of becoming mere reactionaries’.856 Nothing less than a new form of conservative thinking was to be created, one which drew from the tradition of British and American liberal conservatism. The political scientist Christian von Krockow also pursued this goal, taking up the thesis of the German conservative Sonderweg as a means of lamenting the ‘catastrophic’ lack of a ‘liberal conservatism’, which he extoled as a present-day alternative. In addition to Edmund Burke, Krockow’s models included Alexis de Tocqueville from France and Alexander Hamilton from the United States. Understanding ‘liberal conservatism’ meant looking to ‘the West’ and back to the turn of the nineteenth century, when Burke, Tocqueville and Hamilton grappled with a ‘process of fundamental politicization, variability and feasibility of nearly all conditions of life’, and found answers that, in view of the process continuing on to the present day, seemed to remain enduringly topical.857 Krockow was essentially convinced that Burke, Tocqueville and Hamilton served as advocates of freedom, protecting it from ‘absolutism’ and ‘state centralism’, from the occupation of the private by the public, and from ideology and despotism. He believed that the significance of such ‘conservative moments of securing freedom’ could not be overestimated, especially in view of a ‘carelessness in dealing with historical experience, proper processes and existing constitutional principles’.858 Securing freedom, from this perspective, could only succeed by means of stable institutions, orderly procedures under rule of law and the recognition of historical development. It becomes clear in this context why Edmund Burke was selected as the forefather of the ‘new conservatism’. Burke was, in the eyes of his German admirers, a liberal who became conservative through rational insights, whose purpose was not to turn history back towards absolutism but to secure freedoms gained in the face of an ever-advancing revolution headed towards tyranny. It was neither the ‘apotheosis of the past’ nor the ‘illusion of the perfection of human existence’ that guided Burke’s thinking, but the intention of ‘opening up reasonable

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life opportunities’ through political action, as the philosopher Dieter Henrich argued in the new German edition of Burke’s ‘Reflections’ in 1967. It was precisely there that he believed Burke’s relevance to the present day was to be found and preserved.859 It was this image of the English aristocrat of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries that shone brightly over the ideas of the liberal conservatism of the 1970s.860 Alexis de Tocqueville would become a similarly central intellectual figure. Whereas the West German conservative reception of Tocqueville continued, even into the 1960s, to focus on his warning against excessive equality in democracy and, in the vein of cultural criticism, against the dangers of consumer society, Tocqueville was now being discovered as a theoretician of freedom in an egalitarian society. Wilhelm Hennis, in particular, modelled his ideas on Tocqueville in his warnings about the freedom-destroying consequences of progressing ‘democratization’ and ‘emancipation’.861 As was the case for Burke, Tocqueville’s life and political thought represented, for the liberal interpreters of conservatism in the 1970s, a synthesis of liberalism and conservatism in the early nineteenth century – or even better, the potential for conservative thought within the context of liberal modernity. Hennis, Sontheimer, Krockow and even the young Hans Günter Hockerts were not only aware of this, they went on the offense with their own conceptual politics in adopting the concept of liberalism and making it into a part of the concept of conservatism. The concept of freedom served as the hinge between the two, a concept that emerged within the semantic network surrounding the concept of conservatism, taking on a central place within it. This appropriation could either occur through the use of an adjective as in ‘liberal conservatism’ (either liberaler Konservatismus or Liberalkonservatismus)862 in order to emphasize the liberal part, or liberalism was depicted as being so strongly fused to conservatism that it was unnecessary to even use it as a concept of its own. Conservatism sufficed fully in this case. As early as 1970, Günter Zehm, an editor at Die Welt, found the labelling of consensus liberals, including Wilhelm Hennis, Erwin K. Scheuch, Karl Steinbuch and Ernst Topitsch, as ‘conservative’ on the part of ‘left-liberal opinion-makers’ in the media – a usage of conservative that was meant to be defamatory – to only be appropriate because ‘whoever wishes to remain liberal now needs to become conservative’.863 The conservatives of his day, he explained, sought to preserve ‘civil rights’ and ‘civil liberties’ from the ‘grasp of socialist collectivism’. Zehm rhetorically asked who should take on this task other than liberals. Zehm, however, appeared neither realistic nor unsuspicious here, as what he had in mind for an anti-socialist movement under the banner of the concept of conservatism was in fact the National-Liberale Aktion, a new right-wing FDP splinter group, led by Erich Mende and Siegfried Zoglmann, the latter being a prominent member of the Sudetendeutsche Landsmannschaft (Sudeten German Homeland Association) with a deep Nazi past.864

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This example is very much typical for the appropriation of the concept of liberalism within the framework of the debate on conservatism. There was indeed a broad spectrum of those who viewed themselves to be conservative while speaking out for the protection of liberty. Gerd-Klaus Kaltenbrunner, who was close to the right-wing circles and whose semantic work concerning the concept of conservatism will be discussed in greater detail below, found that the ‘new conservatives’ were in fact ‘conservative’ because ‘they are liberal’865 – not unlike Helmut Schelsky, however, who sought to revitalize the classical liberalism of the nineteenth century in order to establish clear boundaries for the state, and to protect the freedom of the individual. ‘Fundamental liberalism’ would thus take on the conservational role of conservatism, as the latter had ‘fallen into near meaninglessness in Western Europe’. Schelsky referred here to ‘leading North American thinkers and writers’, which could only have meant American neoconservatism.866 Terms of self-description, however, were by no means uniform there; for example, Friedrich August von Hayek strongly protested in 1960 against the epithet ‘conservative’ by connecting instead with classical liberalism. This also included Burke, Tocqueville and other representatives of liberal conservatism, whom Hayek classified as ‘Whigs’. His text Why I Am Not a Conservative was published in German translation under the title Liberale und Konservative in an October 1971 edition of the Frankfurt Allgemeine Zeitung – well timed in the midst of the debate over West German conservatism.867 What was liberal in fact to mean in conservatism? Christian von Krockow’s definition of a ‘conservatism conserving liberty’ was one response to this question. If liberal conservatism was to take on a clearer shape, and one which met the expectations of university professors who were sceptical of reform, this would require greater focus on its semantic networks. It was precisely this that Lübbe suggested to Schelsky, when urged by him to establish an organizational platform for the loose intellectual movement that had hitherto only appeared as a group in their publications. Lübbe reacted with reservation to this, distancing himself from Schelsky in the process. He did not wish to organize a meeting for the ‘purposes of action’ but instead ‘for the reformulation of the language of liberals’,868 and he would commit himself to just that. In his response to Jürgen Habermas’s criticism of ‘neoconservatism’ in 1982, Lübbe wrote of his belief in the merging of the concepts of conservatism and liberalism in his day. ‘Today’s conservatives’ he characterized as ‘concerned liberals’,869 whose goal was to ‘conserve the conditions of the liberality of the ruling order’ and, fully in the spirit of the Enlightenment, to defend ‘liberal democracy’ against the ‘totalitarian democracy’ that had also emerged from the Enlightenment.870 Here, Lübbe was referring to the classical distinction made in Cold War liberalism.871 From this perspective, conservatives acted as guardians of the liberal heritage of the Enlightenment – an aim that was solidified further at the third meeting of the Tendenzwende initiative in 1980 with the title Aufklärung heute. Bedingungen

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unserer Freiheit (The Enlightenment today: The conditions of our liberty).872 The Austrian philosopher Ernst Topitsch viewed, in his own particular way, ‘enlightenment as a conservative task’ for the present day,873 referring here to Lübbe’s 1971 characterization of the New Left as an ‘anti-enlightenment movement’ with the gloomy warning that the ‘process of enlightenment is not definitively irreversible’.874 This reformulation of liberalism under the umbrella of the concept of conservatism also made reference to, and adapted for the present day, the conceptual vocabulary of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, drawing on a reception of Burke and Tocqueville in particular. In addition to the concept of liberty, the concept of democracy and the concepts of the conservative structural principle of temporality, other concepts solidified the semantic network of the concept of conservatism such as institution, order, stability, constitution, structure, state, history and order of values. It was further enriched by concepts such as sober-mindedness, objectivity, reality, realism, moderation, prudence and pragmatism, which described a specific political style and was derived from the conservative structural principle of equilibrium. Many concepts also corresponded with counterconcepts, which were coded as ‘left-wing’, such as reform vs. revolution, reality vs. utopia, order vs. anarchy, and democracy vs. despotism. All of these concepts had long contributed to the character of the concept of conservatism and were updated, repeated and woven into a flexible semantic network together with once-genuine liberal concepts such as enlightenment, rationality, constitution and middle-class attitudes. The structural principle of oppositional pairs thus also served to order the political language of liberal-spirited conservatism. Dolf Sternberger was the first to weld together these basic concepts of the democratic state with the concept of conservatism, framing the centre of a conservatism in a liberal spirit, when he called in 1970 for being conservative with regard to the constitution, the law, liberty and ‘even the state’ in order to defend the fundaments of democracy. Especially those who had ‘the experience of that “national revolution”’ still in their bones had to ‘be conservative today’, Sternberger advised. In addition to the presence of the events of 1933, it was symptomatic for the debate over conservatism in the 1970s that one of the leading language critics of the early republic, who was indeed a member of the SPD as well, involved himself early on to provide the concept with a positive meaning, with arguments against the defamatory use of the concept by the extreme left. The position of language criticism in fact played a considerable role in enriching the semantic network of the concept of conservatism, and in building on what had been begun by consensus-liberal intellectuals of the 1970s. One need only think of the significance that the concept of institutions was granted in language-critical discourse, the weight placed on sober-mindedness and objectivity, and the trust placed in the conservatory function of the concepts themselves.

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As we have seen, the concept of values with all of its derivatives (order of values, system of values, etc.) was established as a concept central to the semantic network surrounding the concept of conservatism, beginning in 1945. This played a particular role in the Union parties of the early 1970s, as we will see in greater detail below. Conservatives were all the more surprised when none other than Erhard Eppler, the prominent head of the left wing of the SPD, took up the concept of conservatism in 1975 – and at the peak of the debate of conservatism and the Tendenzwende, just as left-wing intellectuals and politicians were missing no opportunities to attach negative connotations to the concept.875 Eppler distinguished here between ‘structural’ and ‘value-centred conservatism’, with these two opposing philosophies standing in conflict with each other in the most prominent political controversies of the time. Eppler viewed structural conservatism (Strukturkonservatismus) negatively while he had a positive view of value-centred conservatism (Wertkonservatismus). Being a value-centred conservative corresponded, in Eppler’s view of temporality, with a left-wing attitude towards life at a time when the limits of progress had become apparent and the allure of continual economic growth was evaporating. He was clearly adopting ecological societal criticism here, something that not infrequently involved apocalyptic scenarios. The title of his book reflected this specific sense: Ende oder Wende (The end or a turning point) – if humanity did not act to counter its self-destruction, it would not be able to survive. The scenario of ecological destruction behind Eppler’s theses not only undergirded them with the alarmism typical of the Green-alternative spectrum, but also inserted the tensions here between progress and conservation that drove the talk about the feared ecological catastrophe. This was the only reason that the concept of conservatism made sense in this context, and why it was interpreted exclusively in line with its temporal dimension in Eppler’s work. As Eppler defined it, structural conservatism sought to conserve ‘structures’ and was only concerned with the ‘conservation of positions of power, privilege and domination’.876 The ‘old liberal legacy’877 manifested itself there as ‘ideology in the narrowest sense of the Marxian definition’, as a ‘superstructure’ for the legitimation of power and rule.878 Eppler’s concept of structural conservatism connected all of the elements found in the left-wing critique of conservatism of the 1970s. By contrast, value-centred conservatism aimed at the conservation of the ‘irrevocable value’ of the individual human being and the ‘natural foundations of life’; value-centred conservatism understood ‘freedom as a chance and a call for responsibility in solidarity’, seeking ‘justice … in the knowledge that it can never be achieved’, putting peace at risk ‘even when it comes at the cost of sacrifice’. In this way, ‘values such as service and loyalty, virtues such as frugality and the ability for self-denial did not yet leave a cynical aftertaste’. Structures had to be destroyed in order to conserve values. This was a formula central to right-wing Weimar intellectuals, the conservative revolutionaries, as Kurt

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Sontheimer reminded the West German public in his reaction to Eppler.879 Their representatives, however, had other values in mind than Eppler. He placed this form of value-centred conservatism within the ‘Christian-conservative tradition’ of Europe – claiming that the structural conservatism defined by him practically ‘opposed’ it in ‘nearly every detail’.880 Eppler thus connected central concepts of the Left with the concept of conservatism, while also drawing on the Protestant tradition by evoking the language of the Bible of Protestant sermons (e.g. ‘This conservatism upholds the dignity of the suffering, and reclaims the dignity of the dying’),881 while also explicitly referring to the ‘Christian-conservative tradition’. Here, the Protestant thinker Eppler hit the nerve of those German Protestants who were active in the new social movements for peace, environmental protection and social concerns, and who viewed themselves as Protestant and left-wing in equal measure.882 It was not by accident that Erhard Eppler and Kurt Biedenkopf met at the 1975 German Protestant Kirchentag in Frankfurt to discuss Eppler’s thesis of value-centred conservatism, not exclusively but substantially.883 From this perspective, Eppler’s act of semantic innovation had a Protestantism-internal dimension at a time when the formation of political camps ran straight through and deeply divided German Protestantism.884 The semantic distinction between structural and value-centred conservatism was easy to grasp, while the concept of value-centred conservatism was met with receptive resonance among the environmentally concerned, so it would soon establish itself within the political language of the West German Left.885 One of the most influential left-wing theoretician, Iring Fetscher, moreover, adopted the concept, someone who had already put thought into an openness towards the concept of conservatism among the Left.886 And no less significantly, none other than Max Horkheimer, leading member of the Frankfurt School, described a conservative stance towards the ‘conservation of certain cultural moments’ as being necessary in a January 1970 Spiegel interview, viewing the ‘true conservative’ as being related to the ‘true revolutionary’. Horkheimer made it clear that what needed to be preserved included, for example, theology and liberalism.887 Horkheimer’s conservative affirmation was met with a massive echo.888 Conservatives subsequently joined Kurt Biedenkopf in their rejection of Eppler’s language-political strategy of occupying the concept, as was hardly to be expected otherwise. For Erwin Scheuch, Eppler’s and Fetscher’s affirmations of conservatism were simply ‘fraudulent labelling’.889 As Hermann Rudolph wrote in the Frankfurt Allgemeine Zeitung, ‘values cannot be realized without structures’;890 and in Deutsche Zeitung. Christ und Welt, Kurt Sontheimer offered an apodictic definition in that ‘conservatism continues to be a policy that holds to structures because such structures serve particular values’.891 Within the semantic network of the concept of conservatism, structure and value could not be separated from one another, nor could the concept of structure be

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delegitimized. Rudolph corrected the conceptual networks of conservatism with the words: ‘What Eppler calls structural conservatism is essentially a status-quo conservatism, in which mere functioning has become the predominant value’.892 Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker, who discussed Eppler’s book in Die Zeit, perceived his semantic innovation as a signal of change among the Left. Eppler, he believed, no longer represented the left of the extra-parliamentary opposition, the student movement or intellectual neo-Marxism, but a new Left, moved by the environmental movement and threats to the survival of humanity: ‘The normal leftist is characterized by a belief in progress and in anger, Eppler however by care and concern’.893 Many members of the incipient ecological movement milieu indeed felt alienated by the shift in chancellorship from Willy Brandt to Helmut Schmidt and the resulting upheavals within the SPD, and would later participate in the founding of the Green Party.894 Eppler served as a figure of identification, and his resignation from the Schmidt cabinet in 1974 as Federal Minister for Economic Cooperation due to a programmatic conflict acted as a beacon for a new era. Ende oder Wende was now also read as a reckoning with Schmidt’s politics.895 Included among those who turned away from the SPD while remaining aligned with Eppler was the ‘Green movement intellectual’ Carl Amery,896 who viewed himself as a ‘serious conservative’ and kept the concept of conservatism present within the green movement.897 This was equally the case for the group of ‘conservators’ within the broad spectrum of the Green founders, as vividly described by Silke Mende. The CDU Bundestag member Herbert Gruhl, who left his party in 1978 and wrote the bestselling book Ein Planet wird geplündert (A planet is being plundered) – ‘a cultural-critical manifesto with backward-looking, at times authoritarian ideas about the state and society’898 – also saw himself as a ‘true conservative of the times’.899 The pluralization of the concept of conservatism beginning in the late 1960s thus also included positions within the Left, which expanded the breadth of its variation even further. This surely did not contribute to bringing about conceptual clarity, as Kurt Sontheimer remarked in his discussion of Eppler’s book, and – ever the language critic – judged this to be a ‘sign of the vagueness and manipulability of the central political concepts of our time’.900 Eppler’s position surely did not represent a majority of the Left. Left-wing intellectuals connected the concept of neoconservatism primarily with the boom in the concept of conservatism during the 1970s.901 This concept was an American import, translated into German, as the intellectual current formed in the United States was closely followed in West Germany and viewed as a signpost for the further development of conservatism there.902 Claus Offe saw an ‘outline of a neoconservative opposition to the system’ in the Tendenzwende writings, and especially those of Schelsky, Lübbe, Tenbruck and Hennis.903 Helmut Schelsky in particular was often at the centre of attention of left-wing

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intellectual criticism. As the ‘mentor of neoconservatism’, he was viewed as pursuing the ‘systematic denunciation of democracy’ with his ‘paleoliberal societal philosophy’,904 ultimately pointing West German society down ‘the path towards “authoritarian” democracy’.905 Schelsky represented a ‘new conservatism in the Federal Republic, which no longer sought its salvation in the exaltation of the state … but in pushing back on the public sphere and on politics’. The development of conservatism in West Germany thus ran parallel to that in the United States.906 The focus on Schelsky blurred the differences between the intellectual protagonists involved in the reformulation of conservatism in 1970s West Germany. Indeed, this sociologist, ensconced in the ‘battle tank of the political anti-sociologist’,907 who deliberately sought to polarize and whose thinking was similar to the libertarian thrust of American neoconservatism while also permeated by technocratic convictions, in many ways differed fundamentally from the liberal idea of democracy as supported by figures such as Lübbe, Hennis and Krockow.908 Kurt Sontheimer worked hard to distance himself from Schelsky’s intellectual criticism.909 Christian von Krockow, however, criticized Schelsky’s theory of democracy with particular vigour. As we wrote in his commentary on Schelsky’s Die Arbeit tun die anderen: ‘Aggressiveness and a will to delay come together in the end to form a fatal unholy alliance in a Metternichian strategy of repression’. As Krockow had it, while Edmund Burke wrote his Reflections in the late eighteenth century as a ‘revolutionary book against the revolution’, Schelsky presented 1970s West Germany with a ‘reactionary book’.910 Krockow’s book review thus also added to Lübbe’s ‘conceptual struggle’. Schelsky’s ideas were thus not to be described as conservative but were denounced as reactionary by Krockow, who advocated his ‘conservatism to preserve liberty’.911 A sharp boundary was drawn between conservatism and reaction among conservative intellectuals. ‘Neoconservatism’ was to become a practically inflationary collective term to describe the new beginnings in conservatism since the late 1970s, starting with Jürgen Habermas’s characterization of the phenomenon in 1982.912 While Habermas viewed American neoconservatism as being part of the liberal tradition and as having achieved an ‘identification with societal modernity … in concepts of an unambiguously liberal tradition’,913 the theories that West German neoconservatives had set out from had a ‘young conservative (jungkonservativ) character’. German neoconservatism had not, he believed, freed itself from the anti-liberal tradition of German conservative thought, despite all assurances to the contrary. After 1945, the newly converted men of the Weimar New Right were only ‘half-heartedly’ reconciled with modernity: ‘They have reconciled themselves with progress in civilization but have retained their cultural criticism’. This divided the ‘former young conservatives from the former liberal neoconservatives’.914 Habermas used the examples of Joachim Ritter, Ernst

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Forsthoff and Arnold Gehlen to illustrate his theory, and he saw their students – i.e. the generation of Hermann Lübbe and Wilhelm Hennis, protagonists of the intellectual debates of the 1970s – as mere epigones of their teachers. ‘What is new, at most, is the type of professor who holds his own along the front of the semantic civil war’, Habermas sardonically remarked.915 He attested a proximity to American neoconservatives only on the part of Kurt Sontheimer and Richard Löwenthal, viewing their ideas as being of true liberal origins.916 While American neoconservatives walked the liberal path of the West, and the West German Left pursued an opening to the West with great vigour, Habermas believed German neoconservatives to be following the anti-Western Sonderweg. They turned away ‘from these traditions, drew from other sources’, including ‘German constitutionalism, which retained little from democracy besides rule of law’, ‘motives connected to the state church’ which were rooted in ‘a pessimistic anthropology’ and ‘motives connected to young conservatism (Jungkonservatismus)’. The ‘questionable historical burdens of German liberalism’ have continued to have an effect through to the present day.917 Habermas’s conceptual definition of conservatism and neoconservatism apparently followed the paths of the Left’s concept of conservatism, as it had emerged since the late 1950s. This already became apparent in 1979, when he organized a collection of important voices from the West German Left in Stichworte zur ‘geistigen Situation der Zeit’ (Observations on the ‘intellectual situation of the age’), which was ultimately published as volume 1,000 of edition suhrkamp. The project, which was inspired by the 1930 Karl Jaspers analysis with the same title, was conceived by Habermas as a counter to the conservative interpretative dominance that he believed to prevail in his day. He did not, however, work with the concept of conservatism in his Stichtworte but contrasted the New Left with a New Right that was formed by Carl Schmitt, Arnold Gehlen, Hans Freyer and Joachim Ritter – not coincidentally including three representatives of the Weimar New Right – and which was committed to undermining West German democracy.918 The response to Habermas’s challenge was provided by Herman Lübbe, who would develop into a foremost representative of conservatism in a liberal spirit,919 a process in which his dedicated conceptual policy with regard to the concept of conservatism played a considerable role. As we have seen, he took up the negative connotations, beginning in the first half of the 1970s, and made repeated efforts to establish its semantic horizon in a positive light. He did just this in his response to Habermas as well.920 First, he accepted the description of neoconservatism.921 He then went on to reject Habermas’s thesis of an anti-liberal tradition, and placed neoconservatism in the liberal context of the Enlightenment and modernity. Lastly, he alluded to the commonalities in American and West German neoconservatism, negating Habermas’s thesis of a unique German conservative Sonderweg. At a 1982 meeting of German and American intellectuals of the conservative spectrum, organized by the Konrad Adenauer Foundation,

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he emphasized that the similarities in thought also corresponded with the ‘multifaceted institutional and personal relations … between German and American intellectuals of a conservative orientation’ that had existed for ‘a long time’.922 The use of the concept of conservatism seemed worth striving for ‘without any sense of defamation’, as it contributed towards ‘evening out the language between German and Anglo-American political culture’.923 Lübbe’s arguments essentially concealed a belief in the ‘Westernization’ of West German political culture, in the convergence of German conservative thought with the normal ‘Western’ path, something that he wanted to be reflected in the meaning of the concepts. He accordingly distanced the conservatism of the neoconservatives – while insisting that this term had only been an external attribution – with all German traditions of conservative thought since the nineteenth century, with the exception of political Catholicism, which he identified as the ‘conservatism with the fewest breaks in continuity among all currently discernible German conservatisms’.924 The intellectual interpreters of a West German liberal-spirited conservatism did in fact have the aim of joining with the arguments of the ‘American neoconservatives in a chiefly identical context within the history of ideas’.925 This was indeed the case, although different emphases were placed in the United States – and in the United Kingdom – in at least one point. Conservative thought was much more closely linked to economic deliberations in the UK than was the case in West Germany. The market was a key concept in neoconservatism and was inextricably tied to the concept of liberty.926 The forming of a liberal-spirited conservatism in West Germany was, by contrast, chiefly founded in democratic theory. The free market certainly served as the centrepiece of a free democratic order, and the social market economy as the ideal model for a conservative societal order, in which competition and social security stood in perfect balance with one another. These foundations were uncontroversial and widely consensual, and the equilibrium of the model of the social market economy was viewed as the foundation upon which West German democracy was built.927 The social market economy was lauded as a successful conceptual formation of the Adenauer era and as the formula upon which West German democracy was based. While radical market-liberal arguments, presented as a counter to the planning-based welfare state that was held responsible for the economic crisis, gained in legitimacy in the United States and the United Kingdom, West German conservatives in the 1970s saw their ordoliberal model vindicated, if nothing else thanks to the relatively positive economic development in the country. The fact that economists in Germany, compared with the United States and United Kingdom, played but a small role in the formulation of conservatism in the 1970s, with political scientists playing the dominant role in the debate instead, contributed decisively to these differing approaches. The liberal interpreters of conservatism were, moreover,

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influenced by consensus liberalism and, with but a few exceptions, emerged from Social Democracy.928 Competition and social security appeared to ideally unite the well-balanced West German social state, and this equilibrium had to be defended to prevent the socialization of the country. Radical market models did not seem necessary to this end – which was another reason for Schelsky’s limited following; he lauded ‘classical liberalism’ in the 1970s as the liberalism of the market, thus updating his criticism of the 1950s of the bureaucratic welfare state and the loss of individuality. Hermann Lübbe, Wilhelm Hennis, Kurt Sontheimer and the other men who worked towards a liberal conservatism, believed in the power of ‘the West’, and saw it as their task to ensure that the West maintained a dominant voice in the Federal Republic. Schelsky, by contrast, had lost his hope in the West – if he ever had such a hope in the first place. He believed that the ‘priestly rule of intellectuals’ – the leftist, system-changing, manipulative dominance – was rampant throughout the ‘industrial-historical advanced civilization of the West’, with the ‘new Middle Ages’ beginning in the West and advancing towards Germany.929 Corruption was once again deemed to lie in ‘the West’, and once again German virtues were placed in opposition to Western ‘civilization’. Schelsky updated the fateful German semantics of the West that had had such a devastating effect during the first half of the twentieth century.930 Arnold Gehlen had been even more explicit in his opposition to the advance of ‘Western’ concepts in 1969, when he sharply attacked the postwar language politics of the Allies, which had excluded anti-liberal and anti-democratic concepts from the publicly acceptable vocabulary, indeed banning the very concepts held by the men of the Weimar New Right. As Gehlen bitterly exclaimed, the truth could no longer be expressed through language, as the imported ‘leftist’ concepts of ‘the West’ were instruments used to manipulate reality.931 It was precisely this that the liberal representatives of conservatism in 1970s West Germany saw completely differently. While they did agree with Gehlen’s criticism of the dominance of language from the Left, they came to completely different conclusions. They sought to preserve the democratic language of the West in order to stabilize the young democracy – no more and no less.

2.4.2. Right-Wing Instead of Conservative: German Continuities or the Second Variant of the Concept of Conservatism The liberal interpreters of conservatism had one aim in particular: to strengthen West German democracy. This was a goal, however, that was by no means the focus of a second group of intellectuals who worked on the semantics of the concept of conservatism in the 1970s. This ‘struggle over naming’ was indeed not only carried out between leftists and conservatives, as the interpreters of

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conservatism themselves quarrelled relentlessly over the concept. The boom that the concept of conservatism experienced after ‘1968’ also meant that the representatives of a variety of political groupings would appropriate it for themselves. While those who sought to make liberal traditions fruitful in conservative thought predominated on one side of the ledger, the other side included intellectuals who explicitly tied it into right-wing ideas, attempting to occupy the concept for the New Right. For them, conservative was synonymous with the Right. This spectrum was, of course, very heterogeneous. This will be investigated more closely in the following section, and it will be necessary to describe in greater detail the networks, publications and central figures, with little by way of previous historical research for reference. It is only on this basis that we can understand the power of the New Right in informing this concept in 1970s West Germany. The heterogeneity of the New Right confused many observers, especially as the boundaries were blurred between more liberal and more right-wing intellectuals, and their arenas of discourse and publication. This applied in particular to Gerd-Klaus Kaltenbrunner, with certainty a figure central to the intellectual debates of the 1970s. He would become a driving force, who made the demand for a new conservatism, which had arisen repeatedly after 1970, into his own personal issue; he called in his 1972 collective volume Rekonstruktion des Konservatismus for precisely that – the reconstruction of conservatism. Kaltenbrunner’s texts and interventions were widely discussed, although his intellectual positioning was often misunderstood. While some saw him as a liberal conservative,932 for others he was the ‘general secretary of the right-wing German conservative creed’.933 Despite his influence, he has been neglected in historical and political research. This warrants a comprehensive look into Kaltenbrunner’s plans for conservatism, which included central elements of the New Right variant of the concept of conservatism that emerged in West Germany during the 1970s. Gerd-Klaus Kaltenbrunner was an unexpected shooting star in 1970s conservatism. Born in Vienna in 1939, he moved to Germany as a writer in 1962 after studying philosophy, law and sociology at the University of Vienna. The Freiburg-based Rombach Verlag (publishing house) employed him as an editor in 1968, where Kaltenbrunner sought to build a platform for anti-utopian thought and thus an alternative to the Suhrkamp Verlag. After his sudden dismissal in 1972, in which politics was suspected to have played a role,934 he moved to the Herder-Verlag in 1974. There, he was responsible for the bimonthly paperback series Herderbücherei initiative, which Kaltenbrunner built into a central forum for conservative arguments. Kaltenbrunner was an unexpected driving force of conservatism, not only due to his age. Until his employment with Rombach, he had in fact never been active as a representative of conservatism – quite the contrary. He had regularly

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reviewed, with great sympathy, books from the orbit of left-wing philosophy, reviews that were published in academic journals and in Die Zeit in particular. He was their man when it came to Sartre, Flechtheim, Lenin and new editions of Marx.935 He had also stood out in 1969 and 1970 with works on the philosophy of Marcuse and Ernst Bloch, which were published in the Austrian Catholic journal Wort und Wahrheit.936 Kaltenbrunner’s approach of objective worldview analysis is reminiscent of Ernst Topitsch, whom he likely had come across as a philosophy student in Vienna. It was no coincidence that he would later frequently draw upon Topitsch’s neopositivism. Kaltenbrunner, however, also showed a particular fascination for the anarchism of figures such as Mikhail Bakunin and Hugo Ball.937 It was thus not to be expected that the young Freiburg-based editor would emerge as a prophet of conservatism. One positive review alone, that of Hans Georg von Studnitz’s critical cultural tirade Glanz und keine Gloria. Reise durch die Wohlstandsgesellschaft (Splendour without Gloria: A Journey through affluent society), intimated in 1966 at his political move towards conservatism – a conservatism, however, that was understood as a ‘lifestyle’, as ‘an undoctrinaire, very fortunate connection between common sense and provocative esprit’.938 Kaltenbrunner also began to pursue work on figures who were seen as thinkers of conservatism or the Right – even if these were not in fact central figures – ranging from Franz von Baader, Ludwig Klages and Vilfredo Pareto to Houston Stewart Chamberlain and Arthur Moeller van den Bruck.939 It was indeed only a few years later that Kaltenbrunner’s sympathy for a conservative lifestyle had evolved into one for conservative political programmes. The goal that Kaltenbrunner ultimately laid out in 1972 could hardly have been any grander: he sought to found a new conservatism for the 1970s. As he put it, conservatism was not in fact a ‘final, fixed doctrine’ but had to be ‘reformulated from era to era’.940 His work in the 1970s is indeed seen as an attempt to bring about a new conservatism within the present state of affairs: in the formulation of a conservative theory, in the establishment of a canon of thinkers and writings from which it could be drawn, and in the organization of platforms for publications. He took possession of the concept of conservatism with full intent, as he was well aware of the significance of language in politics. The ‘struggle over words’, Kaltenbrunner underscored in 1972, marked the ‘beginning of an emancipation from templates and phrases that inhibited thought’, representing ‘the first phase in a new crystallization of forces that are certain to change political practice as well’.941 He was also serious about the establishment of a new conservative theory, with which he sought to stand against a powerful tradition of conservative self-description.942 While Kaltenbrunner was serious about reformulating conservatism, he wished to have nothing to do with the conservation of traditional orders. It instead involved the ‘creation of a new order, in which conservation is possible

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and reasonable’. Kaltenbrunner hence defined conservatism as ‘prospective, with a view towards its yet-to-be-fulfilled possibilities, as renewal, creativity and rebirth’.943 The phrase ‘creative conservatism’ was to be understood in precisely this manner.944 ‘Do not look back to the old days but focus on the future’, Kaltenbrunner advised the readers of a 1972 edition of Deutsche Zeitung. Christ und Welt in an intentionally and unabashedly prophetic tone as part of his ‘Ten Commandments for Conservatives’.945 Kaltenbrunner’s conservatism project was thus less restorative or ‘reconstructive’, to use his own phrasings, but much more revolutionary. He sought to break with the past, far from advocating any continuity of temporal dimension, even if he defined conservative as involving ‘insight into the conditions … of non-catastrophic social change’, adopting here an established formulation.946 For Kaltenbrunner, conservative theory was a ‘theory of revolutionary conservation’.947 He advocated a conservative revolution for the 1970s while, however, making use of the language of reconstruction. This served as camouflage. Kaltenbrunner’s own intellectual path from the Left to the Right was reflected particularly in his appreciation of revolution. Conservatives had much more in common with the ‘revolutionary of the twentieth century’ than with the ‘conservative of the nineteenth century’, especially including a ‘whole host of agonizing questions’, he wrote.948 It was only natural, with Marxism in a ‘process of decay’, that elements freed up in that process would find their way into conservatism.949 ‘Stand on the right, think on the left’, the phrase coined back in the 1920s by the Austrian Catholic conservative Ernst Karl Winter, was adopted and used, time and again, by Kaltenbrunner to underscore the connection between his new conservatism and Marxism.950 For Kaltenbrunner, thinking on the left chiefly meant thinking dialectically.951 His explanation for the conservative wave that he believed to be present was indeed dialectical: as a movement of ‘disappointed emancipators’ towards the opposite of what they had originally fought for.952 Kaltenbrunner’s new coinage of conservatism was, however, chiefly a synthetic development. While he claimed to have broken with the past – and wished to distance himself from the traditions of conservative thought – he did in fact make use of different strains of conservative thinking from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries to form a new composite whole. These references functioned less by referring to major conservative figures as was commonly the case (‘Edmund Burke, Friedrich Julius Stahl and Othmar Spann are just as dead as the conservatism of throne and altar, and later that of industrial and agricultural barons’), and more by bringing concepts from the semantic network of the concept of conservatism up to date.953 In this way, Kaltenbrunner ensured that his ideas would be recognized as conservative and, moreover, that it would appear to be an updated continuation of the thinking of the Weimar New Right.

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The concept of revolution was just as decisive in this regard as the appropriation of the concepts of the Right and reaction. While liberal conservatives continued to seek to build up these concepts as counterconcepts to the concept of conservatism, Kaltenbrunner used ‘conservative’, ‘Right’ and ‘reactionary’ synonymously. Fully in line with the friend-versus-foe thinking of Schmitt, Kaltenbrunner identified the Left as the ‘enemy’ of conservatism, and more specifically ‘Soviet imperialism and the radical leftist action to “surmount the system”’, with both – real communism and the intellectual New Left in the democratic West – being equated here.954 The argument was that the challenges of the Left could only be met by a strong Right. Kaltenbrunner’s ‘new conservatism’ was meant to voice fundamental ‘criticism of the political system from the Right’ (rechte Systemkritik).955 The political spectrum, from this perspective, was divided into two major blocs: the Left and the Right. It was within this context that Kaltenbrunner issued his call to liberals to become conservative: Liberals stand before the choice of, whether they like it or not, becoming the intellectual and moral accomplices of a left-identified movement to surmount the system, and thus, guided by a masochistic death wish, to sacrifice their own liberal convictions, or, alternatively, to join forces with conservatism, for the time being, out of a passionate concern for the maintenance of liberal institutions, which are under systematic attack. If they truly feel an attachment to liberty … they will understand that they need to become conservative due to this liberality.956

The maintenance of liberty in the present was thus only possible through the defence of liberal institutions, as Kaltenbrunner underscored, adopting the arguments put forward by advocates of conservatism who were informed by democratic theory. The direction of the connection between conservatism and liberalism was, however, turned around: while figures such as Hermann Lübbe, Hans Maier, Kurt Sontheimer and Christian von Krockow wished to liberalize conservatism and place it within liberalism, Kaltenbrunner sought to shoehorn certain concepts from liberal thought into a tradition of illiberal conservatism, consequently subordinating liberalism to conservatism and merging it into a New Right. As he stressed, 1970s conservatives had to see themselves as dialectic, ‘as critics and heirs to liberalism’.957 When he advocated ‘reason’,958 called for an ‘enlightened conservatism’959 and spoke of maintaining and securing the ‘measure of emancipation that has been achieved’ and of having to defend ‘human rights’, the ‘separation of powers’, the ‘freedom of conscience’ and ‘bourgeois democracy’,960 he was deliberately evoking a proximity to liberal conceptions of conservatism. This surely corresponded with his intentions for a broad conservative movement while also serving as a means of him attaining the leadership role he sought in the ‘conceptual struggle’. As we have seen above, this strategy, to a certain degree, proved to be a success.

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Along with the appropriation of the concept of the Right came that of the concept of reaction. Kaltenbrunner came out with his fundamental criticism of the paradigm of progress for the first time in the New Year’s Eve edition of Deutsche Zeitung. Christ und Welt. This article represents the starting point of his work to define the concept of conservatism, in the form of an ecologically informed criticism of progress. It is illuminating that Kaltenbrunner did not use the term ‘conservative’ here but sought to bring new awareness to the concept of the reactionary instead. Readers were able to close out 1971 with a scenario of crisis of nearly apocalyptic scope – if ‘humanity wished to continue to survive for a while’, the ‘progress of destructivity’ had to be stopped. And the strategies needed ‘consistently derived from the arsenal of “reactionary” thought’: ‘limitations on the speed of technological development, giving up on constant economic expansion, stabilization of the natural environment’.961 Inspiration for Kaltenbrunner’s ‘new conservatism’ did not indeed emerge from the New Left alone but at least as extensively from the debate on ecology of the late 1960s and early 1970s.962 That distinguished him from liberal conservatives as well as figures such as Armin Mohler and Hans-Joachim Schoeps. It connected him, however, to those in and around the conservative ecological journal Scheidewege, about which more below, and to men such as Herbert Gruhl, a figure central to the conservative movement and among the founding generation of the Green Party.963 Kaltenbrunner’s ecologically inspired scepticism of progress was far-reaching: the questionable nature of progress meant that the unconditional belief in progress, which had influenced the course of history since the eighteenth century, had lost any plausibility. The crisis of belief in progress thus signalled the end of an era. The loss of any assuredness of an ever-improving future also entailed an end to denouncing ‘reaction’ as a movement that was opposed to the future in the name of the past. Kaltenbrunner saw ‘reaction’ as the only possible ‘progress’ in a world that had fundamentally changed. Life in a society divorced of all temporality filled people with ‘things and activities … beyond any progress and reaction. … This includes the knowledge of an ineluctable death, the silence of mystics and something along the lines of sympathy with nature, which surrounds us and has remained without gratitude for much too long’.964 Similarly, he justified the necessity of conservatism as an antipode to progressivism. The concepts of reaction and conservatism appeared to be interchangeable. For apparently strategic reasons, Kaltenbrunner set his heart on the concept of conservatism, which was more accepted in political language and ultimately more likely to succeed. We can see how strategically Kaltenbrunner used the concept of conservatism in his much read and programmatically intended essay Der schwierige Konservatismus (The difficult conservatism), which first appeared in 1972 in his collected edition Rekonstruktion des Konservatismus (Reconstruction of conservatism), in which he rejected any attempts to equate ‘conservatism,

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restoration and reaction’ as ‘detrimental to understanding’.965 This did not stop him, however, from continuing to adhere to his propagation of the reaction.966 Kaltenbrunner employed ‘nature’ and ‘mysticism’ as key concepts in his ‘new conservatism’. His thinking revolved around nature as the ‘order of the cosmos’, upon which humankind was ‘irrevocably dependent’. As part of nature, man needed to exercise ‘humility’ before it, as exploitation of nature could only involve his entanglement in ‘uncontrollable domination’.967 Nature, as a comprehensive system of order, replaced religion in Kaltenbrunner’s conservatism, or even better: nature took the place of the religious as the ‘religio appropriate to our times’. Kaltenbrunner sought to anchor this link of humankind to the universal no longer in the divine but in the biological instead: ‘in the physis of man, in his innate behavioural dispositions, in his reliance on the orders that set upon him, both disciplining but also relieving him’.968 Ludwig Klages appeared to him to be a conservative prophet for this very reason.969 As Kaltenbrunner argued, man was ‘part of nature, biogenetically anchored in the deepest past and formed through society’ while still a ‘being called by nature to freedom’. Kaltenbrunner thus defined the concept of liberty in terms of biology as well, as man was only called to freedom by nature. Any ‘total freedom, reduced to liberation from all natural conditions’ was hence only ‘illusory’.970 This definition of the concept of liberty had nothing in common with the liberal understanding of liberty. Kaltenbrunner accordingly found the scientific basis for this vision of conservatism in behavioural sciences, human genetics, anthropology and biology – and not indeed in theology or historical research. He lauded the teachings of the race theoretician and social biologist Konrad Lorenz, and saw them as a model for this sort of anthropology.971 He also saw cybernetics as a leading science that was alone in allowing ‘man, society and environment’ to be understood ‘as a highly complex cybernetic system with numerous interlinked control circuits and parameters’.972 Kaltenbrunner, quite logically, called for a ‘realistic anthropology’ to be the core of a conservatism for the 1970s, which should then serve as a basis for a ‘political ecology’. What did this in fact entail? It was about openly negotiating certain facts that have been disconcertingly repressed by the spirit of democratization: the inequality among people that cannot be overcome by an egalitarian ideology or social policy; their dependence on institutions that provide relief while also making demands; the reality of power and rule; the necessity of authorities and taboos.973

That which Kaltenbrunner described as ‘human in general’ – such as the ‘need for order, security and stability’974 – was also biologistically derived. While this biologism was only present beneath the surface in his first programmatic text on conservatism in 1972, he did in fact define ‘conservative thought’ there in ‘its transcendental-sociological structure’ as an anthropological constant.975 The

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‘strong state’ as a ‘sustaining force’ (Kaltenbrunner oriented his ideas towards Freyer as well),976 the triad of ‘tranquillity, law and order’,977 and powerful institutions that made individual freedom possible:978 these are all vivid examples of how Kaltenbrunner picked up on the semantic tradition of German conservatism, brought central concepts up to date and embedded them into the context of an ecology founded in biologism. The trappings of science were important to him here and to his ‘creative conservatism’. This could only be brought about in a dialogue with current debates in the sciences, as Kaltenbrunner repeatedly emphasized. This would lead him to call for ‘conservative “lookout institutions” organized by conservatives to conduct research on the future and long-term planning’, using fashionable terms from academic English to get his point across.979 The following example will make particularly clear how far Kaltenbrunner’s model of temporality departed from the conservative understanding of time. While conservatives warned, as a practical mantra, of the occupation of the future by present-day planning, denouncing it as a process corrupted by utopianism,980 as it placed scorn upon the conservative structural principle of balanced temporality, Kaltenbrunner advocated a conservative projection of a ‘desired future’ in order to make possible a new conservativity. It was precisely this logic that marked his design for a ‘prospective conservatism’. He was able to cite Carl Schmitt here, who, in 1970, had described planning in a world of continual progress as a ‘means for preservation’.981 In any case, Kaltenbrunner sought here to combine the rationality of (natural) science and mystical introspection into his ‘creative conservatism’ as a dialectical whole. Kaltenbrunner’s models included Hegel, whose mystical-mythical dimensions he emphasized,982 as well as historical figures he had studied in the second half of the 1960s, including Novalis, Franz von Baader, Vilfredo Pareto and Ludwig Klages.983 In Kaltenbrunner’s view, it was not through religion, and especially not through Christian religion, but through mysticism that man was to find himself and discover new dimensions of nature. The ‘principle of reality’ that he put forward in opposition to the leftist ‘principle of hope’ (and, moreover, referred back to another key concept in conservatism) was multidimensional. For Kaltenbrunner, ‘reality’ also included ‘the aesthetic, the oppositional and the mysterious’.984 The mystic Kaltenbrunner suspected there to also be a ‘syntonic field of force’ behind the ‘conservative awakening’ of his day, opening up ‘new levels of awareness, long-repressed aspects of reality as well as new ways of thinking’.985 One may suspect that very personal attempts at an interpretation were at play here. Kaltenbrunner was seeking to make his own conversion from being a Marxist sympathizer to a new conservative understandable.986 A tendency towards mysticism and the supernatural would become predominant in Kaltenbrunner’s thought in the early 1990s, when he focused nearly exclusively on Christian-mystical speculation.987

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The conservatism that Kaltenbrunner had constructed for the 1970s would, by contrast, get by without Christianity. This sharp turn had indeed come unexpectedly in the 1960s as well. Kaltenbrunner came from a Catholic milieu, was fascinated by the Christian mysticism of Franz von Baader as well as his ecumenical convictions and anti-papist initiatives. As far as can be reconstructed, Kaltenbrunner seemed to be, first and foremost, attracted by Christianity’s power to unlock the transcendent. The social philosophy of the Austrian sociologist of religion, August Maria Knoll, was of particular interest to him in this regard; he saw Knoll, in 1968, as the ‘foremost representative of Catholic anti-clericalism’. As Kaltenbrunner underscored, Knoll’s writings made unconscionable ‘all attempts to declare political and economic goals to be “Christian” or “Catholic”’.988 Kaltenbrunner believed the post-conciliar Catholic Church had no right to position itself as a church in matters of social policy. The sense was that the church should limit itself to liturgy and preaching. In terms of church politics, Kaltenbrunner thus placed himself in the camp of opponents to the Vatican Council. On the other hand, Kaltenbrunner had in fact lauded Baader’s social criticism in 1966 along the lines of ‘universal Christian solidarity’, placing the origins of social conservatism precisely there. Here too, Kaltenbrunner saw conservatism and Marxism as having been in close proximity in the nineteenth century. While he continued to hold a high view of church involvement in social policy in 1966, this would seem to have diametrically changed two years later. He continued to hold to the social conservative tradition, only stripping it of its Christian trappings. As Kaltenbrunner wrote in 1973, the conservatism of the 1970s tolerated its ‘disdained capitalism’ while striving to ‘humanize it through social measures’, and not ‘replace it with a socialism whose gravity has hitherto consistently driven more towards despotism than liberty’.989 This ambivalence towards Christianity was characteristic of Kaltenbrunner’s thinking. He made this the topic of an article in Deutsche Zeitung. Christ und Welt around Christmas 1974. Was Christianity conservative? Or would a Christ have to advocate for the Left? As the dialectician Kaltenbrunner responded, it was indeed both, as he attested a ‘dialectical nature’ to Christianity as well. The Gospel held both conservative and left-wing potential: ‘Left and Right, conservative and revolutionary, connected to the past and advent-minded, protological and eschatological’. The productive tension would, however, give way to a third development: ‘participation in the mystical community that alone saves us from being mere children of our time’. Only in that way could man escape the constant experience of alienation.990 Once again, it was mysticism that Kaltenbrunner sought to integrate as a Christian tradition into his conservatism, embracing syncretism in merging it with Ludwig Klage’s philosophy of nature and life. The ‘mystical society’ that Kaltenbrunner dreamt of was meant to protect the individual from being fully absorbed into the present alone. It was Christianity’s

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eschatological dimension, which had been suppressed by the churches, that reflected the power of hope in future salvation.991 Kaltenbrunner’s penchant for mysticism thus also held a solution for his problem with utopia. He approached utopian thought with a similar ambivalence to the way he approached Christianity. While he defined conservative thinking as genuinely anti-utopian,992 he did not wish to forego the idea of forming the future – or better still, the colonization of the future horizon. We have already seen this with regard to his view on future research and planning. Kaltenbrunner’s conception of utopia hence also reflects his complex departure from left-wing thought. His examination of utopian ideas centred on Ernst Bloch, and Kaltenbrunner honed his understanding of utopia using his example. On the one hand, Kaltenbrunner appreciated the ‘utopian conscience that salutarily reminds us of how little conditions are firmly in place, and how variable and changeable they are’. Utopian thinking promoted the critical mind and was a ‘rejection of blind adaptation’. On the other hand, he saw the dangers of utopian thinking, which was ultimately ‘totalitarian’ as it demanded ‘unconditional control over the future as a whole’. Kaltenbrunner made a distinction here, however, from another form of utopia, which he called ‘broken’, one that was aware of its own limitations and was content ‘with mere experimental validity for the time being’. He saw this form of utopia as the ‘methodical gymnastics of our sense of possibility’ and as ‘self-critical and hypothetical’.993 Kaltenbrunner’s conservatism was marked by ‘reservations critical of utopia’.994 Kaltenbrunner not only found left-wing utopianism compelling; he also took much from anarchism, and sought to learn from that model as well. Although he viewed anarchism as a stream of thought from a bygone age, with solutions that could not live up to the complexity of the times, Kaltenbrunner did hope to see certain elements of anarchism ‘passed on and preserved’.995 Kaltenbrunner’s sympathies for Mikhail Bakunin and Hugo Ball also lay in their mystical sides, which were inspired by Christianity in both cases.996 They also numbered among a series of mavericks who piqued Kaltenbrunner’s particular interest. He elevated them to ideal types of a conservative lifestyle in modernity, as he dramatically expressed it: ‘Being conservative means today, and will likely mean well into the future, being individual, alone, scarred’.997 In this manner, Kaltenbrunner’s arguments on a conservatism of ‘resistance’998 involved, time and again, the two figures of the nonconformist and the partisan, the latter of which he very clearly connected with Carl Schmitt.999 Kaltenbrunner resolutely made this type of lifestyle into his own, and he spent most of the rest of his life, from the 1980s onwards, secluded in the Black Forest, where he fashioned himself as a mystical hermit of the Christian tradition.1000 From where, however, did Kaltenbrunner derive the hope that his concept of conservatism would prove to be a success? For one thing, he believed he was in a situation of historical upheaval, which seemed to play into the hands of

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conservatism. And for another, he placed his trust in the ‘conservatism of the little people’ – that is, in workers as the ‘chief force of conservatism’ in ‘highly industrialized states’.1001 He was not alone in this regard. Armin Mohler did so as well – and not only him: the phrase ‘the silent majority’, introduced by Richard Nixon, traversed the globe in the 1970s.1002 It did not, however, arise much in the West German debate on the concept of conservatism – and when it did, it was used by the Right1003 – but the international phrase was reflected in its more specifically West German expression ‘spiral of silence’ (Schweigespirale), which was first coined by the conservative political scientist Elisabeth NoelleNeumann in 1974.1004 Noelle-Neumann integrated it into her theory of public opinion, arguing in a 1974 Festschrift for Arnold Gehlen that a majority of the voting public did not dare to express their political opinions if they believed they were in the minority. This would lead to representatives of the majority opinion expressing their opinions all the more decisively so that many others would adopt this opinion, for fear of social isolation. The political side that dominated the media would consequently go on to win elections.1005 During the 1970s, when the CDU was not able to win a sufficient number of seats in the Bundestag elections of 1972 or 1976 to form a government, this argument was of course a political statement and a continuation of the conservative criticism of the mass media that was supposedly dominated by the Left. The international discussion of the silent majority was indeed only able to appear plausible in the context of the thesis of natural conservatism of the ‘little man’. The aim of the advocates of conservatism was hence the activation of the ‘pool of silent, unreflective conservativity’.1006 And, as Kaltenbrunner believed, this required an intellectual basis. That was in fact how he viewed his own role in the conservative awakening that he so hoped for. He believed that this shift towards conservatism was, if not an international movement, certainly a ‘Western’ movement, as the perceived crisis was a phenomenon that affected all capitalist countries. ‘The conservative’, as Kaltenbrunner stressed, ‘can no longer keep to the borders of his country in an era of global civil war and various political, military and economic international’ movements.1007 For Kaltenbrunner, this included, first and foremost, the United States, but also countries such as Sweden and Italy. It was the 1973 international congress of conservative intellectuals that took place in Turin that particularly fed Kaltenbrunner’s hopes for the formation of a ‘conservative international’.1008 While Schelsky, as we have seen, believed Germany to be under ongoing threats by movements that had emerged in ‘the West’, Kaltenbrunner continued to believe in the regenerative strength of the West, which was to recapture ‘an awareness of its historical and political identity’ by refocusing on conservatism. Intellectuals were to be the driving force behind this ‘renaissance of the West’.1009 It must be noted, however, that this was about intellectuals and not political parties. As Kaltenbrunner apodictically established, at least in West Germany,

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there were no parties that could be seen as the ‘political representative of the conservative idea’,1010 thus drawing a clear line of demarcation with the Union parties.1011 He instead believed that conservative ideas were alive within all the parties. Conservatism was conceived here as being non-partisan and removed from the democratic competition among parties – a conviction that also connected with a long-standing, genuine German tradition of conservative self-definition, within which the anti-democratic tendency of German conservatism perpetuated itself. Instead of organizing themselves in political parties, ‘small, disciplined, intellectually and organizationally linked minorities’ were to consolidate themselves in ‘conservative cells and grassroots groups’ in order to ‘penetrate the silent majorities’. These elite conservative groups were to be complemented by citizens’ initiatives on specific topics. While conservatives did have to continue to make do with a partisan existence in the 1970s, he compared this with a ‘paratrooper behind enemy lines’. Kaltenbrunner’s plan for a conservative renewal bore military traits. As he urged his readers, conservatives would have to learn from the Left in this regard.1012 He had not commented on this in his oft reviewed article in the volume Rekonstruktion des Konservatismus. Whether this was a strategic decision or whether he subsequently sharpened his tone and radicalized his thought remains an open question. For Kurt Sontheimer, in any case, Kaltenbrunner’s theoretical outline lacked any foundation in the political situation of the day, as well as lacking any concrete points or political content. He found the ambivalences within Kaltenbrunner’s conceptual choices to be particularly questionable, with concepts such as stability, order and institution just as applicable for use by anti-liberal, dictatorial regimes as they were for liberal forms of political rule. He deemed Kaltenbrunner’s vocabulary to be acceptable only in ‘connection with the values and aims that liberalism and the human socialism that emerged from it as a countermovement moved into our field of vision’ – which is to say, only within the context of liberal democracy. Even if Sontheimer did not impute any anti-democratic impetus to Kaltenbrunner’s efforts, he did believe the spirit of the Weimar New Right to have been resurrected in certain places. He warned the Merkur readers of Kaltenbrunner’s ‘honourable attempt at founding a philosophy of the centre, which however has the flaw of standing one-sidedly on the right’.1013 This was indeed the case. Ulrich Greiner also hit the mark in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung in his criticism of Kaltenbrunner’s ambivalent choice of words. There, he laid bare the ‘anti-enlightenment’ foundations of Kaltenbrunner’s conservative theory, and described them as such – the label of enlightened conservatism was completely ‘illogical’ as was the idea of ‘enlightenment as a conservative task’. And like Sontheimer, Greiner insisted that any conservatism to be taken seriously must not retreat to the philosophical (or better, metapolitical) level, but needed to find very concrete answers to the political issues of the day.1014 Kaltenbrunner made the conscious decision not

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to take that path. By rejecting the political challenges of conservatism within democracy, he called his project of ‘enlightened conservatism’ entirely into question. He had written in his ‘Ten Commandments for Conservatives’ that the conservatives of the day were those who ‘took the side of democracy’.1015 That appeared doubtful if one was to take Kaltenbrunner’s outline for a ‘creative conservatism’ seriously. Its right-wing character was unmistakable. Gerd-Klaus Kaltenbrunner became a key figure in the West German conservatism of the 1970s. Not only was his Herderbücherei initiative an important tool for conservative argumentation, he also was adept at widely disseminating his own texts, and blurring the lines between liberal and right-wing advocates of conservatism. He was just as present a figure in Deutschen Zeitung. Christ und Welt as he was in Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte and the CDU’s own Die politische Meinung, although he was no longer published in Die Zeit, for which he had regularly written reviews, up to and including 1968. He also would publish in journals founded in the early 1970s to provide conservatism with new energy and a right-wing profile. This included Criticón (founded in 1970),1016 Konservativ heute (1970),1017 Scheidewege (1971)1018 and Zeitbühne (1972).1019 These journals provided a platform to writers who had already viewed themselves as ‘right-wing’ conservatives in the 1950s and 1960s, and who now sought to steer the conversation on conservatism in their own direction. The journals also functioned as hubs for intellectual networks within the New Right. The minds behind these titles were indeed successful in influencing intellectual discourse, having New Right positions heard and, not least, driving in their own conceptual pillars. Despite their significance, they have yet to be properly investigated in historical research. Knowledge of these figures, however, is of central importance to understanding the debate over conservatism and to shedding light on the right-wing intellectual spectrum. These self-declared defenders of ‘true conservatism’ were resolute in their attempts at occupying the concept of conservatism. This endowed them with importance well beyond the narrow circles of the New Right. Scheidewege was undoubtedly one of the best-known New Right publications, which developed quite an impact within the environmentalist spectrum of the 1970s.1020 The journal, however, stood somewhat apart from other New Right publications. Founded by the entrepreneur Max Himmelheber along with Friedrich Georg Jünger and the Freiburg-based philosopher Franz Vonessen, the journal would become the foremost forum for ecological conservative thought, critical of technology and progress. Scheidewege sought to examine ‘the self-image of our times in all its manifestations and qualities of consequence in order to unmask the self-satisfied errors and distortions that it contains’, as well as to put an end to this ‘tepid and complacent self-image in order to make self-knowledge possible’, as Friedrich Georg Jünger phrased it in his programmatic text in the journal’s first edition.1021 The publication was founded in two networks that had

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emerged from the mid-1950s: the circle of friends in the orbit of the Freiburgbased legal historian Franz Beyerle, which included Himmelheber, Jünger and Vonessen, who edited the journal; and the Gesellschaft für Anthropoökologie (Society for anthropoecology), led by the Bonn-based sociologist Friedrich Wagner, who emerged in the 1960s as a voice of caution regarding the dangers of atomic physics and genetic technology.1022 The project was intended to be elitist – the initiators only trusted an elite to usher in the radical change they deemed necessary. The philosophical style of the articles mirrored this as well, reflecting an understanding of politics that was cultivated in the circles of the Weimar New Right after 1945, and in which both Jünger brothers played a central role. They did not wish to lower themselves to be involved in democratic party politics but instead subscribed to an understanding of ‘metapolitics’. Scheidewege was informed by Friedrich Georg Jünger’s philosophical criticism of technology, which he had been developing since the 1930s,1023 while also exploring elements of ecological thought, especially the idea of natural resource cycles, which could be directly connected to Jünger’s cyclical model of temporality.1024 The 1975 Bussau Manifesto systematized the ideas of the journal’s circle, painted a gloomy picture of humanity’s self-destructive potential, and demanded a radical departure from the economic growth paradigm through ‘controlled self-regulation’. Decentralization, life in ‘manageable spaces’, deurbanization and ruralization, industrial dismantlement, the development of alternative technologies, a departure from the principle of capitalism, deceleration, the protection of tradition and of a culture ‘rooted to the soil’, a reflection on what is more essential and enduring, and those ‘values that cannot be manufactured and sold’ – those were the solutions on offer that were meant to stave off dreadful catastrophe. The goal was that of ‘stability through ordered diversity’.1025 The writers of the Bussau Manifesto were silent, however, on how this radical restructuring of society was to be achieved. Gerhard Helmut Schwabe was somewhat clearer about this in 1972 when he wrote: The vital reorientation can only be achieved either through draconian laws (limitations on democratic freedoms, the end of market liberalism) or through new ethics, about which nobody will be able to say where we will receive it from. The person of today, seduced by consumption, must be saved from suicide by being forced to make material sacrifices.1026

Authoritarian solutions were thus propagated just as much by the writers at Scheidewege as they were by Herbert Gruhl from the spectrum of the founding generation of the Green Party.1027 The journal did not, however, involve itself with the debate over conservatism. There were no discussions of the concept of conservatism, which, as we have seen, were omnipresent everywhere else in the 1970s and were employed towards language-political aims. The silence in Scheidewege on the matter

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therefore had to have been an intentional silence. At most, the journal established that the ‘conservation of nature’ was a conservative if not reactionary concept, as it set limitations to people’s compulsion to bring about change. Conservatism was, moreover, declared to be part of modernity: calling for both ‘being modern’ and ‘conservative behaviour’ were among the paradoxes inherent to the ‘conservation of nature’, as Schwabe maintained in 1971.1028 Apart from this, however, Scheidewege stayed away from the debate over conservatism. Taking a position here would have seemed to go against the grain of the metapolitical self-image of the authors. Ernst Jünger, moreover, who regularly submitted his diary entries to the journal, had already dismissed the concept in the 1950s as being no longer suited to the present day, as we have seen above, and even more so if one sought to bring about a radical alternative interpretation of the times. This no longer appeared to be describable using the established concepts of political language. Deutschland-Magazin also refrained from entering the discourse on conservatism. Founded in 1969 as the mouthpiece of the Deutschland-Stiftung, a foundation led by Kurt Ziesel, it sought to champion positions on the Right with an explicitly political thrust.1029 Ziesel, a staunch National Socialist and antisemite, who had only converted to become a democrat on the surface, had the Union parties as his target audience.1030 He won over the elderly Konrad Adenauer to take on the honorary presidency of the Deutschland-Stiftung in 1966, which then began to award a Konrad Adenauer Prize for writers and academics from the conservative to right-wing spectrum. The foundation hoped to serve as a link between right-wing journalism and the CDU and CSU. Deutschland-Magazin was meant to present a voice from the right to oppose the perceived domination of ‘leftist’ opinions in the media. Its goal was to ‘serve the internal recovery and external strengthening of the German people beyond the one-sidedness of the mass media’. Driven by anti-communism and a fear of socialism, DeutschlandMagazin advocated a strong state and boosting a national consciousness within it: a state to be taken seriously by dint of a solid Bundeswehr, on equal footing in international affairs with other powers, staking a clear claim to Germany’s ‘lost areas in the East’, and internally strengthened with a comprehensive policy of order. Ziesel claimed, nonetheless, to represent the ‘democratic centre’.1031 While Scheidewege and Deutschland-Magazin did not concern themselves with the concept of conservatism, Konservativ heute, Criticón and Zeitbühne did so with all the more intensity. The three journals each had their own identity and were each supported by independently operating groups, even as they were interlinked with one another. They formed a rather diverse spectrum that presented a right-wing conservatism for the 1970s. A number of individual men did, however, set the tone here: for example, Armin Mohler, Caspar von Schrenck-Notzing, Hans Joachim Schoeps, Emil Franzel (until his death in 1976), Erik von Kuehnelt-Leddihn, William S. Schlamm and Hans Georg von

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Studnitz. Why, though, did it come to this flood of new journals around the year 1970? They represented both a reaction to the extra-parliamentary opposition and the student movement, and to the formation of the governing SocialLiberal coalition, led by Willy Brandt in 1969. In his words of introduction to Konservativ heute, Hans Joachim Schoeps believed the Federal Republic to be on the brink of collapse: Nobody knows for certain whether the prospects of the state in which we live … have not already been exhausted. Too much of the state’s authority has already been squandered in the previous years of its existence, and the call ‘Down with the condemnation of authority!’ has perhaps come just as the clock was striking twelve – so that it is too late.1032

He called on the conservatives to join in ‘resistance’ and ‘re-action’ and thus also to ‘transform’ the concept of the reactionary into a ‘name of honour’.1033 Since his time in American exile and his conversion from communism to the incipient American neoconservatism, William S. Schlamm fought precisely on this journalistic front.1034 He fulfilled a lifelong dream of his with the founding of his own journal, Zeitbühne, in 1972. The title was reminiscent of the journal Weltbühne, for which he had written in the 1930s. Zeitbühne offered to its readers ‘William S. Schlamm packed into a 50-page paperback format’,1035 a publisher, editor and author all in one, in a ‘permanent struggle against the lack of convictions of the Christian Abendland that has been degenerating since the fin de siècle’, thus defaming his political opponents with aggressive language.1036 Schlamm attempted to save the concept of conservatism in the Zeitbühne from being – in his words – ‘gassed to death’ by Spiegel editors, Spiegel readers and other ‘gifted numbskulls who set the tone in the new German cultural politics’.1037 Bernd Motschmann saw Konservativ heute in precisely this stance of ‘resistance’, as the voice of a ‘movement that supports the individual and strengthens his backbone’, a ‘community of a conviction that it professes publicly’, as the medium for ‘standing up publicly for one’s own conviction in word and deed’.1038 Originally published by the Gesellschaft für Konservative Publizistik e.V. and then by the Verlag für Konservative Publizistik GmbH, and run by the Berlinbased political scientist Klaus Motschmann (who took over the editing role from his brother Jens Motschmann in 1972), the journal continued to exist until 1981, when it was absorbed into Criticón.1039 The brothers Motschmann were part of the Protestant Right, which took an organizational form in 1966 as the Notgemeinschaft evangelischer Deutscher.1040 Konservativ heute provided a platform for this movement as well. Representatives of a Prussian-rooted, aristocratic conservatism of the Weimar Era DNVP also converged around the journal. It itself was sparked by an initiative on the part of Hansjoachim von Rohr, a member of the Pomeranian rural aristocracy, who represented the

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DNVP in the Prussian State Parliament from 1924 to 1932 and presided over the Pomeranian Agrarian League. In 1933, he became the state secretary in the Reich Ministry for Economics, Agriculture and Food, as appointed by Hitler’s minister in charge, Alfred Hugenberg. Rohr, however, was only able to remain in office until September 1933 due to his continual insistence on maintaining autonomy from the NSDAP. He became involved with the Nationale Rechte (National Right Party) after 1945, which formed an electoral alliance with the FDP for the 1950 election of the Landtag of North Rhine-Westphalia, which allowed Rohr to serve as a member of that state parliament until 1954. The splinter party, which consisted of the remains of the Deutsche Konservative Partei – Deutsche Aufbaupartei (DKP-DAP), was ultimately absorbed into the FDP.1041 Hansjoachim von Rohr continued to seek an influence on agrarian policy even after leaving the state parliament, using his own journal Stimmen zur Agrarwissenschaft to achieve that end.1042 Hans-Joachim Schoeps, a professor of religious history in Erlangen, also worked to preserve the tradition of Prussian conservatism, as we have seen above.1043 A regular contributor to Konservativ heute, Schoeps did not divert from the course he had taken in the 1950s, and sought to organize the conservative forces in the Federal Republic in a Konservative Sammlung (conservative joining of forces). He defined conservatism in line with the Prussian model of the nineteenth century. Schoeps believed the ‘Old Conservatives’ to have had only one goal: ‘stabilizing existing orders as a means of protecting them from the impending flood of mass society’. He believed monarchy to be the ideal type of state, was not shy about expressing his scepticism concerning democracy, spoke out on inequality among people and the necessity of hierarchies and elites, insisted on the primacy of the state, underscored the significance of authority and order, railed against consumption society and advocated German reunification as this would bring about the ‘homecoming and resurrection of Prussia’, without which the Federal Republic had no future.1044 For him, the task of conservatives was to ‘offer resistance to this era of universal dissolution’1045 and to bring about order in a ‘world out of control’.1046 Schoeps drew attention to the goals and demands of the Konservative Sammlung with an advertisement printed in Die Welt, Welt am Sonntag and Bild in January 1970. The Konservative Sammlung had been called into being at a November 1969 meeting near Frankfurt that he initiated among the members of his conservative circles. This group espoused the ‘authoritarian character of the state’, advocated for the Bundeswehr, hoped to develop the Bundesrat into a ‘true upper house’ of parliament with the goal of ‘the formation of political nobility’, supported the direct election of the federal president, called for the censorship of the press and wished to change the democratic right to vote to put an end to the equal distribution of votes.1047 In his strategy, Schoeps counted on the CDU and CSU in a complete misperception of the democratic realities.

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While his Konservative Sammlung was to act to occupy the cultural space beyond politics through individual personalities and the activities of local associations, he placed his greatest hopes in the infiltration of the Union parties. Schoeps was indeed enough of a realist to understand that any new party would have a poor outlook.1048 He mostly hoped to divide the Union parties, and pushed for the founding of a fourth, decidedly conservative party based on the CSU and the CDU state parties in Lower Saxony and Schleswig-Holstein.1049 Until then, he suggested, the Konservative Sammlung was to form as a ‘conservative working group within the CDU/CSU’.1050 Nothing, however, came of his lofty plans; the Konservative Sammlung would only last until its dissolution in spring 1970. From Schoeps’s perspective of disappointment, this was precipitated by ‘excessive clubmanship and the satisfaction of the personal ambitions of unsuitable people’.1051 Here, he must have been chiefly referring to Armin Mohler. While Mohler had been present at the November 1969 meeting, he took a clear position opposing Schoeps’s ideas on conservatism and the programme of the proposed Konservative Sammlung. He was able to reach broader circles with his opinions through his extensive correspondence by personal letter, which even extended to Franz Josef Strauß. The essence of Mohler’s arguments was, generally speaking, that Schoeps’s conservatism was a remnant of the nineteenth century and was poorly suited to the challenges of the day. It instead extended a type of conservatism to the left ‘that the Left could only hope for: respectable, harmless, not at all dangerous and somewhat comical’. Mohler railed, however, against Schoeps’s Konservative Sammlung, and not only due to ideological differences. He recognized the consequences in terms of conceptual politics that would result from defining the concept of conservatism along the lines of the Prussian tradition of the nineteenth century. This would lead to his own New Right variant of the concept, which he had continually worked to establish since the founding of the Federal Republic, to be identified with right-wing extremism and excluded from the realm of the speakable in the democracy of West Germany.1052 This was the first major rupture in the networks connected to the right-wing journals founded in the 1970s, with conservatism identified with the Prussian monarchy and its state power on one side of the ledger, and the Weimar New Right on the other. And the networks were divided by a second schism as well: those thinkers and writers who saw conservatism as being intrinsically linked to Christianity, and those who expressly rejected this notion. Armin Mohler and Caspar von Schrenck-Notzing were leading figures among the latter, while Erik von Kuehnelt-Leddihn and Thomas Molnar were examples of the former. This dispute was carried out openly in Criticón.1053 A third division was caused by the position of conservatism with regard to liberal democracy, which was a matter of controversy as well: while the concept of conservatism portrayed as anti-liberal and given anti-democratic connotations, voices were also to be heard in Konservativ heute and Criticón that spoke out for a ‘liberal conservatism’,

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such as Matthias Walden in 1974.1054 And a fourth rupture within the networks pitted ecologically informed thinkers, who were critical of progress and reduced conservatism to a turn away from industrial society, against those who rejected this and who placed their hopes in technocratic ideas. A wide variety of definitions of the concept of conservatism collided within the networks linked to these journals, which had all been connected to the concept since the nineteenth century. The expectation was frustrated here that the collective concept of conservative could be used to organize a camp in opposition to the student movement and societal liberalization. The ‘struggle over naming’ left its mark on the atmosphere, particularly within these networks. There was a bitter dispute over who was to define the concept of conservatism in the 1970s – hence the volumes that were written with the goal of establishing its fundamental orientation. This had the mark of a claim to exclusivity in its style and aims, which only served to deepen the divides even further. Notwithstanding their high-handed attitude and lofty political aspirations for a Konservative Sammlung, the writers at Criticón, Konservativ heute and Zeitbühne failed to even define their key concept. Schrenck-Notzing and Mohler, who were behind the course taken by Criticón, were particularly responsible for the fact that none of the variants of the concept of conservatism, whether Prussian monarchist, Christian or somewhat liberal, could ultimately establish themselves. Criticón was created as a platform for the circles in and around Munich that had begun to form an organizational basis in associations and foundations in the early 1960s. Their conceptual initiative around 1970 followed developments that had begun in the first years of the Federal Republic and that had party-political dimensions as well. This requires further examination: the aforementioned Deutschland-Stiftung led by Kurt Ziesel formed one piece of the mosaic within Munich’s right-wing network. Ziesel, moreover, was one of the founders of the right-wing extremist Gesellschaft für freie Publizistik (Society for free journalism) in 1960, and who continued to work for the group in the following years.1055 Armin Mohler served first as secretary and then as managing director of the Munich-based Carl Friedrich von Siemens Foundation, beginning in 1961.1056 The contact to Siemens was made via the former SS lieutenant colonel, Franz Riedweg, the son-in-law of Werner von Blomberg, who served as minister for the Reichswehr and Reich minister for war, respectively, from 1933 to 1938. Riedweg, who like Mohler was born in Switzerland, was part of the circle of the Gesellschaft für Wehrkunde (Society for military studies), which emerged in 1952 from within Nazi, Wehrmacht and SS networks in Munich. The privately organized group was established as a ‘round table’, to which Armin Mohler regularly travelled from Paris and which also included Schrenck-Notzing, the writer Winfried Martini and the Swiss right-wing populist James Schwarzenbach.1057 Schrenck-Notzing and Mohler had become close friends by 1952.1058 Beyond

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that, a variety of organizations and representatives of expellees from the former German East (Vertriebene) began to gather in Munich.1059 Emil Franzel, who, as we have seen, was active in the Abendlandbewegung in the 1950s and had been seeking to anchor the concept of conservatism in Catholicism since the 1930s, provided this milieu with a voice in the 1960s, and 1970s as well.1060 As mentioned above, these circles placed their hopes in Franz Josef Strauß in the 1960s, and they strategically expanded their relations with CSU. Armin Mohler was a driving force here as he saw Strauß as a German version of de Gaulle, the ‘great individual’ Germany had been waiting for after Adenauer. Modern politics, Mohler believed, was founded on three elements: first, the people (Volk) or ‘masses’; second, ‘committees’ or ‘small circles’ grouped according to ideology – like those in which Mohler himself was active; and third, the great individuals, who were able to establish ‘direct contact with the masses’ and thus form a greater will. He found that parties were of secondary importance while democratically legitimized parliaments were nowhere to be found in his ideas. Instead: ‘The phenomenon of “power” arises in the meeting of an outstanding personality and the masses – and nothing can be achieved in politics without power as an engine’.1061 This was ‘what the Germans fear’, which was the title (Was die Deutschen fürchten) and main thesis of a pamphlet published by Mohler in 1965. It was the source, Mohler found, of the attacks of the press on Strauß, a press that he believed to hold a left-wing monopoly on opinion. This, for him, was what led to Strauß’s popularity, which seemed to embody the will of the ‘people’, a people that surely did not read Der Spiegel – which Mohler saw as the product of a left-wing journalism bent on undermining the state – people who could not be reached by ‘their language, their images or undertones’.1062 This was ultimately the source of the ‘national masochism’1063 that Mohler denounced: the confrontation with National Socialism and its crimes that Mohler castigated as a sort of ‘hype’ over dealing with the country’s history (Bewältigungsrummel), which was preventing the Federal Republic from representing its own true national interests and from understanding politics in real existing terms.1064 Mohler relativized the singular nature of the Holocaust,1065 polemicized against the Western allies and against intellectuals living in exile, and drew parallels between the ‘centuries of persecution suffered by the Jews’ and the current situation of the Germans, in that their ‘entire national tradition’ was being placed on ‘criminal trial’.1066 A revisionist evaluation of the Nazi regime thus loomed behind Mohler’s frontal attack on the judicial investigation of National Socialist crimes, which was supported by Schrenck-Notzing as well.1067 Mohler, however, left this at insinuations, careful not to cross the lines of the speakable in 1960s West Germany. Mohler thus advocated for Franz Josef Strauß, who gratefully accepted his support. The Spiegel affair of 1962 played a role here, which Strauß chalked up

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to the ‘left-wing’ domination of the media and the intellectual sphere, leading to his considerable efforts towards establishing a counterweight to this in the media and the intellectual world. Mohler not only provided Strauß with an exposé on Group 47,1068 but also strongly supported the Demokratisch-Konservative Korrespondenz (DKK, also known as Pressa-Artikeldienst), founded in 1964, a press service made up of an ‘information service’ and an ‘article service’ that provided a forum to the Munich-based right-wing intellectual circles, and a sympathetic voice to Strauß.1069 The DKK was closely connected with Vertriebenen groups as well as the Deutschland-Stiftung, both with regard to its editors and contributors.1070 When the CSU Board member and Vertriebenen representative Hans Neuwirth left the DKK as managing director in early 1966, at a time when the service was financially deep in the red (the DKK had been founded in the aftermath of Neuwirth’s heated exchange with Federal Minister for Foreign Affairs Gerhard Schröder on the proper stance of the Federal Republic towards the Warsaw Pact),1071 this function was passed to Erich Maier, another Vertriebenen representative with an incriminating Nazi past, who also served the Deutschland-Stiftung as treasurer.1072 Emil Franzel, who worked intensively for the DKK, not only served as a liaison to the Deutschland-Stiftung but also to Occidental circles.1073 The DKK received strong financial support from the CSU until the 1965 Karlsruhe Court ruling on party financing eliminated this form of subsidization. Marcel Hepp took care of the organizational and financial restructuring process, as directed by Strauß.1074 The enterprise was subsequently financed through subscriptions, contributions from the industrial sector and the Springer publishing company.1075 Strauß was particularly impressed by Mohler’s 1965 polemic pamphlet Was die Deutschen fürchten (which was hardly surprising, considering the role Strauß was assigned in it). He read the book ‘with enjoyment’ and frequently recommended it.1076 Mohler also served to arrange contacts for him with figures such as the Nuremberg-based publisher Joseph Drexel, who continued to view himself as a National Bolshevist, even into the 1960s, and agreed with Mohler and Strauß on the subject of Gaullism.1077 It was not only that Mohler flattered Strauß but they shared a Gaullist understanding of geopolitics in the 1960s, even if they disagreed on crucial points.1078 Strauß’s fulminations against the ‘misunderstood atonement-Germanness’ (falsch verstandenes Sühnedeutschtum), moreover, connected with Mohler’s polemics against attempts to come to terms with the past that were supposedly externally imposed by the allies.1079 Importantly, Strauß used Mohler as a contact to the Right, which he sought to link to the Union parties, especially as the NPD had been threatening to become a political power at the time.1080 As can be seen through the intra-party squabbling over the former high-level Nazi official Max Frauendorfer, who hoped to represent the CSU in state or federal parliament, Strauß was willing to open the gates of the CSU to former National Socialists if they did not oppose

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the basic democratic consensus or the party’s views – even over the strong objections of older party members, who had suffered personal persecution and humiliation under Nazi rule and who saw the founding of the Union parties as having emerged from the spirit of the resistance.1081 As Strauß declared at a CSU state meeting in June 1961: ‘Should anyone have fallen victim to political error in the past, the standards that we apply to conservatives should not be any stricter than those that the SPD applies to Communists, of whom there are a vast number in their ranks’.1082 The concept of conservatism was thus used by Strauß to include the entire right-wing spectrum of former National Socialists. This narrowed its meaning and underscored its anti-liberal heritage – all at a time when Strauß, following Seidel, had been seeking to anchor a democratic concept of conservatism in the political language of the party.1083 The ambivalent nature of conservatism in the Federal Republic was clearly reflected here. The right-wing occupation of the concept of conservatism that Mohler was advancing had apparently had its intended effect. This was indeed reflected in the very name of the new press service, Demokratisch-Konservative Korrespondenz. The strategic motivation of Strauß’s opening of the CSU to the Right, which he sought to control through its inclusion, was candidly acknowledged in a letter by the DKK to the Federal Press and Information Office. It explained that the DKK had been founded to ‘reach out to right-wing intellectual groups, students and youth organizations to gain their support for democratic politics in line with the federal government in the face of the pressure exerted by right-wing radical circles’.1084 Managing director Erich Maier wrote to Strauß of the role he believed the DKK would have in the fight against the ‘extreme right’: after the DKK had initially targeted the Left, in 1966 it was a matter of ‘draining the water from the NPD propagandists’.1085 Strauß indeed believed that he could meet the challenge of the NPD by taking a more nationalistic course. Speaking to the CSU Board in March 1967, he called for ‘somewhat more national consciousness, somewhat more national backbone, in roughly the same dosage that Kiesinger exhibited … a somewhat more confidence-inspiring attitude to show that we are not willing to be insulted by some, kicked by others and taken advantage of by still others’. He hence also expressed his confidence in Chancellor Kiesinger to provide this form of political leadership.1086 The attempt to gather all of the Right under the flag of conservatism would extend throughout the 1960s, and was not, initially, directly connected to the extra-parliamentary opposition or the student protests. These developments would, however, provide impetus and, paradoxically, a basis of legitimacy that had previously been absent within the political culture of the Federal Republic with its aim at finding consensus. Even as Mohler, Franzel, Ziesel and other members of the network in and around Munich boasted of their closeness to Strauß and of their political influence, this influence remained negligible in reality, which only further fuelled their complaints over the domination of

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left-wing opinions in the press. Many writers, furthermore, who were themselves considered to be conservative, sought to distance themselves from these circles. And they knew precisely where they could hit them hardest, rejecting the claims of the Deutschland-Stiftung circles that they were in fact conservative. Following the awarding of the foundation’s Konrad Adenauer Prize to Armin Mohler, Bernt von Heiseler and Ludwig Freund in 1967, Karl-Heinz Bohrer characterized them in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung as ideologues and fanatics but not conservatives. He wrote that putting things into ‘practice was and is the greatest chance for conservatism’, and only when this chance was taken would conservatism have a chance to develop further.1087 Paul Sethe argued similarly in Die Zeit: the Deutschland-Stiftung was not driven and surrounded by conservatives but in fact by anti-Bolshevists. As Sethe underscored: ‘In the systematic demonization of their opponents, and in the subordination of all state interests to this substitute religion, demagogic elements become apparent that are alien to conservative thought’. He added that ‘a conservative movement’ was more than necessary but still appeared to be far off in the distance.1088 Very similar debates over the demarcation between conservatism and rightwing extremism were carried out within the Deutschland-Stiftung itself, just a year later. This involved the awarding of the Konrad Adenauer Prize to Emil Franzel and Frank Thiess,1089 which was met with a storm of outrage in the media and led to withdrawal from the association on the part of several board members and its honorary president Alfons Goppel, the minister president of Bavaria.1090 Sigbert Mohn, co-owner and partner at Bertelsmann, explained his resignation as a board member with the necessary distinction to be made between a ‘conservative’ and ‘restorative’ and ‘nationalist’ tendencies.1091 Helmut Krausnick, director of the Institute for Contemporary History, played a decisive role in this publicly established demarcation between a democratic conservatism and right-wing extremism in West Germany. The struggle against ‘neonationalistic aspirations’ was for him, as Wolfgang Benz affirmed in his obituary, a matter close to his heart and founded in his own life experience.1092 Born in 1905, Krausnick joined the NSDAP in 1932 and began his career at the Zentralstelle für Nachkriegsgeschichte (Central Office for Postwar History).1093 After 1945, he distanced himself from National Socialism, and viewed research on the Nazi regime as having cautionary power.1094 His efforts in opposition to the Deutschland-Stiftung need to be viewed in this context. Krausnick not only mobilized the CDU leadership against the awarding of the Konrad Adenauer Prize to Franzel and Thiess1095 but also organized a public intervention on the part of a large number of leading West German historians, political scientists and educators. ‘We submit’, the declaration stated, that many attempts had already been made, in earlier decades of German national and intellectual history and using similar word imagery and leitmotivs, to frame

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attitudes of defiance against the modern pluralistic development of state and society as an ideal of the ‘true German’ and of a healthy national consciousness. The success and effects of political right-wing extremism, which catapulted the German nation into the deepest calamity, chiefly resulted from the forces of the political centre neglecting to draw clear lines of demarcation to a political stance that was aimed not at the prudent preservation and reform of the existing but at the propagation of backward-looking utopias, and which often achieved its true effects in the defamation of political opponents.

The winners chosen by the Deutschland-Stiftung, Franzel and Thiess, had, according to the declaration, clearly crossed the ‘boundaries of the basic conservative position in the framework of a democratic society’ in their publications in the Deutsche National- und Soldaten-Zeitung.1096 The withdrawal of the democratic voices, however, also entailed conceding the debate over the concept of conservatism within the Deutschland-Stiftung. Nothing now stood in the way of its further radicalization. Ziesel’s smokescreen strategy was, however, revealed in the process. After the storm that followed the awarding of the prize in 1968, both in the media and within the organization, it was extremely difficult to believe that the foundation stood for a ‘progressive-conservative position’, as he claimed, or that it had ‘nothing to do with reactionary ideas’.1097 Writing in Die Welt, Bernd Nellessen clearly summarized the result of this conceptual clarification: ‘If what they [Emil Franzel and Frank Thiess] are articulating is supposed to be “conservative”, conservatism would signify wishing to turn back the wheel of history’, with the ‘ignorance of social and historical facts’ being celebrated and triumphed. Nellessen concluded that the Deutschland-Stiftung negated the ‘difference between respectable conservatism and reactionary defiance’.1098 Helmut Schelsky also undertook work towards a semantic distinction in 1969, albeit not publicly. After reading Arnold Gehlen’s Moral und Hypermoral (Morals and hypermorals), a biting polemic on liberal and humanitarian thought as well as a reckoning with the student movement and the New Left,1099 Schelsky, who had been a loyal student of his, accused him of besmirching a ‘politically realistic conservatism, founded in order, legal rigour and dignity’.1100 Jürgen Habermas lodged fundamental criticism at Gehlen’s book for similar reasons, depicted him as a dangerous representative of the ‘intellectual Right’ – and not of conservatism – and portrayed him as being in close proximity to the Weimar New Right.1101 This brought about the end of Gehlen’s friendship with Schelsky, who would however repeat Gehlen’s scornful criticism of intellectuals a few years later.1102 All of these episodes underscore both the radicalization of the Right in the late 1960s as well as the efforts made towards drawing a boundary within West German conservatism. The fact that the NPD, for lack of better alternatives, also availed itself of the concept of conservatism in spring 1970 demonstrated how necessary such a distinction had become for representatives of democratic

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conservatism.1103 The impulse for the formation of a liberal conservatism did not only derive from ‘1968’ and was not solely a reaction to the student movement and the New Left, but was equally the result of the New Right’s gaining strength and sharpening its image. Gehlen’s Moral und Hypermoral became a most welcome point of reference for the emerging West German intellectual New Right in the 1970s.1104 The first edition of Criticón was fully dedicated to this, describing it as ‘by far the most important non-leftist political book that has appeared in our times’. For Mohler, who provided the introduction to the journal, the book was proof that ‘non-leftist thought’ did not exhaust itself ‘in a retreat to “instinct”, “tradition”, “irrationality”’ but could in fact be ‘razor-sharp’. Gehlen’s thinking followed behavioural sciences as the ‘most modern of all sciences’, in the knowledge that humanity was currently in the ‘age of biology’. The anthropology of ‘non-leftist thought’ could hence only be biologistic in nature.1105 Mohler saw this as ‘realism’, a ‘matter-of-fact, sober’ approach well suited to the twentieth century, while ‘the Left’ continued to resort to the long-exhausted ‘formulas of the eighteenth century’.1106 The language of conservatives was to be ‘razor-sharp’ and fleshed out with theory in order to enhance the sharp contrast with the Left. Conservatism came into its own only ‘through its theoretical character’, as Schrenck-Notzing wrote, thus distancing the concept of conservatism in Criticón from that of the ‘centre’ (which Schrenck-Notzing did not consider worthy of the conservative label), making reference to ‘practical reason’ and disavowing theoretical abstractions.1107 Schrenck-Notzing and Mohler thus rejected a centrist self-description of conservatism. It is readily apparent that Mohler avoided the concept of conservatism in the programmatic introduction to the new journal project. It would seem that a decision was made as well against naming the concept in the title of the journal – in contrast to the founding circle at Konservativ heute. Criticón instead made reference to the Spanish term el criticón, which means a complainer or nagger. Schrenck-Notzing hereby signalled the journal’s clear position within the intellectual debate: against a purported monopoly of opinion on the Left, which had been lamented by the Right for the previous decade and which was an experience suffered not only by Mohler, whose ability to have his work published had rapidly diminished, but by others as well. Following Zehrer’s death, a more moderate tone was seen as opportune even in Die Welt and Welt am Sonntag, for which Mohler had been writing regular columns since 1965.1108 Axel Springer had also changed positions, developing from a Gaullist to a staunch Atlanticist in face of the extra-parliamentary opposition, student movement and social-liberal détente policy, and he reoriented his media empire accordingly.1109 Franz Josef Strauß undertook a fundamental change in his foreign policy alliances at around the same time, which contributed decisively to his alienation from the camp of the New Right, which continued to hold

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anti-Americanism as a constitutive principle.1110 The wave of new right-wing journals in the early 1970s was ultimately also a consequence of the liberalization of the West German public arena since the late 1950s, which rigorously excluded forms of right-wing thought. The polarization of the media, beginning in the 1960s, grew further in its intensity.1111 Criticón took the position of the voice of nonconformism and, not least, as that of an international movement – and the Spanish name was certainly not chosen by chance, with Francoism held up as a model to be admired by the Right.1112 Criticón indeed viewed itself as a ‘clearing house for related journalistic endeavours around the world’1113 as part of a ‘Conservative Internationale’.1114 The journal was not only mindful of the international character of its contributors but itself contributed to the formation of an international Right by following and commenting on right-wing movements in Europe, the United States and Latin America. The journal regularly discussed books, introduced authors, featured other journals and presented political parties and movements. Neoconservative American authors wrote for Criticón,1115 as did representatives of the right wing of the British Conservative Party,1116 as well as Alain de Benoist, the pioneer of the French Nouvelle Droite and a long-term confidant of Mohler.1117 It was no coincidence that one of the journal’s points of focus involved the market-liberal theories of Friedrich August von Hayek and American neoliberalism, which were being discussed to a very limited degree elsewhere.1118 Criticón stood up to the democratic consensus with particular verve. The concept of conservatism served here both as an umbrella concept to include a variety of frequently contradictory currents and as a fig leaf that allowed for right-wing ideologemes, if not to be concealed, at least to be included in the sphere of the permissible within a democratic society. This made it possible for Criticón to carry out a ‘bridge function’ between a democratically grounded conservatism and right-wing extremism.1119 Schrenck-Notzing and Mohler were acutely aware of the power of language: ‘The definition of that which is “conservative” is a political act in itself’.1120 They made every effort to steer the definition of the concept of conservatism to further their own goals, portraying themselves as the most genuine representatives of conservatism and, as true conservatives, laying claim to the definition of the concept. Armin Mohler devoted himself to this pursuit in particular. As we have seen, he dismissed out of hand all liberal variants of the concept of conservatism in the debate on conservatism in the late 1950s and early 1960s.1121 He continued to rail against what he called ‘gardener conservatism’ in the 1960s, and underscored this further in the 1970s, at a time when the liberal semantic network involving the concept of conservatism that had emerged since 1945 solidified further and began to dominate its interpretation.

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Mohler never tired of working to discredit ‘liberal conservatism’. He held that the concept itself refuted its supporters representing any form of ‘true conservatism’ – why else would the ‘liberal’ qualification be necessary? As in the early 1960s, Mohler accused all those who invoked Edmund Burke and the liberal tradition of British conservatism of imitating a doctrine foreign to the German situation.1122 He viewed this as ‘second-hand murmurings’ even when reference was made not only to Burke but to Toqueville and Justus Möser as well.1123 The development towards a conservatism in a liberal spirit, as the result of the Westernization of the Federal Republic, was, from Mohler’s perspective, to be thwarted in every regard. He claimed that one could only be ‘liberal-conservative’ when ‘one agreed with the status quo’, and any change in the status quo only signified ‘a change for the worse’. But, for him, this was not the case for West Germany, as governed by the Social-Liberal Coalition. The liberal conservative of the times was but ‘a man who has already surrendered’.1124 The more common such liberal-spirited conservatism became among the West German public, the sharper Mohler’s tone would become. In 1974, he took up arms against the ‘Kerenskys of the cultural revolution’ and flatly excluded their being regarded as conservative. He directly called out Ernst Topitsch and Karl Steinbuch (who nevertheless continued to write for Criticón),1125 focusing chiefly on the amalgamation of liberal and conservative thought. While he believed that conservatives who came from ‘the Left’ could have a positive influence on conservatism,1126 the liberal only dragged his ‘germs and obstinacy’ into the mix.1127 Mohler was certainly referring to Kaltenbrunner here as well, whose activities he had first followed with some openness before he broke with him due to his strategy of assimilation. Mohler in no way appreciated Kaltenbrunner’s attempts to build ties with the liberal conservatives or to integrate liberal clichés.1128 Mohler cited Moeller van den Bruck with approval in that ‘nations go under due to liberalism’ – doing so, first and foremost, to underscore the genealogy of the form of conservatism that he supported and hoped would be accepted as the only variant of conservatism in Germany: a conservatism in an anti-liberal spirit, a genuinely ‘German’ conservatism as a successor to the Weimar New Right.1129 Mohler used ‘conservative’ and ‘right’ synonymously, speaking here for a majority of Criticón writers. Moreover, he followed Kaltenbrunner and other representatives of the Right in the inclusion of the term ‘reactionary’ into the semantic network surrounding conservatism. In the 1970s, a time when ‘nearly everyone’ wished to be conservative, the self-descriptive ‘reactionary’ received new power as ‘the most effective word to describe’ being different.1130 Anti-liberalism thus unified the divided camp among Criticón writers, who believed their mission included preventing the liberalization of the West German political language. While Schrenck-Notzing was careful not to position the journal against democracy per se and favoured concrete criticism and the

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advancement of anti-liberal positions, the silence on the topic of democracy was a strong enough statement in itself. Only Erik Kuehnelt-Leddihn was able to expand on his dreams for the restoration of monarchy in Germany.1131 The rejection of liberal ideas on conservatism was one thing, fleshing out the concept of conservatism was another. Mohler clearly distanced himself from two structural principles of conservative speech: the continuity of temporal dimensions and the principle of balance in the conservative language. Continuing to follow his position dating back to the late 1940s, Mohler redefined the relationship of conservatism and history. He claimed that a focus on the roots of the word, the Latin conservare, was misleading, as conservatism could not prioritize the conservation of the traditional. In a time when nothing much existed that was worth conserving, conservatism instead had the urgent task of bringing about things that were in fact worthy. The conservative had to ‘move past the idyll of “gardener conservatism”’ if he sought to maintain the ‘last chances of resisting the slide into disaster’. By means of illustration, Mohler updated a figure of thought presented by Ernst Jünger, who had spoken of the necessity of an ‘organic construction’. If the destruction had reached an extent that rendered impossible ‘any approach from the status quo’, a ‘radical intervention’ would be required ‘to bring about conditions that are able to become “nature” once again’.1132 However, whatever needed to be created anew – and Mohler followed his idol here as well – had to remain in harmony with ‘technical civilization’.1133 For the conservative, there was only ‘one path to engage with the problems of the times: straight through the centre of industrial society’.1134 Mohler’s goal was hence a conservatism in the context of industrialized modernity, a modernity driven by technical and scientific innovation, a modernity akin to that which had been envisioned by Jünger, Freyer, Gehlen and Schelsky in the 1950s.1135 It was therefore only logical that he adopted as his own the concept of technocratic conservatism, introduced by Greiffenhagen, declaring Criticón to be its ‘home base’,1136 even while Christian ideas for conservatism were also regularly featured there.1137 Mohler thought as little of Friedrich Georg Jünger’s criticism of technology, ecological demands and Scheidewege (crossroads) rhetoric as he did of GerdKlaus Kaltenbrunner’s questioning of the paradigm of progress and ecological demands. He initially followed the green movement on the right with a waitand-see suspicion, likely due to his attachment to Friedrich Georg Jünger, a stance that would, however, give way to sharp rhetoric in 1977. Conservatives knew from history that mankind had subjugated the environment from the very beginning, which was an anthropological constant, Mohler argued; and conservatives also knew that mankind had found methods, time and again, to free itself from such calamities.1138 The fall of a civilization was to be countered with ‘poise’ and not as an ‘ecological crybaby’.1139 It was Spengler who was needed here and not the Club of Rome.1140

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That, however, was all that conservatives could learn from history, he believed. For Mohler, neither history in general, nor the history of conservative thought before the beginnings of the Weimar New Right in particular, provided any further starting points for a conservatism in the 1970s. Conservatives were instead to draw a radical line under history and find a ‘completely new language’ to arrive at a new way of ‘thinking and acting’, throwing overboard a ‘vast amount of the superfluous’.1141 Mohler had already shown, in his resistance to Schoeps’s assembly initiative, what this departure from the past could mean in very practical terms. For Mohler, history now only served to demonstrate the complexity of the world and to attest that it was nevertheless possible for people to lend it ‘form’.1142 This reflected a very breezy relationship with history. Mohler ultimately eliminated the dimension of the past from his political language, but this would require further justification from him as it was a blatant violation of a fundamental structural principle of conservatism. Mohler pursued a strategy here that was typical for him, with no inkling of self-doubt, claiming that this would allow for the true conservatism to be revealed: ‘The face of conservatism is changing – or better: the true face of conservatism is becoming visible. The particular relationship of conservatism to history is one of the many legends that it is moving past’.1143 Mohler’s focus was on the present, and especially the future, which needed to be formed. The conservatives of his time were the ‘unsatisfied class, hoping for change’, and not the Left. Mohler preached radical change. And yet – or perhaps precisely for this reason – he distanced himself from ‘abstract’ utopian thought and attributed this to the Left instead. Even his call for a conservative theory that went up against the conservative self-image of being pragmatic and anti-ideological was cloaked in an anti-utopian language, as he advocated an idea that was derived from ‘the full context of reality’.1144 This resistance to abstract thought, his assertion that he only drew from ‘reality’, were also characteristics of the conservative language that Mohler employed to avoid the suspicion of being a utopian himself – and thus anything but a conservative.1145 Anti-utopianism was indeed a second force binding the Criticón authors – while connecting them with the other varieties of conservatism in the 1970s as well. The writings of the Hungarian-American philosopher Thomas Molnar were elevated to canon here, who, as a student of Russell Kirk, belonged to the Christian wing of American neoconservatism and, representing a type of Catholic traditionalism, maintained connections to the French Nouvelle Droite, and spoke out vigorously against a ‘liberal’ utopianism.1146 Molnar would provide regular contributions to Criticón himself.1147 Mohler, however, not only rejected the structural principle of temporality that characterized conservative speech but also the structural principle of balance and synthesis. Schrenck-Notzing agreed, defining ‘conservatism’ in 1972 as ‘not only a counterposition to the left-wing doctrine in its various hues.

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Conservatism is at least equally as much of a counterposition to the practice of the “centre”, the juste milieu’.1148 Mohler and Schrenck-Notzing banked on the extremes, on polarization and on the identification of friend and foe, with this principle of opposition informing their language. It was left to Erik von Kuehnelt-Leddihn to present this principle of opposition in Criticón, which he did with particular clarity. He made use of a table to neatly present positions of the ‘Left’ and ‘Right’, ordered into categories. He viewed as ‘Left’ all movements derived from the French Revolution in the ‘national democracy’: ‘All left-wing movements derive directly and very visibly from it, all egalitarian populisms, this entire world of guillotines, gallows, gas chambers and shots to the back of the neck’. This tersely declared both communism and National Socialism to be phenomena of the Left.1149 The political world could be structured as a dichotomy from such a perspective. Compromise, balance, moderation, synthesis and agreement on a central position were not permitted to occur within this worldview. Criticón did not allow for a language of ‘both–and’. Both Criticón and other journals that were adorned with the conservative label in the 1970s were indeed magnets for the West German right. They dreamt of the reactivation of long lost, genuinely ‘German’ traditions of thought – whether this was the Prussian conservatism of the Empire, the anti-liberal Catholic conservatism that had been rejected by the Second Vatican Council once and for all, the agrarian conservatism of the Weimar DNVP, the organicist and biologistic ideas of order connected to the protection of the homeland, or the Weimar New Right. They were united by their anti-liberalism, their proud assuredness of being one of the few who could recognize what was right, their contempt for the developments in West Germany, their positioning to the Right in stark opposition to the Left and by certain central concepts that were emphasized time and again as a sort of self-affirmation, such as order, authority, state, hierarchy, elite, institution, nation. These emerged from the semantic network linked to the concept of conservatism. Mohler and Schrenck-Notzing fashioned Criticón into the most powerful mouthpiece of the West German New Right. While they boldly laid claim to the concept of conservatism for themselves, this was ultimately only a strategic cloak that they wrapped around themselves. By distancing themselves from – or practically condemning – two fundamental structural principles of conservative language, they moved so far beyond the structures of the political language of conservatism that they cannot themselves be viewed as conservatives from a historical perspective. Mohler and Schrenck-Notzing shaped the language of the West German New Right – and not in fact that of conservatism. Mohler certainly did not advance to its very ‘heart’.1150 This added even further to the confusion over the concepts of the West German political language as was noted everywhere in the late 1970s and early 1980s.1151 The nebulous debate over conservatism had contributed to this, along

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with the formation of the Green movement, which did not seem to be able to arrive at precise concepts either.1152 In 1978, Der Monat asked whether ‘the words right and left still have any meaning’. What did liberal and conservative mean? Why did anyone even need such concepts? While most of the answers that were provided by intellectuals of all stripes remained vague, Mohler’s view was typically clear, with a language without any ambivalence. Even if he was considered to be conservative, he preferred the label of ‘the Right’. He wrote that the ‘word “conservative” is too blurry and gelatinous for me … When I refer to myself as someone of the right, it means that I have nothing in common with liberalism, and indeed see it as the true enemy’.1153 The liberalization of the concept of conservatism that had accompanied West German political culture from the 1950s and gained considerable momentum in the late 1960s, had come so far by the mid-1970s that its anti-liberal connotations had been driven to the margins. The mantle of conservatism had become burdensome for Mohler.

2.4.3. Conservative Parties? The Linguistic-Political Challenge of the CDU and CSU The intellectual debate over conservatism that filled West German opinion columns during the first half of the 1970s posed a double-edged challenge to the Union parties. While, on the one hand, they took gracious note of the claim that they had turned away from the oft-invoked Zeitgeist, a diagnosis lodged by the reform-minded movements of the Left, and viewed the resonance that conservative intellectuals had been receiving as an asset, on the other hand they were challenged by the debate over taking a clear position with regard to conservatism, which had become so difficult because the concept itself contained a breadth of meaning that, as we have previously seen, reached from liberalism to right-wing varieties. The Union parties – and the CDU in particular – had dipped into crisis, moreover, following their departure from government in 1969, the failed vote of no confidence against the Brandt government in 1972 and their poor showing in the Bundestag election in November of the same year. If they hoped to succeed in replacing the Social-Liberal coalition in Bonn, they would have to reform, both in terms of organization and programme.1154 We have already seen the degree to which this sense of crisis had heightened the uncertainty linked to the loss of interpretative power over political language since the early 1960s. This connected with a societal sense of crisis that shaped the early to mid-1970s and led to a call for alternatives.1155 The CDU and CSU were on a search for concepts that could describe their actions and intentions in a fundamental fashion, would grasp and reflect that which characterized them, and would have an integrative effect within the parties while also distancing them from their rivals.

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The search for apt self-descriptive concepts was served by the extensive programmatic debates that accompanied the Union parties in the 1970s, not unlike background noise, at times louder and at times softer. The 1970s represented for them a ‘decade of debate culture in print’.1156 The CSU, which had adopted a ‘basic programme’ in 1968, did so again in 1976. The CDU, which had viewed its Berlin Programme of 1968 not yet as a basic programme but only as a ‘programme of action’, developed this further in 1971 and 1973, and put forth principles of political action in the 1975 Mannheim Declaration to ultimately go on to adopt its Ludwigshafen Basic Programme in 1978. Policy commissions made up of politicians and academic experts in both parties worked for years on drafts that were discussed at different levels of the party and its various bodies, debated at party conferences, and, after discussing countless proposed amendments, honed into a form that reflected the consensus. Journalists followed these discussions with great interest and responded with extensive commentary. The CDU and CSU specifically sought out contact with intellectuals and took careful notice of the change of position among those consensus liberals who had spoken out for conservatism in the early 1970s.1157 The debate over conservatism was closely interlinked with the fundamental discussions being held in the Union parties. It posed a very basic challenge, because if conservatism was to be held up as a liberal alternative to social democracy and liberalism, and was to be transferred to the West German three-party system, this conceptual shift would affect no other parties as strongly as the CDU and CSU. Only within this context could the development of the concept of conservatism in the 1970s be completely understood. What stances did the parties in fact take here? How did they meet the linguistic-political challenge that the concept of conservatism entailed for them? Following intensive discussion, the CSU decided in 1968 to include ‘conservative’ into its Basic Programme – as we have already seen. The party described itself as ‘also conservative’, and justified this with its will towards ‘fully developing the vitality of European tradition and the vast reserves of the European spirit for the future’. At the same time, it decisively rejected any form of ‘utopianism’ and resisted a ‘total mechanization of life with no regard for personhood and freedom’, but it was nevertheless enthusiastic about the ‘major technical possibilities of our time to improve human living conditions’.1158 For the CSU, being conservative would thus entail an openness towards technical progress without deprecating traditions from the past. The concept of progress was connected to the structural principle of conservative temporality – as was the case for the British Conservative Party at the same time. Strauß hoped to see his conservative CSU stand upon the ‘pinnacle of progress’ while deliberately forming the meaning of the political concept. This conceptual strategy was a response to the semantic situation in 1968: conservative was chiefly used in public discourse as a counterconcept to progressive.

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This was the concern of the delegates to the CSU party conference, who spoke out vehemently against the adoption of the concept in their basic programme. Alois Glück, for one, recognized ‘a contradiction between the progressiveness of the CSU’s politics and the description of a “conservative force”’.1159 This semantic opposition of conservative and progressive posed considerable difficulty to the Union parties in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Both the student movement at universities and the reform-minded spirit of optimism that marked the Social-Liberal coalition that took office in 1969 fed on the conviction of being progressive, of wishing to shape the future and to close the door on traditions for new beginnings. The Union parties, by contrast, appeared as forces of constancy that did not wish to open up to a changed society, and as relicts from the first years of the Federal Republic, a time when the politics of security and continuity could still enthuse West German voters. As Kurt Georg Kiesinger expressed it at the 1969 CDU Federal Party Conference, the CDU was viewed as ‘a conservative party, a party that is not very flexible, that is supposedly not sufficiently open to the modern times’.1160 This position was seconded by the up-and-coming minister president of Rhineland-Palatinate, Helmut Kohl, who had long been urging for reform. Kohl was not hesitant in his criticism of party leadership in that the CDU had ‘allowed itself to take on the reputation of being “old-maidish”, antiquated and old-fashioned. It permitted the entire intellectual world … to come out in opposition to the CDU’.1161 The concept of conservatism did not indeed appear in the CDU’s Berlin Programme adopted in 1968, which was meant to reflect the party’s reform-mindedness and modernity. The CDU did not trust its ability to shape concepts – unlike Strauß, who was confident that his CSU would excel in this discipline that same year. The verdict of conservatism was not only rendered with regard to the Union parties – it was also applied to the SPD with the escalation of the opposition between progressive and conservative, as was lodged by Ralf Dahrendorf at the 1968 FDP Federal Party Conference in Freiburg. While the CDU had been ‘conservative from being all too used to governing’, the SPD was ‘conservative against its own will, from an all too deep-seated fear of not being allowed to govern’. The only progressive alternative could consequently be found in the FDP.1162 As emerges with particular clarity here, conservative was reduced to an inflexible adherence to the past, a stance of rejecting change. The conservative label did not, however, stick to the SPD, despite Dahrendorf’s rhetorical skill. The party instead made good use of the semantic situation. The SPD–FDP coalition government was tagged with the label sozialliberal and identified with progress and reform.1163 There now appeared to be two blocs in the Bundestag: the reform bloc of the governing coalition and the bloc of constancy in the opposition.1164 ‘German democracy’, Brandt sardonically declared before the Bundestag in February 1971, required ‘a major, conservative party that supports the state and respects the rules of parliamentary democracy’; one which, after

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losing power, understands its role as the opposition ‘constructively’ instead of ‘seeking conflict at any cost’.1165 The chancellor thus underscored the semantic attributions that he had introduced a week earlier during the budgetary debate. For him, stability in an industrial society [is] only to be gained and maintained through change … and security only through dynamics. … Societal stability can hence only be achieved through reform. Those who do not make positive changes objectively worsen the state of the people. That is where opinions widely differ; that is the difference between the aims of our efforts and those among you who persist in largely conservative thinking.1166

While indignant voices were immediately to be heard from the Bundestag opposition benches that accused Brandt of turning conservative into a ‘dirty word’ (which Brandt immediately denied), opposition leader Rainer Barzel did not find a reply to it in his speech that followed after Brandt’s. This would only come a week later, as provided by Richard von Weizsäcker in the Süddeutsche Zeitung. As a member of the CDU Federal Board since 1964, he was elected to the Bundestag for the first time in 1969, as nominated on the Rhineland-Palatinate state list. Weizsäcker was active in the German Protestant world at the highest level, was involved in the Protestant Church in Germany’s (EKD) Memorandum on the East, which was meant to relax political tensions, and had had experience in the management of major companies. The politician rapidly grew in his role as a Protestant party intellectual, following somewhat in the footsteps of Eugen Gerstenmaier. He became the chair of the CDU Grundsatzkommission (Commission on fundamental principles) in 1971, and steered the discussion of the party’s programmatic outlook through the adoption of the Ludwigshafen Basic Programme in 1978.1167 With his response to Brandt in February 1971, he provided clarity on the definition of the concept of conservatism, explaining there was a ‘misunderstanding’ with regard to the polar opposition presented between progressive and conservative that was used to define reform politics; it was an ‘error’ to say conservatives no longer had a role to play in the present. ‘Good reformers are only those who succeed in gaining the support of conservatives for their changes. A conservative party, however, is only one that implements necessary reforms itself’. The politician provided the British Conservative Party under Disraeli as an example, positing an ‘inseparable connection’ between ‘stability and dynamics, between conservation and renewal’, especially in a time of accelerated change, in which the wish for ‘security’ was only logical, adding that a ‘persisting nature’ was a basic anthropological constant, as was the mistrust of change. As reforms could only be carried out together with those affected, a careful line of policy connecting conservation with change was the most promising. Conservatives, he believed, knew this; with their ‘sober’ view of human imperfection, they were equipped with an additional, extremely ‘useful and in fact likely necessary requirement for

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the potential level of progress’.1168 Weizsäcker readjusted the inner structure of the concept of conservatism: he referred to the principle of temporality, to the interlinking of the temporal dimensions and their continuity; he drew upon the principle of balance by invoking the right extent of progress; and he focused on the anthropological: choosing the human as well as sober-mindedness, he used two key concepts of the semantic network connected to the concept of conservatism, assigning them meaning for present times. It was no coincidence that a CDU Protestant brought the potential of the concept of conservatism back into the discussion. He connected there with a definition of the concept of conservatism within the party that drew upon a Protestant tradition and, as we have previously seen, prevailed in the late 1950s and early 1960s, only to lose ground by the end of the 1960s. The situation had, moreover, begun to change with regard to conservatism by around 1970, as discussed above. The intellectual voices of the consensus-liberal camp separated the concept from its position in opposition to the concept of progress, and furnished it with a richer semantic field. This made it easier for the CDU to use the concept. The SPD continued to ensure that this occurred only very cautiously and with limitations. In his speech to the Bundestag in September 1972, at the end of the legislative period, Brandt underscored the thesis of two camps and placed it within a historical narrative. While the CDU and CSU had carried forward the conservative-minded tradition from the Kaiserreich, the SPD and FDP stood in a continuity with those ‘forces that, as far back as the Kaiserreich, urged, as the opposition, for greater democracy and political freedom [and] for a state that the multitudes in this country could view as their own’.1169 It was only through socioliberal reform politics – and indeed not with the founding of the Federal Republic, as the CDU and CSU historical party narratives would have it – that the old hopes of Liberals and Social Democrats were fulfilled for a free and democratic Germany. This was Willy Brandt’s historical subtext. At around the same time, Horst Ehmke, in the SPD publication Die neue Gesellschaft, attributed to the Union parties a ‘conservatism without substance’, while analysing their ‘political-moral illness’.1170 Caution was thus called for when the CDU made use of the concept. The fact that it could not completely banish it from its conceptual inventory was due to major voices within the party identifying with the concept as well as its having become a well-established element in its own self-description.1171 After the party’s electoral defeat in the Bundestag election of 1972, the influential former Federal Party chairman and acting chairman of the Konrad Adenauer Foundation at the time, Bruno Heck, attacked the CDU leadership, calling on them to stop rejecting the task of ‘conservatively securing and expanding on progress’. He believed that the party should remain what ‘was felt by voters to be conservative in one way or another’, a ‘progressive conservative’ force, and should ‘no longer verbally adapt to the fashionable trends of the Left’.1172 A year

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earlier, he – like Richard von Weizsäcker – had already been reminding his party that it could ‘only persevere as a major party of the people’ if its ‘conservatives’ were ‘progressive people’ and the ‘progressives’ were ‘anchored in the firm ground of history’ – in other words, if the opposition between conservatism and progress were to be dialectically resolved.1173 Among leading CDU politicians, it was Karl Carstens and Alfred Dregger, in addition to Heck, who adopted the concept of conservatism in particular – in part as the result of its being attributed to them in the first place. They defined it in a specific way, drawing upon a market-liberal programme while also emphasizing national aspects.1174 They were consequently often described as ‘national-conservative’.1175 Carstens, for one, attached great importance to the amalgamation of the concepts liberal and conservative, and, speaking during a Bundestag debate, he strongly refuted Hans-Dietrich Genscher’s statement that there could be ‘no liberal conservatives’, stating that if ‘a country like ours has a liberal constitutional order, those who support freedom are both conservative and liberal’.1176 Carstens’ conservatism – as someone who liked to describe himself as a liberal – was founded in the conservation of liberty from the threat of socialist upheaval, as guaranteed in the democratic state. In the polarized political climate of the 1970s, he was often connected to a conservative group together with Dregger, Filbinger and Strauß. And Carstens did not even wish to argue this, as he saw himself as being in fundamental agreement with his colleagues. It was entirely clear to all of them that the major task of the last three decades of the twentieth century would lie in the prevention of Marxist rule over all of Europe.1177 Since the concept of conservatism was kept relevant by certain CDU politicians, the party leadership had to provide it with space in the vocabulary of the party’s identity, whether they liked it or not. The CSU, moreover, which continued to embrace conservatism, also prevented the CDU from fully ignoring the concept. Strategic thought did figure, however, in the CDU leadership’s conceptual politics. It was an excellent means of securing voter potential among the Right. No party was able to attain any success to the right of the CDU and CSU in the 1970s. The emergence of environmental politics was particularly opportune for the CDU as an area of politics steeped in progressiveness, and ideal as a means of underpinning the concept of conservatism. The parties quickly reacted to the public discussion about the ongoing destruction of the natural world, adopting calls to protect the environment and putting them into political practice. After the change of government in 1969, the Federal Ministry of the Interior, led by Hans-Dietrich Genscher, established a department for environmental protection. In 1971, a Programme of Immediate Action to Protect the Environment (Sofortprogramm für den Umweltschutz) was announced and the Environmental Programme of the Federal Government (Umweltprogramm der Bundesregierung) was adopted.1178 The CSU government in Bavaria, under

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Minister President Alfons Goppel, created the first state environmental ministry in December 1970, under Max Streibl,1179 while the CDU took hold of the topic at both state and federal levels. Environmental action adopted a ‘technocratic design’ in the process,1180 and treated it as a problem of political planning and guidance.1181 Environmental policy was embedded by the Union parties into the semantic network linked to conservatism. This was especially adroit as it connected with the ongoing debate over conservatism, while the ubiquitous critique of progress could be channelled here as well. It was not by chance that Richard von Weizsäcker became particularly involved in the issue. This was not only connected to his efforts towards bringing the concept of conservatism up to date, but also reflected his apparent sensitization to environmental protection concerns by his brother, the physicist and philosopher Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker.1182 Richard von Weizsäcker viewed environmental protection as a ‘conservational’ task, ‘protecting the balance of nature and its self-preservational powers, and not endangering or ultimately destroying it through a blind faith in progress and the ability to achieve anything’. The ‘doctrine of … artificial-progressive feasibility’ could not provide the foundation for political action in times of accelerated change but only ‘the preservation of the natural foundations of our lives’. As Weizsäcker repeated at the CDU Federal Party Conference, conservation and renewal were mutually dependent.1183 He accordingly called upon his colleagues to counter any distortion of the concept of conservatism. He explained that conservatism was not about ‘making the past into an unchangeable model for the future’, which in fact contradicted the ‘value of tradition’. Identifying as conservative himself, Weizsäcker clarified: ‘We do not have a static image of the world. The future is not devoid of roots; it is grounded in the past but does not emulate it. There is no stasis for earth and man but only becoming, growing and change. That is our historicity’.1184 As Weizsäcker’s definition of conservative temporality made clear, the topic of the environment could be integrated so smoothly into the semantic network connected to conservatism because it made it possible to bring aspects of the concept of conservatism in line with the times. The conservative structural principle of temporality that Weizsäcker chose had already been described using organic metaphor as early as the nineteenth century. Even Norbert Blüm, a leading voice of the Christian Social wing alongside Hans Katzer and a strong opponent of a conservative course for the party, was able to find much that was positive in the ‘conservative characteristics’ of the change in thinking about growth in 1975.1185 In 1980, Blüm continued to urge the Christian Social faction in the party that the ‘conservation of the world as the home of humanity’ was a ‘task for securing the future, which a conservative disposition leads us towards’; he therefore described the Christian Social movement as ‘conservative progressive’.1186

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The discourse on planning in modern societies, which had been a part of West German politics from the early 1960s,1187 was linked back to the concept of conservatism in the context of environmental issues. This was particularly apparent in the CSU.1188 Even as the Union parties of the 1960s levelled a considerable measure of scepticism at the Social Democratic enthusiasm for planning, ideas for planning did find their way into the concepts for particular areas of policy, and in particular for regional planning, education policy and environmental protection.1189 The CSU programme for the 1969 Bundestag elections embraced planning – as that was how the future needed to be ‘secured’. The party did, however, make careful distinctions in this regard. It was determined, as the party programme stated, ‘to support progress through far-sighted and responsible planning for the future, while also countering any destruction of the values that will make our lives worth living in the future as well’.1190 Planning was thus in no way supposed to colonize a future that was, according to a Christian understanding, beyond the reach of any human powers, nor was it to break with the past just for the sake of creating something new. As Max Streibl explained while speaking at the 1975 CSU Party Conference on the subject of environmental and spatial planning policy, ‘only policy that trusts in the continuity of history’ was capable of planning. ‘Only those who affirm the experiences of the past and maintain, reform and reshape the tried and tested, holding it up to the scrutiny of new knowledge, can plan for a future in human dignity’; planning thus needed to uphold the continuity of past, present and future. ‘Planning in the service of humankind’ was ‘only possible on the basis of a true conservatism’.1191 Environmental protection became a new set point of reference for the Union parties’ concept of conservatism.1192 ‘Environmental protection’ was ‘a major conservative task with a future’, Kohl underscored in 1978, who had previously been careful not to use the term on its own.1193 The concept was indeed needed in the CDU, and with fewer inhibitions about it, in the midst of accelerating intellectual readjustment. Bernhard Vogel, who was the Rhineland-Palatinate minister of education and culture under Kohl from 1967 to 1975, and who eventually would follow Kohl as minister president of the state from 1976 to 1988, was viewed as a young modernizer within the party.1194 Vogel had learned the political science trade as an assistant to Dolf Sternberger at the University of Heidelberg. In a debate on Bavarian television about the nature of conservatism, Vogel applied the concept of conservatism to the CDU, stating that conservatism meant, for the party, the ‘right to remain ourselves’. One primary goal of the CDU was to preserve ‘the conditions and prerequisites of our liberal order’. This was not a ‘backward’ view but in fact a ‘highly modern’ one, which involved the preservation of democracy. The CDU needed to ‘have the courage to embrace this sort of concept of conservatism’ in its ‘return to the great intellectual currents of the Abendland’.1195 Vogel’s first supposition drew from the concept of liberal-minded conservatism, as shaped

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by intellectuals such as Hermann Lübbe and Kurt Sontheimer. Conservatives, he posited, became the saviours of liberal democracy in their confrontation with a Left seeking to change the system. He linked conservatism to the concept of democracy that was central to the Union parties of the 1970s.1196 Bernhard Vogel’s second supposition, remained, by contrast, rather vague: which ‘currents of the Abendland in intellectual history’ was Vogel specifically seeking to reactivate? As murky as this sounded, it clearly reflected the after-effects of the concept of the Abendland, which continued to serve as a conservative signal word, infused with Christianity. As Vogel specified later, ‘conservative’ was the embrace of that which ‘was always valid’,1197 of unchangeable ‘values’ such as ‘equality, freedom, Christianity, property, social responsibility’, all of which he saw as ‘modern’ and worthy of preservation.1198 The linkage of the concept of conservatism to the concept of values or basic values, which was of particular importance to the programmatic renewal of the Union parties in the 1970s, pushed it into the centre of their conceptual inventory. Erhard Eppler, also part of the Bavarian television discussion panel, contributed to this in particular. The distinction he made between structural and value-centred conservatism reflected back on the Union, which could henceforth be attacked as a party of structural conservatism.1199 But not only that, the concept of values, as we have seen, was one of the Union’s key concepts from the 1950s. Eppler’s attempt to rid the party of this concept became all the more serious in the mid-1970s once the SPD had joined the CDU in its attempt to portray itself as an advocate of West German ‘basic values’. Vogel, who was seen as a modernizer, resisted this, and Hans Filbinger, minister president of BadenWürttemberg and a self-proclaimed conservative, also sought to correct it: Politics can still be considered conservative … which adhere to particular structures because they serve certain values. Values remain ineffective and cannot be realized without changes in structures. … In brief, this means that values create reality. Or: value structures found reality structures.1200

This reference to the interdependence found in the conservation of structures and values was – with strategic advice from the federal party office1201 – presented time and again by Union politicians whenever confronted with Eppler’s distinction.1202 Being conservative became an integral part of the CDU’s self-image, though only one among many. The Union mastered its difficult semantic situation through a strategy of embracement. It did not describe itself with a single, emphatic concept from the spectrum of various political currents, but chose instead a number of different concepts and thus avoided any exclusive line of identification. Helmut Kohl particularly did not tire of offering this conceptual amassment to both party and general public. The conclusion of his speech upon election as party leader in June 1973 exemplifies this well: ‘Securing the progress

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of society in freedom, that is our Christian and liberal legacy; protecting and preserving people’s freedom, that is our conservative task; continuing to develop the societal prerequisites of its realization, that is our social duty’.1203 The concept of conservatism was thus circumscribed through its connection to the concepts Christian, liberal and social, with a liberal interpretation established through its association with freedom and progress. This conceptual constellation would go on to shape the narrative of party history as well: CDU and CSU were formed from the ‘three great currents of the Christian Social, liberal and conservative idea’. Only as long as ‘these three basic principles, these three historical currents’ were to find their equal place in the party, would the party achieve its ideal of being a ‘people’s party’ (Volkspartei).1204 The triad of liberal, conservative and social was only indirectly included in the CDU Ludwigshafen Basic Programme – by means of admonishing the Union parties to preserve the unity realized in 1945 and to provide no further space to the ‘fateful opposition between social, liberal and conservative political currents’, which had brought about the demise of the Weimar Republic.1205 The message here was that a new political movement had merged in the Union parties, for which the old political characterizations only remained as a soft echo of past times. The CDU clearly only touched the concept of conservatism with kid gloves. This strategy was indeed recommended by tacticians in the party’s department for principles and planning, who had only just been able to achieve a grasp of the multifaceted intellectual debate themselves. They took little notice of the efforts of consensus-liberal intellectuals towards reframing the concept, focusing their analysis instead on the Right. Kaltenbrunner’s contributions were examined with particular care, along with those of Ernst Forsthoff and Helmut Schelsky,1206 with the party magazine Die politische Meinung inviting Kaltenbrunner to submit articles for publication.1207 An image of intellectual conservatism would emerge, with it appearing as a purely reactive movement in opposition to the ‘united totalitarian, doctrinaire and revolutionary’ or simply ‘progressive forces’. The CDU certainly did not wish to identify with this and, further, the ‘founding and aims of the CDU’ entailed ‘a rejection of major conservative positions’: The CDU has rejected the cultural pessimism that was typical of conservatives and opened up to a non-prejudiced understanding, neither fearful nor forceful, of scientific, technical and economic progress. The party has resisted every temptation to reconnect with an authoritarian German view of the state and has become a champion of a liberal, parliamentary and democratic view of the state, society and democracy. It has drawn a line under the idea of a hierarchical and class-based order of society. … Its social movement is motivated by open-minded Christian responsibility and has adopted liberal thought. The CDU has rejected, from the very beginning, interest groups representing capitalism and political conservatism, and dedicated itself to the goal of uniting a liberal economic order and social responsibility within the social market economy. The party rejects any harmonistic views of society.1208

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Meinhard Ade, secretary of the Commission on Fundamental Principles and a member of the Federal Board of the CDU youth organization, Junge Union, thus summed up the view of conservatism that was dominant among the CDU leadership: conservatism as an anti-liberal, reactionary movement of yesteryear. From this perspective, the logical conclusion was that taking on the label of conservatism would present a danger to the CDU of ‘embroiling itself in the very image that political opponents never tired of painting of it’.1209 Instead of burdening itself with the conservative label that it was stuck with ‘like no other’1210 anyway, it would be better to emphasize its ‘liberal character’ as a means of winning over FDP votes as well.1211 Hidden behind the debates of conservatism within the Union of the 1970s lay a decisive argument over electoral strategy. If the Union wished to regain government responsibility at the federal level, it either had to prompt the FDP to change coalitions – which hardly seemed realistic – or win an absolute majority. For that, it would be necessary to win over the middle-class voters who had supported the SocialLiberal coalition in its majority in 1972. The number of swing voters had in fact increased enormously in the 1970s, which demonstrated that socially anchored party allegiances were already losing their hold. The Union parties were alarmed by the considerable losses they suffered in the 1972 Bundestag election within the Catholic milieu and especially among the working class, with a large portion moving to the SPD.1212 There was a fierce debate within the Union parties over whether such voters could be regained by emphasizing conservatism. While the CSU called for precisely that in the belief that ‘the German worker’ was ‘conservative and nationalistic’, connecting here with the New Right idea of ‘conservatism of the little man’,1213 others called for a course that further honed the Union parties’ liberal and social identity. The strategists at the party’s headquarters, in any event, supported the second alternative. This did not, however, relieve them of the tactical task of addressing those voters who did consider themselves to be conservative. The CDU was to pursue and identify with an ‘enlightened conservatism’, as Warnfried Dettling, head of the planning group, advised in 1974 and later again towards the end of the decade, referencing here the historian Hans Günter Hockerts.1214 This suggestion would lose any traction, however. While some CDU politicians did seek to champion a liberal concept of conservatism, this was limited to individual efforts that were not supported by any concerted action, unlike other concepts. The CDU leadership’s choice not to participate actively in shaping the concept of conservatism ultimately led to the right-wing variant adhering to the party – as personally embodied by politicians and representatives of the conservative wing such as Hans Filbinger and Alfred Dregger. This focus of the CDU on the concept of conservatism of West German right-wing intellectuals took on even greater momentum as Kaltenbrunner, Mohler, Schrenck-Notzing and William S. Schlamm began to confront the

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party directly and accused it of missing the opportunity to pursue conservatism and of reproducing left-wing politics instead. The reorientation of the Gaullist camp in terms of foreign policy, embracing a strong Atlanticism that viewed the United States as the protector of the West in the struggle with Communism, played a major role in the final break of the New Right with the Union parties.1215 This was as much the case for the publisher Axel Springer as it was for Franz Josef Strauß, with whom Mohler parted ways in the early 1970s, and not without reason.1216 The CDU was on the receiving end of the ire of the West German Right following the abstention on 17 May 1972 of the vast majority of the CDU/CSU Parliamentary Group in the Bundestag vote on the treaties with Poland and the Soviet Union, which sealed the policy of détente implemented by the SocialLiberal coalition.1217 The vote proved, Emil Franzel stated, that ‘there was no cure for the dictatorship of the Left, for the potential “popular front”’.1218 While William S. Schlamm saw no alternative to the CDU under Barzel, he called upon all ‘German conservatives’ to be ‘watchful’.1219 In spring 1973, Dietrich Pfaehler called in Criticón for the founding of conservative working groups, or so-called ‘breakfast cartels’, in order to ‘heal the CDU of its weaknesses through competition and by successful example’. Support of the Union parties by conservatives had not paid off, he explained, and the ‘Right’ was welcomed only as a source of votes, without affording it any political influence.1220 Caspar von Schrenck-Notzing, in autumn of the same year, called upon the CDU in the name of conservatism to turn sharply to the Right.1221 Mohler did not believe that the CDU was any closer to conservatives than was the SPD.1222 The latter was described by Kaltenbrunner in 1974 as a ‘social-liberal party’ with ‘a few conservative mavericks’.1223 Kaltenbrunner followed in 1977 with a volume in his Herderbücherei initiative series entitled Das Elend der Christdemokraten (The wretchedness of the Christian Democrats), in which Schrenck-Notzing wrote on the ‘discontent of conservatives with the CDU’ in his characteristically polemic style.1224 This discontent was mutual. The CDU leadership wanted nothing to do with the New Right or with ‘elitist right-wing intellectualism’.1225 This fixing of the concept of conservatism led to the cutting off of any potential development for a liberal concept, as was suggested to the CDU early in the decade by Kurt Sontheimer, Waldemar Besson, Hans Günter Hockerts and Hans Maier. Sontheimer, it should be borne in mind, had called upon the CDU and CSU in 1971 to embrace their actual identity as conservative parties.1226 Waldemar Besson was somewhat more careful a year prior when he advised the CDU to take on a programmatically clear alternative with its ‘own political terminology … with a language one could not confuse with refrigerator advertisements’. The ‘place of the CDU in intellectual history’, the professor of political science at the University of Constance believed, could only lie ‘where the will for change connected with the will for continuity’. Such a programme

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could be described as ‘conservative’ if the word had not had such ‘negative historical connotations’.1227 In a March 1970 talk at a closed meeting on the future of the Union parties, which was organized in Bonn by the Catholic Academy in Bavaria for their ‘leading personalities’, Besson referred to terminological pitfalls, spoke of the ‘tradition of Anglo-Saxon conservative reform’, and recalled the ‘duty to think historically’, but he also warned of the ‘romanticization of the countermovement’ to left-wing utopianism as a ‘specifically conservative temptation’. The Union parties only had a future, Besson argued in spring 1970, as a ‘modern alternative to a classical social democracy that was becoming technocratic’ and a ‘reasonable social democracy’.1228 A year later, he would also warn the Union parties of the right-wing circles that had been gathering in the orbit of the CSU. The Union had to protect itself from that sort of conservatism.1229 The concept of conservatism remained an ambivalent one. Hans Maier was similarly ambivalent in his discussion of the potential that conservatism provided to the Union parties at the November 1969 predecessor meeting in Munich.1230 Should CDU and CSU, as had been suggested in many places,1231 become a ‘conservative people’s party following the British model’? Maier warned against this, partly because he did not believe the necessary social conditions were in place for it. Conservative politics presupposed that ‘the fragility of the individual and the necessary protective function of the state’ were ‘strongly and nearly affectively sensed’ – and that was not the case at the time.1232 The ‘weakness of our society’s traditions’ impeded the ability of conservatism to find a majority – in contrast to the United Kingdom, Maier believed, thereby revealing his faulty impression of British politics and British conservatism.1233 At the same time, he recommended that the Union take a conservative turn, not in programmatic but in political and practical terms. In times of ideologization, the CDU and CSU had to prove their ‘ability to act’, and had to be able, and to remain able, to solve newly emerging political problems in an objective and non-ideological manner, based on a precise understanding and examination of the situation. Therein lay their ‘well-understood conservative character’.1234 Maier recognized the future-oriented mission of the Union parties as conveying a sort of ‘conservative stance’, reflecting the sense that the true progressive position lay in ‘taking seriously the principles and opportunities of the industrial-technical world’ and in an ‘achievement-oriented society’, as well as in the notion that it was always conservatives who had ‘implemented major reforms’ in history.1235 By contrast, the young Ulrich Müller, a member of the CDU in BadenWürttemberg, declared, without any conceptual faltering, that the ‘future of conservatism will be the future of the CDU’.1236 Around 1970, the concept of conservatism had become a concept used in the CDU to express hopes for party reform.1237 It was believed to be holding power that could shape the future. The prerequisite for this broad interpretation of the concept, within which – and this

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needs to be stressed – the Christian tradition of the party could also be added to the mix, was its liberalization, which had begun in the 1950s. However, all of these pleas for conservatism, during the first years after losing governing responsibility in 1969, dissipated in the face of the conceptual politics of the SPD and FDP,1238 as well as right-wing intellectuals, who had been able to attract increased interest from the media. Even the feuilleton editor at the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, Robert Held, warned the Union parties, at the height of the Tendenzwende discussion in 1974, against placing themselves in a ‘new ghetto’ by embracing the concept of conservatism. He found that it would be better for the CDU and CSU to ‘take an interest in the word “liberal”’ and to work vigorously for the conservation of freedom. That did not, however, appear to mesh with the concept of conservatism. Held’s motto for the parties was to be ‘as liberal as possible, as conservative as necessary’.1239 Only Günter Zehm, writing in Die Welt in 1975, called the Union parties out for missing the opportunity to champion a truly conservative alternative to left-wing utopianism.1240 Hans Maier repeated the talk he had held at the Catholic Academy in Bavaria in November 19691241 under an entirely different title at the CSU Party Conference in October 1970.1242 He certainly did not need to suggest using the label of conservatism to the CSU, which the party had already embraced with Strauß as its leader. The 1968 party conference resolution practically extended an invitation to interpret the concept of conservatism more closely – and two leading politicians, Richard Jaeger and Karl Theodor von Guttenberg, both considered conservative anyway, would attempt to do so in the public arena. Jaeger believed that with its ‘idea of conservatism’, the CSU had in fact found a ‘healthy medium between progressives and reactionaries’, an idea that maintained a connection to the eternal and ‘constant values’, and that conserved the ‘order of life’. He identified the core of the conservative understanding of the state in the idea of the ‘social constitutional state’. This served as evidence for him that ‘not only in Great Britain had conservatives largely inherited the fruitful ideas of early liberalism’ but in West Germany as well.1243 The foreign policy expert Guttenberg structured the concept of conservatism similarly – providing, in the run-up to the 1969 Bundestag election, a practically classical description of a democratic conservatism in line with the British example. In it, he portrayed the politics of the Union parties since 1945 as ‘classically conservative’, as it was concerned with both conservation and renewal, the freedom and dignity of individuals, and an institutionally safeguarded distribution of power within the ‘democratic constitutional state’ – and it did so in moderation and with a ‘healthy relationship to political power’. Guttenberg believed that a conservative order had been realized in the social market economy in particular, equating it with Churchill’s plan for a ‘property-owning democracy’.1244 He wished to see this sort of conservatism represented by the CSU: conservatism as the guardian of freedom and democracy, law and order, committed

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to non-ideological politics, striking the right balance, understanding the evolutionary course of history – and all with the words of Edmund Burke in mind. In the collected volume, Guttenberg’s essay was placed next to Armin Mohler’s eloquent challenge to the liberal variant of West German conservatism,1245 which underscored Guttenberg’s position in the debate over the concept – along with the position he hoped the CSU would take as well. At the same time, the greatest advocate for conservatism in the CSU dispensed with any particular concretization of the concept. Franz Josef Strauß instead emphasized how the party viewed itself as ‘not only’ a ‘conservative party’ but as ‘also’ a ‘conservative party’,1246 displaying other characteristics as well: liberal, national, Christian, social, democratic, progressive.1247 He qualified the concept of conservatism and relativized its meaning within the CSU’s linguistic inventory. He also rarely missed an opportunity to seek out media attention with his remark about conservatives standing upon the ‘pinnacle of progress’.1248 He indeed worked hard in the early 1970s to have conservatism viewed as modern or liberal. A ‘modern party’ still had to have ‘a conservative, conservational component’, he declared at the CDU Federal Party Conference in November 1973; the CDU and CSU were ‘Christian Social parties with a liberal-conservative character’.1249 As we will see below, in the early 1970s, Strauß preferred the concept of the centre to describe the position of the Union. Work regarding the concept of conservatism intensified in 1975, with the CSU’s new Basic Programme about to be adopted, which had been in preparation since early 1973 by a commission headed by Theo Waigel, with drafts discussed widely throughout the party.1250 As had already been the case in 1968 and for the CDU, the concept of conservatism was meant to describe a certain side of the party. The CSU defined itself as Christian, liberal, conservative and social, whereby conservative functioned again as a marker for an understanding of historical change anchored in continuity. The CSU, as the Basic Programme adopted in 1976 stated, was a conservative party in that it viewed itself as ‘committed to an enduring order of values’ and understood ‘progress on the basis of the existent’.1251 It emerged with clarity in the course of the party conference that further dimensions of conservatism lay behind this temporal understanding. As Strauß declared, such great importance had been placed on conservatism at the time because reflection on the ‘foundations of our history and the foundations of our tradition’ was crucial to the stability of society at a ‘time of reappraising values, of transformation … of confusion’. Conservatism was thus a response to times experienced as being in crisis. In contrast to the unstable SPD and FDP, which he claimed had frittered away the foundations of West German democracy, the principles of the conservative CSU were unchanging, based on ‘Christian morals’ in their ‘broadest, most liberal and most tolerant interpretation’.1252 The concept of conservatism was linked here to the concepts of liberalism, values,

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nation, tradition and history. The concept of social was also fitted into this framework but with clear boundaries, with Christianity ultimately providing the eternal values to be preserved in conservatism. This semantic enrichment of the concept of conservatism on the part of Strauß was confirmed by the chairman of the Programme Commission, Theo Waigel, in the course of the party conference debate: ‘homeland, nation, state, fatherland’ were ‘natural concepts’ that needed to take a ‘self-evident place’ in the CSU vocabulary, and numbered among the ‘central values’ that needed to be preserved in line with conservatism.1253 The aggressive emphasis on the concept of nation, and its anchoring in the semantic network of conservatism, served to accelerate the national course of the CSU and its party leader. The CSU, however, saw its mission, first and foremost, in the conservation of freedom. ‘Our guiding light is freedom’,1254 Strauß grandiosely proclaimed. The horizon of National Socialism was ever present, and the year 1933 served as a warning with regard to any upheavals in the present. Freedom was to be protected in the face of the threat of a ‘people’s front’ regime, in a geopolitical situation in which the United States no longer appeared to fulfil its role as the protector of Europe, and in light of the constraints of the ‘technical constellation’.1255 While freedom was an individual category, personal freedom would only become possible if ‘self-value and the irreplaceability of the person’ were to be ‘recognized by the state as a principle, protected and made possible by the social order’.1256 This required a strong state that provided for ‘order’, both internally and externally. Along these lines, ‘parliamentary democracy, the democratic constitutional state and social market economy’ were inseparably connected in the task of securing freedom.1257 Conservatism thus entailed protecting the ‘constitutional order of values’.1258 That is exactly how the intellectual constructors of a concept of liberal-spirited conservatism saw the task of modern conservatism.1259 Securing freedom for individuals within democracy even had specific programmatic consequences for the CSU of the 1970s: the retreat of the state, and of the welfare state in particular, the performance principle, limitations on ‘organized interests’, ‘helping people to help themselves’, competition and private initiatives, and ‘individual responsibility’.1260 In this way, Strauß put together a classical neoliberal economic programme, so it is no surprise that he often referred to Friedrich August von Hayek as an intellectual authority and – together with Filbinger and Dregger – sought to gain the allegiance of the economist, who resided in Freiburg, for the party, if with only moderate success.1261 The focus on the concept of freedom that permeated the Basic Programme from beginning to end also characterized Strauß’s political language in the 1970s in general. It can only be understood through the binary logic that marked his political ideas. On the one hand, there was the internationally active Left, led by Moscow, and blinded by utopian collectivist ideals, which was attempting

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to infiltrate the West and ultimately overthrow the liberal social order. On the other hand, this could only be opposed by uncompromising defenders of freedom, who pursued realistic people-oriented policies and stood for the constitutional order of values in the Basic Law. For Strauß, there was no clear-cut distinction between domestic and foreign policy in the Cold War era. As he declared at the 1976 CDU Federal Party Conference, the ‘great dichotomy of the times’ lay in the all-permeating conflict between freedom ‘in the modern liberal sense’ and ‘collectivist ways of thinking and acting’.1262 There could be no compromises in that situation, as that would only support the strategy of the Left, but only a ‘high level of confrontation’.1263 He laid out his strategy in his speech to the CSU faction of the CDU/CSU Bundestag group in November 1974, which was leaked to Der Spiegel and caused quite a stir: emotionalization, clear pairs of conceptual opposites, heightening the sense of crisis – through to a crisis of the state that would allow for a change in government.1264 The CDU/CSU slogan for the 1976 Bundestag election of Freiheit statt Sozialismus (freedom instead of socialism) or Freiheit oder Sozialismus (freedom or socialism) followed this binary logic. The election campaign, as Strauß had already advised in June 1975, could only be conducted as being ‘for or against a socialist Germany’. Freedom conceptually summed up the alternative that the CSU hoped to stand for: ‘We are the bearers of freedom, we are the guarantee for freedom and we will become the saviours of freedom in this world, in which so much is already under threat and much may no longer be able to persist by tomorrow’,1265 Strauß concluded in his 1976 speech at the programmatic party conference. The concept of freedom was, however, systematically constrained here through qualifications and its connection with other concepts from the conservative vocabulary. This included interlinking ‘freedom, solidarity and subsidiarity’,1266 promising ‘less state – more freedom’ and expressing the relationship between freedom and the state in words such as: ‘Only a strong state, bound by constitutional principles and equipped with authority, can have the necessary ability to act and the power to secure the freedom of individual citizens and to ensure social justice. Only a strong state can be liberal’.1267 All of these examples are taken from the Basic Programme adopted by the CSU in 1976. Theo Waigel saw this as fundamentally tending towards ‘a liberal programme’ characterized by the principles of ‘freedom, individual responsibility, the dignity of the individual, and helping people to help themselves’. Had the CSU become a ‘liberal’ party? Strauß rejected this view. Just as the concept of freedom was qualified through its incorporation into the semantic network of conservatism, the concept of liberalism, in all of its inflationary usage, was cultivated here as well with the concept of conservatism instrumental in the process: ‘That which was irreconcilable a hundred years ago, conservative and liberal, now belong together’.1268 As we have seen, this amalgamation of liberal and conservative

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stretched back to the political language of the CSU in the late 1950s and was connected with Strauß’s personal history.1269 Not only the concept of liberalism was qualified but also the concept of conservatism – despite all of the emphasis placed on it in the 1970s. Not all those in positions of responsibility within the party shared their leader’s enthusiasm for conservatism, however. Michael Zöller, a student of Maier, who accompanied the CSU programme process, put conservatism in a clearcut place, establishing that conservatism had no response to the question of what it sought to conserve – beyond the conservation of the status quo. To justify the choice of values to conserve, a binding value-reference was hence necessary, and that could only lie in Christianity.1270 A conservative who built upon Christianity, Zöller argued, would be able to afford the ‘luxury of differentiation’. He undertook such a differentiation himself when he grappled with the right-wing intellectual interpretations of conservatism in 1974. With greater clarity than practically anyone else, he established the anti-democratic potential that lay with Mohler, Kaltenbrunner and Hans Dietrich Sander (who otherwise generally went unnoticed in the conservatism debate) and distanced their ‘radical conservatism’ from the enlightened postulates of a conservatism à la Hockerts.1271 Zöller viewed himself in this light, as he would become of one the co-organizers of the third Tendenzwende congress in 1980 with the title Aufklärung heute – Bedingungen unserer Freiheit (Enlightenment today – Conditions of our freedom).1272 The political scientist Hans Buchheim and the Catholic theologian Johannes Gründel also amalgamated the concept of conservatism with the Christian conceptual inventory of the CSU, thus defining its boundaries in that regard.1273 The C in the party name had continuing power to bring about synthesis, while conservatism figured equally ambiguously in the political language of the CSU in the 1970s. ‘Strauß remains a nightmare for Kohl’ was the title of an article in Deutsche Zeitung. Christ und Welt in June 1975 following the CDU Federal Party Conference in Mannheim.1274 While Kohl took care not to come into overly close contact with the concept of conservatism, Strauß pursued a strategy of embracing it. That was not the only reason, however, that the power-driven Bavarian was becoming an increasingly difficult challenge for Kohl. The uncompromising confrontation course that Strauß pursued with his political opponents, the permeation of his political language with clear-cut oppositions, black and white, friend and foe, none of that meshed well with the integrative strategy that Kohl was pursuing. Increasing programmatic divisions between the sister parties had also been emerging since 1973, especially with regard to economic and social policy. The market-liberal ideas of the CSU, Strauß’s unequivocal statement that the limits of the welfare state had been reached, and the business-friendly position of the CSU in the debate over co-determination in companies, all meant that the tensions that emerged within the two Union parties

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between the Christian-Social wing, led by Katzer and Blüm, and the CSU could no longer simply be brushed off. Strauß’s distrust of the reform activities at the CDU headquarters headed by Biedenkopf, who used social themes to reach SPD and FDP voters in the hopes of reaching a majority for the CDU, went through the roof when the CDU attempted to boost its image with the concept of the ‘new social question’. The party now sought to advocate for the social concerns of the non-organized groups that did not have a voice in a West German democracy dominated by powerful interests.1275 Strauß sharply denounced the CDU’s course of emphasizing social matters in order to draw voters from the SPD and FDP. As Strauß blustered before the CSU Board, by employing the ‘bombastic title of “new social question”’, aimed primarily at North Rhine-Westphalia, Biedenkopf would unsuccessfully mobilize voters because of ‘the identity of the SPD, DGB and Neue Heimat and the solidified structures of power’.1276 As he had instructed the CDU in Mannheim, the Union had to provide ‘alternatives’, not ‘variants’, ‘clear, plausible, passionately presented counter-ideas to the service and welfare state propagated by the Socialists’. In view of the end of the postwar boom and the difficult state finances, he added, they would have to depart from the competition to make material promises, which all had the further expansion of the welfare state as their aim. Only the ‘alternative of freedom, individual responsibility, solidarity and subsidiarity’ would allow the CDU and CSU to lead West Germany out of its crisis. They would have to work against the ‘Zeitgeist’ instead of opportunistically going along with it.1277 That Strauß saw Helmut Kohl as a weak party leader and completely unsuited to be the candidate for chancellor was already a well-known fact.1278 The tactical move involving the new social question was not only viewed negatively by the CSU. The CDU also received fundamental criticism from Wilhelm Hennis, a political scientist whose departure from the SPD to the Union caused quite a stir. Hennis was part of Richard von Weizsäcker’s Commission on Fundamental Principles, and commended himself to Kohl as an advisor.1279 His opinion therefore bore particular weight. An advocate for liberal conservatism, he was practically indignant at the CDU’s Mannheim Declaration, which he saw as a ‘bitter, vexing disappointment’. The CDU presented itself as the ‘soft version of the SPD’s hard version’. He accused the CDU, in particular, of placing too little value on civil liberty, with ‘outright adventurous’ statements being read on the relationship between the state and interest groups, and with regard to the goal of the West German democratic project. Hennis sharply blamed the CDU of undermining the democratic foundations of the Federal Republic. The democratic order could only be protected from ‘democratic socialism’ if it offered a ‘clear, liberal counterposition’.1280 Strauß called for precisely such a ‘liberal’ alternative.

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The CDU and CSU appeared to be moving increasingly apart in terms of their programmes. Ludolf Herrmann even began to speak of ‘Unions’, as the singular appeared to him to have become a ‘historical term’.1281 The concept of conservatism took on a dynamizing role within this polarized situation within the party, which extended to matters of foreign affairs.1282 It became a label for a programmatic alternative, personified in particular by Strauß, Carstens, Dregger and Filbinger. Scenarios involving a ‘fourth party’ were decisive here, which were discussed more or less seriously in the 1970s, especially within the CSU. This was connected with the hopes for a change in government after the Union parties became the opposition in 1969. The idea was for the SPD-FDP majority to be overtaken by mobilizing, for support of a non-Christian alternative to the Union parties, middle-class voters on the far right, who no longer had a political home following the collapse of the NPD, together with conservative-minded non-voters. The attempts of upstart parties (e.g. Deutsche Union, Deutsche Soziale Union, Bund Freies Deutschland, Aktionsgemeinschaft Vierte Partei) to gain traction, all of which failed, should be seen in this context. While they were often said to maintain secret contacts with the CSU, their connections to the right-wing milieu were in fact plain to see. This was equally the case for the Freundeskreise der CSU (CSU circles of friends) that emerged in different West German states. After the defeat in the 1972 Bundestag election, the CSU itself ultimately ventilated the idea of expanding throughout West Germany to take on the role envisaged for a ‘fourth party’.1283 This served Strauß as a wildcard to bring the CDU under his sway. He enjoyed speculating about how such a party would need to be ‘liberal, conservative, national’ and ‘non-clerical’.1284 The CSU’s political game culminated in the fully unprepared November 1976 Kreuth decision made by the CSU faction of the CDU/CSU Bundestag group to end parliamentary cooperation and to begin campaigning against the CDU across Germany, starting in 1978.1285 Neither the CSU Board nor the CDU leadership had been informed of the decision. Strauß hoped here for the realization of ‘more credible, anti-socialist liberal-conservative politics’.1286 In the end, however, the CSU leader had to retract the move – a powerful group within the CSU, led by the Swabian district chairman Bruno Merk, announced that it would join the CDU if Kohl went ahead with his plans to found a Bavarian state party association.1287 While this did not put a complete end to dreams or speculations about a ‘fourth party’, its potential to pose a political threat was defused. The concept of conservatism was now clearly defined in the political language of the Union parties once and for all. The label ‘right-conservative’ or ‘Right’ placed on the programmatic alternative offered by Strauß, Dregger, Carstens and Filbinger played just as great a role here as the intra-party debates and formation of party wings. Conservatives once again appeared to be acting in opposition to democracy – just as described in the studies by Helga Grebing and Martin Greiffenhagen. Strauß was portrayed

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as the central figure in a clandestine conspiracy, the leader of a ‘right-wing cartel’ made up of the CSU, CDU, NPD, Vertriebenen- associations and radical right-wing circles.1288 Bruno Friedrich, a Bundestag member from Würzburg and deputy chairman of the SPD parliamentary group, warned the body in 1978 of a ‘new collective movement from the right’, a ‘right-wing conservative movement’ and a ‘New Right’, with Franz Josef Strauß as its ‘driving force’. He referred in his speech to Eugen Kogon, who, in 1977, portrayed the CSU leader as seeking to firmly establish ‘right-wing authoritarianism from an underlying reactionary progressive stance with a propensity for economic and political efficacy’.1289 The formation of categories in the political and intellectual discourse of the Left overlapped with one another. ‘Conservative’ became a synonym for ‘the Right’.1290 The concept had become a problem for the CDU in the course of the 1970s. Even integrative variants such as ‘liberal conservatism’ became unusable in the polarized political situation of the mid- to late 1970s. At the beginning of the decade, the concept of conservatism was commended to the Union parties as it appeared to be a means of capturing their development after 1945 in a conceptual manner. Commentators found that CDU and CSU had lost their own character – in a society that was rapidly leaving the Christian churches and their moral views behind, Christian political promises would hardly suffice as a basis of forming majorities. The days of the ‘worldview party’ were numbered. The concept that had done most to shape the identity of the Union parties had vanished from the vocabulary of the CDU and CSU in just a few years. While Josef Hermann Dufhues was still describing the Union as a worldview party in 1964,1291 the concept played but a subordinate role in the programmatic debates that both parties carried out in 1968. It did not come up in the CDU Party Conference debate,1292 and within the CSU, Strauß, while he did continue to repeat his cautious language of a ‘worldview party’ that acted chiefly ‘pragmatically’,1293 the concept itself did not appear at all in the programme. Dietrich Rollmann, a CDU Bundestag member from Hamburg and an enthusiastic young reformer within the party, declared in 1968 that the ‘era of worldview parties’ had finally come to an end, being a relic of past times and not suited to providing the CDU with a successful future.1294 But if the Union parties were now neither conservative parties nor worldview parties, what were they?

2.4.4. Parties of the Centre: Conceptual Deficits and the Programmatic Renewal of the Union What made the Union parties into what they were? What was the core of their self-image? What distinguished them from other West German parties? And how could this essence be expressed in language? The CDU and CSU grappled

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with these questions throughout the 1970s, attempting to address them in the composition of their new programmes. How much the two parties struggled with the political conceptual worlds of the Federal Republic was reflected clearly in their discussion of the concept of conservatism. The Union parties were losing their language-political self-assuredness by the late 1960s, and their conceptual deficiencies more clearly evident, revealing a programmatic vacuum that the Union had slid into during the 1960s. The search for a political language in tune with the time had to begin with those concepts that the parties used to use to describe themselves. Only in such a way could they attain credibility. Which concepts should they be? Although it would have worked well structurally, conservatism was not an option as a leading concept, as illustrated clearly above. But what alternatives did the parties have? Which semantic network did the CDU and CSU establish in the course of the 1970s to express their political self-image? How was their political language structured? It at first made the most sense to focus in particular on the concept that had formed the identity of the two parties from their founding: that of the C in their names. The majority within the Union did not wish to follow Dietrich Rollmann’s suggestion to depart from a Christian identity once and for all.1295 The C would continue to retain its place in the self-description of the parties. The CDU and CSU viewed themselves as Christian parties. The meaning of the C, however, was strongly relativized. The CDU ‘oriented itself towards the Christian faith and thought’ with ‘politics based on the common responsibility of Christians in the world’, aiming at the ‘freedom of a person who knows his or her duty to the community’ and at ‘justice for all as well as solidarity built on personal responsibility’, as the preamble of the 1968 Berlin Programme phrased it.1296 The second version of 1971 further limited the commitment to Christianity: the CDU ‘oriented’ its politics towards the ‘principles of Christian responsibility’. The consequences to be drawn here remained nearly unchanged from 1968, apart from the realization of ‘equal opportunity’ now being presented as a goal of Christian-inspired politics.1297 The CSU Basic Programme sounded even more general with regard to Christianity, with its political action based on a ‘Christian definition and interpretation of people and the world’.1298 The subsequent discussion on the programmatic renewal of the Union parties after 1969 was based on these ideas. They provided a direction to the reformulation of their political languages as we will see in the following. What did it mean to say that the CDU and CSU described themselves as ‘Christian’? There was no further talk of departing from ideology, with the predominant impression instead being that the political discussion was increasingly shaped by ‘basic principles’ and that the Union could only score points with well-thoughtthrough ideas. This view also prevailed in the UK Conservative Party from the end of the 1960s, especially among Heath’s critics.1299 Greater focus was again placed on the C in the CDU and CSU, which was enhanced with new meaning,

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even if the doubt of the efficacy of Christianity in secular times remained ever present. What might this C now mean if ‘not even the cardinal’ himself knew it anymore, Erich Kiesl asked at a CSU Board meeting in January 1973.1300 The politicians of the Union parties searched for this answer in the 1970s, all the while rejecting the accusation that they were pursuing ideological politics in this way; on the contrary, they argued, as the Christian aspect allowed for politics beyond any political ideologies. As CSU general secretary Max Streibl explained in 1970, the Union parties had ‘found [their] ideological home before any politics’ and did not in fact attempt to achieve this ‘through politics’.1301 A year later, Bruno Heck summed up this dimension of the concept for the CDU in a theologically framed article published in Die politische Meinung. He argued that a firm foundation in Christianity provided distance to those utopian doctrines that promise salvation in this world, while also offering a realistic view of people in their ‘shortcomings’, their ‘limitations in the finite’.1302 Christianity, as it was understood in the Union parties of the 1970s, was primarily founded in a human-centred vein, in the sense that people were to be at the centre of all politics with a dignity that could not be ‘extinguished’ by others.1303 The human-centred core of Christianity was nothing new, and was in fact firmly anchored in the political language of the party. What was new was the emphatic stress on freedom at the heart of the Christian view of humanity. As we have seen, the Catholic-informed wing of the Union parties had particularly struggled with the unqualified adoption of the concept of freedom in the late 1950s and early 1960s.1304 A decade later, the C was being interpreted as an element that served to guarantee this freedom. The ‘core of Christian morals’ was now ‘the defence against illiberality’. The most urgent tasks of a Christian were therefore the ‘protection of freedom’, the ‘defence against totalitarian aims’ and ‘overcoming positivism’ – and thus also of a party dedicated to acting in line with Christian responsibility.1305 The Union’s view of humankind had been fundamentally liberalized. Freedom – also a point of continuity in the political language of the Union parties – was not intended to mean limitless freedom. These limits were set by Christian moral law, while also lying within each individual: in the ‘entanglement’ of each individual ‘in themselves’, as it was described in a 1972 report of the Weizsäcker Commission. Individuals could only come ‘into their own’ when they went beyond themselves, seeking out others in solidarity and connecting with each other. Freedom was ‘inseparable from responsibility’ here.1306 The semantic connection was also deeply anchored in the language of the Union parties. This would attain new significance, however, through the emphasis placed on the concept of freedom in the 1970s. It not only moved further towards the core of the political language of the CSU, but the CDU saw itself as a ‘party of freedom’ as well.1307 Richard von Weizsäcker coined the concept of ‘freedom in responsibility’, which he felt was the ‘great task’ of his time. He saw

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freedom as being under threat in many areas: ‘by anonymous bureaucracy and mass society, by technical control from afar, … by political programmes of egalitarianism, by collective systems and … by totalitarian doctrines of salvation’. The connection between freedom and responsibility underwent a rich semantic development as reflected in the following example: Freedom aims at self-determination instead of external control, at co-responsibility instead of apathy, at shared humanity instead of individuation. Freedom not only means individualism but also lived neighbourliness, not only the ability to criticize but also the ability to trust, not only emancipation but also commitment, and not only ideological pluralism but also recognition of the moral order of values that forms the basis of society.1308

The concept of responsibility, in its Christian interpretation, referenced the concept of freedom as well as that of solidarity. This could develop ‘only under the banner of freedom and responsibility’ as stated in the 1972 report of the CDU Commission on Fundamental Principles.1309 The concept of solidarity was one of the basic concepts of Catholic social doctrine, through which it found its way into the language of the Union parties, and was revitalized time and again by the Christian Social wing. It was quite explosive in itself, allowing social policy claims to be founded on the basic tenets of the party. The CDU could not have justifiably borne the C in its party name if it did not advocate ‘passionately for the weak in our society’, Hans Katzer, the power within the Christian Social wing, underscored at the 1975 Mannheim Federal Party Conference.1310 Connecting the concept of solidarity with ‘freedom’ and ‘responsibility’ was thus a strategy to smooth out its edges. This also coincided with the phrasing that was found in the preamble of the revised Berlin Programme: ‘politics founded in Christian responsibility’ aimed at the ‘solidarity of all citizens’, building on the ‘individual responsibility of the person’.1311 In concrete terms, this meant setting limits to the expansion of welfare-state services: ‘Freedom in responsibility involves a solidarity that does not solely rely on, or is limited to, state and society for protection against major life risks’, but is also built upon privately organized assistance.1312 The phrase Hilfe zur Selbsthilfe (helping others to help themselves) was commonly used, which also derived from the vocabulary of Catholic social doctrine. For Biedenkopf, finding the balance in the tension between solidarity and subsidiarity was one of the major tasks of the time.1313 ‘Only an understanding of society that accepts solidarity, in the sense of working together for the whole, and subsidiarity, in the sense of individual independence before the whole, as equal constituent elements of every social structure, will be able to legitimize the authority of political leadership’,1314 this was how the general secretary argued the case, assuming here that the social policy measures of the Social-Liberal coalition would lead straight to ‘socialist

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class struggle’.1315 Franz Josef Strauß’s considerably more direct talk of the ‘limits of the welfare state’ was not far off in its thrust. That became clear when the CDU moved towards recodifying its perspectives in social policy. This was also prepared by a re-evaluation of the Christianity-anchored concept of solidarity. Introduced with the 1975 Mannheim Declaration as the ‘new social question’ and with a big media splash, it had, years earlier, already been a part of the discussions over the C in the party name. As Kohl expressed it in 1973, ‘solidarity’ meant advocating ‘for those groups’ that ‘quietly suffer at the margin of society’.1316 This shift within the party regarding the concept of solidarity, moving away from an interpretation focused on industrial working society, primarily spoke to the Sozialausschüsse. Despite all of these qualifications and ‘domestications’, the C pointed the Union towards social concerns. The central concepts grouped around the C included the concept of justice or social justice. The obligation towards carrying out ‘political work with personal responsibility before God and one’s neighbour’ entailed a courageous commitment to ‘more justice, more solidarity, more freedom and personal responsibility’, as Horst Waffenschmidt proclaimed, who was a CDU Bundestag member, an expert on municipal policy and part of the leadership of the Protestant Church in the Rhineland.1317 This call for justice was at least as politically explosive as the call for solidarity.1318 Kurt Biedenkopf and Heiner Geißler’s concept of the new social question was an attempt to limit the concept of justice to a particular place in the party’s language, and ultimately to disarm it. It was meant to open up the perspective for the ‘human and ethical aspect of justice’, which had fallen by the wayside following the ‘narrowing of the idea of social justice to the distribution of material growth’. The expansion of social welfare services was not sufficient to solve the problem of justice in West German society in the long term. The issue had to be solved through political power instead – through a shift in the economy of attention and the redistribution of resources.1319 Union politicians never tired of stressing that justice was in no way synonymous with equality, but instead referred to ‘the opportunity of all to develop in accordance with their diversity’.1320 The Union parties did not promise equality, in the way that the SPD did, but ‘equal opportunity’ (Chancengleichheit).1321 The concept was first replaced by ‘just opportunity’ (Chancengerechtigkeit) in the Ludwigshafen Basic Programme adopted in 1978, after the SPD had managed to make ‘equal opportunity’ its own.1322 Whether one spoke of equality or equal opportunity or opportunity justice was of particular importance in discussions on education policy. Weizsäcker stressed that the realization of equality entailed the ‘end of solidarity and freedom’, and called instead for a ‘humane meritocracy’.1323 As party leader Kohl expressed it in 1975, the C connected ‘liberal basic values’ with ‘striving for more social justice’ – and established mutual limits between the two.1324 The significance given to the concept of justice in the

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1970s, a time when the Union parties felt cornered by the SPD’s sociopolitical programme, was demonstrated in particular by its inclusion into the preamble of the Berlin Programme and its successors.1325 Justice was viewed here as one of the basic values that the CDU intensively focused on within the framework of its programmatic discussion. The concept was put forward by the policy commission that the federal party leadership established in October 1971. With the task of working out the ‘values and goals’ of Christian Democratic politics, the commission spoke in its 1972 interim report of the significance of consensual basic values in a democratic society. A scenario was presented in which the consensus undergirding the constitutional order of the Federal Republic was in danger of eroding. It had become increasingly difficult to speak about ‘the ethical basis for daily political decisions’ as a matter of consensus.1326 The CDU referred here to precisely the same arguments that were presented in the intellectual debate over a renewed liberal-spirited conservatism.1327 As Helmut Kohl explained at the Catholic Academy in Hamburg in 1976, protecting and advancing the ‘ideal underpinnings of the community’ was an important task for the parties. This came in response to Helmut Schmidt, who had expressed his fundamental doubt with regard to any attempts to ascribe binding values to the worldview-neutral state beyond those defined in the Basic Law.1328 The SPD and the FDP accused Kohl of advancing precisely this erosion, denying the binding values of the Basic Law and endangering ‘the liberal order, oriented towards common basic values’.1329 In view of the ubiquitous search for meaning and orientation after the end of an era in West German history that focused on material happiness, it was now a central political task to bring the basic values of the constitution back into mind. The parties were, from this point of view, the guardians of the concepts of democracy, to draw the phrase from Wilhelm Hennis. Not by chance, the Freiburg-based political scientist was a member of the CDU’s Commission on Fundamental Principles. The negative image of the Weimar Republic once again loomed in the background of the perception of a deep crisis in democracy, with its ‘limitless relativism of values’ seen as having ultimately been responsible for putting an end to the republic once and for all.1330 While there would be disagreement over the form the basic values would take, it was argued, a monopolistic claim on basic values on the part of a single party was simply out of the question.1331 Different strands of discourse emerged in the 1970s in the debate over basic values, which featured the participation of the major parties and the churches in particular: the debate over the fundaments of West German democracy; the debate over the necessity of state norms in view of a deep change in societal moral views; the discussions over political language; and discussions involving the relation between society and state. As Martin Geyer put it, this was about the ‘reflexive discursivation of the fundaments and thus the identity of West

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German society’.1332 The theses of a basic ‘value change’ in Western societies posited by the US sociologist Ronald Inglehart, which reached the German public by the end of the 1970s,1333 and which were given the influential support of Helmut Klages in Germany, were therefore received with particular resonance within the conservative spectrum.1334 Did this purported value change lead to the undermining of the fundaments upon which the Federal Republic was built, and with which it was able to operate successfully? The political scientist Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann, who, along with her Allensbacher Institut, was close to the Union parties, took on the ‘role of Cassandra’ in this context.1335 The departure from civic values, including a focus on achievement and a sense of responsibility and obligation, led in the picture she painted to the collapse of morality, hedonism, limitless consumption and a rampant welfare state.1336 Why did the Union parties, however, focus in this debate over values on the basic values of freedom, solidarity and justice? The concept of solidarity was not even mentioned in the Basic Law. Just as the debate over basic values emerged from the debates within the CDU and CSU over the parties’ self-images, it was also a tactical manoeuvre in the ‘conceptual struggle’. The SPD had defined the concepts of freedom, solidarity and justice exclusively as basic values of democratic socialism in its 1959 Godesberg Programme, and it returned to this in its envisioned long-term programme in the early 1970s.1337 During this decade, which was marked by a high level of language-political sensitivity, with the Union parties under the impression that their political opponents had laid claim to all basic concepts, its party strategists endeavoured to identify central concepts in the political vocabulary with their own politics. The triad of freedom, solidarity and justice, considered to be concepts of the Left, were thus of particular use here in the Union parties’ efforts to reach middle-class voters, who might provide it with an absolute majority, by presenting itself as an equally social alternative to the SPD. The reflection on basic values was also understood in the CDU as a Christian undertaking. ‘As a Christian’, Kohl explained, he understood ‘the basic values to be the expression of a religious creed’. A politician acting on his Christian conviction would ultimately see his ‘action determined by values that are indeed repeatedly to be brought in line with the times’ but are above any ‘short-term interplay of fostering opinion and making majority decisions’.1338 The values were to be protected, conserved and brought to life, and the Christian moral order, which provided for stability, was to be maintained.1339 It was on this point that the concept of conservatism, as cultivated in the CDU, connected with the interpretation of Christianity. This was in fact nothing new. While Christianity pointed at the past, it had an equally strong future dimension. On the one hand, as established above, the C was coded as anti-utopian: policy was to be made in the present, oriented towards the concrete problems of the day. On the other hand, groups within the party

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that were pushing for reforms never tired of emphasizing the explosive power of Christianity. As Christian Schwarz-Schilling and Gerd Langguth argued in their paper for the general discussion in the CDU of the 1972 electoral defeat, Christians had to be open to new things, particularly because they were aware of the limits of their insights.1340 RCDS chairman Langguth had been somewhat clearer about this two years prior, stating that the C was the basis for ‘the need for progressive, dynamic and aggressive politics’, because the Christian faith could never be content with the status quo but was instead filled with ‘salubrious unrest’ and therefore had to face up to ‘radical questions of tradition, routine and customs’.1341 This sounded much like liberation theology or the political theology connected to Johann Baptist Metz.1342 CSU delegates to the party’s 1968 conference argued similarly, when they pushed back against the inclusion of the concept of conservatism into their basic programme: the C, they maintained, contained a progressive, even revolutionary element.1343 This point of view would not, however, prevail. Instead of revolution, the Union wished for reform that connected continuity and renewal. The Christian response to the challenges of the student movement and rapidly encroaching societal change was ‘stability’, which made it possible to ‘control change in freedom’ – a ‘stability’ that ‘stabilized the movement’, as Biedenkopf put it in the debate on the Mannheim Declaration in 1975. Bringing the past, present and future into balance – this structural principle of the political languages of conservatism was interpreted in the Union parties as genuinely Christian. They took this as their position in the 1970s in particular, a period when the relationship between the time horizons was being renegotiated in the debate over the possibilities of further progress and growth. The argument of the necessity of temporal continuity was also used to support a central political initiative on the part of the CDU at the end of the decade. It began with the observation that the West German population would shrink in the future due to the decline in birth rates. This would undermine the foundations of the West German model of order and its social security systems in particular, which were built upon a generational contract. As Heiner Geißler argued, a future dimension could only be accessed from the foundation of Christian faith. It was from the view of human freedom being God-given that the power emerged to ‘think beyond one generation’.1344 The generational conflict and not class conflict, moreover, would emerge as the great conflict of the future. In order to prevent this, it was necessary to balance out the temporal dimensions, with the future dimension being given greater weight – something the SPD would have completely lost sight of through its persistent focus on the past. The community, Geißler concluded, was ‘a community of the living, the dead and those who will follow us’, not by chance quoting here Edmund Burke, the forerunner of liberal conservatism.1345 It was in the concept of the generation that the conservative structural principle of temporality manifested itself.

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The stress on the C characterized the discussion within the CDU at the end of the 1970s. It found expression in the Ludwigshafen Basic Programme, even if the Christian aspects were watered down in comparison with the first draft.1346 Heiner Geißler, who took over as general secretary from Kurt Biedenkopf in 1977, was particularly supportive of this, while also working towards an even closer conceptual alliance between the C and social aspects, as a socially concerned politician himself.1347 For Geißler, Christianity, in its ‘total humaneness’, was the sole possible alternative to the totalitarian challenge of the 1970s, both in terms of domestic and foreign policy.1348 The Ludwigshafen Basic Programme did in fact differ from all previous basic programmes – and from that of the CSU – by explicitly mentioning the relationship to God. This ‘re-Christianization of the creed’, as Ludolf Herrmann put it in Deutsche Zeitung. Christ und Welt, was however connected to a ‘deconfessionalization of the programme’.1349 This was indeed the case: while the CDU was still divided along confessional lines through the late 1960s, this was rarely a factor in the 1970s. Christianity remained a moment of integration, while in a detheologized – although surely not secularized – form. Theologians were no longer invited to party conferences, as leading politicians took on the task of interpreting Christianity themselves, while also limiting its scope. One concern here was the party itself. Parties were not to address the ultimate questions but to concern themselves with ‘penultimate’ matters instead. They were not to maintain the pretence of pursuing Christian politics but ‘politics in Christian responsibility’, which was to be limited to an appeal to each politician, something that their predecessors had stressed as well.1350 At the same time, the Union parties fenced in the left-wing potential of the concepts that connected with Christianity, as we have seen above. They participated here in the ‘secularization of church language’, which had been perpetuated in the churches during the 1970s, and through which theological concepts were translated into political ones, and political concepts into theological ones.1351 The left-wing potential of the C was defused both in the CDU and CSU, while the Bavarian party went even further in terms of ‘liberal’ politics: the C was connected with the concept of freedom.1352 ‘Politics in Christian responsibility’ implied for the CSU the ‘priority of the person above the institution’, the ‘supremacy of free initiative over state directives’, the ‘inviolability of the human dignity that was to be respected among the weak and helpless’, the ‘right of every individual to recognition, confirmation and support’ and the ‘irreplaceable value of all charitable activity’. The CSU called for individual solidarity but also that of organized interests. The party sought ‘partnership and brotherly solidarity’ instead of confrontation.1353 This had trade unions as its primary focus; conservative discourse had accused them of a creeping undermining of democracy through an interest-driven state, with the aim of socializing the Federal Republic – a discourse maintained by both CSU and

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CDU.1354 For Franz Josef Strauß’s party itself, this call for ‘understanding’ and ‘reconciliation’ did not appear to hold any validity in the face of a political strategy that pursued confrontation instead, its complete opposite.1355 The paradox of emphasizing Christianity in the CDU and CSU of the 1970s lay in the fact that none of the connected concepts required a Christian justification. One could speak of freedom, solidarity, subsidiarity, partnership, justice, human beings and basic values, all without reference to theology. Rainer Barzel, under massive pressure in 1972, described the party’s course as anti-socialist, liberal, cooperative and democratic, and based in the social market economy – but not as Christian.1356 Kurt Biedenkopf’s texts on party reform generally dispensed with any mention of Christian conviction;1357 in his March 1973 critical analysis of the party, he stated that ‘Christian creeds … no longer represent an effective foundation for political integration’.1358 Helmut Kohl’s programmatic contributions in the early 1970s also left out any reference to Christianity – this would only change once he became party leader.1359 Franz Josef Strauß, for his part, placed great value in reducing the C to an obligation to moral law.1360 The traditional concepts of the Christian vocabulary were detheologized, which corresponded with their liberalization. This opened the parties up to those who no longer had any use for Christian faith. The Christian foundation nevertheless provided the party with an ‘ethical basis’ that could also be recognized by non-Christians, as the CDU’s Ludwigshafen Basic Programme proclaimed.1361 The concept of values gained in significance in the Union’s political language in this connection as well. The intensive programmatic efforts of the CDU and CSU in the 1970s can also be understood as a response to the secularization of society and the shift in its relationship with the Christian churches. The churches, and the Catholic Church in particular, no longer functioned as the exclusive creators of meaning for the C parties. The parties took keen notice of this, especially in the state of crisis in spring 1973.1362 For the CSU, Walter Becher consequently called for the formation of the party’s own concepts in order to describe its principles in a development of a ‘civil theology’.1363 The parties could not, however, depart from the C, even if suggestions were made in the early 1970s to remove it from the party names.1364 The power of the concept derived from its interlinkage with party history. As Barzel underscored in 1973, the C ‘will remain … or we will lose our own continuity and thus end our historical mission’.1365 And remain it did. It was, however, placed on an equal footing with other concepts. The Union described itself, as we have seen, as conservative, social, Christian and liberal – but was particularly emphatic about the latter. When the CDU and CSU spoke of themselves as ‘liberal’ parties, this was chiefly aimed at the FDP. The FDP, it was commonly held in Union circles, had departed from liberalism since joining the SPD in a coalition and moving

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far to the left.1366 Biedenkopf presented an alternative version, arguing that the ‘historical mission’ of both liberalism and socialism had been fulfilled, becoming a common good in society, so that new answers to the challenges of the present were now needed – which could only be provided by the CDU and CSU, as both parties had been founded after 1945.1367 The ‘fundamental ideas of a modern and social liberalism are now consistently represented only by the Union parties in the Federal Republic’ was the parties’ apodictic claim in 1975.1368 This was advanced with a clear view to the 1976 electoral campaign and middle-class voter potential.1369 As we have seen, the concept of freedom was moved to the centre of the internal discussions on the self-image of the CDU and CSU. The freedom propagated by the Union parties was primarily focused on the individual, on self-determination, individual responsibility, self-fulfilment, self-reliance, self-help, self-development and equal opportunity. It aimed, secondarily, at economic freedom, as realized in the social market economy, based on competition, achievement, private initiative, private property, contractual freedom, tariff autonomy and reliable regulatory policy. As Minister of Finance Johann Wilhelm Gaddum of Rhineland-Palatinate put it, there was no harm in adopting the ‘ideas of classical liberalism’ in economic matters.1370 Thirdly, this focused on the freedom of the state both internally and externally, with the state able to regain authority, and democracy able to be firmed up. The Union parties sought to preserve freedom and thus liberal democracy from the onslaught of ‘left-wing utopia’ and ‘ideology’.1371 This had prevailed in the other part of Germany, with freedom being left to wither. The call for freedom hence always involved a component anchored in German and foreign policy: the CDU sought to act politically to fulfil the promise of freedom for the people in the GDR and for a reunified Germany. Not only that, the freedom that the West stood for was to prevail in the conflict of systems. This required politics that focused on security in a comprehensive sense: ‘External and internal, military and political, economic and social security all belong together and complement one another’.1372 In times of terrorism, the concept of security gained in importance and was closely connected with the concept of order that was introduced into the Union parties’ political language. Both were oriented towards the concept of freedom: security and order were necessary to secure freedom, as the frequently used phrase went.1373 The deep and comprehensive crisis, which was perceived everywhere, brought about a feeling of insecurity, not only in West Germany but throughout the Western world, a feeling that was expressed in the need for more security. How this could be provided in a free society was one of the great questions of the 1970s.1374 Hence, a semantic network surrounded the concept of freedom, which entered into large portions of the parties’ programmatic texts.

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The Union parties’ embrace of the concept of liberalism was by no means as self-evident as was being portrayed. Gerhard Stoltenberg was surely right when he pointed out the liberal traditions of the party, with Ernst Lemmer and Ludwig Erhard as the prime examples.1375 This did, however, conceal the aversions towards liberalism that were predominant in the party through the 1960s, and that continued to be expressed by the Christian Social wing into the 1970s, albeit in a diminished form.1376 Major reservations with regard to liberalism were also common within the Union parties when it came to matters of moral policy, which were at the centre of public debate in the 1970s with the initiatives of the Social-Liberal coalition towards a reform of divorce and abortion law.1377 Helmut Schelsky was relentless in pursuing the issue,1378 who, as we have seen, systematically sought to influence the CDU and CSU, and did in fact resonate within the Union parties.1379 That the ‘new social question’ was a ‘liberal question’, as Kohl claimed, because it revealed new threats to freedom in the bureaucratic welfare state,1380 also demonstrated how thin the ice the CDU was skating on with its liberalism rhetoric actually was. Freedom was supposed to manifest itself in obligation, in well-formed order, indeed as freedom in responsibility. The self-realization of the individual, as referred to by the CDU, respected the boundaries that society emplaced. Emancipation was its counterconcept, which would ultimately lead to the destruction of freedom, to the negation of responsibility for others, and to the undermining of the liberal and social order.1381 ‘Libertinism has nothing to do with liberality’,1382 Kohl emphasized, attempting here to keep the concept of liberalism useable for the Union parties. Franz Josef Strauß was clearly concerned with work on the concept, and his definition for the CSU also applied to the CDU: the CDU was liberal ‘in the sense of liberal thought, which is common to all truly modern and progressive forces today’. By contrast, his party had ‘nothing in common with the degeneracy of late liberalism, in which the unrestrained freedom of the individual already goes hand in hand with support for collectivistic tendencies. This type of pseudoliberalism also turns itself into a trailblazer and stepping stone for socialism’ and hence to a destroyer of democracy.1383 While Strauß was consistent in describing his politics as ‘liberal-conservative’, Kohl shied away from such a qualifier for the concept of liberalism – even if it indeed suggested itself. Liberalism, however, was only to be part of the Union parties’ programmatic outlook. The list of equally weighted concepts of political ascription not only left many party politicians at a loss, such as Norbert Blüm, who called for a ‘main common denominator’ among this ‘cartel of traditions’, something that he unsurprisingly hoped to find in the C – and naturally a C in line with the Sozialausschüsse.1384 Political observers were also amazed at the ‘impressive number of platitudes’ in the Union parties’ programmatic texts, the ‘ragout’ that was being served to the public.1385 This ragout would soon find its common

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denominator, one that would not however help to sharpen its profile: as the party of the centre. While this was in fact a key concept in the political language of the CDU and CSU from their founding years,1386 its status would be strongly elevated in the 1970s. The centre was intended to become an integrative concept, one that, as Blüm had it, would bridge the Union parties’ ‘cartel of traditions’. The concept of the centre thus inherited the C, which was becoming increasingly questionable in the course of the secularization process. If the CDU hoped to have a future, it would need to ‘develop a language of the centre’, as Biedenkopf demanded in the heated atmosphere of spring 1973. This also made reference to a difficult situation within the party, marked by the party’s wings drifting apart from one another. The tendency towards polarization that characterized the essence of 1970s political culture was quite palpable in the CDU. The Christian Social wing, the RCDS and the Frauen-Union, on the one hand, took on increasingly clear positions that were perceived as left-wing, as was reflected in particular in the years of agitated debate within the party over co-determination within and across companies.1387 On the other hand, the wings arguing for market liberal, statist and nationalistic positions also gained in significance, with Alfred Dregger, Karl Carstens and Gerhard Stoltenberg serving as their speakers and leaders. During this decade of reform, the CDU was becoming more diverse in its voice.1388 The people’s party consequently sought a new point of integration in the centre. But what did ‘the centre’ stand for? As a relational concept, the centre always had to distance itself from the poles on either side. Counterconcepts were needed to define these boundaries. This included zealous socialism, socialist egalitarian ideology, egalitarian levelling, dogmatization, ideologization, and authoritarian state paternalism – all examples from Kohl’s speech upon his election to be party leader in 1973.1389 As extremes in a language committed to the centre, this would require a balance as well, as was practically the law of the centre. This balance came about in concepts that represented the principle of synthesis: partnership, evolution, reform, social market economy and solidarity, to name a few. These were essential to the political language of the Union parties, and their being passed on and applied to the present provided stability for the conceptual inventory, and hence for the continuity that the narrative of the party’s history required. New synthetic concepts were also created such as the principle of humane meritocracy, freedom in responsibility, just or equal opportunity, co-determination in partnership and in accordance with societal function, individual freedoms with reference to the community, and social obligation of property. They were to offer what Biedenkopf had called for in 1973: forming a ‘language of the centre’, a language that, in its synthetic power, was suited to holding together the diverging wings of the people’s party. As we have repeatedly seen, the interlinkage of the structural principle of the formation of opposites, and that of balance and synthesis, had always been integral to conservative thinking.1390

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The attractiveness of the concept of the centre lay to a large degree on the flexibility with which it could be used. The Union parties placed themselves, in accordance with each situation, in the centre between progressive and reactionary,1391 between ‘democratic left’ and ‘democratic right’,1392 between ‘socialist’ and ‘hybrid liberalistic thought’,1393 and between ‘individualism’ and ‘collectivism’, ‘capitalism and socialism’.1394 The characteristic model of continual temporality was also attributed to the concept of the centre. As Helmut Kohl maintained in 1971, the CDU understood the centre in terms of ‘not throwing history and tradition overboard but continuing to build and write them; the centre however equally means … carefully, yet consistently and boldly, replacing whatever does not appear suited to the future with something new’.1395 The semantic network surrounding the concept of the centre penetrated deeply into the political language of the Union parties, as had already been the case since the parties’ founding years. The concepts of balance, moderation, equilibrium and synthesis were primarily connected with talk of the centre. The Catholic theologian and social ethicist Oswald von Nell-Breuning defined the concept of solidarity as the ‘balance between the rights and obligations of the member … and the whole’, so that the concept occupied a happy medium between ‘individualism’ and ‘collectivism’ and was well removed from any form of ‘radicalism’.1396 The Union parties, moreover, connected the position of the centre with a particular political style: one based on rationality, immune to extreme solutions, oriented towards the right degree of moderation, and seeking out consensus. It was precisely this that Hans Maier had recommended in 1969, already recognizing a new type of conservatism.1397 For the CSU, Theo Waigel found that the ‘political centre meant political rationality and a rejection of doctrines of political salvation’.1398 The middle class was often invoked here, with ‘middle-class virtues’ praised as guarantees of a maintenance of ‘moderation’ and the ‘centre’.1399 Here too, the Union parties stood in symbiotic proximity to the intellectual liberal-conservative supporters of a ‘philosophy of bourgeois culture’.1400 This evocation of the middle class also served the social dimension that the concept addressed: the Union parties aimed at the centre of the society, at those classes that bore the weight of the republic. This semantic network also proved to be durable, as Ludwig Erhard demonstrated; he brought his ordoliberal roots into the present of 1973, recalling the social market economy as the expression of an aspiration for ‘moderation and centre’.1401 Politics tied to the centre not only provided for the integration of opposites but also for their synthesis, leading to something new. Warnfried Dettling argued that this was particularly evident in the example of the history of the Union parties. The ‘extreme fringe was equally cut off’ from the political currents of ‘liberalism’, ‘conservatism’ and ‘Christian social doctrine’, which had all merged into the CDU and CSU. The CDU, as a ‘people’s party of the

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centre’, therefore represented a ‘synthesis freed from extreme fringes and hence cleansed’.1402 Such an explicit separation from the extremes in the linguistic style of the centre was necessary in the early 1970s, and massively increased the emphasis the Union parties placed on the centre. The CDU and CSU were indeed challenged by the SPD in their claim to represent the centre.1403 By proclaiming a ‘new centre’ in the Federal Republic, brought about by the Social-Liberal coalition, at the closing session of the sixth Bundestag in September 1972 and again in a January 1973 government statement, Willy Brandt was attempting to conceptually shift the system of political coordinates. The decisive historical turning point, as expressed in the change of government in 1969, was the ‘shift of the political majority from the right centre to the left centre’. The Union parties had moved to the ‘right’ and the political ‘centre’ was now represented by the SPD and FDP.1404 The SPD, moreover, made use of the concept of conservatism and ascribed it to the Union parties viewed as part of the political right.1405 It was Franz Josef Strauß in particular who sought to save the concept of the centre for the CDU and CSU from the ‘great propagandistic manoeuvre of obfuscation and concealment’ – both in the Bundestag and at the CDU Federal Party Conference.1406 The argument was informed by conceptual politics: the proclamation of a new centre and the simultaneous equation of conservative and reactionary were part of the language strategy of the SPD and FDP, with which they pursued a ‘formation or alteration of perception’. Strauß responded that a ‘left centre’ could not exist, because ‘if the centre is left, it is no longer the centre, and what is on the left cannot be the centre’.1407 The conceptual-political struggle over the centre would not fade in the course of the 1970s. The mechanism behind this ‘struggle’ over a concept was aptly described by Kurt Sontheimer in 1976. In West German political culture, the centre signified ‘nearly everything and thus actually nothing’, and that was particularly the case as it did not contain political extremes that were to be taken seriously. The occupation of the centre was therefore solely a stand ‘against any attempt at being pushed into one corner or another of the political spectrum by the opponent’, and a means of warding off any suspicion of extremism. Sontheimer found that this reflex was founded in the cautionary example of the Weimar Republic, which was omnipresent in West German politics. The lesson being drawn from this, he added, led to the fear that the political centre might once again not be strong enough to face an onslaught from the extremes.1408 This analysis was on target. Much was discussed in the context of the events of 1933: the nervous fear of a left-wing manipulation of the foundational concepts of democracy and efforts to find consensual concepts in the political language of the Federal Republic, the CDU’s shrinking at taking on an overly strong polarization strategy, as pursued by the CSU, and

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the focus placed on basic values. What Sontheimer overlooked, however, was the deep meaning that the concept of the centre took on within the political language of the Union parties – standing for one of the party’s central structural principles. Only this can explain the agitated reaction to the conceptual challenge of the new centre. Brandt’s new centre was indeed ‘an extraordinarily dangerous weapon against the Union parties, which displaced and degraded the opponent’, as Herbert Kremp aptly recognized in Die Welt.1409 If the Union parties were to lose their struggle for the centre, they would lose a major portion of their political language. Did the Union parties find a new language in the 1970s? Did they overcome their loss of language that they had been contending with since the early 1960s? The CDU and CSU were, in any event, very active in meeting this challenge, especially after 1973. We have already seen their weighty proclamations of how they were ramping up intellectually in their ‘conceptual struggle’, something that was chiefly a tactical chess move in the game of the media attention economy. The programmatic renewal of the Union parties was undoubtedly marked by a particular sensitivity to language, leading to an intentional placement of concepts. Ultimately, however, the political language was not as easily steered as Biedenkopf and his strategists would have it. This was demonstrated by Hermann Lübbe in 1975, using the example of the concept of conservatism.1410 The vast majority of the concepts with which the Union parties had developed their profile in the 1970s and which arrived at their characteristic meaning only through their reference to one another, had long since become part of its semantic inventory. They were reordered, relativized or emphasized in their meanings, or were moved to the centre of the political language whilst others were pushed to the periphery. Concepts central to the language of the Union parties in the 1970s, and especially the concepts of freedom, democracy, the human being and values, had been shaping the parties since 1945. They underwent a radical liberalization of their meaning, which allowed them to emerge as centres of crystallization for the political alternative that CDU and CSU conceived as an opposing counterpart to socialism and collectivism during the era of polarization in the 1970s. But even this anti-socialist thrust had been transported from the 1950s to the 1970s. The anti-socialism of the Union parties was, however, now packaged as liberal, and the CDU and CSU viewed themselves as successors to the nineteenth-century liberal movement. The meaning ascribed to Christianity changed accordingly as well. It was both presented as a guarantee for the freedom of the individual and, increasingly, as a signifier of social aspects. As the liberalization of the political language of the Union parties unfolded it became closely intertwined with the change in the meaning of the concept of democracy. The liberalism of the CDU and CSU referred chiefly to the processes and institutions of democracy as well as the democratic and social

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constitutional state. These needed to be conserved and protected from the onslaught of the revolutionary left. The Union parties’ liberalism was thus conservative to its core. Even if the extra-parliamentary opposition, the student movement, the 1969 change in government and lastly the confirmation of the Social-Liberal coalition in 1972 did not serve to launch this recoding of the Union’s political language, they strongly energized it. The reason they had such a dramatic effect was that they presented the Union parties with a vastly unexpected discourse coalition. The C parties, which had previously drawn their intellectual reserves chiefly from the churches, theological seminaries and conservative cultural criticism, and had increasingly perceived their distance to modern intellectualism as a deficit, now received support from relatively young political scientists and sociologists who were informed by consensus liberalism. It emerged as less significant that they – like Hans Maier in particular – had a strong party involvement, as their contributions to the public discourse were of all the greater importance. They contributed specifically to the formation and deepening of the semantic network that characterized the alternative provided by the Union parties. It was for this reason that this was primarily informed by democratic theory and a strong anti-socialism. Freedom, the individual, the state, authority, institution, reform, evolution, Basic Law, values, sober-mindedness, reality, rationality and balance numbered among the concepts that were held up by Hermann Lübbe, Wilhelm Hennis, Hans Maier, Kurt Sontheimer and others, and it was not by chance that they were roughly identical with the conceptual arsenal that the Union parties had been engaged with. The intellectual advocates of the conservation of liberal democracy placed their project, however, within yet another framework: as guardians of the concepts, they sought to establish a liberal-spirited conservatism in the Federal Republic, modelled on the example of the English-speaking world. Yet, this example also taught them that in a democracy, such a liberal conservatism could only succeed if supported by a political party. It was the Union parties that would take on this role. Conservatism, that ‘thorny word’, however, posed difficulties to them, and the CDU in particular, in the 1970s.1411 The pluralism within the party, the conceptual politics of the SPD and FDP, as well as the occupation of the concept of conservatism by the New Right all led to those thorns stinging all the more painfully in the course of the 1970s. The CDU, nevertheless, continued to return time and again to the concept in its liberal interpretation: it shared all of the structural principles and conceptual inventories with the intellectual alternative that was rightfully labelled ‘conservative’. And, moreover, this sort of understanding of conservatism had already been emerging in the party since the late 1950s. Ultimately, the concept remained ambivalent. The CSU contributed to this as well, as it did not share in the problems of its sister party in this regard, and it resolved to aggressively embrace the concept of conservatism. The CSU was, however,

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by no means a master of the conceptual-political situation, even if Franz Josef Strauß chose to believe so. Its flirtation with the Right discredited the concept of conservatism, even as Strauß emphasized the liberal potential of his political designs, which were chiefly market liberal by nature. Two structural principles of conservative language were given expression in the CDU and CSU, albeit with different degrees of emphasis. While the CSU focused on the principle of forming oppositional pairs, the CDU tended towards the principle of balance, in part because it was forced to face the challenge of its much greater inner pluralism. However, this – and the personal divergences among the leading figures of the Union – covered up the many commonalities in the language of the two parties. Both structural principles were at play in both parties, if perhaps at different levels of intensity, and they shared the basic concepts of their vocabularies. While the social conceptual inventory was more extensive in the political language of the CDU than in the CSU, this must not obscure the fact that the anti-socialist semantics of freedom, the individual, property and security was dominant in the CDU – and in its Ludwigshafen Basic Programme as well. While, therefore, Strauß’s candidacy for chancellor in 1980 undoubtedly represented setting a programmatic course, it was also a consequence of the political language that had been forming since the early 1970s. Viewing this, like Frank Bösch, as a ‘setback for the entire programmatic work of the CDU’ suppresses the ambivalences and the liberal potential of the programmatic process.1412 This was also reflected in the development of Kurt Biedenkopf after his resignation as general secretary due to increasing differences with Kohl. Biedenkopf would subsequently, and in the face of the recession and the second oil crisis of the late 1970s, identify himself as a politician of the market liberal order, with close ties to Strauß.1413 Biedenkopf moved beyond the diversity of voices in the mid-1970s, which had been the result of the CDU’s integrative language of balance.1414 In the 1970s, the CDU spoke – as did the CSU – a conservative language. It just did not give it a name.

Notes 1. 2. 3. 4.

Sethe, ‘Ein neuer Wilhelminismus?’, 1967. Klemperer, LTI. See Raphael, ‘Pluralities of National Socialist Ideology’. Sontheimer, Antidemokratisches Denken, 1962; Breuer, Anatomie; Breuer, Ordnungen der Ungleichheit; Sieferle, Die konservative Revolution. 5. See Schildt, Konservatismus in Deutschland, 138; Ohnezeit, Zwischen ‘schärfster Opposition’, 38–40. 6. Moeller van den Bruck, Das dritte Reich, 1926, 201.

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7. Bussche, Konservatismus, 43–45, refers especially to Boehm, ‘Konservatismus’, 1919, as well as the thought of Arthur Moeller van den Bruck (Bussche, Konservatismus, 152–78); Schildt, Konservatismus in Deutschland, 159–62. On Moeller van den Bruck, see Weiß, Moderne Antimoderne; Kemper, Das ‘Gewissen’. On Deutsches Volkstum, see Gossler, Publizistik und konservative Revolution, 195–207. 8. See the rejection of the concept in Die Kommenden, the journal of the Bündische Jugend: Breuer and Schmidt, Die Kommenden, 219–22. 9. Schildt, Konservatismus in Deutschland, 157. 10. See Stapel, The Coming Conservative Revolution, 1931, cited in: Dietz, ‘Gab es eine Konservative Revolution’, 625; Dietz, Neo-Tories, 142. 11. Jung, ‘Deutschland und die konservative Revolution’, 1932, 380. 12. Ibid., 383. 13. See Rauschning, Die konservative Revolution, 1941. 14. On Armin Mohler, see the biography, marked by uncritical sympathy, written by Weißmann, Armin Mohler; as well as Leggewie, Der Geist steht rechts, 187–211; Walkenhaus, ‘Armin Mohlers Denkstil’; van Laak, Gespräche in der Sicherheit des Schweigens, 256–62; Pfahl-Traughber, ‘Konservative Revolution’, 164–70. 15. Mohler, Die konservative Revolution, 1950, 211. 16. Ibid., 19, emphasis in the original. 17. Ibid., 147. 18. Ibid., 149. 19. See Mohler’s handwritten improvements and additions to the inner cover of a copy of the first printing of his book from 1950, which he provided to the Bavarian State Library in 1972: Bayerische Staatsbibliothek 72.2613. In the 1972 edition, the quote is indeed attributed to A.E. Günther, but with a reference to an essay by Günther from 1931; see Mohler, Die konservative Revolution, 1972, 115. 20. See Gossler, Publizistik und konservative Revolution, 197, cited there: Günther, ‘Nationalismus’, 1927: ‘The liberal idea of progress has now expired as a life-giving and formative power. The conservative essence can express itself without further need of reference to this. It no longer identifies itself as the reins on progress or as the conservator of all that is fading. It does not draw its strength from what was, but from what always is’. 21. Mohler, Die konservative Revolution, 1950, 149. 22. Ibid., 149–50. 23. See Streim, ‘Der Auftritt der Triarier’. 24. See van Laak, Gespräche in der Sicherheit des Schweigens; Morat, Von der Tat zur Gelassenheit; Mehring, Carl Schmitt, 438–578; Schöning and Stöckmann, Ernst Jünger; Kiesel, Ernst Jünger, 534–626; Goschler, ‘Radikalkonservative Intellektuelle’. 25. See here also Schildt, ‘Ideenimporte’, esp. 12–14; Gallus, ‘Traditionstransfer’. 26. See Steber, ‘“The West”, Tocqueville’. 27. See Burke, Betrachtungen, 1793; also, i.a., Zimmermann, Friedrich Gentz, esp. 47–67; Green, ‘Friedrich Gentz’s Translation’. 28. See Freyer, Politische Grundbegriffe, 1951. 29. See Stalmann, Die Partei Bismarcks; Stalmann, Die Deutschkonservative Partei; Alexander, Die Freikonservative Partei. 30. Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte, vol. 2, 1992, 332. 31. Bösch, Die Adenauer-CDU, 51. 32. Ibid., 21–51.

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33. See ibid., 61–62. 34. See ibid., 174–90; Wolf, CSU und Bayernpartei. 35. The debate over electoral reform, especially of the late 1950s and the 1960s, has yet to be researched to any significant degree – see only Poscher, ‘Das Weimarer Wahlrechtsgespenst’, and Jesse, Wahlrecht; with reference to the perception of the Weimar Republic in the debate on electoral reform of 1953, see Ullrich, Der WeimarKomplex, 399–412. 36. See Greiffenhagen, Das Dilemma, 1971, 316–46. 37. Mehring, ‘Der esoterische Diskurspartisan’; on Schmitt’s influence on the early Federal Republic, see van Laak, Gespräche in der Sicherheit des Schweigens; on Europe: Müller, Ein gefährlicher Geist; on Schmitt’s New Right ideology of the Weimar years, see Mehring, Carl Schmitt, 114–302; Fischer, ‘Hobbes, Schmitt, and the Paradox’. 38. See Meinel, Der Jurist, 272–78. 39. Ernst Forsthoff, ‘Vorlesung Allgemeine Staatslehre, Wintersemester 1943/44’, cited in: ibid., 277–78. 40. Ernst Forsthoff, ‘Die Entstehung des Konservatismus’, cited in: ibid., 277. 41. See ibid., 277. 42. See ibid., 278. 43. On Forsthoff’s role in the theory of constitutional law in the early Federal Republic, see Günther, Denken vom Staat her; as well as Günther, ‘Ordnen, gestalten, bewahren’. 44. See Forsthoff, ‘Die Bundesrepublik Deutschland’, 1960, 812. 45. Meinel, Der Jurist, 477. 46. Ernst Forsthoff to Ernst-Wolfgang Böckenförde, cited in: ibid., 480. 47. Morat, Von der Tat zur Gelassenheit, 526. 48. See also Morat, ‘Die Entpolitisierung des Politischen’, 177–78. 49. Jünger, ‘Rivarol’, 1955, 250. 50. See Morat, ‘Die Entpolitisierung des Politischen’, 178. 51. Jünger, ‘Rivarol’, 1955, 253. 52. Ibid., 254–55. 53. Ibid., 253. 54. Ibid., 250. 55. Morat, Von der Tat zur Gelassenheit, 527. 56. On the transformation of and continuity in Zehrer’s thought, see Schildt, ‘Deutschlands Platz’; on Zehrer’s activity as a journalist after 1945, with clear-cut sympathies: von Sothen, ‘Hans Zehrer’. 57. Zehrer, ‘Ein geschichtlicher Untergrund’, 1950, as well as for all following quotes. 58. On Zehrer and the metapolitical figure of thought, see Payk, ‘A Post-Liberal Order?’ 59. On the construction of ‘the West’ in Germany, see Bavaj and Steber, Germany and ‘the West’. 60. See Solchany, ‘Vom Antimodernismus zum Antitotalitarismus’. 61. Zehrer, ‘Ein geschichtlicher Untergrund’, 1950. 62. Stapel, ‘Kann ein Konservativer’, 1951, 324, as well as for all following quotes. 63. Bussche, Konservatismus, 364. 64. See Vordermayer, Bildungsbürgertum, 353–64, 380–94. 65. Freyer, Revolution von rechts, 1931; on Hans Freyer’s political thought, see Muller, Other God; Großheim, ‘“Totaler Staat”’, 148–152. 66. Muller, Other God, 332.

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67. Freyer, Revolution von rechts, 1931, 5. 68. See Muller, Other God, 330–54. 69. On Freyer’s cultural criticism after 1945, see Wirsching, ‘Konsum statt Arbeit?’, 175–76. 70. Freyer, Weltgeschichte Europas, 1948, 896. 71. Ibid., 909. 72. Ibid., 910. 73. Ibid., 914. 74. Ibid., 950. 75. Freyer, ‘Der Fortschritt’, 1952, 82. 76. See Freyer, Theorie des gegenwärtigen Zeitalters, 1955, 260. 77. Freyer, ‘Der Fortschritt’, 1952, 82. 78. Freyer, Weltgeschichte Europas, 1948, 616. 79. On Arnold Gehlen, see Thies, Arnold Gehlen; Delitz, Arnold Gehlen; Rehberg, ‘Nachwort des Herausgebers’. 80. Gehlen, ‘Zu Hans Freyers Theorie’, 1955, 580. 81. Ibid., 581. 82. Payk, Der Geist der Demokratie, 215. 83. See Nolte, Die Ordnung, 285–87. 84. Gehlen, ‘Tradition und Fortschritt’, 1959, 417, 419. A concise overview of Gehlen’s theory on industrial society is provided in Hacke, ‘Konservatismus des Standhaltens’; on Gehlen’s theory of institutions, see Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit, 140–47; Thies, Arnold Gehlen, 115–29. 85. Schuster, ‘Konservativ in unserer Zeit’, 1959. 86. van Laak, ‘From the Conservative Revolution’, 153. On Schelsky, see Gallus, Helmut Schelsky; Nolte, Die Ordnung, 237–40 and passim; and on his concept of institutions, Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit, 147–53. 87. See Schelsky, ‘Über das Restaurative in unserer Zeit’, 1955, 412. 88. Gallus, ‘Schillernder Schelsky’, 15; on Schelsky’s figure of objectivity, see Thümmler, ‘Mehr Demokratie oder mehr Freiheit?’. On the discussion of de-ideologization, see Payk, Der Geist der Demokratie, 282–85; Schildt, Konservatismus in Deutschland, 213–14; Schildt, Moderne Zeiten, 425–26. 89. Schelsky, ‘Über das Restaurative in unserer Zeit’, 1955, 411; see also Kiesel, ‘Die Restauration des Restaurationsbegriffs’, 179–81. 90. Schelsky, ‘Über das Restaurative in unserer Zeit’, 1955, 410. 91. Ibid., 414. 92. See e.g. Forsthoff, ‘Die Bundesrepublik Deutschland’, 1960, 812. 93. Nolte, Die Ordnung, 286–87. 94. On Arnold Gehlen, see Delitz, Arnold Gehlen; Wöhrle, Metamorphosen des Mängelwesens; on the central nature of individual autonomy in Freyer’s postwar thought, see Muller, Other God, 339, 352, and passim. 95. See Wöhrle, ‘Das Denken und die Dinge’, 68. 96. Schelsky, ‘Zukunftsaspekte’, 1953, 103; see also Schildt, Moderne Zeiten, 347. 97. See Schildt, Moderne Zeiten, 344–50; Nolte, Die Ordnung, 283–90; for a short overview of the cultural-critical discourse, see Keller, ‘Kulturkritik nach 1945’. 98. See Steinmetz, ‘Anbetung und Dämonisierung’. 99. See Reitmayer, Elite.

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100. ‘Die Kunst, zu überleben’, 1956, 44. 101. See Greiffenhagen, Das Dilemma, 1971, 316–46. 102. Bussche, Konservatismus. 103. Mühlenfeld, Politik ohne Wunschbilder, 1952. 104. On the Lower Saxony State Party, see Schmollinger, ‘Die Deutsche Partei’, 1025–29, 1042–45, 1058–60; Aschoff, ‘Die Deutsche Partei’, 76–79. 105. See Meyn, Die Deutsche Partei, 41–42; Schmollinger, ‘Die Deutsche Partei’, 1058–89. 106. See Meyn, Die Deutsche Partei, 30–44. 107. On Heinrich Hellwege, see Frederichs, Niedersachsen, as well as the less than critical depiction of his life in Ehrich, Heinrich Hellwege. Ehrich was one of Hellwege’s closest associates during his time as minister president of Lower Saxony. The committed National Socialist had previously had a career in the NSDAP’s Auslandsorganisation (foreign organization) and in the Foreign Office. 108. Application of the state associations Berlin, Hamburg, Hessen, Nordrhein-Westfalen, to the federal party conference in Goslar, 24 September 1952, cited in: Meyn, Die Deutsche Partei, 34. 109. See ibid., 36. 110. Molitor, ‘“Das wär’ bei Hitler nicht passiert…”’, 1951. 111. On Hans-Joachim von Merkatz, although emphatically affirmative, see Strelow, ‘Konservative Politik’. 112. ‘Konservative Politik ist zeitnah’, 1955, 20. 113. See Mühlenfeld, Politik ohne Wunschbilder, 1952, 6. 114. See Merkatz, Die konservative Funktion, 1957. 115. See the programme of the Lower Saxon party, which called, for example, for ‘the closest of ties with the British Empire’: Meyn, Die Deutsche Partei, 13. On British occupation policy, see Foschepoth and Steininger, Die britische Deutschland- und Besatzungspolitik. 116. Hellwege, ‘Niedersachsens deutsche Aufgabe’, 1947, 17–18. 117. Mühlenfeld, Politik ohne Wunschbilder, 1952, 15. 118. Hellwege, ‘Niedersachsens deutsche Aufgabe’, 1947, 18–19. 119. Buchna, Nationale Sammlung. 120. Mühlenfeld, Politik ohne Wunschbilder, 1952, 19. 121. Ibid., 7. 122. Ibid., 183. 123. Ibid., 7. 124. Ibid., 183. 125. See Bösch, Das konservative Milieu. 126. Mühlenfeld, Politik ohne Wunschbilder, 1952, 13. 127. Ibid., 14. 128. Ibid., 11. 129. Ibid., 6. 130. Merkatz, Die konservative Funktion, 1957, 24. 131. Ibid., 32. 132. Ibid., 34. 133. See ‘Konservative Politik ist zeitnah’, 1955. 134. Merkatz, Die konservative Funktion, 1957, 79. 135. Mühlenfeld, Politik ohne Wunschbilder, 1952, 353. 136. Ibid., 372.

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137. Ibid., 326. 138. See ibid., 327. 139. Ibid., 323. 140. Ibid., 325. 141. Merkatz, Die konservative Funktion, 1957, 77. 142. See Mühlenfeld, Politik ohne Wunschbilder, 1952, 327. 143. Ibid., 334. 144. See Merkatz, ‘Aufgaben und Möglichkeiten’, 1956, 45. 145. Merkatz, ‘Zeitnahe konservative Politik’, 1955, 22. 146. Ibid., 27. 147. See Mühlenfeld, Politik ohne Wunschbilder, 1952, 332. 148. Merkatz, ‘Zeitnahe konservative Politik’, 1955, 23–24. 149. See e.g. Merkatz, ‘Ein konservatives Leitbild’, 1956. 150. Ibid., 17. 151. See Merkatz, ‘Zeitnahe konservative Politik’, 1955, 25–26. On the concept of instutions, see Merkatz, Die konservative Funktion, 1957, 72, in which ‘institution’ is defined as being formed of ‘tradition and convention’. 152. Merkatz, Die konservative Funktion, 1957, 24. 153. See Meyn, Die Deutsche Partei, 48–50; Schmollinger, ‘Die Deutsche Partei’, 1078–82. 154. Merkatz, ‘Konservative und Liberale’, 1956, emphasis in the original. 155. Merkatz, ‘Zeitnahe konservative Politik’, 1955, 28. 156. On the DP’s slow process of dissolution, see Meyn, Die Deutsche Partei, 59–70; Schmollinger, ‘Die Deutsche Partei’, 1078–89; Oelze, ‘Margot Kalinke’; on the context, see Naßmacher, Parteien im Abstieg. 157. See Merkatz, Unser Weg in die Union. 158. See e.g. Dönhoff, ‘Das Ende der Konservativen’, 1960. 159. ‘Kulturpflege im kleinen Raum’, 1960. 160. Schildt, Konservatismus in Deutschland, 235. 161. ‘“Keine besonderen Vorkommnisse”’, 1963. 162. See Schildt, Zwischen Abendland und Amerika; Conze, Das Europa der Deutschen. 163. See Conze, Das Europa der Deutschen, 157; on moving closer to National Socialism in the early 1930s, see ibid., 51–56. 164. Schildt, Zwischen Abendland und Amerika, 42; on Franzel, see Conze, Das Europa der Deutschen, 71–85. 165. See Murner, ‘Konservative Revolution’, 1950; similarly affirmative: Schütz, ‘Restauration und Tradition’, 1954. 166. Murner, ‘Konservative Revolution’, 1950, 453. 167. See Dirsch, ‘“Das Hochland”’; Seefried, Reich und Stände, esp. 159–271, 353–77; an overview of Catholic conservatism is provided in Dirsch, ‘Katholischer Konservatismus’; on right-wing Catholicism in the Weimar Republic, see Hübner, Die Rechtskatholiken, who unfortunately does not discuss the conceptual history. 168. See Schildt, ‘Ökumene wider den Liberalismus’; on the high church currents within German Protestantism, see Hering, ‘Konservative Ökumene’; for a comprehensive look into Stählin, ibid., 76–81. 169. See Uertz, ‘Konservative Kulturkritik’. 170. See Franzel, Abendländische Revolution, 1936, 256: ‘This revolution of the Occident, however, and this is where liberal socialism went wrong, must be a conservative revolution as it must remain aware of its origins. It requires tradition. It seeks for all

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nations to work together. It indeed points back to the Occident. … We do not lack for progress, which only brings us misery, with its new machines and new arts, but we must take the step that would return us to the orders that suit us, that suit Occidental people and the Occidental world. We do not require dissolution, decomposition or slackening, but commitment, synthesis, harmony’. 171. Ingrim, ‘Die Stunde des Konservatismus’, 1953, 176. 172. See ‘Konservative Haltung in der politischen Existenz’, 1956. 173. On Wilhelm Stählin, see Meyer-Blanck, Leben, Leib und Liturgie; Kellner, Das theologische Denken. 174. On Gustav Gundlach, see Schwarte, Gustav Gundlach; Rauscher, ‘Gustav Gundlach’. A collection of Gundlach’s writings can be found in Rauscher, Gustav Gundlach 1892–1963. 175. On Paul Wilhelm Wenger, see ‘Paul Wilhelm Wenger’, 1958. Wenger was an editor at the Rheinischer Merkur; on this newspaper during the postwar era, see Müller, ‘Der Rheinische Merkur’. 176. Wenger, ‘Aufgaben und Möglichkeiten’, 1956, 51. 177. See Bussche, Konservatismus. 178. Wenger, ‘Aufgaben und Möglichkeiten’, 1956, 51, emphases in the original. 179. See ibid., 54. 180. See Fürst von Waldburg zu Zeil, ‘Aufgabe und bisherige Arbeit’, 1956; also Schildt, Zwischen Abendland und Amerika, 71. 181. See Schildt, Moderne Zeiten, 324–50. 182. Gundlach, ‘Konservative Haltung’, 1956, 34. 183. Ibid., 38–39; also 27. 184. Gaupp-Berhausen, ‘Vorwort’, 1956. 185. On this and on Gundlach’s role in the formation and interpretation of Catholic state theory after 1945, see Uertz, Vom Gottesrecht zum Menschenrecht, 363–405, 419–33. 186. On Gundlach’s concept of personhood, see Schwarte, Gustav Gundlach, 339–49. 187. Gundlach, ‘Konservative Haltung’, 1956, 28. 188. Gundlach, ‘Konservativismus und antiliberale Konjunktur’, 1932. 189. Gundlach, ‘Konservative Haltung’, 1956, 30. 190. Ibid., 33. 191. Stählin, ‘Konservative Haltung’, 1956, here 14. 192. Ibid., 17. 193. Merkatz, ‘Aufgaben und Möglichkeiten’, 1956, 45. 194. Wenger, ‘Aufgaben und Möglichkeiten’, 1956, 70. 195. Stählin, ‘Konservative Haltung’, 1956, 15. 196. Gundlach, ‘Konservative Haltung’, 1956, 34. 197. Ibid., 35. 198. Wenger, ‘Aufgaben und Möglichkeiten’, 1956, 52. 199. Ibid.; Stählin, ‘Konservative Haltung’, 1956, 15. 200. Stählin, ‘Konservative Haltung’, 1956, 15. 201. Gundlach, ‘Konservative Haltung’, 1956, 34. 202. On the Catholic anti-communism of early West Germany, see Brechenmacher, ‘Katholische Kirche und (Anti-)Kommunismus’; on the church’s interpretations of secularization, based in totalitarianism theory, see Solchany, ‘Vom Antimodernismus zum Antitotalitarismus’; Greschat, ‘“Rechristianisierung” und “Säkularisierung”’. 203. Conze, Das Europa der Deutschen, 147.

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204. See ibid., 162–67; Conze, ‘Abendland gegen Amerika!’; Schildt, Zwischen Abendland und Amerika, 66–71; Seefried, ‘Abendland in  Augsburg’. The celebrations of the jubilee are documented in Schwarz and Hohenester, Crux Victorialis, 1955. 205. Stählin, ‘Konservative Haltung’, 1956, 17. 206. On the significance of intellectual radio debates, see Boll, Nachtprogramm; on television: Verheyen, Diskussionslust, 154–206; on the media landscape: Hodenberg, Konsens und Krise; and the relevant articles in Schildt and Sywottek, Modernisierung im Wiederaufbau. 207. Görtemaker, Ein deutsches Leben, 261. 208. See Payk, ‘Ideologische Distanz’; Schildt, ‘Deutschlands Platz’; Kracht, ‘“Schmissiges Christentum”’. 209. See Gallus, ‘Von der “Konservativen Revolution”’. 210. Dürrenmatt, ‘Konservative Politik’, 1951. 211. See Schildt, ‘Auf neuem und doch scheinbar vertrautem Feld’, 31. 212. See Fredericia, ‘Gegen den Fortschrittsglauben’, 1952; Hahne, ‘Konservative Politik’, 1953; ‘Konservativ ist nicht reaktionär!’, 1953; on the recention in the United States, see Roberts, ‘Recent Books’, 1954, 332; Scharf, ‘Rezension: Hans Mühlenfeld’, 1953. 213. See von der Gablentz, ‘Erneuerung konservativen Denkens?’, 1953; Schöningh, ‘Was heißt heute konservativ?’, 1953/54. 214. See Steinbach, ‘“Jenseits von Staat und Markt”’. 215. See Harbou, Wege und Abwege. The Nazi Generalgouvernement was an administrative regional unit encompassing those territories of German-occupied Poland not incorporated into the German Reich. 216. von der Gablentz, ‘Erneuerung konservativen Denkens?’, 1953, 162. 217. Schöningh, ‘Was heißt heute konservativ?’, 1953/54, 25–26, fn 5. 218. Von der Gablentz, ‘Erneuerung konservativen Denkens?’, 1953, 164–65. 219. See Schöningh, ‘Was heißt heute konservativ?’, 1953/54, 33. 220. Ibid., 34. 221. Von der Gablentz, ‘Erneuerung konservativen Denkens?’, 1953, 164, emphasis in the original. 222. See Roberts, ‘Recent Books’, 1954; Scharf, ‘Rezension: Hans Mühlenfeld’, 1953. 223. See pp. 6–7, 30, 41. 224. On Der Monat, see Martin, ‘“Eine Zeitschrift gegen das Vergessen”’. 225. For an essay-style discussion of Mann’s reception of Burke, see Görner, ‘Retrospektiver Fortschritt’. 226. See Steber, ‘“The West”’. 227. Mann, ‘Was ist konservativ?’, 1953, 187. 228. Ibid., 188. 229. See Lahme, Golo Mann, 128–31. 230. See Payk, Der Geist der Demokratie, 282–88. 231. See Lübbe, ‘Die resignierte konservative Revolution’, 1959; Habermas, ‘Der Verrat und die Maßstäbe’, 1956. See Payk, Der Geist der Demokratie, 341–53. 232. For conservative, modernity-embracing positions in Merkur, see Kießling, Die undeutschen Deutschen, 326–33. 233. See Nicolaysen, Siegfried Landshut; Nicolaysen, ‘Zur Kontinuität politischen Denkens’. 234. See Kiesel, ‘Die Restauration des Restaurationsbegriffs’. 235. Landshut, ‘Restauration und Neo-Konservativismus’, 1957, 49. On Landshut’s conceptual histories, see Nicolaysen, ‘Zur Kontinuität politischen Denkens’, 291–92.

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236. Landshut, ‘Restauration und Neo-Konservativismus’, 1957, 50. 237. See Steber, ‘“The West”’, 237. 238. Schuster, ‘Konservativ in unserer Zeit’, 1959. 239. On Dönhoff, see Harpprecht, Die Gräfin Marion Dönhoff. 240. Dönhoff, ‘Das Ende der Konservativen’, 1960. 241. See Conze, ‘Aufstand des preußischen Adels’. 242. On Friedrich Sieburg, see Deinet, Friedrich Sieburg; Buddenbrock, Friedrich Sieburg. 243. See Kraus, ‘Als konservativer Intellektueller’, 271–73. 244. Sieburg, ‘Darf man noch konservativ sein?’, 1959. 245. On Sieburg’s cultural criticism, see Kraus, ‘Als konservativer Intellektueller’, 281–87. 246. As early as 1956, Sieburg, in his discussion of Jünger’s Rivarol, praised Jünger’s idea of conservatism and characterized it as having a ‘path to freedom’ at its core; see ibid., 295. 247. Knäbich, ‘Solitär wider Willen’, 149. 248. Thadden-Trieglaff, ‘Nicht allein Bewahren’, 1959. 249. See Mohler, ‘Konservative Literatur’, 1960. 250. See Kroll, ‘Geistesgeschichte in interdisziplinärer Sicht’. 251. See Schoeps, Das andere Preußen, 1952. 252. See Schoeps, Konservative Erneuerung, 1958, 82. 253. Schoeps developed this thesis in his 1952 study Das andere Preußen. 254. As well as in Schoeps, Die Ehre Preußens, 1951, 28. 255. Ibid., 11–12. 256. See ibid. Schoep’s image of Britain emerges in his analysis of the stance of Prussian conservatives towards the United Kingdom; see Schoeps, Das andere Preußen, 1952, 224–28. 257. See Schoeps, Kommt die Monarchie?, 1953; also Kraus, ‘Eine Monarchie unter dem  Grundgesetz?’; Kroll, ‘Hans-Joachim  Schoeps und Preußen’, 122–28; Kraus, ‘Hans-Joachim Schoeps als konservativer Denker’, 169–71. 258. On historical images of Prussia, see Kroll, ‘Sehnsüchte nach Preußen?’, as well as the brief overview in Clark, ‘Preußenbilder im Wandel’. 259. Schoeps, Die Ehre Preußens, 1951, 32. 260. Schoeps, Konservative Erneuerung, 1958, 99. 261. See Barth, Der konservative Gedanke, 1958. 262. Barth, ‘Einleitung’, 1958, 12. 263. Ibid., 10. 264. Ibid., 12. 265. See ibid., 10–11. 266. Mohler, ‘Konservative Literatur’, 1960, here col. 1040. 267. Ibid., col. 1049. 268. Ibid., col. 1054. 269. Ibid., col. 1050. 270. See Weißmann, Armin Mohler, 122–23. 271. See Mohler, ‘Konservative Literatur’, 1960, col. 1049, fn 17. 272. See Greiffenhagen, ‘Das Dilemma des Konservatismus’, 1961; Greiffenhagen, Das Dilemma, 1971. 273. Greiffhagen, Das Dilemma, 1971, 16, emphases in the original. 274. See ibid., 13, fn 4. 275. Ibid., 38. 276. Ibid., 50–52, citation from 51.

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277. See ibid., 52–57. 278. Ibid., 59. 279. See ibid., 26, 35, 53. 280. Mohler, ‘Konservativ’, 1962, 23, preface of the editors. 281. See Schwarzkopf, ‘Was ist heute eigentlich konservativ?’, 1962. 282. Ibid., 46. 283. Mann, ‘Konservative Politik und konservative Charaktere’, 1962, cited from 48 and 50, emphasis in the original. 284. Ibid., 50–51. 285. Harpprecht, ‘Verteidigung des Altmodischen’, 1962, 60. 286. Ibid., 62. 287. Dürrenmatt, ‘Europa wird konservativ sein’, 1962, 35. 288. Ibid., 36. 289. Ibid., 35. 290. Mohler, ‘Konservativ 1962’, 23, fn 1. 291. Ibid., 24–25. 292. Also see Berg, Der Holocaust, 294–98, 338–39. 293. Mohler, ‘Konservativ 1962’, 25–27. 294. On the dimension involving the politics of the past within the conservatism forum of Der Monat, see Scholtyseck, ‘Conservative Intellectuals’, 242–43. 295. Mohler, ‘Konservativ 1962’, 27, emphases in the original. 296. Schrenck-Notzing, ‘Wider die Gefühlspolitik’, 1962, 57. 297. Ibid., 56. 298. Ibid., 58. 299. On the discourse concerning Sachlichkeit, see Payk, Der Geist der Demokratie, 282–83, and on the assessment with regard to the stabilizing function of the incipient West German democracy, 367–74; with examples of electoral campaigns, see Mergel, ‘Der mediale Stil der “Sachlichkeit”’. 300. Schrenck-Notzing, ‘Wider die Gefühlspolitik’, 1962, 58–59. 301. Ibid., 58. 302. See Weißmann, Armin Mohler, 128–29. On the New Right, see Greß, Jaschke and Schönekäs, Neue Rechte und Rechtsextremismus; Brauner-Orthen, Die Neue Rechte; Pfahl-Traughber, ‘Konservative Revolution’; Botsch, Die extreme Rechte, 69–71. 303. ‘Was ist eigentlich konservativ?’, 1962, Leserbrief von Robert Hepp, 86–92, esp. 88. 304. See Weißmann, Armin Mohler, 93–109. 305. Mohler, ‘Die französische Rechte’, 1958, 81. 306. Mohler, ‘Konservativ’, 1962, 24. 307. Schwarzkopf, ‘Was ist heute eigentlich konservativ?’, 1962, 45–46. 308. See Merkatz, ‘Konservatives Denken’, 1962. 309. Harpprecht, ‘Verteidigung des Altmodischen’, 1962, 60–61. 310. See Schwarzkopf, ‘Was ist heute eigentlich konservativ?’, 1962, 46. 311. See Mann, ‘Konservative Politik und konservative Charaktere’, 1962, 52. 312. See Merkatz, ‘Konservatives Denken’, 1962, 56. 313. Gerstenmaier, ‘Was heißt heute konservativ?’, 1962, 27. 314. See Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1957–1961, 18.9.1958, 248. 315. Ibid., 249. 316. Ibid., 248. 317. Ibid., 249.

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318. Ibid., 253. 319. On the founding consensus of the Union parties, see Mitchell, ‘Materialism and Secularism’; Schlemmer, Aufbruch, Krise und Erneuerung; Bösch, Die Adenauer-CDU, 59–68. 320. Schiffers, Die CDU/CSU-Fraktion im Deutschen Bundestag 1957–1961, Nr. 75, 30.9.1958. 321. See Buchhaas, Die Volkspartei, 205–21; Bösch, Die Adenauer-CDU; Greschat, ‘Konfessionelle Spannungen ’, 28–31. 322. For an overview of the tendencies towards pluralization and secularization, see Großbölting, Der verlorene Himmel, 96–179; Damberg, ‘Entwicklungslinien’. 323. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 103. 324. Ibid., 98. 325. For a short overview of social Catholicism, see Rauscher, ‘Die Entwicklung des Sozialkatholizismus’. 326. On Hans Katzer, see Buchstab, ‘Hans Katzer’. 327. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 143. On the critique of neoliberalism in social Catholicism, see Langner, ‘Wirtschaftliche Ordnungsvorstellungen’, 88–96. 328. On the complex situation upon founding, see Schlemmer, Aufbruch, Krise und Erneuerung; Uertz, Christentum und Sozialismus; Doering-Manteuffel, ‘Die “Frommen” und die “Linken”’; Schmidt, Zentrum oder CDU; Mitchell, ‘Materialism and Secularism’; Bösch, Die Adenauer-CDU, 22–138. 329. See pp. 43–46. 330. On the German Catholic Convention in Bochum, see Langner, ‘Wirtschaftliche Ordnungsvorstellungen’, 51–55. 331. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 143–44. 332. See also the speeches by Theodor Blank, Josef Arndgen, Josef Mick and Franz Skorzak, ibid., 114–19, 128–29, 146–50. 333. For a paradigmatic view: Zentralkomitee der deutschen Katholiken, Arbeitstagung Ettal 25.-28. April 1960, Arbeitskreis: Staatspolitische Arbeit, 267–301, esp. 267–71; on the relationship between the Union parties and the Zentralkomittee der deutschen Katholiken, see Grossmann, Zwischen Kirche und Gesellschaft, 277–99; Raabe, ‘Das Zentralkomitee der deutschen Katholiken’. 334. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 151. 335. On the conceptual history of the social market economy, see Wengeler, ‘Vom Jedermann-Programm’, 396–400; Wengeler, ‘“Die Planwirtschaft ist das Unsozialste”’. 336. See Löffler, ‘Ökonomie und Geist’, 88. 337. See Wegmann, Früher Neoliberalismus, 104–10. 338. See ibid., 146–56. 339. On the ambivalent reception of ordoliberalism in Catholicism and Protestantism, see Löffler, ‘Religiöses Weltbild und Wirtschaftsordnung’; Haselbach, Autoritärer Liberalismus, 117–58; Hißler, Zwischen Liberalismus und Christentum; Stegmann and Langhorst, ‘Geschichte der sozialen  Ideen’, 786–91; Schäfer, ‘Kapitalismus und Kulturkrise’; the contrasts between the ordoliberal concept of the social market economy and the social-ethical thinking of the chuches in the early Federal Republic is addressed by Großbölting, ‘“Soziale Marktwirtschaft”’. 340. For a concise characterization of neo- and ordoliberal thought: Wegmann, Früher Neoliberalismus, 101–240; see, in addition, Ptak, Vom Ordoliberalismus; Ptak,

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‘Neoliberalism in Germany’; Jackson, ‘At the Origins of Neo-Liberalism’; Harvey, Brief History of Neoliberalism; Mooser, ‘Liberalismus und Gesellschaft’. 341. See Löffler, ‘Ökonomie und Geist’, 89–99; Löffler, ‘Ein deutscher Weg in den Westen’. 342. Mooser, ‘Liberalismus und Gesellschaft’, 150; Wilhelm Röpke adopted the concept of conservatism and oriented himself towards the American ideas of conservatism of Russell Kirk and Peter Viereck, which he saw as ‘liberal conservatism’; see Röpke, ‘Liberaler Konservatismus in Amerika’, 1955; on Röpke’s conservative variant of neoliberalism, see Solchany, ‘Wilhelm Röpke’. 343. See Löffler, Soziale Marktwirtschaft, 63–70. 344. See Langner, ‘Wirtschaftliche  Ordnungsvorstellungen’, 78–96; Löffler, ‘Religiöses Weltbild und Wirtschaftsordnung’; Brakelmann and Jähnichen, Die protestantischen Wurzeln; Goldschmidt, ‘Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft’. 345. For Ludwig Erhard, see Mierzejewski, Ludwig Erhard. 346. See e.g. Krone, Tagebücher, vol. 2, 386, entry dated 21 June 1965. 347. See Mierzejewski, Ludwig Erhard, 184. 348. See Nolte, Die Ordnung, 386–89. For Erhard’s sociopolitical ideas of the late 1950s, see Erhard, ‘Das gesellschaftspolitische Leitbild’, 1957. 349. See Löffler, ‘Religiöses Weltbild und Wirtschaftsordnung’, 120–21. 350. Similarly phrased: Etzel, ‘Begrüßung’, 1957, esp. 4. 351. See Löffler, ‘Ökonomie und Geist’, 91–93. 352. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 152–53. 353. Ibid., 153; on the context, see Steinbacher, Wie der Sex nach Deutschland kam. 354. ‘“Entscheidung für Freiheit”’, 1958, 1. 355. See Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 115. 356. See ibid., 148. 357. Ibid., 115. 358. Ibid., 178. 359. See also Uertz, Vom Gottesrecht zum Menschenrecht, 419–33, 439–63. 360. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 179. 361. See Wegmann, Früher Neoliberalismus, 156–68; Löffler, ‘Ökonomie und Geist’, 95. 362. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 179. 363. Ibid. 364. See the concepts in his main speech: ibid., 90–108. 365. Ibid., 180. 366. See Gerstenmaier, ‘Was heißt heute konservativ?’, 1962. 367. See also Schroeder, Katholizismus und Einheitsgewerkschaft; Schroeder, Gewerkschaftspolitik ; Aretz, ‘Katholische Arbeiterbewegung’. 368. Schroeder, Katholizismus und Einheitsgewerkschaft, 266. 369. Ibid., 296; Bösch, Die Adenauer-CDU, 294. 370. On the complex pre-negotiations, see Schroeder, Katholizismus und Einheitsgewerkschaft, 255–61. 371. See ‘Uneins mit sich selbst’, 1960. 372. See Ständiger Ausschuss Christlich-sozialer Arbeitnehmerkongresse, ‘ChristlichSozialer Arbeitnehmerkongress’, 1960. 373. See Vierhaus, Biographisches Handbuch, vol. 1, 109. 374. Budde, ‘Christlich-sozial und Liberalismus’, 1960, 21. 375. Ibid., 22. 376. Ibid., 25.

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377. Budde, ‘Christlich-sozial und Liberalismus’, 1960. 378. Ibid., 22. 379. Ibid., 28. 380. Ibid., 29. 381. See Nolte, Die Ordnung, 298–303. 382. Budde, ‘Christlich-sozial und Liberalismus’, 1960, 31. 383. On the semantic horizon of Christianity in totalitarianism theory, see Greschat, ‘“Rechristianisierung” und “Säkularisierung”’. 384. Adenauer, ‘Christentum und Staatsgesinnung’, 1953. 385. See e.g. Gerstenmaier, ‘Freiheit – Wozu?’, 1960, 183. 386. See Buchhaas, Die Volkspartei, 207–21. 387. On Dittmar, see the short discussion in: ‘Betriebliches Miteigentum verträgt keinen Zwang’. On his work for the DAG, see: Müller, Die Deutsche Angestellten-Gewerkschaft, 191 and passim. 388. See Lösche and Walter, Die SPD, 110–15; Angster, ‘Eine transnationale Geschichte’. 389. See Bösch, Die Adenauer-CDU, 391–97; for the convergence of Catholicism and the SPD, even if this only applied to a minority, see e.g. Klüber, ‘Freiheitlicher Sozialismus’, 1964. 390. See Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1957–1961, 17.1.1958, 73–85; ‘Münchener Gespräch zwischen Katholiken und Sozialdemokraten’, 1958. The talks held at the forum are published in Arndt and Gundlach, Christentum und demokratischer Sozialismus, 1958; on the context, see Hering, ‘Die Kirchen’, 240–47; for a broad overview: Ummenhofer, Hin zum Schreiten Seit’ an Seit’?, and Lösche and Walter, Die SPD, 301–11. 391. Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1957–1961, 17.1.1958, 78–79. 392. Ibid., 17.1.1958, 84. 393. See Schroeder, Katholizismus und Einheitsgewerkschaft. 394. Dittmar, ‘Christlich-sozial und Sozialismus’, 1960, 40–41. 395. Ibid., 39. 396. Ibid., 42. 397. Ibid., 45. 398. Cited in Bösch, Die Adenauer-CDU, 392. 399. See ibid., 394–97. 400. On Heinrich Krone, see Oppelland, ‘Heinrich Krone’; Hehl, ‘Der Politiker als Zeitzeuge’; on Krone as chairman of the CDU/CSU parliamentary group, see Schwarz, ‘“Für mich ist das Fegefeuer”’, 22–25. 401. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1960, 104. 402. Krone, Tagebücher, vol. 1, 418, entry of 13 May 1960. 403. Ibid., 417, entry of 12 May 1960. 404. Rapp, ‘Das große C’, 1960. 405. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1951, 17. 406. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1953, 35. 407. See Bundesparteitag der CDU 1950, 36. 408. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1960, 102. 409. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 108. 410. Katzer, ‘Christlich-sozial in unserer Zeit’, 1960, 62. 411. Ibid. 412. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1960, 145–46.

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413. ‘Die neuen Abgeordneten haben es schwer’, 1960; ‘Bedenken gegen die DP-Abgeordneten’, 1960. 414. See ‘Elbrächter, Alexander’. 415. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1960, 165. 416. Ibid., 167. 417. Ibid., 187–88. 418. On Hanns Seidel, see Gross, Hanns Seidel; Bayer, Weltanschauung; Möller, ‘Hanns Seidels christliches Menschenbild’. 419. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19590613, Landesversammlung der CSU, 13 June 1959, 22. 420. See Schildt, Zwischen Abendland und Amerika; Conze, Das Europa der Deutschen; Uertz, ‘Konservative Kulturkritik’; Seefried, ‘Abendland in  Augsburg’; Braun, Konservative Existenz, 265–82. 421. See pp. 133–37. 422. On Franz Josef Strauß’s politics in the 1950s and 1960s at the federal level, see Weber, ‘Föderalismus und Lobbyismus’; also Milosch, Modernizing Bavaria. 423. See Gross, Hanns Seidel. 424. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19610318, Außerordentliche Landesversammlung der CSU, 18.3.1961, 7. 425. See Seidel, Weltanschauung und Politik, 1961, 19. 426. Grundsatzprogramm der CSU, 1957. 427. See ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19581011-1, Landesversammlung der CSU, 10.12.10.1958, Walter Künneth: Die Stellung des evangelischen Christen zur Politik, 13–27; Pater Oskar Simmel: Mit welchem Recht nennen wir uns christlich? Eine Selbstbesinnung, 29–48. 428. Ibid., 44–46. 429. Merkatz, ‘Das Parteienwesen in Deutschland’, 1959, 50–51. 430. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 180. 431. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19610708, Landesversammlung der CSU, Rede Franz Josef Strauß, 8.-9.7.1961. 432. See Franz, ‘“Wir wählen die Freiheit!”’ 433. Dönhoff, ‘Das Ende der Konservativen’, 1960, emphases in orginal. 434. Schröder, ‘Da waren es nur noch sechs…’, 1960. 435. Altmann, Das Erbe Adenauers, 1960, 101–2. 436. Triesch, ‘Gestaffelte Linke’, 1960, 8. See also Dahrendorf, Über Grenzen, 119; Micus, Tribunen, Solisten, Visionäre, 172. 437. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1953, 16. 438. Barzel, ‘Koalitionspolitik’, 1958, 122. On Rainer Barzel see Agethen, ‘Rainer Barzel’; Wambach, ‘Streben nach Konsens’; Schlieben, Politische Karrieren, 111–58. 439. Barzel, ‘Koalitionspolitik’, 1958, 126. 440. See e.g. Bracher, Die Auflösung der Weimarer Republik, 77–80; von der Heydte and Sacherl, Soziologie der deutschen Parteien, 1955, 27–33. 441. Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1957–1961, 17.1.1958, 74. 442. See e.g. Hahn, ‘Die CDU als Problem der evangelischen Theologie’, 1962, 7. 443. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 191–92; see also Schardt, Wohin steuert die CDU?, 1961, 15–28. Not without controversy, the Volkspartei only became an analytical category in political science in the 1960s – see Niclauß, Das Parteiensystem, 25–29.

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444. On Gustav Heinemann, see Flemming, Gustav W. Heinemann; on the GVP: Müller, Die Gesamtdeutsche Volkspartei. On the systemic consequences of the GVP’s founding: Walter, ‘Sammlung und Spaltung’. 445. For an overview, see: Sauer, Westorientierung, 25–50; Klein, ‘Der westdeutsche Protestantismus’; Klein, Westdeutscher Protestantismus, 89–263; also Greschat, Die evangelische Christenheit; Greschat, ‘Vorgeschichte’; Lepp, ‘Entwicklungsetappen’, esp. 46–56. 446. See the classical works: Meier, Der evangelische Kirchenkampf; Scholder, Die Kirchen; on current state of research, see Gailus, ‘Protestantismus und Nationalsozialismus’. 447. With a focus on Heinemann, see Gallus, Die Neutralisten, 76–85. 448. See Oelke, Hanns Lilje; on his work in the Kronberg Circle: Sauer, Westorientierung. 449. See Lehmann, Hans Asmussen; Besier, ‘Hans Asmussen, Karl Barth und Martin Niemöller’. 450. See Kummer, Politische Ethik; Maaser, ‘Ständisches Demokratieverständnis’; Sauer, Westorientierung, 40–41. 451. See Scharffenort, ‘Helmut Thielicke’; Krondorfer, ‘Protestantische Theologenautobiographien’; Friedrich, ‘Helmut Thielicke’. 452. See Oppelland, ‘Der Evangelische Arbeitskreis’; Oppelland, ‘“Politik aus christlicher Verantwortung”’; Oppelland, Gerhard Schröder, 379–401; Egen, Die Entstehung des Evangelischen Arbeitskreises; Martin, Mehnert and Meißner, Der Evangelische Arbeitskreis. 453. Hahn, Ich stehe dazu, 1981, 92. 454. See Sauer, Westorientierung; Sauer, ‘Der Kronberger Kreis’. 455. See Klein, ‘Der westdeutsche Protestantismus’, 93–96; cf. Redeker’s work, based on arguments from Protestant theology: ‘Die Bedeutung des Wortes “christlich”’, 1959. 456. Gollwitzer, Christ und Bürger, 1960, 6; original publication: Gollwitzer, ‘Die sich selbst betrügen’, 1960. On Helmut Gollwitzer: Orth, Helmut Gollwitzer. 457. Gerstenmaier, ‘Verschleuderung des christlichen Namens?’, 1960; Gerstenmaier, Verschleuderung des christlichen Namens?, 1960. On the controversy: Gniss, Der Politiker Eugen Gerstenmaier, 377–78. 458. Gollwitzer, Christ und Bürger, 1960, 6. 459. See e.g. Gerstenmaier, ‘Darf sich die CDU christlich nennen?’, 1957. 460. See Sauer, Westorientierung, 129–30; Klein, Westdeutscher Protestantismus, 244; Klein, ‘Der westdeutsche Protestantismus’, 91–96. 461. Gerstenmaier, Verschleuderung des christlichen Namens?, 1960, 15. 462. Ibid., 17. 463. Ibid., 15. 464. Ibid., 17. 465. Ibid., 18. 466. See Krone, Tagebücher, vol. 1, 21.11.1960, 458. 467. See Großbölting, Der verlorene Himmel, 55–71. 468. Kafka, ‘Christliche Parteien’, 1958, 133. For a summary of critical arguments: Süsterhenn, ‘Der geistesgeschichtliche Standort der Christlich-Demokratischen’, 1961, 49–51. Also Grossmann, Zwischen Kirche und Gesellschaft, 279–87. 469. Süsterhenn, ‘Der geistesgeschichtliche Standort’, 1961, 54. 470. Also e.g. Höpker, ‘Der konfessionelle Alpdruck’, 1961; ‘Ein evangelisches Unbehagen’, 1962.

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471. See Protokoll der Verhandlungen des Außerordentlichen Parteitages der Sozialdemokratischen Partei Deutschlands, 1959, 58, 490; “Partei des Volkes”, 29, 327, 540. 472. Zöller, ‘Der Preis der “Volkspartei”’, 1961. 473. Krone, ‘Die geistigen und sozialpolitischen Grundlagen’, 5. 474. Ibid., 6. 475. Ibid., 7. 476. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19610708, Landesversammlung der CSU, Referat Franz Josef Strauß, 8./9.7.1961, 2. 477. Ibid., 3. 478. See Seidel, Weltanschauung und Politik, 1961. 479. See Brugger, Philosophisches Wörterbuch, 1959. The passage is very similar to a passage from Seidel’s preface: Seidel, Weltanschauung und Politik, 1961, 19–20. 480. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19610708, Landesversammlung der CSU, 9.7.1961, Referat Franz Josef Strauß, 7–8. Strauß does not quote this entirely correctly as he speaks of the ‘image of humanity’ instead of ‘human life’. The original stated that ‘worldview is the overall conception of essence a[nd] origin, meaning, purpose a[nd] aim of the world and of human life’: Brugger, Philosophisches Wörterbuch, 1959, 370. 481. Dufhues, ‘Christen in der Demokratie’, 1964, 17. 482. Ibid., 18. 483. Ibid., 22–23. 484. See ibid., 22. 485. See pp. 32–41. 486. See Bundesparteitag der CDU 1962, Gerhard Stoltenberg, 216. 487. See e.g. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1953, Hermann Ehlers, 27; Hahn, ‘Die CDU als Problem der evangelischen Theologie’, 1965, 95; also Bundesparteitag der CDU 1957, Heinrich Krone, 47. 488. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1957, 161. 489. See e.g. Dufhues, ‘Der Evangelische Arbeitskreis’, 1962, 13; ‘Die Pläne der dreisten Radikalen’, 1960; ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19610708, Landesversammlung der CSU, 8.7.1961, 15–16, Hermann Höcherl. 490. See e.g. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1960, Ernst Lemmer, 95; Heinrich Krone, 99; Bundesparteitag der CDU 1965, Eugen Gerstenmaier, 87. 491. See e.g. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, Kai-Uwe von Hassell, 192; Bundesparteitag der CDU 1960, Kurt Schmücker, 160; Bundesparteitag der CDU 1964, Hans Furler, 254; ACSP, 19581011, Rede des bayerischen Ministerpräsidenten Dr Hanns Seidel anlässlich der Landesversammlung 1958 der Christlich-Sozialen Union, 11.10.1958, 6. Even within the Protestant Kronberg Circle, the idea of sachliche Politik (objective politics) was a ‘key concept’, which refered to the belief that one thought and acted free of ideology; see Sauer, Westorientierung, 130–31, 156–58. 492. See e.g. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1962, Eugen Gerstenmaier, 187; Bundesparteitag der CDU 1964, Rainer Barzel, 95. 493. See e.g. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1960, Heinrich Krone, 109; or Franz Josef Strauß in 1960 addressing the CSU Landesgruppe: Sitzung der CSU-Landesgruppe, 4.4.1960, CD-ROM-Supplement, 596–97. 494. See e.g. Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1957–1961, 26.4.1960, 655–56. 495. See e.g. Böhm, ‘Wie die Volkspartei aussehen sollte’, 1958. 496. Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1961–1965, 11.12.1961.

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497. Archiv des Instituts für Zeitgeschichte, Dn 041, Barzel, Untersuchungen. 498. See Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1961–1965, 10.5.1962, 239–58. 499. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1962, Gerhard Stoltenberg, 216–17. 500. See e.g. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1960, Eugen Gerstenmaier, 200. 501. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 107. 502. Ibid., 111. 503. Ibid., 145–46. 504. See pp. 167–70. 505. See pp. 32–50. 506. See Herzog, ‘Schwundstufen des Fortschrittsbegriffs’. 507. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1964, Franz Meyers, 10–11. 508. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, Theodor Blank, 117. 509. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1960, Franz Gurk, 11. 510. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19590613, Landesversammlung der CSU, 12.–14.6.1959, Referat Hanns Seidel, 9. 511. See Ruck, ‘Ein kurzer Sommer ’. 512. See pp. 46–50. 513. See e.g. Barzel, ‘Wohlfahrtsstaat gegen Versorgungsstaat’, 1958, esp. 44–46; Muthesius, ‘Wenn die SDP gewinnt…’, 1957. 514. See Europäisches Parlament, Europäisches Parlament, 58–64, cited here 62 and 63; also: Artzinger, ‘Planung und Freiheit’, 1963, 5. On this debate: Plitzko, Planung ohne Planwirtschaft, 1964; Ruck, ‘Ein kurzer Sommer ’, 371–72; Metzler, Konzeptionen politischen Handelns, 232–38. 515. See Leendertz, ‘Ordnung, Ausgleich, Harmonie’; Leendertz, ‘Vom Anfang und Ende’. 516. See Thoß, NATO-Strategie. 517. See Ruck, ‘Ein kurzer Sommer’; Metzler, Konzeptionen politischen Handelns, 241–59, and on the history of implemented planning concepts in West Germany, 347–403; Süß, ‘“Wer aber denkt für das Ganze?”’; Seefried, ‘Experten für die Planung?’ 518. Böhm, ‘Vorwärts-Strategie für die CDU’, 1964, 19; see also ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19630706, Landesversammlung der CSU, 6.7.1963, Referat Franz Josef Strauß, 12. 519. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1960, Franz Meyers, 66; see p. 179. 520. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1964, Josef Hermann Dufhues, 46. 521. Ibid., Ludwig Erhard, 123. 522. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1965, Konrad Adenauer, 66–67. 523. Ibid., Marga Beitzel, 339. 524. See pp. 32–50. 525. See Bösch, Die Adenauer-CDU; Schlemmer, Aufbruch, Krise und Erneuerung; Schlemmer, ‘Grenzen der Integration’. 526. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1965, Josef Hermann Dufhues, 82. 527. See e.g. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19630706, Landesversammlung der CSU, 6.7.1963, Referat Franz Josef Strauß, 1: ‘The founding, journey, and work of our party, the transformation of Bavaria into a modern welfare state and the development of the Federal Republic of Germany are as closely intertwined as rarely ever before any form of politics has taken on visible expression’. 528. Adenauer, ‘Vorwort zum Tätigkeitsbericht der Bundesregierung’, 1959. 529. See Adenauer, ‘Ansprache’, 1961, 1–2. 530. Gerstenmaier, ‘Wider die Ächtung der Autorität’, 1960, 54. 531. See e.g. Süsterhenn, ‘Der geistesgeschichtliche Standort der CDU’ (both issues).

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532. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19590613, Landesversammlung der CSU, 12.–14.6.1959, Referat Hanns Seidel, 22. 533. Archiv des Instituts für Zeitgeschichte, Dn 041, Barzel, Untersuchungen, Nr. 120. 534. E.g. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19581011, Landesversammlung der CSU, 10.– 12.10.1958, Referat Hanns Seidel, 21; Schardt, Wohin steuert die CDU?, 1961, 101–2. 535. See Greiffenhagen, Das Dilemma, 1971, 231–33. 536. Archiv des Instituts für Zeitgeschichte, Dn 041, Barzel, Untersuchungen, Nr. 200. 537. See e.g. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1964, Josef Hermann Dufhues, 38; also Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, Kai Uwe von Hassel, 13. 538. See Bundesparteitag der CDU 1962, Kurt Schmücker, 126. 539. See Bundesparteitag der CDU 1961, Aenne Brauksiepe, 217. 540. See e.g. Erhard, Wohlstand für alle, 1957, 285; Röpke, Maß und Mitte, 1950. 541. Archiv des Instituts für Zeitgeschichte, Dn 041, Barzel, Untersuchungen, Nr. 173; see e.g. Katzer, ‘Partnerschaftliche Gesellschaftspolitik’, 1961. 542. Böhm, ‘Mit der SPD gehen?’, 1960. 543. See e.g. ‘Die Umfrage’, 1964. 544. See Gerstenmaier, ‘Was heißt heute konservativ?’, 1962. 545. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1962, Gerhard Stoltenberg, 217. 546. Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1961–1965, 10.5.1962, 239–58, Konrad Adenauer cited, 250. On the reception of the study, see also Barzel, Im Streit und umstritten, 1986, 29–31; Adenauer, Briefe 1961–1963, Nr. 93A (Adenauer’s note of 13 April 1962 about his conversation on 11 April 1962 with Member of Parliament Dr Rainer Barzel), 122–23; ‘Selbstbildnis der CDU, von Barzel gezeichnet’, 1962; ‘Ein evangelisches Unbehagen in der CDU’, 1962; Altmann, ‘Ist die CDU verbraucht?’, 1962; Barzel, ‘Die unaufgebbare Basis’, 1962; Buchhaas, Die Volkspartei, 298–303. 547. Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1961–1965, 10.5.1962, 252. 548. See e.g. Erhard, ‘Das gesellschaftspolitische Leitbild’, 1957, 37; Müller-Armack, ‘Die zweite Phase’, 1966. 549. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19590613, Landesversammlung der CSU, 12.–14.6.1959, Referat Seidel, 6–7. 550. Ibid., 19630706, Landesversammlung der CSU, 6.7.1963, Referat Strauß, 5. 551. See Archiv des Instituts für Zeitgeschichte, Dn 041, Barzel, Untersuchungen, Nr. 90–92. On the catchphrase ‘second industrial revolution’, see Brandt, Die 2. industrielle Revolution, 1956; also Metzler, Konzeptionen politischen Handelns, 62–80. 552. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1962, Rainer Barzel, 337; on the concept of the Atomic Age, see Schildt, Moderne Zeiten, 431–33; Renger-Berka, ‘Transzendenzbezüge’. 553. See e.g. Gross, ‘Das große C wird immer kleiner’, 1964; Altmann, ‘Ist die CDU verbraucht?’, 1962. On change within the CDU in the 1960s, see Bösch, Die AdenauerCDU, 339–418; Buchhaas, Die Volkspartei, 285–317. 554. Harpprecht, ‘Wer kann die CDU retten?’, 1965. 555. Schuster, ‘Parteien ohne Ideale?’, 1961, citations: 169, 170, 171. 556. See Bundesparteitag der CDU 1964, 548–88. 557. Ibid., 549–50. 558. Gross, ‘Die CDU und ihre Scheinprobleme’, 1964, citations: 7–8. Similarly: Gross, ‘Die unmögliche CDU-Reform’, 1962; Gross, ‘Die CDU und ihre Lorbeerbäume’, 1964. 559. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1964, Gerhard Stoltenberg, 478. 560. Ibid., Arnold Gehlen, 576. These thoughts are developed in Gehlen, ‘Über Sprachlosigkeit und Lüge’, 1970.

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561. Schuster, ‘Bundesrepublik im Widerspruch’, 1966, 508. 562. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1965, 706–8. 563. See ibid., 711–12. 564. Ibid., 720. 565. See Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1961–1965, 21.6.1965, 965–74. 566. See ‘Siebzehn Thesen der CDU’, 1965, 3, 5; Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1961–1965, 21.6.1965, 971–72. 567. See ‘Siebzehn Thesen der CDU’, 1965, 3, 5. 568. See Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1961–1965, 21.6.1965, 971–72. 569. See Hildebrand, Von Erhard zur Großen Koalition, 162–64. 570. Altmann, ‘Die Formierte Gesellschaft’, 1968, 28. 571. See ‘Können Sie Bundeskanzler werden?’, 1966. 572. ‘Von der bloßen Macht halte ich nicht viel’, 1965. On Erhard’s own insecurity regarding the concept, see also Hodenberg, Konsens und Krise, 378–79. 573. ‘Können Sie Bundeskanzler werden?’, 1966. 574. On the National Socialist concept of Volksgemeinschaft and its impact, see e.g. Steber and Gotto, Visions of Community. 575. Cited from: ‘Der Regenmacher’, 1967. 576. See also Schanetzky, Die große Ernüchterung, 143–45; Grebing, ‘Ideengeschichte’, 465–67. 577. Böll, ‘Die Kunst muss zu weit gehen’, 1966. On the resonance in the press, see Schott, ‘Die formierte Gesellschaft’, 177–84. 578. See ‘Im Stil der Zeit’, 1965. 579. ‘Zeitspiegel’, 1966. 580. See e.g. Rapp, ‘Kolpingsöhne und Neuliberale’, 1966; Frank-Planitz, ‘Gralshüter des hohen C’, 1966; Frank-Planitz, ‘Selbstauflösung der Union’, 1966; Zundel, ‘Wie christlich ist die Union?’, 1966. 581. Hamm-Brücher, ‘Kann die FDP überleben?’, 1966. 582. See Hildebrand, Von Erhard zur Großen Koalition, 169. 583. Nolte, Die Ordnung, 389; see also the analysis in Haselbach, Autoritärer Liberalismus, 225–30. 584. See Hodenberg, Konsens und Krise, 372–80. 585. Köllner, ‘Ist Erhard eine tragische Figur?’, 1966. 586. See Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1965–1969, 11.7.1966, 196–259; the party’s Steering Committee had just dealt with ‘how a programme for the coming years can be developed’ and had taken the necessary steps; see ibid., 259. 587. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1968, 58. 588. Ibid., 56. 589. See Gauger and Lingen, ‘Bruno Heck’. 590. Heck, ‘Nachdenken über die Rebellion’, 1974, 172. 591. See Bösch, Macht und Machtverlust, 29–44. 592. See Grau, Gegen den Strom; Granieri, ‘Odd Man Out?’; Link, ‘Die CDU/CSUFraktion’; Süß, ‘Sozialpolitische Denk- und Handlungsfelder’. 593. See Bösch, Macht und Machtverlust, 30–31. 594. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1969, 80–81. 595. See Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1965–1969, 20.9.1968, 1092–95. 596. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19681214, Parteitag der CSU, 14.12.1968, Gerhard Wacher, 24.

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597. Ibid., 27. 598. Ibid., 29. 599. Ibid., 24. 600. Ibid., 31. 601. Ibid., 28. 602. Ibid., 32. 603. Ibid., 28. 604. See Weißmann, Armin Mohler, 135–39, 156–57. 605. See NL Strauß PV: 5303, Franz Josef Strauß to Armin Mohler, 23.6.1965; ibid. 5314, Franz Josef Strauß to Armin Mohler, 1.4.1966; ibid. Fam: 564, Armin Mohler to Franz Josef Strauß, 30.3.1974, handwritten margin note by Strauß regarding the personal accusations on the part of Mohler: ‘Much of it is not correct, especially that the campaign against AM [Armin Mohler] and EF [Emil Franzel] is connected to me. Several times, I have given them so much support (EF financically as well) that I had to expect the greatest of difficulties with A[lfons] Goppel a[nd] L[udwig] Huber’. On the Spiegel Affair, see Doerry, Die SPIEGEL-Affäre; on its significance for the CSU, see Schlemmer, ‘“Wer hat Angst vorm schwarzen Mann?”’; for its significance in intellectual history, see Liehr, Von der Aktion. 606. See Studiengesellschaft für Staatspolitische Öffentlichkeitsarbeit, Apropos Strauß, 1965. On Mohler’s authorship, see Mohler, Carl Schmitt – Briefwechsel, no. 313, Armin Mohler an Carl Schmitt, 13.8.1965, 353–354, fn 427; the ‘documentation’ was penned by Enno von Loewenstern, see ACSP, NL Strauß, Fam: 796, Enno von Loewenstern to Franz Josef Strauß, 13.4.1965. 607. See Weißmann, Armin Mohler, 160; Mohler, Carl Schmitt – Briefwechsel, 1995, no. 343, Carl Schmitt to Armin Mohler, n.d., 382–83, fn 460. 608. See e.g. Mohler, ‘Franz Josef Strauß’, 1966. 609. See pp. 152–53. 610. See Mohler, Carl Schmitt – Briefwechsel, 1995, no. 305, Armin Mohler an Carl Schmitt, 22.4.1965, 345; on Marcel Hepp, see ‘Gestorben: Marcel Hepp’, 1970; Weißmann, Armin Mohler, 129, 138, 165; Mohler, ‘Erinnerung an einen Freund’, 1974; Hepp, Der Atomsperrvertrag, 1968. 611. ACSP, NL Strauß, Fam: 782, confidential records, Marcel Hepp, 31.8.1967. 612. See ebd., Büro PV: 5303, Franz Josef Strauß to Armin Mohler, 23.6.1965; ebd., 5857, Marcel Hepp to Wolfgang Pohle, 25.3.1966; ibid. 5858, Pressa KorrespondenzVerlagsgesellschaft, Erich Maier to Franz Josef Strauß, 3.2.1966. See also pp. 260–63. 613. See Weißmann, Armin Mohler, 119, 165–67; on the right-conservative institutional nexus in Bavaria, see Willms, Armin Mohler, who however uses an unnuanced concept of neofascism. 614. See ACSP, NL Strauß, Büro PV: 6920, Armin Mohler to Franz Josef Strauß, 19.2.1970; ibid., Fam: 564, Armin Mohler to Franz Josef Strauß, 30.3.1974. 615. See Hoeres, ‘Reise nach Amerika’, 74–75. 616. ‘Geistig stramm sein’, 1987, 203. 617. See ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19681214, Parteitag der CSU, 14.12.1968, 93. 618. See Schlemmer, Aufbruch, Krise und Erneuerung. 619. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19681214, Parteitag der CSU, 14.12.1968, 102. 620. See ‘CSU als “konservative Kraft”’, 1968. 621. See Hepp, ‘Für Gesetz und Ordnung’, 1968. 622. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19681214, Parteitag der CSU, 14.12.1968, 43.

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623. Ibid., 44. 624. See ‘CSU als “konservative Kraft”’, 1968, ; ‘Blick zurück’, 1968; ‘CSU “auch eine konservative Kraft”’, 1968; Pragal, ‘Wortgefechte um das Etikett “konservativ”’, 1968; ‘CSU: Konservativ mit Computer’, 1968; Zöller, ‘Grollender Löwe’, 1968; Geis, ‘Konservativ sein und fortschrittlich’, 1968. 625. See Scharloth, ‘Die Sprache der Revolte’; Scharloth, 1968; Scharloth, ‘1968 und die Unordnung’; an overview of the state of linguistic research is provided in Kämper, Scharloth and Wengeler, 1968; on the culture of the student movement, see Brown, West Germany. On the language of the Left in the 1970s: Hinck, Wir waren wie Maschinen, 321–43. 626. See Mergel, Propaganda nach Hitler, 265–66. 627. On the critique of West German democracy in the 1960s, without which the intensity of the debate over democratization cannot be understood, see Schönhoven, ‘Unbehagen an der Bonner Demokratie’; on the postwar West German concept of democracy, see Kilian, ‘“Demokratie” als Merkwort’. On the democracy discourse of the Left in 1967/68, see Kämper, Wörterbuch zum Demokratiediskurs; Kämper, Aspekte des Demokratiediskurses; on the debates among conservatives, see Kleinknecht, ‘Demokratisierung als Staats’. 628. See Heck, ‘Demokraten oder Demokratisierte?’, 1969; on the intra-party conflicts over the concept of democracy, see the debate at the 1969 CDU Federal Party Conference: Bundesparteitag der CDU 1969, 43–87; on the CDU’s broader dealings with the concept, see e.g. Dettling, ‘Demokratisierung als Alternative?’, 1973; Dettling, Demokratisierung, 1974. 629. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1969, 65. 630. See Klemperer, LTI; Sternberger, Storz and Süskind, Aus dem Wörterbuch des Unmenschen. Also Dodd, Jedes Wort wandelt die Welt; Schiewe, Die Macht der Sprache, 206–34; very critical: Polenz, Deutsche Sprachgeschichte III, 314–17. On the Allied language policy, see Deissler, Die entnazifizierte Sprache. 631. See e.g. Korn, Sprache in der verwalteten Welt, 1959; ‘Geist und Ungeist’, 1958; Risse, ‘Bemerkungen zum Verfall der Sprache’, 1958; Wein, ‘Die Sprache im Zeitalter des Berichts’, 1959; on Korn, see Schiewe, Die Macht der Sprache, 234–42. 632. See e.g. Besson, ‘Rechtsradikalismus’, 1962, esp. 7; Besson, ‘Das politische Bewusstsein’, 1963. 633. See e.g. Roegele, ‘Die Spaltung der Sprache’, 1959; ‘Die politische Meinung’, 1961; Neuß, ‘Wörter als politische Waffen’, 1965. 634. On Marcuse’s influence on the New Left, see Walter, ‘Weigerung und Eschatologie’; Haß-Zumkehr, ‘Zur Sprachkritik der Achtundsechziger’; on Marcuse’s role as an intellectual during the Cold War, see Müller, Krieger und Gelehrte; Geyer, ‘War over Words’, 317–21. 635. Marcuse, Versuch über die Befreiung, 1969, 55; Marcuse, Der eindimensionale Mensch,1967, esp. 104–23. 636. Bundesparteitag der CDU Düsseldorf 1971, 29. 637. See ibid., 470. 638. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1972, 57. 639. Ibid., 151. 640. Buchstab and Lindsay, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle, 1969–1973, 27./28.1.1973, 1215.

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641. On Biedenkopf, see Wendt, Kurt Biedenkopf; uncritical Köpf, Der Querdenker; on his work as general secretary, see Bösch, ‘Die Krise als Chance’; Bösch, Macht und Machtverlust, 34–41, 108–14. 642. See e.g. Wolf, ‘Revolution im Rechtsstaat’, 1970, esp. 68; Heck, ‘Vorwort des Herausgebers’, 1973; K.W.B. [Karl Willy Beer], ‘Die große Manipulation’, 1973; Kuhn, ‘Über die Methoden der Systemveränderung’, 1973; Freund, ‘Anarchie führt zu Diktatur’, 1973; Heck, ‘Das Unverlierbare und das Neue’, 1973, esp. 55–56; Brok, ‘Instrument des politischen Kampfes’, 1973. 643. Geyer, ‘Rahmenbedingungen’, 26. 644. On the organization restructuring of the CDU under Kohl and general secretaries Kurt Biedenkopf and Heiner Geißler, see Lange, Responsivität und Organisation, 147–254; Schönbohm, ‘Die CDU und die Neue Linke’, 1970. 645. Bundesparteitag der CDU Hamburg 1973, 61. 646. See pp. 73–93. 647. Bundesparteitag der CDU Hamburg 1973, 62. 648. See also Geyer, ‘War over Words’, 303–4. 649. Kämper, Aspekte des Demokratiediskurses, 139. 650. Biedenkopf, ‘Politik und Sprache’, 1975, 32. 651. See Lange, Responsivität und Organisation, 149–50; Zein, Die organisatorische Entwicklung, 41–45; for a longer historical perspective, see Bösch, ‘Funktionäre’. 652. See Kruke, Demoskopie in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, 157–58, 387; on the Landtag electoral campaign in Hesse, see Radunski and Niemetz, ‘Die Anlage’, 1971. On political advisement in electoral campaigns, see Bösch, ‘Werbefirmen’. 653. See Toman-Banke, Die Wahlslogans. 654. See ibid., 385. 655. Ibid., 391. 656. Ibid., 158. 657. ACDP, 07-001-17019, Warnfried Dettling to Hoffmann, Asmussen, Kreye, Stronk, 4.4.1974, enclosed: Zur politischen Strategie der CDU, 16. 658. See Klein and Petersdorff, Material zum Thema Politik und Sprache, 1973. 659. See ACDP, 07-001-17041, Sematest e.V. Institut für Kommunikations- und Sprachforschung, Satzung, beschlossen am 22.5.1974; Messelken mentions the foundation date of August 1974 in ibid., Sematest e.V. Institut für Kommunikationsund Sprachforschung, Hans Messelken, to Warnfried Dettling, Bundesgeschäftsstelle der CDU – Planungsgruppe, 15.12.1976, enclosed: Zusammenfassender Bericht über die Arbeit von Sematest, 1. On pre-considerations, see ibid., 17014, Holger Christian Asmussen, Ergänzungen zum Themen- und Aufgabenkatalog des geplanten Arbeitskreises ‘Semantik’ (Herr von Voss, 26.3.1974). 660. On the CDU in Baden-Württemberg, see Gassert, ‘Ein “rotes” oder “schwarzes” Jahrzehnt?’ 661. On the foundation, see ACDP, 07-001-17041, Sematest e.V. Institut für Kommunikations- und Sprachforschung, Hans Messelken, to Warnfried Dettling, Bundesgeschäftsstelle der CDU – Planungsgruppe, 15.12.1976, enclosed: Zusammenfassender Bericht über die Arbeit von Sematest, 1–3; Hans Messelken, Protokoll über die Vorbesprechung zur Abstimmung der Zusammenarbeit bei Sematest am 9. und 10.4.1974, 28.4.1974; ibid., 07-001-12260, Peter Radunski, Vormerkung für Kurt Biedenkopf, Stand der Vorarbeiten Semantik – Politikformulierung, 5.2.1974.

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662. Ibid., 07-001-17041, Sematest e.V. Institut für Kommunikations- und Sprachforschung, Hans Messelken, to Warnfried Dettling, Bundesgeschäftsstelle der CDU – Planungsgruppe, 15.12.1976, enclosed: Zusammenfassender Bericht über die Arbeit von Sematest, 3. It makes sense to place the study within the context of the child-advocacy commission established by the Baden-Württemberg Ministry of Education in May 1974; see Menze, Die Kultusminister, 207; Hahn, Ich stehe dazu, 1981, 225–27. This work provided a basis for: Messelken, ‘Sprachbilder’, 1976; Langensiepen and Langensiepen, ‘Gemalte Wörter’, 1976. The group also published didactic contributions to the language of election campaigns: see Messelken, ‘Demokratie statt Wahlkampf?’, 1976; Langensiepen, ‘Nur zwei Minuten’, 1976. 663. See Rudloff, ‘Bildungspolitik’; Rudloff, ‘Wieviel Macht den  Räten?’; Wehrs, ‘“Tendenzwende” und Bildungspolitik’. 664. On Hans Messelken, see Burckhart and Fink, Sprache der Didaktik. 665. See Wittkämper, Analyse und Planung, 1972. 666. ACDP, 07-001-17041, Sematest e.V. Institut für Kommunikations- und Sprachforschung, Hans Messelken, to Warnfried Dettling, Bundesgeschäftsstelle der CDU – Planungsgruppe, 15.12.1976, enclosed: Zusammenfassender Bericht über die Arbeit von Sematest, 2. 667. See ibid., Hans Messelken, Protokoll, 28.4.1974, Vorbesprechung zur Abstimmung der Zusammenarbeit bei Sematest, 9.–10.4.1974, with reference to the chapter on the formal description of linguistic production (‘Zur formalen Beschreibung von sprachlichen Leistungen’) in: Messelken, Empirische Sprachdidaktik, 1971. 668. See ibid., Sematest e.V. Institut für Kommunikations- und Sprachforschung, Hans Messelken, to Warnfried Dettling, Bundesgeschäftsstelle der CDU – Planungsgruppe, 15.12.1976, enclosed: Zusammenfassender Bericht über die Arbeit von Sematest, 8, 10. 669. See ibid., 07-001-12260, Hans Messelken, Tendenziöser Sprachwandel?, Manuscript, n.d., 6. For Gehlen’s linguistic theory, see Gehlen, ‘Über Sprachlosigkeit und Lüge’, 1970; note his invectives at the 1964 CDU Federal Party Conference, see above p. 190. 670. ACDP, 07-001-12260, Hans Messelken, Tendenziöser Sprachwandel?, Manuscript, n.d., 6. 671. See ibid., 9. 672. Ibid., 07-001-17041, Sematest e.V. Institut für Kommunikations- und Sprachforschung, Hans Messelken, to Warnfried Dettling, Bundesgeschäftsstelle der CDU – Planungsgruppe, 15.12.1976, enclosed: Zusammenfassender Bericht über die Arbeit von Sematest, 4. 673. Ibid., Warnfried Dettling to Hans Messelken, 22.9.1975. 674. Ibid., Warnfried Dettling to Gerhard Mahler, 22.9.1975. 675. See ibid., Sematest e.V. Institut für Kommunikations- und Sprachforschung, Hans Messelken, to Warnfried Dettling, Bundesgeschäftsstelle der CDU – Planungsgruppe, 15.12.1976, enclosed: Zusammenfassender Bericht über die Arbeit von Sematest, 4, 6. 676. See ibid., 6. For the local politics programme, see also ibid., 07-001-17041, Joachim Dorenburg to Hans Messelken, 23.2.1976. 677. See CDU-Bundesgeschäftsstelle, Aufbau und Anlage politischer Texte, 1976. 678. See ACDP, 07-001-12260, Einige rhetorische Bemerkungen zu Wahlkampfreden von CDU-Politikern, n.d. 679. See ibid., 07-001-17041, Sematest e.V. Institut für Kommunikations- und Sprachforschung, Hans Messelken, to Warnfried Dettling, Bundesgeschäftsstelle der

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CDU – Planungsgruppe, 15.12.1976, enclosed: Zusammenfassender Bericht über die Arbeit von Sematest, 6, 11. 680. See ibid., 9; e.g. ‘Bestimmte Zeichen’, 1974; and ‘Sprachlich rüber’, 1976. 681. See ACDP, 07-001-5284, Warnfried Dettling to Karl-Heinz Bilke, 7.4.1976; ibid., Sematest, Die Sprache des Bundeskanzlers, published as: Mahler, ‘Die Sprache des Bundeskanzlers’, 1976. 682. See ibid., 07-001-17041, Gerhard Mahler to Hans Messelken, 20.7.1976. 683. See ibid.: ‘… that Mr Biedenkopf will do his best to enable the continuation of SEMATEST’s research or to transfer the worthy SEMATEST team to another institution’. 684. See ibid., Hans Messelken to Warnfried Dettling, 14.9.1976. 685. See ibid., Sematest e.V. Institut für Kommunikations- und Sprachforschung, Hans Messelken, to Warnfried Dettling, Bundesgeschäftsstelle der CDU – Planungsgruppe, 15.12.1976, enclosed: Zusammenfassender Bericht über die Arbeit von Sematest. Messelken thereafter only published an analysis of the SPD framework of orientation in 1985; see Messelken, ‘Fragen eines lesenden Bürgers’, 1979. 686. ACDP, 07-001-12260, Hans Messelken, Tendenziöser Sprachwandel?, Manuscript, n.d., 35. 687. See ibid., 07-001-17041, Sematest e.V. Institut für Kommunikations- und Sprachforschung, Hans Messelken, to Warnfried Dettling, Bundesgeschäftsstelle der CDU – Planungsgruppe, 15.12.1976, enclosed: Zusammenfassender Bericht über die Arbeit von Sematest, 9–17. 688. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1975, 170–71. 689. Mahler, ‘Politik und Sprache’, 1975. 690. Klein, ‘Kann man “Begriffe besetzen”?’, 47–48. 691. See Bergsdorf, ‘Sprache und Politik’. 692. See Bergsdorf, Politik und Sprache, 1978; Bergsdorf, Wörter als Waffen, 1979; Bergsdorf, ‘Die sanfte Gewalt’, 1977; Bergsdorf, ‘Von der Versöhnung zur Zwietracht’, 1979; Bergsdorf, ‘Ein Wort macht Politik’, 1982; Bergsdorf, Herrschaft und Sprache, 1983; Bergsdorf, ‘Die Rolle der Sprache in der Politik’, 1979. 693. See e.g. Behrens, Dieckmann and Kehl, ‘Politik als Sprachkampf’, 1982. 694. See e.g. Bauer, ‘Begriffe gegen Inhalte’, 1975. 695. On the Bund Freiheit der Wissenschaft, see Wehrs, Protest der Professoren. 696. See Moses, German Intellectuals. 697. On Hans Maier, see Maier, Böse Jahre, gute Jahre; on his being informed by Bergsträsser, see Schmitt, Politikwissenschaft, e.g. 98–99. 698. See Maier, Die NPD, 1967; see also his autobiographical notes in his talk before the Bergedorf Round Table: 41. Bergedorfer Gesprächskreis, Protokoll, 2; publiziert: Maier, ‘Können Begriffe die Gesellschaft verändern?’, 1972, 55–56. On the NPD in the 1960s, see the summary in Botsch, Die extreme Rechte, 41–59. 699. See Maier, Kritik der politischen Theologie, 1970, esp. 16–22; Maier, Politische Wissenschaft, 1969, esp. 214–32. 700. Cited in: Maier, ‘Sie trommelten ein bösartiges Deutsch’, 1977. 701. Maier, ‘Können Begriffe die Gesellschaft verändern?’, 1972, 55. 702. Ibid., 56. 703. ACSP, 19701017, Hans Maier, Bilanz 1970 – Zur innenpolitischen Situation der Bundesrepublik, Rede zum Parteitag der CSU, München, 16.–17.10.1970, 13. 704. 41. Bergedorfer Gesprächskreis, Protokoll, 2–5.

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705. See ibid., 5. 706. Ibid., 13. 707. See ibid., 7–8. 708. On Wilhelm Hennis, see Schlak, Wilhelm Hennis; Meier, Politik und Praktische Philosophie; Moses, German Intellectuals, 74–104. 709. 41. Bergedorfer Gesprächskreis, Protokoll, 11. 710. Ibid., 12. 711. Ibid., 11. 712. Hennis, ‘Schleichworte demokratisch’, 1971. 713. See Orwell, Politics and the English Language; see also Zelter, Sinnhafte Fiktion, 197–204. 714. 41. Bergedorfer Gesprächskreis, Protokoll, 11. 715. Ibid., 14. 716. Ibid., 13. 717. Ibid., 22. On the significance of bourgeois culture for the liberal conservatism of the 1970s, see Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit, 256–89. 718. Hennis, Große Koalition ohne Ende?, 1968, 11. On the significance that Hennis attributed to the key concepts of democracy, see e.g. Hennis, Verfassung und Verfassungswirklichkeit, 1968; Hennis, Politik als praktische Wissenschaft, 1968. 719. Hennis, Große Koalition ohne Ende?, 1968, 9. 720. Ibid., 10. 721. Schlak, Wilhelm Hennis, 11–12, 85–88. 722. See 41. Bergedorfer Gesprächskreis, Protokoll, 13. 723. Ibid., 23. 724. See Böckenförde, Staat, Gesellschaft, Freiheit, 1976, 60; on the significance of the Böckenförde doctrine for liberal conservative thought, see Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit, 161–66. 725. On Hennis’s linguistic-political engagement in the 1970s, see Schlak, Wilhelm Hennis, 156–62. 726. 41. Bergedorfer Gesprächskreis, Protokoll, 23. 727. On Hennis’s references back to the Weimar Republic with regard to the student movement and the New Left, see also Schlak, Wilhelm Hennis, 152–56. 728. See 41. Bergedorfer Gesprächskreis, Protokoll, 4. 729. See ibid., 13. 730. Ibid., 24. 731. Ibid., 15. 732. On Hermann Lübbe, see Muller, ‘German Neoconservatism, ca. 1968–1985’; Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit. 733. On Kurt Sontheimer, see Loewenstein, Kurt Sontheimers Republik; Bavaj, ‘Turning “Liberal Critics”’. 734. On Helmut Schelsky, see Gallus, Helmut Schelsky. 735. See (the original publications are referenced here) Lübbe, Der Streit um Worte, 1967b; Lübbe, ‘Sein und Heißen’, 1975; Maier, ‘Die Sprache der Neuen Linken’, 1972; Schelsky, ‘Macht durch Sprache’, 1974; Sontheimer, ‘Umgang mit Worten’, 1975; Hennis, Demokratisierung, 1970. 736. See e.g. Glaser, ‘Links friert die Sprache ein’, 1969; Schelsky, ‘Macht durch Sprache’, 1974; Sontheimer, ‘Umgang mit Worten’, 1975; Schelsky, ‘Ein Schlagwort entsteht’, 1975; Lübbe, ‘Haltet den Begriff!’, 1975; Scheuch, ‘Ein Begriff wird entführt’, 1977; Maier, ‘Sie trommelten ein bösartiges Deutsch’, 1977.

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737. See the reprints of the original publications mentioned in fn 735: Lübbe, ‘Der Streit um Worte’, 1967a, 1975, 1982; Lübbe, ‘Sein und Heißen’, 1979; Sontheimer, Das Elend unserer Intellektuellen, 1976, 241–59; Sontheimer, ‘Die Sprache linker Theorie’, 1979; Schelsky, Die Arbeit tun die anderen, 1975, 233–49; Schelsky, ‘Herrschaft durch Sprache’, 1976, 1979; Maier, ‘Aktuelle Tendenzen der politischen Sprache’, 1973, 1978, 1979, 1982; Maier, ‘Können Begriffe die Gesellschaft verändern?’, 1972; Maier, Sprache und Politik, 1977; Hennis, Demokratisierung, 1973. 738. See Maier, Böse Jahre, gute Jahre, 250. 739. See ibid., 241–64. 740. Duve, ‘Vorbemerkung der Redaktion’, 1976. 741. See Moses, German Intellectuals, 55–73; Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit; Bavaj, ‘Turning “Liberal Critics”’. 742. Schelsky, ‘Herrschaft durch Sprache’, 1979, 19. 743. See Wengeler, ‘1968 – Eine Zäsur im politischen Sprachgebrauch?’; Wengeler, ‘“1968” als sprachgeschichtliche Zäsur’; Kämper, Aspekte des Demokratiediskurses, 17. 744. On consensus liberalism, see Angster, Konsenskapitalismus und Sozialdemokratie; Doering-Manteuffel, Wie westlich sind die Deutschen?; Doering-Manteuffel, ‘Westernisierung’. 745. See Maier, ‘Aktuelle Tendenzen der politischen Sprache’, 1979, 41. 746. Schelsky, ‘Herrschaft durch Sprache’, 1979, 21. 747. Sontheimer, ‘Die Sprache linker Theorie’, 1979, 58. 748. See Lübbe, ‘Der Streit um Worte’, 1967a. 749. Sontheimer, ‘Umgang mit Worten’, 1975. 750. Maier, ‘Aktuelle Tendenzen der politischen Sprache’, 1979, 43. 751. See Sontheimer, ‘Umgang mit Worten’, 1975. 752. Maier, ‘Sie trommelten ein bösartiges Deutsch’, 1977. 753. Hans Maier to Heinrich Böll, 26.1.1975, printed in: Maier, Sprache und Politik, 1977, here 34–39, esp. 37–38. 754. See Schelsky, Die skeptische Generation, 1957; on its reception, see Kersting, ‘Helmut Schelskys “Skeptische Generation”’, esp. 492–95. 755. See Wehrs, Protest der Professoren, 141–47. 756. See e.g. Hans Maier to Heinrich Böll, 26.1.1975, printed in: Maier, Sprache und Politik, 1977, 34–39, here 36. 757. See e.g. Schelsky, Die Arbeit tun die anderen, 1975; see also below 279, 285–86, 289–90. 758. See the summary in Kirchmeier, ‘Semantik’. 759. Sontheimer, Das Elend unserer Intellektuellen, 1976, 249. 760. Schelsky, ‘Herrschaft durch Sprache’, 1979, 26–27. 761. Lübbe, ‘Sein und Heißen’, 1975, 141. 762. Ibid., 147–48. 763. Ibid., 146–47. 764. See Bavaj, ‘Verunsicherte Demokratisierer’; Bavaj, ‘Das Trauma von “1968”’; Bavaj, ‘Turning “Liberal Critics”’; Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit, esp. 94–134. 765. See Lübbe, ‘Wer ist konservativ?’, published in both Die Welt and Gesellschaftspolitische Kommentare, 1974. 766. See Hünemörder, ‘Kassandra im modernen Gewand’; Hünemörder, ‘1972 – Epochenschwelle’; Seefried, ‘Towards the Limits to Growth’; Engels, Naturpolitik,

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294–99; the significance of this discourse is relativized in Graf, Oil and Sovereignty, 364–68. 767. Lübbe, ‘Wer ist konservativ?’, 1974. 768. See e.g. Lübbe, ‘Konservativ – ein Wort im Streit’, 1981; Lübbe, ‘“Neo-Konservative” in der Kritik’, 1983; Lübbe, ‘Vernunft als konservative Instanz’, 1983; Lübbe, ‘Konservativismus in Deutschland’, 1987. 769. On Bund Freiheit der Wissenschaft, see the excellent study Wehrs, Protest der Professoren. 770. All citations from ibid., 179 (Lepenies), 189–92. For the article, see Lepenies, ‘Leserbrief’, 1970; ‘Alte Absicht’, 1970; Abendroth, ‘Harzburger Front’, 1971. 771. Bund Freiheit der Wissenschaft, ‘Gründungsaufruf’, 1970, 10. 772. Cited in Wehrs, Protest der Professoren, 195. 773. Bund Freiheit der Wissenschaft, ‘Gründungsaufruf’, 1970, 10. 774. On the relationship of the Bund Freiheit der Wissenschaft and the SPD, see Wehrs, Protest der Professoren, 242–48. 775. Wehrs, ‘Auf der Suche nach einem “Pronunciamento”’, 120–24. 776. Wehrs, Protest der Professoren, 457. 777. See ibid., 464–66. 778. Maier, ‘Ein neuer Anfang’, 1970, 14. 779. Lübbe, ‘Was zu tun ist’, 1970, 75. 780. Reinisch, ‘Wiederkehr des konservativen Denkens?’, 1972. 781. See Engels, Naturpolitik, 209–399; Seefried, Zukünfte, 255–92. Der Spiegel rang in the new decade with an analysis marked by a scepticism towards progress and growth: ‘Ritt auf dem Tiger’, 1970. I thank Elke Seefried for pointing this out. 782. See the concise overview in Herbert, Geschichte Deutschlands, 887–903. 783. See Seefried, ‘Towards the Limits to Growth’. 784. See the differentiation in ‘quantitative’ and ‘qualitative’ growth in Seefried, Zukünfte, 255–92. 785. See Graf, Oil and Sovereignty, 364–68; Mende, ‘Nicht rechts’, 297–98. 786. See e.g. Klett, ‘Konservativ’, 1971; Topitsch, ‘Aufgeklärter und unaufgeklärter Konservatismus’, 1977. 787. On the Tendenzwende discourse, see Hoeres, ‘Von der “Tendenzwende”’. 788. Zundel, ‘Man trägt wieder konservativ’, 1974. On the further impact, see Schwan, ‘Seifenblasen’, 1976. 789. See Kaltenbrunner, Plädoyer für die Vernunft, 1974. 790. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Vorwort des Herausgebers’, 1974a, 8. 791. See Lübbe, ‘Fortschritt als Orientierungsproblem’, 1975; Mann, ‘Die alte und die neue Historie’, 1975; Maier, ‘Kunst und Zeit’, 1975; Spaemann, ‘Emanzipation – ein Bildungsziel?’, 1975. 792. See also, retrospectively, Hahn, Ich stehe dazu, 1981, 232–37; on the education policy of Hahn in Baden-Württemberg, see Paulus, ‘“Konservativ und fortschrittlich”’, 163–77. 793. Rudolph, ‘Themenwechsel oder Tendenzwende?’, 1974. 794. Klett, ‘Vorwort’, 1975, 5. 795. Rudolph, ‘Tendenzwende’, 1977. 796. See Hoeres, ‘Von der “Tendenzwende”’, 98. 797. Zundel, ‘Tendenzwende’, 1974.

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798. On the use of the concept for the Left, see e.g. Glaser, ‘Die Mitte und rechts davon’, 1974; Grube and Richter, ‘Einleitung’, 1974; Greiffenhagen, Freiheit gegen Gleichheit?, 1975; Fetscher, ‘Was ist schlecht an der “Leistungsgesellschaft”?’, 1976; Fetscher, ‘Widersprüche im Neokonservativismus’, 1980; Grebing, ‘Erneuerung des Konservatismus?’, 1978; Schumann, ‘“Konservativismus” als analytischer Strukturbegriff’, 1983. 799. Sontheimer, ‘Verlust der Zukunft’, 1977. 800. Spaemann, ‘Einleitung’, 1977, XII. 801. See Mut zur Erziehung, 1978. 802. See Hoeres, ‘Von der “Tendenzwende”’. 803. Sontheimer, ‘Zeitgeist in Bewegung’, 1974. 804. Sontheimer, ‘Verstohlener Konservatismus’, 1971, 702. 805. See Metzler, Konzeptionen politischen Handelns, esp. 289–314. 806. See e.g. Pöggeler, ‘Konservativismus als Vorwurf’, 1968. 807. See pp. 196–200. 808. See Großbölting, Der verlorene Himmel, 150–60, esp. 152–53; Schmittmann, ‘Vom “Milieu” zur Kommunikation’; for an overview of the Second Vatican Council, see Pesch, Das Zweite Vatikanische Konzil. 809. See e.g. Hildebrand, Konservatismus − Progressismus, 1967; Seibel, ‘Ein konservatives Korrektiv?’, 1967. 810. See Sontheimer, ‘Verstohlener Konservatismus’, 1971. 811. See e.g. Marcuse, Der eindimensionale Mensch, 1998, 70, 84, 120, 164. 812. See the linguistic studies of Heidrun Kämper on the concept of fascism in left-wing discourse on democracy in 1967/68; it does not, however, delve much into its proximity to the concept of conservatism: Kämper, Aspekte des Demokratiediskurses, 145–98; Kämper, Wörterbuch zum Demokratiediskurs, 407–26. 813. Gerstenberger, Der revolutionäre Konservatismus, 1969. 814. Grebing, Konservative gegen die Demokratie, 1971. On Helga Grebing, see her autobiography Grebing, Freiheit, die ich meinte. 815. See Greiffenhagen, ‘Das Dilemma des Konservatismus’, 1961. See pp. 147–48. 816. Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit, 17. 817. See Gerstenberger, Der revolutionäre Konservatismus, 1969, 10. 818. Grebing, Konservative gegen die Demokratie, 1971, 83. 819. Grebing, ‘Positionen des Konservatismus’, 1971, 33, and 1974; also Grebing, ‘Moderner Konservatismus?’, 1970, 301–2. 820. Grebing, ‘Positionen des Konservatismus’, 1971, 37. 821. Ibid., 35. 822. Fetscher, ‘Rechtes und rechtsradikales Denken’, 1967, 13–14, cited here 14. 823. See e.g. Kühnl, Deutschland zwischen Demokratie und Faschismus, 1969, 151–54. 824. See e.g. Kühnl, Der deutsche Faschismus, 1975; Kühnl, Der Faschismus, 1983. 825. See Kühnl, Deutschland zwischen Demokratie und Faschismus, 1969, 159–63; Kühnl, Formen bürgerlicher Herrschaft, 1971. 826. See Grebing, Konservative gegen die Demokratie, 1971, 434–37. 827. Ibid., 47. 828. Hockerts, ‘Konservatismus – Sand im Getriebe’, 1974, 11. 829. See e.g. critically from a conservative vantage point: Hockerts, ‘Konservatismus – Sand im Getriebe’, 1974; critically from a left-wing perspective: Winckler, ‘Besprechung von

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Helga Grebing’, 1972; Graf Westarp, ‘Konservatismus’, 1973; defending Grebing’s theses: Saage, ‘Konservatismus und Demokratie’, 1974. 830. See Welskopp, ‘Identität ex negativo’; Bauerkämper, ‘Geschichtsschreibung als Projektion’; Klautke, ‘Auf den Spuren des Sonderwegs’; Berger, Search for Normality, 56–76; Nolte, ‘Darstellungsweisen deutscher Geschichte’. 831. An overview of the research history is provided in Stalmann, Die Partei Bismarcks, 16–17. For the interpretation of conservatism in the Sonderweg historiography, see e.g. Puhle, Agrarische Interessenpolitik, 1966; Puhle, Von der Agrarkrise, 1972. 832. Welskopp, ‘Identität ex negativo’, 119. 833. Ibid., 115. 834. See Grebing, Aktuelle Theorien, 1974, 49–81, 75; a decade later: Grebing, Der ‘deutsche Sonderweg’. 835. Nipperdey, ‘Wehlers “Kaiserreich”’, 1976, 388; on this contention, see Nolte, ‘Darstellungsweisen’. 836. See Wehrs, Protest der Professoren. 837. Nipperdey, ‘Wehlers “Kaiserreich”’, 1976, 375–83, cited 377. 838. See ibid.; also Nipperdey, ‘1933 und die Kontinuität’, 1978. This accorded with Nipperdey’s depiction of conservatism in his overview of German history of the nineteenth century; see Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte, 1998, and also Nolte, ‘Thomas Nipperdeys Deutsche Geschichte’. 839. Leonhardt, ‘Mit den Kolossen leben’, 1975. 840. Krockow, ‘Der fehlende Konservatismus’, 1971, 117–18. 841. See Lübbe, Geschichtsbegriff und Geschichtsinteresse, 1977; see also Lübbe, ‘Zukunftsgewissheitsschwund’, 1983, esp. 37. 842. See Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit. 843. See e.g. Kaltenbrunner, Sprache und Herrschaft, 1975; Maschke, ‘Auf der Suche nach dem Konservatismus’, 1973; see also Wehrs, Protest der Professoren, 444. 844. For a comprehensive view of the topic, Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit. 845. Also e.g. the case for Odo Marquard: Marquard, Abschied vom  Prinzipiellen, 1981, 16–17. 846. Krockow, ‘Der fehlende Konservatismus’, 1971, 102. 847. Ibid., 104. 848. Lübbe, ‘Traditionsverlust und Fortschrittskrise’, 1975, 37. 849. Ibid., 55. 850. See pp. 140–41. 851. Mann, ‘Wieviel Zukunft lässt sich planen?’, 1974, 47. 852. Klett, ‘Konservativ’, 1971, 849. 853. Besson, ‘Um einen deutschen Edmund Burke bittend’, 1970, 83. On Besson see Besson, ‘Wie ich mich geändert habe’, 1971; Jasper, Tradition und Reform. 854. Besson, ‘Um einen deutschen Edmund Burke bittend’, 1970, 83–84. 855. See e.g. Wolff, ‘Wie konservativ sind die Konservativen’, 1971; Schelsky, ‘Liberal ohne Zusatz’, 1976; Greiffenhagen, Der neue Konservatismus, 1974. 856. Besson, ‘Um einen deutschen Edmund Burke bittend’, 1970, 84. 857. See Krockow, ‘Der fehlende Konservatismus’, 1971, 101. 858. Ibid., 115. Very similarly: Krockow, Herrschaft und Freiheit, 1977, 110–41. 859. Henrich, ‘Einleitung’, 1967, 20–21. 860. A research report on Burke of the mid-1960s is provided in Schumann, ‘Burke und kein Ende’, 1966.

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861. See Hennis, ‘Tocquevilles “Neue Politische Wissenschaft”’, 1982; on the conservative reception of Tocqueville in West Germany, see Steber, ‘“The West”’. 862. See e.g. Krockow, ‘Der fehlende Konservatismus’, 1971; Hockerts, ‘Konservatismus – Sand im Getriebe’, 1974; Lübbe, ‘Aufklärung und Gegenaufklärung’, 1980; Müller, ‘Was heißt “liberalkonservativ”’, 1982. 863. Zehm, ‘Wer ist heute liberal?’, 1970. 864. On National-Liberale Aktion, which emerged from the Deutsche Union in 1971, see ‘Was ihr wollt’, 1970; Stöss, ‘Die Aktionsgemeinschaft Vierte Partei’, 340–44; on Siegfried Zoglmann’s role in the National Socialist infiltration of the FDP in North Rhine-Westphalia in the 1940s and early 1950s, see Buchna, Nationale Sammlung, 86–88 and passim. 865. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der schwierige Konservatismus’, 1972, 51. 866. Schelsky, ‘Liberal ohne Zusatz’, 1973; reprinted in 1976. 867. See Hayek, ‘Liberale und Konservative’, 1971. 868. Hermann Lübbe to Helmut Schelsky, 7.1.1974, cited in: Wehrs, Protest der Professoren, 437. 869. Lübbe, ‘“Neo-Konservative” in der Kritik’, 1983, 627. 870. Ibid., 627–28. 871. See Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit, 293. On Cold War liberalism, see Müller, ‘Fear and Freedom’. The category of Cold War liberalism is critically assessed in Oppermann, ‘Ein transatlantisches Vital Center?’, esp. 166–67. 872. See Zöller, Aufklärung heute, 1980. 873. See Topitsch, ‘Aufklärung als konservative Aufgabe’, 1973; Topitsch had already embraced conservatism in Die Welt in 1970: Topitsch, ‘Wetterwende?’, 1970. On Ernst Topitsch see Acham, ‘Sprachkritik – Weltanschauungsanalyse – intellektuelle Selbstbesinnung’; on Topitsch’s idea of conservatism, based on critical rationalism, see the debate in Criticón: Hoeres, ‘Kritischer Rationalismus als konservative Kraft?’, 1976; Topitsch, ‘Aufgeklärter und unaufgeklärter Konservatismus’, 1977; as well as the contemporary analysis based on Marxist theory: Kahl, Positivismus als Konservatismus. 874. Lübbe, ‘Gegenaufklärung’, 1971. For the following see Sternberger, ‘Darf man’, 1970. 875. On Erhard Eppler see, although uncritical, Faerber-Husemann, Der Querdenker. 876. Eppler, Ende oder Wende, 1975, 28–29. 877. Ibid., 33. 878. Ibid., 29. 879. Sontheimer, ‘Konservative von links?’, 1975. 880. Eppler, Ende oder Wende, 1975, 29. 881. Ibid. 882. On Eppler’s engagement in Protestantism, see Conze andWiechmann, ‘Epplers Kirchentage’. 883. See ‘Menschen zwischen Sicherheit und Freiheit’, 1975, 273–75. 884. See Großbölting, Der verlorene Himmel, 137–48; on Protestantism in the 1970s, see Fitschen, Die Politisierung des Protestantismus; Hermle, Lepp and Oelke, Umbrüche. 885. See e.g. Schumann, ‘“Konservativismus” als analytischer Strukturbegriff’, 1983; Eppler contributed himself to this development, see e.g. Eppler, ‘Konservatismus und Ökologie’, 1983. 886. See Fetscher, ‘Konservative Reflexionen’, 1973; Fetscher, ‘Wert-Konservatismus’, 1976; Fetscher, ‘Vom Recht man selbst zu bleiben’, 1973. Kurt Sontheimer picked up on this: see Sontheimer, ‘Iring Fetschers utopisch verlängerter “Wertkonservatismus”’, 1983.

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887. ‘Was wir “Sinn” nennen’, 1970. 888. See Eitler, ‘Gott ist tot’, 143–88. On the Frankfurt School, see Albrecht, Die intellektuelle Gründung. 889. Scheuch, ‘Ein Begriff wird entführt’, 1977. 890. Rudolph, ‘Ein Konservativer drängt auf Veränderung’, 1975. 891. Sontheimer, ‘Konservative von links?’, 1975. 892. Rudolph, ‘Ein Konservativer drängt auf Veränderung’, 1975. 893. Weizsäcker, ‘Fragen zur Zukunft’, 1975. 894. See Mende, ‘Nicht rechts’, 125–26. 895. See Faulenbach, Das sozialdemokratische Jahrzehnt, 431–32, 470; Soell, Helmut Schmidt, 351–57. 896. See Mende, ‘Nicht rechts’, 264–69. 897. ‘Die Sorgen des Oberförsters und die Konservativen, Tl. 1: Carl Amery’, 1977; see also Amery, ‘Progessismus, Konservatismus’, 1973. 898. Mende, ‘Nicht rechts’, 76. 899. Herbert Gruhl, 1979, cited in: ibid., 72. 900. Sontheimer, ‘Konservative von links?’, 1975. 901. See e.g. Glaser, ‘Die Mitte und rechts davon’, 1974; Saage, ‘Konservatismus und Demokratie’, 1974; Greiffenhagen, ‘Neokonservatismus’, 1974; Kevenhörster and Stronk, ‘Falsche Alternativen’, 1974; Grebing, ‘Was ist vom Anspruch’, 1976; Fetscher, ‘Widersprüche im Neokonservativismus’, 1980; Habermas, ‘Die Kulturkritik der Neokonservativen’, 1982; Habermas, Stichworte zur ‘Geistigen Situation der Zeit’, 1979. 902. Hans-Gerd Schumann’s collected volume on conservatism dedicated an entire chapter to it, see Schumann, Konservativismus, 1974, chap. 3.2.; see also e.g. Fetscher, ‘Widersprüche im Neokonservativismus’, 1980. The reception history of US neoconservatism has, by contrast, yet to be written for West Germany; an initial important approach to researching transfer history of West German and US conservatism is provided in Hohendahl and Schütz, Perspektiven konservativen Denkens. 903. Offe, ‘Neukonservative Klimakunde’, 1978, 210; on the word usage, see also e.g. Chapman, ‘Der Neukonservatismus’, 1974. 904. Kevenhörster and Stronk, ‘Falsche Alternativen’, 1974, 83, 90, 92. 905. See Grube and Richter, ‘Einleitung’, 1974, 11. 906. See Kevenhörster and Stronk, ‘Falsche Alternativen’, 1974, cited here 94. 907. Gallus, ‘Schillernder Schelsky’, 14. 908. See Wehrs, ‘Auf der Suche nach einem  “Pronunciamento”’; in general, Gallus, ‘Schillernder Schelsky’. For Schelsky’s thought during the 1970s, see esp. Schelsky, Die Arbeit tun die anderen, 1975; Schelsky, Der selbständige und der betreute Mensch, 1976; Schelsky, Systemüberwindung, 1973. 909. See Sontheimer, Das Elend unserer Intellektuellen, 1976. 910. Krockow, ‘Helmut Schelskys Deutsche Ideologie’, 1975, 91; see also: Krockow, ‘Mehr Demokratie – weniger Freiheit?’, 1973. On the contemporary reception of Schelsky’s democracy theory, see Thümmler, ‘Mehr Demokratie oder mehr Freiheit?’ 911. See Krockow, Herrschaft und Freiheit, 1977, 140. 912. See e.g. Fetscher, Neokonservative und ‘Neue Rechte’, 1983; Dubiel, Was ist Neokonservatismus?, 1985; Saage, Arbeiterbewegung, Faschismus, Neokonservatismus, 1987; Hellfeld, Modell Vergangenheit, 1987.

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913. Habermas, ‘Die Kulturkritik der Neokonservativen (1982)’, 1985, 39; original: Habermas, ‘Die Kulturkritik der Neokonservativen’, 1982. 914. Habermas, ‘Die Kulturkritik der Neokonservativen (1982)’, 1985, 40. 915. Ibid., 44. 916. See ibid., 39. 917. Ibid., 54. 918. See Habermas, ‘Einleitung’, 1979. 919. See Muller, ‘German Neoconservatism and the History of the Bonn Republic’, 5. 920. See Lübbe, ‘“Neo-Konservative” in der Kritik’, 1983. 921. He had already used the concept self-descriptively a year earlier; see Lübbe, ‘Historische, philosophische und soziologische’, 1982; republished as Lübbe, ‘Konservativismus in Deutschland’, 1987. 922. Lübbe, ‘Historische, philosophische und soziologische’, 1982, 87. 923. Lübbe, ‘“Neo-Konservative” in der Kritik’, 1983, 623. A remarkable comparison between US and West German neoconservatism is offered in Lorig, Neokonservatives Denken. 924. Lübbe, ‘Historische, philosophische und soziologische’,1982, 95. 925. Lorig, Neokonservatives Denken, 161. 926. See e.g. Phillips-Fein, Invisible Hands. 927. See Muller, ‘German Neoconservatism’, 12. 928. On consensus liberalism, see Angster, Konsenskapitalismus und Sozialdemokratie; Doering-Manteuffel, Wie westlich sind die Deutschen?; Doering-Manteuffel, ‘Westernisierung’. 929. Schelsky, Die Arbeit tun die anderen, 1975, 134. 930. See Bavaj and Steber, Germany and ‘the West’. 931. See Gehlen, ‘Über Sprachlosigkeit und Lüge’, 1970. 932. See e.g. Müller, ‘Was heißt “liberalkonservativ”’, 1982, 372. 933. Scheuch, ‘Lechts und rinks’, 1979. 934. See ‘Anpassung an Gängiges’, 1972. 935. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Rezension zu Herbert Marcuse’, 1962; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Weltrevolution oder Nationalstaat’, 1965; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Die Entstalinisierung begann unter Stalin’, 1965; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Abenteuer der Dialektik’, 1968; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Was Marx wirklich sagte…’, 1968; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Das Rätsel Lenin’, 1965; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der Denker Marcuse’, 1967. 936. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Prinzipielle oder experimentelle Utopie?’, 1969; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Vorbild oder Verführer?’, 1970. 937. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Das Lustprinzip Revolution’, 1970; Ball, Zur Kritik der deutschen Intelligenz, 1970. 938. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Restaurativer Staat?’, 1966. 939. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Houston Stewart Chamberlains germanischer  Mythos’, 1967; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Vom Weltschmerz des technischen Zeitalters’, 1969; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Das Lustprinzip Revolution’, 1970; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Plädoyer für Vilfredo Pareto’, 1974; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Von Dostojewski zum Dritten Reich’, 1969. 940. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 267; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus (Criticón)’, 1973. 941. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der schwierige Konservatismus’, 1972, 25.

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942. See e.g. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Zehn Gebote für Konservative’, 1975; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Gibt es eine konservative Theorie?’, 1973; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Gibt es eine konservative Theorie?’, 1974; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Brauchen Konservative eine Theorie?’, 1973. 943. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Prospektiver Konservatismus’, 1975, 106. 944. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der schwierige Konservatismus’, 1972, 45; developed in: Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973. 945. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Zehn Gebote für Konservative’, 1972. 946. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der schwierige Konservatismus’, 1972, 45. 947. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Einleitung’, 1975, 10. 948. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 269. 949. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Zehn Gebote für Konservative’, 1972. 950. See e.g. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 270; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Zehn Gebote für Konservative’, 1972. 951. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 266. 952. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Gibt es eine konservative Tendenzwende?’, 1975, 136. 953. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 267. 954. Ibid., 262–63. 955. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Die neue Rechte’, 1974. 956. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 262. 957. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der Konservative und die Freiheit’, 1973, 38, emphases in original. 958. See Kaltenbrunner, Plädoyer für die Vernunft, 1974. 959. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 261. 960. E.g. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Was ist Konservatismus?’, 1972, 312–13. 961. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Absage an den Fortschritt’, 1971. 962. See also Engels, Naturpolitik, 294–305; Mende, ‘Nicht rechts’, 289–321. 963. See p. 237. 964. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Absage an den Fortschritt’, 1971. 965. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der schwierige Konservatismus’, 1972, 28. 966. See e.g. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Was ist “reaktionär”?’, 1974; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Lob des Reaktionärs’, 1976; Kaltenbrunner, Was ist reaktionär?, 1976. 967. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Gibt es eine konservative Tendenzwende?’, 1975, 143. 968. Ibid., 142. 969. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Ludwig Klages’, 1975, esp. 265; Kaltenbrunner, Ludwig Klages, 1967. 970. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Gibt es eine konservative Tendenzwende?’, 1975, 148. 971. On Konrad Lorenz, see Taschwer and Föger, Konrad Lorenz; Demandt, ‘Geschichtsbiologismus’; Engels, Naturpolitik, 299–305. 972. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 266. 973. Ibid., 258. 974. Ibid., 259. 975. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der schwierige Konservatismus’, 1972, 46–48. 976. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Gibt es eine konservative Tendenzwende?’, 1975, 145–47. 977. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Zehn Gebote für Konservative’, 1972. 978. See e.g. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Gibt es eine konservative Tendenzwende?’, 1975, 148–49. 979. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 265. 980. See e.g. Schelsky, ‘Unbewältigte Zukunft’, 1965; Lübbe, ‘Ernst und Unernst’, 1969. 981. Schmitt, ‘Von der TV-Demokratie’, 1970, cited in: Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 265. On the context, see Seefried, Zukünfte.

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982. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Hegel heute’, 1970. 983. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Novalis’, 1975; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Ältervater und Novalis’, 1966; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Franz von Baader’, 1975; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Vilfredo Pareto’, 1975; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Ludwig Klages’, 1975. 984. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Gibt es eine konservative Tendenzwende?’, 1975, 150. 985. Ibid., 149. 986. Of importance here seems to be the engagement with the thought of the Czech reformed Marxist philosopher Milan Machovec, an early thinker of the Prague Spring. Kaltenbrunner discussed a Machovec essay in practically hymnal terms: Kaltenbrunner, ‘Im Angesicht des Leviathan’, 1968. This concerned Machovec, ‘Hoffnungen und Befürchtungen’, 1969, who writes: ‘It would seem to be a central question of the current time, indeed the existential life question of humanity – the sole true and fruitful dimension of the dispute between liberal and communist tradition today – whether humanity succeeds in finding, following the collapse of Christian-religious searches for purpose and transcendence, new, now irreligious anthropological-ontological foundations for individual moral engagement, and for the dynamics of tradition that correspond with contemporary rationality and scientificity’ (289). Kaltenbrunner appears to have closely observed the events of the Prague Spring – see Kaltenbrunner, ‘Und bis zum Morgen ist noch lange Zeit’, 1968. 987. See e.g. Kaltenbrunner, Im Bannkreis des Heiligen, 1986; Kaltenbrunner, Johannes, 1993; Kaltenbrunner, Die Seherin, 1992; Kaltenbrunner, Dionysius vom Areopag, 1996. The sole biography of Gerd-Klaus Kaltenbrunner, which has the quality of a hagiography, is itself eloquent testimony to Kaltenbrunner’s Christian-mystical turn: Gmehling, Leitstern am geistigen Firmament. 988. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Magna charta der roten Monsignores’, 1968. 989. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 269. 990. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Muss ein Christ “links” stehen?’, 1974, emphases in original; and more expansive: Kaltenbrunner, ‘Christlich = konservativ?’, 1975; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Wie konservativ ist eigentlich das Christentum?’, 1974. 991. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Vorbild oder Verführer?’, 1970, 54–56. 992. See e.g. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Zehn Gebote für Konservative’, 1972. 993. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Prinzipielle oder experimentelle Utopie?’, 1969, 270–71. 994. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Vorbild oder Verführer?’, 1970, 58–59. 995. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Das Lustprinzip Revolution’, 1970, 262–64. 996. See ibid., 254; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Zwischen Anarchie und Mystik’, 1970. 997. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 265. 998. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der schwierige Konservatismus’, 1972, 54. 999. See Schmitt, Theorie des Partisanen, 1963, see also Mehring, Carl Schmitt, 524–30; Mehring, ‘Der esoterische Diskurspartisan’. 1000. That this way of living had its admirers is underscored by the practically hagiographical depiction: Gmehling, Leitstern am geistigen Firmament. 1001. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der schwierige Konservatismus’, 1972, 51; also Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 259–60. 1002. See Goltz and Waldschmidt-Nelson, Inventing the Silent Majority. 1003. See e.g. Schoeps, ‘Der Versuch einer konservativen Sammlung’, 1974, 192. 1004. Noelle-Neumann, ‘Die Schweigespirale’, 1974; Noelle-Neumann, Die Schweigespirale, 1980.

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1005. See Geyer, ‘Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann’s “Spiral of Silence”’; very critically: Becker, Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann, 221–31. 1006. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, Stuttgart 1973, 260; similarly: Kaltenbrunner, ‘Was ist Konservatismus?’, 1972, 311–12. 1007. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Vorwort des Herausgebers’, 1974b, 16. 1008. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 261, and cited here 264. On the congress, see Schilling, ‘Die konservative Internationale’, 1973. 1009. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 268. 1010. Ibid., 264. 1011. See e.g. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Die neue Rechte’, 1974; then especially Kaltenbrunner, Das Elend der Christdemokraten, 1977. 1012. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus’, 1973, 264–65. 1013. Sontheimer, ‘Der Konservatismus auf der Suche nach einer Theorie’, 1974, cited here 689–90. 1014. Greiner, ‘Die Falte im Gewand des Alls’, 1974. 1015. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Zehn Gebote für Konservative’, 1972. 1016. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Schöpferischer Konservatismus (Criticón)’, 1973. 1017. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Was ist Konservatismus?’, 1972. 1018. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Mani und die Manichäer’, 1974; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Thomas von Aquin und die Gesellschaft’, 1974; Kaltenbrunner, ‘William Blake’, 1980. 1019. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Was ist “reaktionär”?’, 1974; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der Konservative und die Freiheit’, 1973; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Zehn Thesen über Konservatismus’, 1973; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Der Kampf um die Sprache’, 1974; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Hinter den Medien-Kulissen’, 1976; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Das Raubtier’, 1978. 1020. See Mende, ‘Nicht rechts’, 298–304. 1021. ‘Programm’, 1971/1972, 9. 1022. See Himmelheber, ‘In memoriam Friedrich Georg Jünger’, 1977; see Wagner, Die Wissenschaft und die gefährdete Welt, 1964; Wagner, Menschenzüchtung, 1970. 1023. See Breuer, Die Gesellschaft des Verschwindens, 103–30; Strack, Titan Technik; Heyer, ‘Die Maschine’; Geyer, ‘Humanity in an Age of Total Destruction’; Morat, Von der Tat zur Gelassenheit, 224–39, 455–85. 1024. See Jünger, Die vollkommene Schöpfung, 1969; also: Geyer, Friedrich Georg Jünger, 248–50; on its Nietzschean origins, see Kiesel, ‘Nietzsche bei Ernst und Friedrich Georg Jünger’, esp. 267–68. 1025. ‘Bussauer Manifest’, 1975; see also Mende, ‘Nicht rechts’, 300–302. 1026. Schwabe, ‘Fünfzig Thesen’, 1972/73, 36. 1027. See also e.g. Fischer, ‘Vom Verlust der Autorität’, 1974; Mende, ‘Nicht rechts’, 73–78, 301–2; Kempf, Herbert Gruhl, 1976–1993. On Gruhl see pp. 237, 246. 1028. Schwabe, ‘Naturschutz’, 1971/1972, 79. 1029. See Bamberg, Die Deutschland-Stiftung; for the self-depiction of the DeutschlandStiftung, see Deutschland-Stiftung e.V., Die Deutschland-Stiftung, 1967. 1030. On Kurt Ziesel, see Busch, ‘Und gestern’, 209–86; Sieverding, ‘Kurt Ziesel’; Schildt, ‘Im Visier’. 1031. See ‘Was will das Deutschland-Magazin?’, 1969. On Deutschland-Magazin, see Bamberg, Die Deutschland-Stiftung, 127–46. 1032. Schoeps, ‘Quosusque tandem?’, 1970, 1. 1033. Ibid., 2.

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1034. See Peters, William S. Schlamm; Gallus, ‘Der Amüsanteste’; Gallus, Heimat ‘Weltbühne’, 210–78. 1035. Peters, William S. Schlamm, 489. 1036. Ibid., 510. 1037. [Schlamm], ‘Ein Sprachwitzbold’, 1973, 41. 1038. Motschmann, ‘Die ApO als Herausforderung’, 1970, 5, emphases in original. 1039. See ‘“Criticón/Konservativ heute”’, 1981. 1040. See Dirsch, Authentischer Konservatismus, 270, generally uncritical and sympathetic; on right-wing Protestantism, see Scheerer, Bekennende Christen; Hermle, ‘Die Evangelikalen’. 1041. See Schmollinger, ‘Die Deutsche Konservative Partei’; Backes and Jesse, Politischer Extremismus, 60–62. 1042. See uncritical Rohr, Ein konservativer Kämpfer. 1043. See pp. 143–45. 1044. Schoeps, ‘Der Versuch einer konservativen Sammlung’, 1974, cited here 160, 175. 1045. Ibid., 177. 1046. Ibid., 190. 1047. Ibid., 178–80. 1048. See ibid., 176, 197. 1049. See ibid., 176. 1050. Ibid., 197–98. 1051. Ibid., 200. 1052. See ACSP, NL Strauß, Büro PV: 7288, Armin Mohler, Zur konservativen Sammlung, 14.2.1970. 1053. See Molnar and Mohler, ‘Streitgespräch’, 1978. 1054. See Walden, ‘Die Wiederentdeckung’, 1974, 275. On Walden, see Schwane, ‘Konservativer Vordenker’. 1055. See Bamberg, Die Deutschland-Stiftung, 329–30. On Ziesel’s journalistic activities, see Schildt, ‘Im Visier’. 1056. See Weißmann, Armin Mohler, 119. 1057. See ibid., 119–20. 1058. See Mohler, ‘Caspar von Schrenck-Notzing’, 1987. 1059. On the role of the Vertriebenen associations in Bavarian political culture, see Endres, Bayerns vierter Stamm; Pohl, Zwischen Integration und Isolation; Schellakowsky and Schmilewski, Integration und Erbe. 1060. On Franzel, if not very critical, Keller, Emil Franzel; on Franzel’s understanding of conservatism, see Franzel, Fortinbras, 1971. 1061. Mohler, Was die Deutschen fürchten, 1965, 205. 1062. Ibid., 230. 1063. Ibid., 141. 1064. See ibid., 130–92, cited here 155; see also Mohler, Vergangenheitsbewältigung, 1968. 1065. See e.g. Mohler, Was die Deutschen fürchten, 1965, 172. 1066. Ibid., 147. 1067. See Schrenck-Notzing, Charakterwäsche, 1965; Schrenck-Notzing, Zukunftsmacher, 1968. 1068. See ACSP, NL Strauß, Büro PV: 5290, Armin Mohler, Exposé über die Rolle der Gruppe 47 im besonderen und die ‘radikale’ Intelligenz im Allgemeinen in der Bundesrepublik, n.d.

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1069. See pp. 197–200. Bamberg, Die Deutschland-Stiftung, 324–25. Die Zeit described the DKK as the ‘best-informed Strauß mouthpiece’; see Uslar, ‘Strauß & Company’, 1965. Franzel and Neuwirth met for the first time in Prague in 1938; see Franzel, Gegen den Wind der Zeit, 1983, 330. 1070. See the list of fees to be paid (Honorarschuldenliste) in ACSP, NL Strauß, Büro PV: 5858, 21.1.1966, which lists among others Emil Franzel, Bernt von Heiseler, Armin Mohler, Frank Thiess and Kurt Ziesel. 1071. On the financial difficulties of the DKK, which derived from Neuwirth’s insufficient bookkeeping, see ACSP, NL Strauß, Büro PV: 5858, Erich Maier an Franz Josef Strauß, 3.2.1966; on the contention between the ‘Gaullist’ Neuwirth and the ‘Atlanticist’ Schröder, see Geiger, Atlantiker gegen Gaullisten, 279–84. Hans Neuwirth (1901–1970), a jurist, who was influenced by Othmar Spann, belonged to the leadership group of Konrad Henlein’s Sudeten German Party, which he represented in the Czechoslovakian Parliament from 1935 to 1938. He joined the NSDAP in 1939 and was active in the National Socialist Germanization policies. He was convicted by a Czechoslovakian court and was imprisoned until 1956. After subsequently relocating to Bavaria, he became active in Sudeten German Vertriebenen organizations, was a member of the board of the Verein für das Deutschtum im Ausland and the director of the Collegium Carolinum and the Union der Vertriebenen, the expellee organization of the CSU; see Balling, Von Reval bis Bukarest, vol. 1, no. 051067, 321–22; Weger, ‘Volkstumskampf’ ohne Ende?, 274, 616–17; Goldendach and Minow, ‘Deutschtum erwache!’, 169 and passim; Brügel, ‘Wölfe’, 1963, 210; ‘Auf Kosten der Firma’, 1959; ‘Fast tierischer Hass’, 1964. 1072. See Bamberg, Die Deutschland-Stiftung, 63–64. See Maier, 40 Jahre, 1987. 1073. See Conze, Das Europa der Deutschen, 200. 1074. See ACSP, NL Strauß, Büro PV: 5303, Franz Josef Strauß to Armin Mohler, 23.6.1965. 1075. See ibid., 5858, Wolfgang Pohle to Marcel Hepp, 20.5.1966 [Daimler-Benz]; ibid., Axel Springer Verlag GmbH, Dr. Mahnke, to Marcel Hepp, 23.12.1966. 1076. Ibid., 5314, Franz Josef Strauß to Armin Mohler, 1.4.1966. 1077. See ibid., 5303, Armin Mohler to Franz Josef Strauß, 28.2.1965; Armin Mohler to Franz Josef Strauß, 9.5.1965; Franz Josef Strauß to Armin Mohler, 23.6.1965. 1078. See Geiger, Atlantiker gegen Gaullisten; Willms, Armin Mohler, 90–94. 1079. See ‘Bewältiger der Vergangenheit’, 1965. 1080. On the NPD, see Backes and Jesse, Politischer Extremismus, 76–88; Botsch, Die extreme Rechte, 41–59. 1081. See Schlemmer, ‘Grenzen der Integration’. On the integration of the Nazi elite into West German society, see the overview in Herbert, ‘Rückkehr in die “Bürgerlichkeit”?’ 1082. Cited in Schlemmer, ‘Grenzen der Integration’, 711. 1083. See pp. 170–71. 1084. ACSP, NL Strauß, PV: 5858, Erich Maier to Presse- und Informationsamt der Bundesregierung, 24.5.1966. 1085 Ibid., Erich Maier to Franz Josef Strauß, 15.12.1966. 1086. Ibid., LGF – LV 20.3.1967, Niederschrift über die Sitzung der Landesvorstandschaft der CSU, 20.3.1967, 20–21. 1087. Bohrer, ‘Die Schwierigkeit konservativ zu sein’, 1967. 1088. Sethe, ‘Ein neuer Wilhelminismus?’, 1967.

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1089. On Emil Franzel, see Keller, Emil Franzel; on Frank Thiess, see Wolf, Frank Thiess; Joch, ‘Vom Reservieren der Logenplätze’. 1090. See the comprehensive treatment in Bamberg, Die Deutschland-Stiftung, 105–26. 1091. Ibid., 119–20. 1092. Benz, ‘Zum Tod von Helmut Krausnick’, 349. 1093. On the Zentralstelle für Nachkriegsgeschichte, see Beer, ‘Hans Rothfels’, 174–80. 1094. There has yet to be a biography of Helmut Krausnick. Information is provided in Benz, ‘Vorrede’, in Benz, ‘Zum Tod von Helmut Krausnick’, and in Berg, Der Holocaust, 405–8 and passim. 1095. See Bamberg, Die Deutschland-Stiftung, 108–9. 1096. IfZ-Archiv, ID 103/196-5, Erklärung zur Verleihung der Konrad-Adenauer Preise 1968, 3. Fassung, n.d.; reporting in the press is found in ibid. 1097. ‘Vorwort’, in: Deutschland-Stiftung e.V., Die Deutschland-Stiftung, 7–11, here 9. 1098. Nellessen, ‘Sind das die Richtigen?’, 1968. 1099. See also Delitz, Arnold Gehlen, 109–22; Rehberg, ‘Nachwort des Herausgebers’, 653–54. 1100. Lepenies, ‘Auf den Gipfeln’. 1101. Habermas, ‘Nachgeahmte Substanzialität’, 1970; see also Wöhrle, ‘Das Denken und die Dinge’, 64–66. 1102. See Schelsky, Die Arbeit tun die anderen, 1975; also Wöhrle, Metamorphosen des Mängelwesens, 206–47; on Gehlen’s critique of intellectuals, see Rehberg, ‘Nachwort des Herausgebers’, 646. 1103. ‘Verstaubt und vermodert’, 1970. 1104. On the West German New Right in general, see Schönekäs, ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland’; Pfahl-Traughber, ‘Konservative Revolution’, 153–222; Brauner-Orthen, Die Neue Rechte. 1105. On Gehlen’s appreciation of and engagement with the work of Konrad Lorenz, see Delitz, Arnold Gehlen, 10 and passim; Rehberg, ‘Nachwort des Herausgebers’, 643. 1106. Mohler, ‘Gehlens “Moral und Hypermoral”’, 1970/1971. 1107. Critilo [Caspar von Schrenck-Notzing], ‘Kommentar’, 1973. 1108. See Weißmann, Armin Mohler, 141–61; on Mohler’s conflict with Giselher Wirsing, who ended his work with Christ und Welt, see ibid., 269–70, and (from Mohler’s perspective) Mohler, ‘Der Fall Giselher Wirsing’, 1978. On the ‘conservative’ national turn of Springer-Verlag in 1965, see Kruip, Das ‘Welt’–‘Bild’ des Axel-Springer-Verlags, 119–54. 1109. See Hoeres, ‘Reise nach Amerika’. 1110. See e.g. ACSP, NL Jaeger, P 52, Bayerischer Rundfunk, Studienprogramm, Redaktion Aktuelle Berichte und Diskussionen, Was ist heute konservativ? Textbuch einer Fernsehreihe des Bayerischen Rundfunks, Erstausstrahlung Tl. 1: Die Intellektuellen, 10.11.1975, Tl. 2: Die Politiker, 14.11.1975, 23–24. On Strauß distancing himself from Gaullism, see Geiger, Atlantiker gegen Gaullisten, 514–16. 1111. See Hodenberg, Konsens und Krise, 362–72. 1112. See Großmann, Die Internationale der Konservativen. 1113. ‘Aus dem Inhalt’, 1970/1971. 1114. See Schrenck-Notzing, ‘Gibt es eine Konservative Internationale?’, 1974. 1115. See e.g. Molnar, ‘Russell Kirk’, 1974; Molnar, ‘25 Jahre amerikanischer Konservatismus’, 1977; Molnar, ‘Gibt es eine “faschistische” Gegenwartsliteratur?’, 1979.

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1116. See Crozier, ‘James Burnham’, 1977; Maude, ‘Staat und Individuum heute’, 1970/1971; Cosgrave, ‘Tories und Intellektuelle’, 1974; Cosgrave, ‘Jenseits des Bewahrens’, 1975. 1117. See Benoist, ‘Louis Rougier’, 1979; Benoist, ‘In aller Freundschaft’, 1980. 1118. See Kuehnelt-Leddihn, ‘Vor-, Früh-, Alt- und Neoliberalismus’, 1972; ‘Markt oder Bürokratie?’, 1972; Broding, ‘25 Jahre Mont Pelerin Society’, 1972; Maître, ‘Ayn Rand’; on Mohler and Kaltenbrunner with regard to Hayek, see the very short passage in Karabelas, Freiheit statt Sozialismus, 177–78. 1119. Armin Pfahl-Traughber views Criticón as an important mouthpiece of the ‘bridge spectrum’, which he defines as the area ‘where a collaboration of whatever form’ materialized between representatives of democratic conservatism and right-wing extremism; see Pfahl-Traughber, ‘Brücken’. 1120. Mohler, ‘Konservativ 1969’, 92. 1121. See pp. 146–47 and 151–54. 1122. See e.g. Mohler, ‘Konservativ 1969’, 100; Mohler, ‘Brief’, 1972, 153. 1123. Mohler, ‘Konservativ 1969’, 100. 1124. Mohler, ‘Warum nicht konservativ?’, 1970/1971, 73. 1125. See Topitsch, ‘Links, wo der Geist ist?’, 1970/1971. On Karl Steinbuch see Steinbuch, Kurskorrektur, 1973; Steinbuch, Ja zur Wirklichkeit, 1975; on his role in futures research: Seefried, Zukünfte, 116-125 et al. Steinbuch published his work in Criticón after 1985; see Steinbuch, ‘Gegen den Neo-Mystizimus’, 1985; Steinbuch, ‘Schlägt Rhetorik Vernunft?’, 1985. 1126. This did not, however, seem to apply to Günter Maschke; see Mohler, ‘Ein Marxismus von rechts?’, 1975. 1127. Mohler, ‘Die Kerenskis der Kulturrevolution’, 1974, 25. 1128. See Weißmann, Armin Mohler, 174–75, 273. 1129. Mohler, ‘Die Kerenskis der Kulturrevolution’, 1974, 25. On the attack on a liberal conservatism, see also Schrenck-Notzing, ‘Tendenzwende’, 1979. 1130. Mohler, ‘Was heißt schon “reaktionär”?’, 1976, 72. 1131. See Kuehnelt-Leddihn, ‘Welche Staatsform hat geschichtliche Dauer?’, 1976. 1132. Mohler, ‘Konservativ 1969’, 106. 1133. On Mohler’s relationship with Ernst Jünger, see Mohler, ‘Begegnungen bei Ernst Jünger’, 1955. 1134. Mohler, ‘Konservativ 1969’, 109. 1135. See Mohler’s work on the American concept of technocracy: Mohler, ‘Der Weg der “Technokratie”’, 1968; Mohler, ‘Howard Scott und die “Technocracy”’, 1974. 1136. Mohler, ‘Brief an einen italienischen Freund’, 1972, 154. 1137. See e.g. Molnar and Mohler, ‘Streitgespräch’, 1978; Kuehnelt-Leddihn, ‘Rechts’, 1974. 1138. Mohler, ‘12 Thesen zur Öl-Klage’, 1977. 1139. ‘Die Sorgen des Oberförsters und die Konservativen, Tl. 2: Armin Mohler’, 1977. 1140. See also Graf, ‘Die Grenzen des Wachstums’, 217–18. As early as 1972, Criticón had reacted critically to the thesis of limits to growth, see Bader, ‘Grenzen des Wachstums’, 1972. 1141. Mohler, ‘Konservativ 1969’, 117. 1142. Mohler, ‘Der Konservative vor der Geschichte’, 1978. 1143. Ibid., 83. 1144. Mohler, ‘Warum nicht konservativ?’, 1970/1971, 73.

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1145. See e.g. Mohler, ‘Konservativ 1969’, 106. 1146. See Critilo [Caspar von Schrenck-Notzing], ‘Die utopische Versuchung’, 1970/1971, also the entire publication, which dealt with Molnar, Utopia, 1967. 1147. See e.g. Molnar, ‘Russell Kirk’, 1974; Molnar, ‘25 Jahre’, 1977; Molnar and Mohler, ‘Streitgespräch’, 1978; Molnar, ‘Gibt es eine “faschistische” Gegenwartsliteratur?’, 1979. On Molnar, see Mezei, ‘Thomas Molnar’s Place’. 1148. Critilo [Caspar von Schrenck-Notzing], ‘Kommentar’, 1972. 1149. Kuehnelt-Leddihn, ‘Noch einmal Rechts und Links’, 1973. 1150. By contrast, van Laak, Gespräche in der Sicherheit des Schweigens, 262. On the characterization of Mohler as a representative of the New Right, see Pfahl-Traughber, ‘Konservative Revolution’. 1151. See e.g. Scheuch, ‘Lechts und rinks’, 1979; Diwald, ‘Rechts und links’, 1979; ‘Links und rechts’, 1979; Greiffenhagen, ‘Konservativ: gut oder schlecht?’, 1980. 1152. See Mende, ‘Nicht rechts’, 434–43. 1153. ‘Wer steht links, wer steht rechts?’, 1978, 19; similarly in ‘Die Sorgen des Oberförsters und die Konservativen, Tl. 2: Armin Mohler’, 1977. 1154. On the party reforms in the CDU and CSU, see Schönbohm, Die CDU wird moderne Volkspartei; Lange, Responsivität und Organisation; Bösch, Macht und Machtverlust, 99–114; Mintzel, ‘Bayern und die CSU’. 1155. See Conze, Die Suche nach Sicherheit, 569–74. 1156. See Bösch, ‘Die Krise als Chance’, 303; on the debates over reform in the Union parties, see also Schmidt, ‘“Die geistige Führung verloren”’; Bösch, Macht und Machtverlust, 29–44; Schönbohm, Die CDU wird moderne Volkspartei, 138–59. 1157. See e.g. Buchstab and Lindsay, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle, 1969–1973, Gerhard Stoltenberg, 1154; Richard von Weizsäcker, 1159; Christian Schwarz-Schilling, 1166. 1158. Christlich-Soziale Union in Bayern, Leitsätze einer Politik für heute und morgen, 1968. 1159. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19681214, Parteitag der CSU, 14.12.1968, 29. 1160. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1968, 447. 1161. ‘“Es war chic, gegen die CDU zu sein”’, 1969. On Kohl’s efforts towards a programmatic reform of the CDU, see Schwarz, Helmut Kohl, 135–59. 1162. Schuster, ‘Drei Parteien suchen ein Programm’, 1968, 268. 1163. See Faulenbach, Das sozialdemokratische Jahrzehnt, 59–76. 1164. See e.g. Rapp, ‘Zwei oder drei?’, 1971. 1165. DBT, 6. WP, 102. Sitzung, 12.2.1971, 5945. 1166. DBT, 6. WP, 96. Sitzung, 3.2.1971, 5323. 1167. See Weizsäcker, Vier Zeiten, 1997; Wiedemeyer, ‘Richard von Weizsäcker’. 1168. Weizsäcker, ‘Progressive und Konservative’, 1971. 1169. DBT, 6. WP, 199. Sitzung, 22.9.1972, 11764. 1170. ‘Konservativismus ohne Substanz’, 1972. 1171. See chapter 2.2. 1172. ‘Warten bis die SPD sich verschlissen hat?’, 1973. 1173. Bundesparteitag der CDU Saarbrücken 1971, 37. A similar connection of the concepts conservative and progressive can be found in Pütz, Die CDU, 1971, 112–14, who describes the Union parties as ‘conservative and progressive’. 1174. On Dregger’s use of the concept of conservatism, see e.g. Dregger, ‘Programm für ein besseres Hessen’, 1970, 60; Dregger, ‘Bundestagswahlkampf 1976’, 1980, 228; on his political conception, see Dregger, Systemveränderung, 1972; Dregger, Freiheit in

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unserer Zeit, 1980; from a critical perspective: Auer, Alfred Dregger; on Dregger’s work in Hesse, see Wolf, ‘Neubeginn und Kampf ’. 1175. See e.g. Neumaier, ‘Vom Nothelfer zum Steuermann’, 1973. 1176. DBT, 7. WP, 218. Sitzung, 29.1.1976, 15101. 1177. Donat, Gefragt: Karl Carstens, 1976, 62–63. On Carsten’s understanding of conservatism, see Szatkowski, Karl Carstens, 306–8. 1178. See Engels, Naturpolitik, 275. 1179. See Blessing, ‘Entwicklungsplanung’. 1180. Engels, Naturpolitik, 287. 1181. See ibid., 282–90. 1182. On the thought of Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker, see Seefried, ‘Die politische Verantwortung’. 1183. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1972, 65. 1184. Ibid., 73; similarly in: ‘Herausforderungen unserer Zeit’, 1972, 32. 1185. Blüm, ‘Fortschritt im postindustriellen Zeitalter’, 1980, 67–68. 1186. Blüm, ‘Christlich-Sozial: Zwischen!’, 1980, 115. 1187. See Ruck, ‘Ein kurzer Sommer ’, esp. 366–70; Schanetzky, Die große Ernüchterung; Süß, ‘“Wer aber denkt für das Ganze?”’. 1188. On the CSU’s conceptions of planning, see Grüner, Geplantes ‘Wirtschaftswunder’?. 1189. See e.g. Stoltenberg, ‘Zukunftsaufgaben’, 1969; Barzel, ‘Gesunde Umwelt’, 1969; also: Steber, ‘“A Better Tomorrow”’. 1190. Wahlkampfprogramm der CSU zur Bundestagswahl 1969, 1969. 1191. ACSP 19750912-12, Dokumentation des Parteitags, Podium 1: CSU – Sicherung der Zukunft, Max Streibl: Planung. 1192. See e.g. Geißler, ‘Für eine neue Perspektive’, 1979, 17; Geißler, Mut zur Alternative, 1981, 84. 1193. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1978, 37; also: ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19800612, Parteitag der CSU, 20.–21.6.1980, Protokoll, 29. 1194. See Lingen, ‘Bernhard Vogel’. 1195. ACSP, NL Jaeger, P 52, Bayerischer Rundfunk, Studienprogramm, Redaktion Aktuelle Berichte und Diskussionen, Was ist heute konservativ? Textbuch einer Fernsehreihe des Bayerischen Rundfunks, Erstausstrahlung Tl. 1: Die Intellektuellen, 10.11.1975, Tl. 2: Die Politiker, 14.11.1975, 63–64. 1196. See also Köhler, ‘Die Unionsparteien’, 1975, 86. 1197. ACSP, NL Jaeger, P 52, Bayerischer Rundfunk, Studienprogramm, Redaktion Aktuelle Berichte und Diskussionen, Was ist heute konservativ? Textbuch einer Fernsehreihe des Bayerischen Rundfunks, Erstausstrahlung Tl. 1: Die Intellektuellen, 10.11.1975, Tl. 2: Die Politiker, 14.11.1975, 69. 1198. Ibid., 92. 1199. See pp. 235–37. 1200. Filbinger, Freiheit, 1976, 26. On Filbinger, see Bach and Küsters, ‘Hans Karl Filbinger’; on Filbinger’s activities as a navy judge during the National Socialist war of annihilation, see Wette, Filbinger. Following his resignation as minister president, Filbinger initiated Studienzentrum Weikersheim in 1979, which was conceived as a platform for conservative thought and as a meeting place for intellectuals and politicians; see the journalistically penned Maegerle, ‘Studienzentrum Weikersheim’; on the founding conception, see Studienzentrum Weikersheim, Dokumentation, 1979.

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1201. See ACDP, 07-001-17064, H. Kreye to Warnfried Dettling, 30.10.1975, betr. Eppler – Struktur- und Wertkonservatismus für Herrn Prof. Dr. Biedenkopf. 1202. See e.g. ‘Menschen zwischen Sicherheit und Freiheit’, 1975, 273–75. 1203. Bundesparteitag der CDU Bonn 1973, 106. 1204. Kohl, ‘Mut für eine politische Zukunft’, 1974, 483. 1205. Grundsatzprogramm der CDU, Ludwigshafen 1978. 1206. See ACDP, 07-001-17122, Detlef Stronk, Thesen zur Konservatismus-Diskussion, 28.1.1974; ibid., 07-001-17025, Auswertung der Rede von Helmut Schelsky ‘Der selbständige oder der betreute Mensch?’ vor dem Parteitag der CSU in München, September 1973. 1207. See Kaltenbrunner, ‘Brauchen Konservative eine Theorie?’, 1973; Kaltenbrunner, ‘Brauchen wir die Geschichte?’, 1975. 1208. Ade, ‘Neokonservatismus und CDU-Programm’, 1974, 27. The essay clearly built on Detlef Stronk’s paper. 1209. Ade, ‘Neokonservatismus und CDU-Programm’, 1974. 1210. Ibid., 26. 1211. ACDP, 07-001-17122, Detlef Stronk, Thesen zur Konservatismus-Diskussion, 28.1.1974, 10. 1212. Geyer, ‘Rahmenbedingungen’, 16; on the transformation of the Catholic milieu, see the overview in Ziemann, ‘Zwischen sozialer Bewegung und Dienstleistung’; Damberg, ‘Katholiken im Umbruch’; Damberg, Abschied vom Milieu?; Damberg, ‘Milieu und Konzil’. 1213. ACSP, LGF – V 2.6.1975, Niederschrift über die Sitzung des Landesvorstands der Christlich-Sozialen Union, 2.6.1975, 56, Franz Josef Strauß. 1214. ACDP, 07-001-17019, Warnfried Dettling to Hoffmann, Asmussen, Kreye, Stronk, 4.4.1974, Anlage: Zur politischen Strategie der CDU, 4; Dettling, Die christliche Demokratie, 1978, 57. See pp. 227, 232. 1215. See Hoeres, ‘Reise nach Amerika’, esp. 72–75. 1216. See p. 199. 1217. See Grau, Gegen den Strom, 248–376. 1218. Franzel, ‘Die deutschen Konservativen’, 1972. 1219. [William S. Schlamm], ‘Partei, Treue und Politik’, 1972, 5. Similarly: [William S. Schlamm], ‘Die CDU ist tot’, 1972. 1220. Pfaehler, ‘Die Konservativen in der Bewährung’, 1973, cited here 29, 32. 1221. Schrenck-Notzing, Honoratiorendämmerung, 1973. 1222. Mohler, ‘Die CDU und wir’, 1978; also: ACSP, NL Jaeger, P 52, Bayerischer Rundfunk, Studienprogramm, Redaktion Aktuelle Berichte und Diskussionen, Was ist heute konservativ? Textbuch einer Fernsehreihe des Bayerischen Rundfunks, Erstausstrahlung Tl. 1: Die Intellektuellen, 10.11.1975, Tl. 2: Die Politiker, 14.11.1975, 11. 1223. Kaltenbrunner, ‘Die neue Rechte’, 1974. 1224. See Kaltenbrunner, Das Elend der Christdemokraten, 1977; therein: SchrenckNotzing, ‘Das Unbehagen der Konservativen’, 1977. 1225. See Ade, ‘Neokonservatismus und CDU-Programm’, 1974, 18. 1226. Sontheimer, ‘Verstohlener Konservatismus’, 1971. 1227. Besson, ‘Ein Programm ohne geistigen Faden’, 1970. 1228. ACDP, 07-001-17040, ‘Sicher in die 70er Jahre’? Zum Selbstverständnis der Unionsparteien. Geschlossene Tagung der Katholischen Akademie in Bayern für

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führende Persönlichkeiten der CDU und CSU am 11. März 1970 in Bonn, Referat von Professor Dr. Waldemar Besson, Konstanz, Gedankenskizze zum Referat. 1229. See Besson, ‘Wachet auf!’, 1970. 1230. ACDP, 07-001-17040, ‘Sicher in die 70er Jahre’? Zum Selbstverständnis der Unionsparteien. Geschlossene Tagung der Katholischen Akademie in Bayern für führende Persönlichkeiten der CDU und CSU am 11. März 1970 in Bonn, Tagung der Katholischen Akademie in Bayern, Programm, 11.11.1969, geschlossener Gedankenaustausch. 1231. E.g. Frank-Planitz, ‘Gestutzte Flügel der Opposition?’, 1969; Kremp, ‘Der erkennbare Wille’, 1971. 1232. ACDP, 07-001-17040, [Hans Maier], Auf dem Weg zur konservativen Partei? Die CDU/CSU und das Problem des Fortschritts, Vortrag München, 12.11.1969; published as: Maier, ‘Die Zukunft der Unionsparteien’, 1978, 6. 1233. ACDP, 07-001-17040, [Hans Maier], Auf dem Weg zur konservativen Partei? Die CDU/CSU und das Problem des Fortschritts, Vortrag München, 12.11.1969, 9. 1234. Ibid., 11. 1235. Ibid., 12. 1236. Müller, ‘Die Zukunft des Konservativen’, 1970, 111. 1237. See e.g. Buske, ‘Der Fortschritt der Konservativen’, 1971; Baumanns and Bergsdorf, ‘CDU im dritten Jahrzehnt’, 1971. 1238. Karl-Hermann Flach, elected to the Bundestag in 1972 on behalf of the FDP, continued to ascribe conservatism to the Union parties; see DBT, 7. WP, 8. Sitzung, 24.1.1973, 180–81. 1239. Held, ‘Eine Falle für die Union’, 1974. 1240. Zehm, ‘Was wurde aus der Tendenzwende?’, 1975. 1241. See p. 283. 1242. See ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19701017, Außerordentlicher Parteitag der Christlich-Sozialen Union, München, 16.–17.10.1970, Hans Maier, Bilanz 1970 – zur innenpolitischen Situation der Bundesrepublik. 1243. Ibid., NL Jaeger, P 20, Prominente Politiker schreiben für die AZ – Die Stimme der CSU: Dr. Richard Jaeger, in: Abendzeitung, 2.1.1969. 1244. Guttenberg, ‘Was heißt konservative Politik heute?’, 1969, 83–85. 1245. See Mohler, ‘Konservativ 1969’. 1246. See e.g. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19700410, Parteitag der Christlich-Sozialen Union, München, 10.4.1970, Protokoll, F63; ibid., 19711017, Parteitag der Christlich-Sozialen Union, München, 17.10.1971, 35. 1247. See e.g. ibid. 19700411, Parteitag der Christlich-Sozialen Union, München, 10.– 11.4.1970, Protokoll, 5–7 (Rechenschaftsbericht des Generalsekretärs Max Streibl); ibid., 19801017, Außerordentlicher Parteitag der Christlich-Sozialen Union, München, 17.10.1970, Protokoll, 2. 1248. See e.g. ibid. 19701017, Außerordentlicher Parteitag der Christlich-Sozialen Union, München, 17.10.1970, Protokoll, 56. 1249. Bundesparteitag der CDU Hamburg 1973, 372. 1250. See the papers in ACSP, GK 4; the process is documented in Gutjahr-Löser and Waigel, Die Grundsatzdiskussion in der CSU, 1977/1981. 1251. CSU-Grundsatzprogramm 1976, 11. 1252. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19760313, Parteitag der Christlich-Sozialen Union, München, 13.3.1976, 3–5.

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1253. Ibid., 19–20. 1254. Ibid., 81. 1255. Ibid., 94. 1256. Ibid., 112. 1257. Ibid., 113. 1258. Ibid., NL Jaeger P 52, Bayerischer Rundfunk, Studienprogramm, Redaktion Aktuelle Berichte und Diskussionen, Was ist heute konservativ? Textbuch einer Fernsehreihe des Bayerischen Rundfunks, Erstausstrahlung Tl. 1: Die Intellektuellen, 10.11.1975, Tl. 2: Die Politiker, 14.11.1975, 59, 65. 1259. See pp. 216–41. 1260. See CSU-Grundsatzprogramm 1976. 1261. See Karabelas, Freiheit statt Sozialismus, 189–92. 1262. CDU-Bundesgeschäftsstelle, 24. Bundesparteitag der CDU, Hannover 24.–26. Juni 1976, 80. 1263. ACSP, LGF – V 2.6.1975,1, Niederschrift über die Sitzung des Landesvorstands der CSU, 2.6.1975, 55. 1264. ‘Aufräumen bis zum Rest dieses Jahrhunderts’, 1975. 1265. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19760313, Parteitag der Christlich-Sozialen Union, München, 13.3.1976, 3–5, 121. 1266. CSU-Grundsatzprogramm 1976, 7. 1267. Ibid., 13. 1268. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19760313, Parteitag der Christlich-Sozialen Union, München, 13.3.1976, 3–5, 77. 1269. See pp. 170–71. 1270. See Zöller, ‘Gesellschaftlicher Wandel’, 1977 and 1981, 37. 1271. Zöller, ‘Die konservative Weigerung’, 1974. 1272. See Zöller, Aufklärung heute, 1980. 1273. Gründel, ‘Die progressive Funktion’, 1977/1981, 42; Buchheim, ‘Christlich, konservativ, liberal, sozial’, 1977/1981. 1274. ‘Strauß bleibt für Kohl ein Alptraum’, 1975. 1275. See Bundesparteitag der CDU 1975, Anhang: Unsere Politik für Deutschland – Mannheimer Erklärung; Geißler, Die neue soziale Frage, 1976; Dettling, Die Neue Soziale Frage, 1977; on the academic debate, see Widmaier, Zur Neuen Sozialen Frage, 1978. 1276. See ACSP, LGF – V 27.10.1975, Niederschrift über die Sitzung des Landesvorstands der CSU, 27.10.1975, 9. 1277. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1975, 160–61. 1278. See e.g. Heigert, ‘Was bietet die Union?’, 1975; on the tug of war between Kohl and Strauß, see Schwarz, Helmut Kohl, 193–206. 1279. See Schlak, Wilhelm Hennis, 174–76. 1280. Hennis, ‘Krieg und Ziele’, 1973. 1281. Herrmann, ‘Das Gewitter blieb aus’, 1975. 1282. See Szatkowski, ‘Die CDU/CSU und die deutsch-polnischen Vereinbarungen’. 1283. See Stöss, ‘Die Aktionsgemeinschaft Vierte Partei’. 1284. ‘Manchmal liegt es in der Luft’, 1974. 1285. For an expansive view: Schwarz, Helmut Kohl, 214–26; Mintzel, ‘Christlich-Soziale Union’, 684–85. The threat made by the Bavarian Landesgruppe to end the parliamentary group status and to expand the CSU throughout West Germany was

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not, however, at all limited to the 1970s. This had also arisen during the process of forming the cabinet in 1965: Weber, ‘Föderalismus und Lobbyismus’, 52–53. 1286. ‘Kohl ist total unfähig zum Kanzler’, 1976; an extremely interesting depiction of the events is to be found in Merk, Klarstellungen, 37–63. 1287. See ‘Zwei blaue Augen’, 1976. 1288. See e.g. Jung and Spoo, Das Rechtskartell, 1971; Neumann and Maes, Der geplante Putsch, 1971. 1289. DBT, 8. WP, 78. Sitzung, 9.3.1978, 6169. 1290. See e.g. Hofmann, ‘Die Neue Rechte’, 1980. 1291. See Dufhues, ‘Christen in der Demokratie’, 1964. 1292. See Bundesparteitag der CDU 1968. 1293. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19681214, Parteitag der CSU, München, 14.12.1968, Protokoll, 102. 1294. Rollmann, Die Zukunft der CDU, 1968, 213–17. 1295. See ibid. 1296. Christlich Demokratische Union Deutschlands, Berliner Programm, 1968, Präambel. 1297. Das Berliner Programm, 2. Fassung 1971. 1298. CSU, Leitsätze einer Politik für heute und morgen, 1968. 1299. See pp. 55–68. 1300. ACSP, LGF – V 29.1.1973,1, Niederschrift über die Sitzung des Landesvorstandes der CSU, 29.1.1973, 67. 1301. Ibid., Parteitagsprotokolle, 19700411, Parteitag der CSU, München, 10.–11.4.1970, Rechenschaftsbericht von Generalsekretär Max Streibl, 6; emphasis in original. 1302. Heck, ‘Wozu noch Christ sein?’, 1971, cited here 11, 18; similarly: Roser, ‘Das “C” im Namen’, 1970, 191–93. 1303. Baumanns and Bergsdorf, ‘CDU im dritten Jahrzehnt’, 1971, 6. 1304. See pp. 156–66. 1305. Heck, ‘Wozu noch Christ sein?’, 1971, 13, 15. 1306. ‘Herausforderungen unserer Zeit’, 1972, 31. 1307. See e.g. Bundesparteitag der CDU Bonn 1973, Helmut Kohl, 106; Langguth and Schwarz-Schilling, ‘Überlegungen’, 1973, 9. 1308. Bundesparteitag der CDU Hamburg 1973, Richard von Weizsäcker, 433. 1309. ‘Herausforderungen unserer Zeit’, 1972, 33; see e.g. also Weizsäcker, ‘Selbstverantwortung und Mitverantwortung’, 1977, 36: ‘That is what solidarity means at its core: freedom as co-responsibility’. 1310. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1975, 221. 1311. See Das Berliner Programm, 2. Fassung 1971. 1312. Bundesparteitag der CDU Hamburg 1973, Richard von Weizsäcker, 433. 1313. See Biedenkopf, ‘Solidarität und Subsidiarität’, 1975. 1314. Biedenkopf, Fortschritt in Freiheit, 1974, 136. 1315. Biedenkopf, ‘Solidarität und Subsidiarität’, 1975, 45. 1316. Kohl, ‘Die Zukunft der Union’, 1973, 50; similarly: Baumanns and Bergsdorf, ‘CDU im dritten Jahrzehnt’, 1971, 7. 1317. Waffenschmidt, ‘Das “C” ist unsere große Chance’, 1973, 2. 1318. See e.g. the recommendations of the two chairmen of the Nuremberg Protestant and Catholic Men’s associations for a revision of the preamble of the basic programme: Weber and Schweiger, ‘Der politische Auftrag’, 1974.

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1319. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1975, Kurt Biedenkopf, 178–79; Geißler, Die neue soziale Frage, 1976. 1320. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1978, Heiner Geißler, 117–18. 1321. See Das Berliner Programm, 2. Fassung 1971, 47 passim; Bundesparteitag der CDU 1975, Anhang: Unsere Politik für Deutschland – Mannheimer Erklärung, 101 passim. 1322. See Grundsatzprogramm der CDU, Ludwigshafen 1978, 127 passim; Bundesparteitag der CDU 1978, 157–63. 1323. Weizsäcker, ‘Gleichheit’, 1972. 1324. Kohl, ‘Die Volkspartei CDU’, 1975, 39. 1325. See p. 292. 1326. ‘Herausforderungen unserer Zeit’, 1972, 30. 1327. See pp. 207–15, 216–41. 1328. See Schmidt, ‘Ethos und Recht’, 1977. 1329. Kohl, ‘Freiheit, Solidarität, Gerechtigkeit’, 1977, cited here 54, 58. 1330. Ibid., 55. 1331. See Ade, ‘Grundwerte’, 1979, 30. 1332. Geyer, ‘Rahmenbedingungen’, 27; the most important contributions to the debate are documented in Gorschenek, Grundwerte in Staat und Gesellschaft, 1977. 1333. See Inglehart, The Silent Revolution. 1334. See Geyer, ‘Rahmenbedingungen’, 68–71. 1335. Ibid., 72. 1336. See Noelle-Neumann, Werden wir alle Proletarier?, 1978. On the diagnosis of a ‘collapse’ in work values, see the historical study by Neuheiser, ‘Der “Wertewandel”’. 1337. See Brandt, ‘Geleitwort (zum Langzeitprogramm)’, 1976; ‘Politischer und ökonomischer Rahmen’, 1976. 1338. Kohl, ‘Freiheit, Solidarität, Gerechtigkeit’, 1977, 52. 1339. For the CSU, see ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19760313, Parteitag der CSU, München, 13.3.1976, 14, Theo Waigel; for the CDU see e.g. Richard von Weizsäcker’s ethical interpretation of the ‘C’: Weizsäcker, ‘Wo liegen die Unterschiede?’, 1970, 179. 1340. Langguth and Schwarz-Schilling, ‘Überlegungen’, 1973, 9; see also Buchstab and Lindsay, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle, 1969–1973, 1165; also published as: Schwarz-Schilling and Langguth, ‘Die geistige Führung verloren’, 1973. 1341. Langguth, ‘RCDS’, 1971, 5–6. 1342. See Downey, Love’s Strategy; Eitler, ‘Politik und Religion’; Herzog, ‘The Death of God’; Kern, Theologie der Befreiung. 1343. See ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19681214, Parteitag der CSU, München, 14.12.1968, 28–29. 1344. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1978, 120. 1345. Geißler, ‘Generationenkonflikt’, 1978, 246. For the further discourse, see Geyer, ‘Sozialpolitische Denk- und Handlungsfelder’, 226–29. 1346. On the Ludwigshafen Basic Programme, see Geyer, ‘Rahmenbedingungen’, 36–38. For the discussion on the 1976 programme draft, see Weizsäcker, CDUGrundsatzdiskussion, 1977. 1347. See e.g. Geißler, Katholische Soziallehre und politische Praxis, 1975. 1348. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1978, 115. 1349. Herrmann, ‘Ein Kompendium voll ewiger Wahrheiten’, 1976.

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1350. E.g. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1978, Richard von Weizsäcker, 125; see above pp. 173–79. 1351. Hölscher, ‘Die Säkularisierung der Kirchen’. 1352. See e.g. Buchheim, ‘Christlich, konservativ, liberal, sozial’, 1977/1981, 38–40. 1353. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19760313, Parteitag der CSU, München, 13.3.1976, 15; see CSU-Grundsatzprogramm 1976, 4–6. 1354. See e.g. Dettling, Macht der Verbände. Einleitung, 1976. 1355. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19760313, Parteitag der CSU, München, 13.3.1976, 15. 1356. See Barzel, ‘Keine Öffnung’, 1972; Barzel, ‘Friede, Freiheit und Gerechtigkeit’, 1972; Barzel, ‘Der Dienst’, 1973. 1357. See e.g. Biedenkopf, ‘Eine Strategie für die Opposition’, 1973; Biedenkopf, Fortschritt in Freiheit, 1974. 1358. Biedenkopf, ‘Eine Strategie für die Opposition’, 1973. 1359. See Kohl, Hausputz, 1971; Kohl, ‘Die Zukunft der Bundesrepublik Deutschland’, 1975. 1360. See e.g. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19760313, Parteitag der CSU, München, 13.3.1976, 80. 1361. Grundsatzprogramm der CDU, Ludwigshafen 1978, 123. 1362. See e.g. Buchstab and Lindsay, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle, 1969–1973, Paul Mikat, 1161–65. 1363. ACSP, LGF – V 29.1.1973, Niederschrift über die Sitzung des Landesvorstandes der CSU, 29.1.1973, 63. The call for a ‘civil theology’ had been formulated by Peter Schmidhuber at a meeting of the CSU faction of the CDU/CSU Bundestag group. 1364. See Radunski and Niemetz, ‘Die Anlage des Landtagswahlkampfes’, 1971; Gerhard Schröder was confronted with and rejected these suggestions in a 1973 interview – see ‘Schröder zur künftigen Position der Union’, 1973. 1365. Buchstab and Lindsay, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle, 1969–1973, 1087. 1366. See e.g. Kohl, ‘Freiheit und Gerechtigkeit’, 1976. 1367. See Biedenkopf, Fortschritt in Freiheit, 1974, 111–13. 1368. ‘Die FDP redet von Liberalismus’, 1975. 1369. See ACDP, 07-001-17019, Warnfried Dettling to Hoffmann, Asmussen, Kreye, Stronk, 4.4.1974, Anlage: Zur politischen Strategie der CDU, 15. 1370. Gaddum, ‘Der Bürger und sein Staat’, 1975, 129. 1371. See e.g. Kohl, ‘Recht sichert die Freiheit’, 1978. 1372. Grundsatzprogramm der CDU, Ludwigshafen 1978, 163. 1373. See Saupe, ‘“Innere Sicherheit” und “Law and Order”’, esp. 180–86. For the connection between security, order and freedom, see e.g. Kohl, ‘Perspektiven freiheitlicher Politik’, 1977, 15. On the discourse on security see Schildt, ‘“Die Kräfte der Gegenreform”’, 467–72; on terrorism in general, see Weinhauer, Requate and Haupt, Terrorismus in der Bundesrepublik; Hürter, Terrorismusbekämpfung in Westeuropa. 1374. See Geyer, ‘Rahmenbedingungen’, 47–87; Conze, Die Suche nach Sicherheit, 569–74. 1375. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1978, 73; the same stance is presented in Biedenkopf, ‘Die Politik der Unionsparteien’, 1973, 5–6. 1376. See e.g. the statements of the chairman of the Catholic Workers’ Movement, Alfons Müller, on the equal value of freedom and solidarity, at the 1978 CDU Federal Party Conference in Ludwigshafen: Bundesparteitag der CDU 1978, 129; also very measured: Blüm, ‘Christlich-Sozial: Zwischen!’, 1980. On the debates within the Union parties on the concept of liberalism in the 1950s and 1960s, see above, pp. 156–66.

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1377. On the discussion within the church on Paragraph 218, see Großbölting, Der verlorene Himmel, 131–36; Mantei, Nein und Ja; from a legal-historical point of view: Behren, Die Geschichte des § 218 StGB; on the debate over divorce law, see Neumaier, ‘Ringen um Familienwerte?’ On family policy, see Schumann, Bauarbeiten. 1378. See Schelsky, ‘Wie liberal ist die CDU?’, 1976. 1379. See e.g. the statements made by Richard von Weizsäcker on the Federal Board of the CDU: Buchstab and Lindsay, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle, 1969–1973, 1159; also Schelsky’s talk at the 1973 CSU Party Conference: ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19730928, Helmut Schelsky, Der selbständige Mensch in der modernen Gesellschaft. Individuelle oder kollektive Verantwortung. See also the evaluation of the CDU planning group: ACDP, 07-001-17025, Auswertung der Rede von Helmut Schelsky: ‘Der selbständige oder der betreute Mensch?’ vor dem Parteitag der CSU in München, September 1973. 1380. Kohl, ‘Freiheit und Gerechtigkeit’, 1976, 20. 1381. See e.g. ‘Herausforderungen unserer Zeit’, 1972, 30–31; Biedenkopf, ‘Auftrag und Ethos der CDU’, 1976; Dettling, Demokratisierung, 1974. 1382. Kohl, ‘Perspektiven freiheitlicher Politik’, 1977, 20. 1383. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19711017, Parteitag der CSU, München, 17.10.1971, 35. 1384. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1978, Norbert Blüm, 138. 1385. Riehl-Heyse, ‘Auf der Suche nach einem klaren Profil’, 1976. 1386. See pp. 158, 186–88. 1387. For a short summary of the West German debate over co-determination, see Süß, ‘Sozialpolitische Denk- und Handlungsfelder’, 196–99, 203–5; Geyer, ‘Sozialpolitische Denk- und Handlungsfelder’, 138–43. 1388. Bösch, ‘Die Krise als Chance’, 303. On the formation of wings, see Schmidt, ‘“Die geistige Führung verloren”’, 104–7. 1389. Bundesparteitag der CDU Bonn 1973, 88–106. 1390. See Greiffenhagen, Das Dilemma, 1971, 231–33. 1391. See e.g. ACSP, NL Jaeger, P 20, Prominente Politiker schreiben für die AZ – Die Stimme der CSU: Dr. Richard Jaeger, in: Abendzeitung, 2.1.1969. 1392. See Strauß, ‘Was will die CSU?’, 1976, 13. 1393. Böhm, ‘Braucht die Union ein Programm?’, 1978, 60. 1394. Blüm, ‘Auf einen Fingernagel’, 1980, 32. 1395. Kohl, ‘CDU – Platz in der Mitte’, 1971; similarly: Klein, ‘Weder Anpassung noch Konfrontation’, 1973, 62. 1396. Nell-Breuning, ‘Grundsätze christlich-sozialer Politik’, 1975, 28–29. 1397. See p. 283. 1398. ACSP, Parteitagsprotokolle, 19760313, Parteitag der CSU, München, 13.3.1976, 21. 1399. Biedenkopf, ‘Auftrag und Ethos der CDU’, 1976, 11. 1400. See Hacke, Philosophie der Bürgerlichkeit. 1401. See Erhard, ‘Die neue Mitte’, 1973. 1402. Dettling, Die christliche Demokratie, 1978, 56. 1403. For an early reaction to these tactics, see Pütz, Radunski and Schönbohm, ‘34 Thesen zur Reform der CDU’, 1969.

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1404. DBT, 6. WP, 199. Sitzung, 22.9.1972, 11764; DBT, 7. WP, 7. Sitzung, 18.1.1973, 133; Vorstand der SPD, Außerordentlicher Parteitag der SPD, 1972, 45–79, esp. 46, 79. 1405. See pp. 273–74. 1406. DBT, 6. WP, 199. Sitzung, 22.9.1972, 11777; and: DBT, 7. WP, 8. Sitzung, 24.1.1973, 171–72. Also: ‘“Da kann sich ja jeder was reindenken”’, 1973. 1407. Bundesparteitag der CDU Hamburg 1973, 371–72. 1408. Sontheimer, ‘Der Drang zur Mitte’, 1976. 1409. Kremp, ‘Jetzt droht der CDU der Hinauswurf aus der Epoche’, 1973. 1410. See pp. 216–18. 1411. Baumanns and Bergsdorf, ‘CDU im dritten Jahrzehnt’, 1971, 8. 1412. Bösch, Macht und Machtverlust, 42. 1413. On the changed alliances, see Schwarz, Helmut Kohl, 239–56. 1414. See Geyer, ‘Rahmenbedingungen’, 38; on the Institut für Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft (Institute for Economy and Society), which Biedenkopf founded together with Meinhard Miegel, following the model of British and American think tanks for the propagation of market-liberal thought, see Köpf, Der Querdenker, 141–46; Wendt, Kurt Biedenkopf, 80–91.

Chapter 3

Initial Conclusions Political Languages of Conservatism in Comparison – Conceptual Divergences and Structural Similarities

? In over three decades following the end of the Second World War and the collapse of the National Socialist regime, the Federal Republic of Germany saw a much more acrimonious, extensive and dynamic debate over conservatism than was the case in the United Kingdom, the homeland of modern conservatism. This may seem paradoxical – especially if we join most researchers in their view that West Germany did not in fact have an influential form of conservatism that was taken seriously politically. The paradox is resolved, however, once we take into account the structures and logics in the political language of both countries. What sort of picture emerges from a systematic German–British comparison? What initial conclusions can be reached from a comprehensive look into the conceptual development of both countries? While the concept of conservatism was established in the United Kingdom for a political movement within a democracy, it was only adopted into the postwar West German democratic conceptual inventory with great scepticism. The history of the concept of conservatism in the Federal Republic must be understood as an ongoing struggle with the anti-liberal traditions that shaped its definition, which had been emerging since the nineteenth century, and which, as we have seen, could not be separated from the concept despite the many language-political efforts to do so. The anchoring of the concept of conservatism in the language of party politics was of crucial significance to its conceptual stability within the vocabulary of British democracy. The Conservative Party laid claim to interpretative power over conservatism. Its history provided the conceptual elements necessary to establish constancy in its semantic networks. The rich conceptual inventory, however, also made it possible to recode the concept in different ways, which, as they were also drawn from the conceptual tradition, could then be presented as having a legitimacy

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equal to the predominant variants. New concepts became effective by being fitted into existing semantic networks. This ongoing work on the semantic networks of conservatism informed the Conservative Party’s programmatic debates, with the boundaries of the concept of conservatism being continually re-evaluated. Every new weighting, updating or marginalization of conceptual elements logically led to the question of whether the outcome was still in fact ‘conservative’. If a programmatic alternative was to succeed, it would have to be clearly identifiable as conservative. This inherent power of the concept of conservatism, with which the concept of Toryism could not compete, is ultimately the reason for the formation of clear-cut camps within the party and their acrimonious turf wars and squabbles that continue to mark the Conservative Party to this day. We have seen the profound effect these conflicts have had on the history of the Conservative Party, particularly since the mid-1960s. The two camps within the party, which had emerged by the mid-1970s at the latest, both made reference to the conservative tradition and indeed both operated using the inventory of the concept of conservatism. They constructed their particular versions of the concept of conservatism not solely through recourse to its semantic inventory but also along the particular structural principles that their semantic networks followed: the principle of temporality, the principle of balance and synthesis, the principle of the formation of opposites, and the principle of repetition and application to the present. The interplay of traditional conceptual inventories and these four structural principles characterized the political languages of conservatism. Whereas in the United Kingdom the concept of conservatism was accepted, even while being the subject of internal debate, as the self-descriptive concept of a single party and of current political thought, in West Germany it numbered among concepts considered to be dangerous. After the war, conservatism had too much anti-liberal and anti-democratic baggage for the incipient democracy to be attractive to intellectuals or parties. It could not, however, be fully condemned and banished from the democratic vocabulary of the Federal Republic. It was too deeply anchored in the political language, while a view to older democracies – especially the United Kingdom and Switzerland – demonstrated the possibilities and vibrancy of conservative thought and action in democracy. This view to ‘the West’, enforced by the Allies, opened the window for liberal variants of conservatism. The 1950s were thus pervaded by a cautious search for conservatism, one in which the anti-liberal and the liberal were mixed. The fact that the Allies drew clear boundaries of what could be said, and that this was defended by the West German public, was decisive here. The right-wing, anti-democratic potential of the concept of conservatism that was particularly connected with the Weimar New Right could not, however, be entirely

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dispelled. Two variants of the concept of conservatism had emerged by the end of the decade: one liberal and one of the New Right. They would continue to dominate the debates in the Federal Republic, and do so to this day. This semantic situation was a difficult one for the Union parties. The concept was attributed to the parties just as it was cultivated within the parties. It was, however, strongly rejected by many within the CDU and CSU, in which politicians of a wide variety of party-political and intellectual traditions came together. Concepts served to integrate this diversity such as Christian, centre, people’s party, and up until the mid-1960s and with limitations, worldview party. They accordingly numbered among the new concepts in the German political vocabulary. Conservative was used as a secondary self-ascriptive concept. The liberalization of the concept in the course of the 1950s made it less problematic for the Union parties as well, and they worked towards its liberalization. It was no coincidence that a more natural relationship with the ‘bristly word’1 only came about with the squabbles in the late 1950s and early 1960s within the Union parties over the concept of liberalism, which was deemed by the Christian Social wing of the party to be incompatible with the vocabulary of the CDU and CSU. In the course of these developments, the concept of conservatism, with a focus on its temporal dimension, was seen in a higher light, and was connected increasingly closely to the concept of Christianity. The denouncement of the concept of conservatism by the student movement and the New Left, the conceptual strategy of the Social-Liberal coalition and the offensive occupation of the concept by the New Right of the 1970s all led to it becoming increasingly challenging to embrace the concept within the CDU and CSU. The major intellectual approaches to promoting a liberal-minded conservatism, which were levelled at the Union parties, did not therefore have a chance to succeed. The CSU, however, held fast to its aggressive course of adopting the concept of conservatism in the 1970s. This was supported by parts of the CDU, which led to intensive programmatic tensions within the Union parties. But these tensions were able to be diverted as alternative self-ascriptive concepts became available, so that the status of the concept of conservatism was by no means comparable to its status within the Conservative Party. The collection of concepts of self-ascription that the Union parties resorted to in their semantic need, which in turn led to accusations of a lack of identity, ensured that intra-party debates were not as uncompromising as was the case in the United Kingdom. The aforementioned integrative concepts were of particular importance here. Conservatism could not, however, be established as a neutral concept, comparable to its British counterpart, in the West German political language. It remained ambivalent, floating in relative freedom and open to interpretation.

360 | Initial Conclusions

Conservatism was – and remains – present in academic and public discourse as a basic concept in political theory and as a historical category. The degree to which its standing and function in intellectual debates can differ is reflected clearly in German–British comparison. As the concept of conservatism was so strongly tied to the Conservative Party in the United Kingdom, which in turn vehemently defended its interpretive monopoly, the concept rarely took form beyond the realm of party politics. The party instead adopted the intellectual discourse in that it provided space for intellectual conceptual definition within the party, and cultivated the idea of the party intellectual. As limited as the similarities were between their interpretations of conservatism, the philosopher Michael Oakeshott and the political scientist Noël O’Sullivan were united in their rejection of this strategy. They remained mavericks among the postwar British interpreters of conservatism. The relative conceptual openness in Germany, by contrast, led to a broad, complex and decades-long intellectual debate over conservatism, which dealt with the continuities and discontinuities of German history, the liberalization of the Federal Republic, the outlook of the young democracy and, not least, the relationship between politics and intellectual life. In this discourse on conservatism, the intellectuals considered the opportunities of the West German democratic project and reflected on the place of the incipient republic in ‘the West’. The historical interpretation of German conservatism was also linked to this debate. Opinions were indeed divided over conservatism, so it was not particularly surprising that the concept played a decisive, if deeply ambiguous role in the political polarization of the 1970s. This also had much to do with it being tied to the concept of the Right, which had anti-democratic connotations in the political language of the Federal Republic. The successes of the NPD in the second half of the 1960s refuelled this view, which was also confirmed by the theoreticians of the New Right. It was thus all the more important for the Union parties to find their place in the centre. Heath’s critics in the Conservative Party, by contrast, self-confidently adopted the concept of the Right, even if Margaret Thatcher and Keith Joseph trod carefully with regard to the label. Right stood here in opposition both to Left as well as to the middle way. This was only possible because the concept did not have the anti-democratic level of meaning that it had in West Germany, and because it was firmly anchored in the party’s political language. This, however, would lead to representatives of a New Right finding their place within the Conservative Party and indeed as advocates of ‘true’ conservatism, with their ideas attaining programmatic importance. It was also a means of keeping them on a leash, while this ascription covered up the heterogeneous nature of the movement, which was ultimately only united through their opposition to Heath and their perceived enemy on the Left. The movement

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ranged from representatives of a neoliberalism oriented towards Hayek and Friedman, religiously inspired campaigners against permissiveness and advocates of a social order based on traditions, institutions and hierarchies, all the way to those fighting for an authoritarian, imperialistic and racist nationalism. Thatcherism, for which the movement paved the way, was correspondingly multifaceted. By contrast, the Union parties unmistakably distanced themselves from the concept of the Right. This occurred with great decisiveness in the CDU, while the CSU could not avoid doing the same, emphasizing however that the demarcation from the Right demanded the same from the Left, thus invoking the principle of balance and placing themselves at the centre. At the same time, they sought to integrate positions of the Right and Left into the people’s party. The anti-democratic coding of the concept of the Right, nevertheless, built up a wall against the infiltration of New Right thought into the Union parties. The formation of the New Right in the late 1960s and early 1970s as an intellectual movement beyond the Union also resulted from this. The political languages of conservatism in both the United Kingdom and West Germany diversified from the mid-1960s, with the concept of conservatism carrying out different functions. The multifaceted nature of the concept and its significance in the debates over the self-conception of West German democracy led to it becoming the object of language-political controversies itself. After 1945, the view that conservatism was a difficult concept, laden with the heavy burden of German history, became a self-evident part of every reckoning with the concept. During the 1970s, a decade marked by heated language-political debate, it would become a main object of exposition in the ‘conceptual struggle’. The German– British comparison clearly demonstrates that the political thematization of language was a characteristic of West German political culture, against the background of both the historical experience with National Socialist rule and the ongoing experience with the GDR. While political language criticism had been established in West Germany after 1945 and was particularly cultivated by conservatives, ultimately being placed high on their political agenda during the 1970s, the map of language politics in the United Kingdom only began to be drawn during that decade. Thatcher, with her ‘war of words’ in 1976, was not met with a resonance akin to that which was received for the accusations that Biedenkopf had lodged at left-wing language politics three years earlier. Precisely the same language-political assumptions, however, loomed behind Thatcher’s analysis and in the CDU’s political offensive: the view that the Left was pursuing a deliberate linguistic strategy in order to manipulate the concepts underlying democracy so that socialism could quietly make advances; the conviction that the meaning of political concepts was etched in stone

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and unchangeable in its core; and the idea that it was an urgent task of the parties to guard the concepts and thus protect democracy. Language became a topic of political controversy in the United Kingdom as well, with the Thatcherites pursuing deliberate conceptual politics. In both cases, language criticism supported the conservative narrative of crisis, which in turn granted legitimacy to the recoding of the political languages of conservatism. In both cases, the conservatives believed themselves to be the guardians of the concepts of democracy. British and German conservatives were united in the vague sense of losing their language and relinquishing the interpretive authority of political concepts to the Left. This sort of language-political unease had already begun to be articulated from the early 1960s, if more explicitly in the form of language criticism in West Germany than in the United Kingdom. The thematization of language in politics contributed to the emergence of a discourse coalition among the intellectuals and parties that marked the Federal Republic of the 1970s, while also expanding the political scope for action. The political language of both countries had become reflexive by the 1970s. The left-wing language criticism that was equally articulated in the United Kingdom and in West Germany had propelled this development in connection with the antithetical logic of the Cold War. The conservative sensitivity to language from the early 1960s did, however, reflect actual language change as an important part of the general change in the culture and society of both countries. West Germany was hit more strongly and suddenly by this than the United Kingdom, as the language of democracy first had to solidify there in the course of the 1950s; this could not avoid drawing from German conceptual inventories, including those coded as anti-democratic.2 By the end of the 1950s, in any case, the dominant perception among political commentators was that nothing now meant what it once had meant, and that the present state of affairs could hardly be put into concepts. This applied in particular to concepts of political orientation. The conservatives of both countries ultimately held the Left responsible for the language change, which in fact had much deeper roots. The thematization of language, in any event, energized the new programmatic beginnings from the 1960s that marked the CDU and CSU just as much as the Conservative Party. In general, the confrontation with the Left had a deep impact on the political languages of the conservatives of both countries. The impression arose on both sides of the Channel at the end of the 1960s that the interpretative power of the Left had attained such public dominance that an intellectual counterinitiative would be required. While this formed in the United Kingdom in close connection with the networks of the Conservative Party, it developed first in West Germany at the universities, and from then involved joining ranks with

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the Union discursively, at times including the same personnel. The political languages of conservatism had an anti-socialist orientation earlier and more consistently in the United Kingdom than was the case in West Germany, although the systemic opposition during the Cold War formed deep roots, especially due to the division of Germany. The confrontational style of British democracy, with its two-party system in which the government is pitted against the opposition, contributed much towards the antithetical nature of its political debate. The German multiparty system with its consociational democracy, by contrast, not only demanded of the parties the ability to form coalitions, but also that they attain distance on all sides. When, in the course of the 1950s, the Union parties absorbed the small centre-right parties, the political public expected a two-party system to emerge in accordance with the US–UK model, viewing this as another sign of the young republic’s arrival in ‘the West’. A first-past-the-post electoral system would not, however, gain acceptance in West Germany, and nor would the FDP be absorbed by the Union parties. The characteristic three-party system would instead be established in the late 1950s and early 1960s, remaining in place until the Greens entered the Bundestag in 1983.3 With close ties between the FDP and the SPD beginning in 1969, the centre of gravity shifted so that, not unlike the situation in the United Kingdom, West German politics was dominated in the 1970s by the opposition between parties of the Social-Liberal coalition and the Union parties. The polarizing effects were clear to see. The British Conservatives were confronted by Labour governments between 1945 and 1951 and again between 1964 and 1970, which laid the course for the future of the British state and society in two decisive phases: during the postwar reconstruction phase and during the heyday of economic planning thought. The domestic political debate in the United Kingdom thus focused in particular on issues involving economic steering and the expansion of the welfare state. The conservative alternative that was conceived hence focused on economic and social matters, seeking to be perceived as a true liberal alternative, without being branded as unsocial. In West Germany, by contrast, the conservatives were confronted with a coalition government made up of the SPD and FDP, under the clear leadership of the Social Democrats, for the first time in 1969. The shock sat deep after twenty years of dominance by the Union parties, especially as the Brandt government presented itself as bringing about the completion of a stalled democracy project, while the example of the Weimar Republic, in its various interpretations, was on everyone’s minds. The conservative alternative that was conceived here focused on the future of democracy. That was also possible because the social market economy proved itself as a successful economic and sociopolitical model, and served as the core

364 | Initial Conclusions

brand of the Union parties’ policies. While the British economy struggled with major difficulties in the 1970s, the Federal Republic went through the oil crisis, recession, and structural change relatively unscathed. The British Conservatives did not in fact have such an economic-political concept, just as support rapidly diminished for the middle way model, which had begun with Harold Macmillan and which connected Keynesian elements of economic policy with welfare policies based on government-run bodies. It was no coincidence that the criticism began around the mid-1960s, when the Conservatives were banished to the opposition benches and programmatic renewal seemed to be a matter of urgency. The polarization of the political language, borne by the metaphor of the great divide, had a preference for clear antitheses. The Conservatives pinned freedom to their lapels, and their strong focus on economics led to the concept of freedom being interpreted chiefly in that vein. The Conservatives sought to stand for the free market, as freely interpretable the concept in fact was. Among the critics of the mediating course taken by the party leadership, social issues were associated with an expansion of the welfare state, which was seen as placing individuals in a relationship of dependence on bureaucratic, unconstrained mass organizations, resulting in the suffocation of individual freedom. Social concerns were to be dealt with by civil society and not chiefly by the state, buoyed by a public ethos that reflected the national character. The welfare state was to be limited to only the most necessary social security, with individual initiatives and self-organization within social society expected to be active to that end instead. This recoding of social issues, beginning in the mid-1960s, which would later become a part of Thatcherism, was only possible because the Christian grounding of conservative politics rapidly diminished in importance. This becomes particularly clear in comparison with the Union parties. While the CDU and CSU continued to hold fast to the C, which served as a concept of integration, despite emerging doubts over its legitimacy in a society with clear tendencies towards secularism, the Conservative Party had lost its connection to Christianity by the mid-1960s, and without creating much of a stir. The conservatism propagated by Edward Heath, the radiant party leader during the 1960s, did not require Christian justification. It was instead about economic efficiency, planning, quality of life and the freedom of the individual. While Iain Macleod, Richard Austen Butler and Quintin Hogg embedded conservatism in Christianity through to the end of the 1950s, Heath’s conservatism did without any such legitimation. In middle way conservatism, social issues were derived from the Christian commandment to love one’s neighbour. Once Christian contexts of justification were lost, only the reference to the paternalistic tradition of conservatism remained as a means of undergirding sociopolitical initiatives. The discrediting of social concerns could no longer be

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balanced out. Moreover, critics of the party leadership adopted for themselves the concept of Christianity, which had been marginalised, and reinterpreted it for their own purposes. While they, too, evoked the social commandment of Christianity, they individualized it radically so that it would fit into their semantic networks. It was only logical that the critics of Thatcherism, beginning in the mid-1970s, sought to hold up the alternative interpretation of social concerns as anchored in Christianity.4 The C, by contrast, provided the semantic networks of the Union parties with a form of constancy. Social matters were connected to Christianity here as well, and this connection was continually brought in line with the times by the well-organised Christian Social party wing. It had conceptual power, in any case, as a component of the semantic network revolving around the social market economy. Christianity, however, had a broader impact on the political language of the CDU and CSU – as had been the case for the Conservative Party of the 1950s. The concept of freedom as well as the concept of humanity were provided with Christian coding and – especially in the Catholic parts of the Union – were placed in opposition to a liberal interpretation of freedom and of the individual. In the course of the 1960s and 1970s the C was ultimately liberalized while also being detheologized, which also applied to the concepts of its semantic network. Its anti-liberalism eroded to such a degree that the Union parties were able to present themselves as liberal parties by the 1970s. Their central concepts were detached from their Christian foundational context. They had, moreover, already conceded in the 1950s that Christianity had a conservative component: the conservative task of Christians in the Union parties was viewed in connection with the conservation of Christian values. The order of temporal dimensions that had been derived from Christianity not only included the past but also the future. Christianity, it was emphasized, disallowed any type of utopianism. It instead connected past, present and future in harmony. The accentuation of Christianity in the sense of a moral reserve, indeed as the source of eternal values, decisively gained strength in the course of liberalization and detheologization so that it would ultimately become predominant in the 1970s. The same could be observed for the Conservative Party, in which moral politics founded in Christianity accompanied the social liberalization of the late 1950s and the 1960s, to later become an important facet of Thatcherism in the 1970s. The conservative imperative of conserving the good in order to preserve social stability was undergirded by Christianity in all three parties. In the 1970s, the parties’ programmes became more similar, in any case, which developed in the course of their reform debates in particular. Both the CDU/CSU and the Conservative Party positioned themselves in opposition to a Left that was viewed under the general suspicion of more or less quietly

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advancing an all-encompassing programme of socialization and thus of purposefully undermining democracy. In West Germany, the Union parties at the federal level found themselves in a binary constellation similar to that of the British system. Moreover, the move towards the liberalization of the political languages of conservatism gained in strength and was additionally supported by the anti-Left positioning in both countries. Freedom, democracy, market, the individual or person, values or morals, and equal opportunity all took on key positions within the semantic networks of the Union parties and the Conservative Party, alongside stability or security, authority, and law and order. The counterconcepts in the parties’ semantic networks thus drew nearer to one another in the process. Both in the CDU/CSU and the Conservative Party, the principle of forming opposites structured the political languages. Both parties also adopted an anti-utopian creed, to conform with the underlying order of the temporal horizons. Past, present and future were to be held in a balance; this conviction was part of the foundation upon which the parties were built, beginning in 1945. This specific structural principle of temporality belonged to the morphology of their political languages, which applied also to the structural principle of balance and synthesis that informed speech in the Union parties as well as the Conservative Party. Maintaining a medium, reaching a balance, taking a position in the centre was, for all three parties, proof for a reasonable attitude, and described a political style of objectivity and level-headedness. While both the order of the temporal horizons and the synthesis were described in both cases as typically conservative, they could also be interpreted as the outgrowth of a Christian standpoint. The structural principle of repetition and application to the present provided for stability as well as flexibility in the conceptual inventory of the parties. These structural principles were emphasized by those intellectuals who had sought to establish a liberal concept of conservatism in West German politics, identifying the principles with the language of the Union parties, and in connection with the British Conservatives as well. These structural principles did not, however, only begin to characterize the political languages of the Conservative Party and the Union parties in the 1970s, but had in fact done so since 1945. That the structural principles of the formation of opposites and striking a balance stood in conflict with one another explains the ambivalences and tensions in the political languages of conservatism. They could act to integrate but also to divide. And they could be weighted differently, which contributed to the flexibility of the political language. The type of influence that such a shift could have is reflected nowhere better than in a German–British comparison. The political language that was connected with the conservatism of Edward Heath, and which formed a continuity with the political language that had been maintained in the Conservative Party since the 1950s, was marked both by the

Initial Conclusions | 367

structural principle of the formation of opposites as well as that of striking a balance. It was riddled with ambivalences. Heath, moreover, had built up a great horizon of expectation and had filled the future dimension of the political language with the vocabulary of modernization. After his plans had failed dramatically, and after the party had become embroiled in the ambivalences of its political language and the future horizon of modernization had caved in upon itself, the doors opened for a recoding of their political language, something that Thatcher’s circles would thoroughly address. The narrative of a national crisis that she advanced, and even connected to her own party, provided her with additional legitimacy. At the centre of this recoding stood the suppression and shifting of the structural principle of balance, the simultaneous upgrading of the structural principle of the formation of opposites and an alternative filling of the future horizon. This realigned the concepts within their semantic networks, with long lines of continuity from the conservatism of the postwar period coming into play. In West Germany, by contrast, where the crisis was interpreted as a universal crisis of humanity and practically confirmed the order of the temporal horizons in the political language of the Union parties, the CDU held fast to the interplay of the structural principles of balance and the formation of opposites, for the very fact that these ambivalences had an integrative effect. The CSU, by contrast, pushed to accentuate the principle of forming opposites, while the principle of balance remained present in discussions of the centre, albeit in a recoded form. The political language of the CSU under Franz Josef Strauß was to a large degree similar to the political language of the Conservative Party under opposition leader Margaret Thatcher.5 If we understand the energy with which the controversies over conservatism were conducted as evidence for its vitality, West Germany indeed had an extremely vital democratic conservatism – both in intellectual and party-political terms – only it could not be named as such. The comparison with the United Kingdom reveals the specifics of the political language of the Bonn Republic and its efficacy, while, at the same time, drawing out the characteristic contours of British conservatism. It demonstrates the significance of the concept of conservatism in the development of the Conservative Party, and the formational power of its political language. Not least, it opens up a view of the transnational dimension of conservatism in Europe after 1945. This is well worth exploring in greater detail.

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Notes 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Baumanns and Bergsdorf, ‘CDU im dritten Jahrzehnt’, 1971, 8. See Kilian, Demokratische Sprache. See Hockerts, ‘Parteien in Bewegung’. See Patten, The Tory Case, 1983; Walker, Trust the People, 1987. The parallels between Thatcher and Strauß are also emphasized in Geppert, Thatchers konservative Revolution, 430–32.

Chapter 4

Entering into European Conversation CDU, CSU and the Conservative Party in Search for a Shared Political Language

? The history of European integration after 1945 is one of ongoing transnational communication.1 Politicians from member countries regularly met in the diverse institutions and bodies of the European Communities (EC), the Council of Europe and the Western European Union (WEU), working to find a common understanding and solutions. Contacts between the parties were rapidly established as a valuable addition to official diplomatic channels, making it possible to build trust, prepare political initiatives and resolve controversial questions in an informal setting.2 The Conservative Party and the CDU/CSU were able to begin a conversation in such a manner. This dialogue would develop in the course of the 1960s and 1970s into an intensive and cooperative relationship, a history that has since generally fallen into obscurity and that will be presented here for the first time. Shedding light on these developments not only promises fresh insight into the relation between British Conservatives and European integration, but will also open up a new perspective on the transnational history of conservatism in Europe. A constructive dialogue between the Conservative Party and the CDU/CSU could only succeed if they were able to speak a common language. This did not of course mean that CDU politicians in Europe communicated in English or that Conservative Party politicians spoke German, even though Margaret Thatcher assured Helmut Kohl in the 1970s that she hoped to brush up on her small amount of school German;3 no, this meant that both parties were able to find a consensus on common concepts, which were part of or fitted into the basic vocabulary of the parties in both languages. The history of cooperation between the CDU/CSU and the Conservative Party forms part of a history of speaking in Europe. It can be told as the story of an ongoing search for a shared political language and a continual contending with concepts and their meaning. This search, which will be broken down here using the example of two central

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concepts, conservative and freedom, had the potential for success – but also the possibility to end in a political void.

4.1. A History of Mutual Acknowledgement: The Cooperation among CDU, CSU and the Conservative Party from the 1950s to the 1980s From the very beginning, cooperation among parties played a major role in the process of European integration. The cooperation of Christian Democratic parties in the Europe of the Six, as organized in the Nouvelles Équipes Internationales (NEI), proved to be particularly effective. This was an association of Christian parties, exile groups and individuals, founded in 1947, which was dedicated to the spread of Christian Democratic thought in Europe and around the world. In the early years of European integration, the NEI, together with the Geneva Conferences, emerged as a powerful forum for Christian Democratic politics. The CDU and CSU numbered among its mainstays.4 The Conservative Party, by contrast, maintained its distance from the NEI following the strategic decision of the British government to remain engaged in the Council of Europe but not to take the concrete steps towards economic and political integration that culminated in the 1957 Treaty of Rome.5 Although the Conservative Party was not an official member, it did not forego the opportunities that the organization offered in terms of contacts and information. Politicians of the party were present at the annual congresses through the British section of the NEI, which enjoyed observer status. The relationship between the British Conservatives and the NEI was rendered more difficult by the incompatibility of the continental and North European party systems. While Christian concerns and interests were mostly represented by one particular party in the countries of the NEI parties, this was not the case in the British or Scandinavian party systems, where all major parties viewed themselves as Christian but the churches did not express clear support for any specific party. The Catholic orientation of the NEI, which was accentuated in the 1950s, was moreover met with reservations within the predominantly Anglican Conservative Party.6 Therefore, the British section of the NEI saw itself as being independent of the party, while still connected to it. Its members convened as a ‘European Dining Club’, particularly figures close to the church, albeit without much influence. The organization frayed in the mid-1950s and so the Conservative Party was faced with requests to take on the representation itself; it responded with great reservation, however, due to the dysfunctionality of the NEI.7 The British Conservatives were indeed connected, from the very beginning, to the Christian Democratic party networks that formed in Europe. When the

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British government under Macmillan subsequently turned its European policy on its head, these contacts provided the basis for the Conservative Party to promote a British role in an integrated Europe and to petition for solid support. The CDU was to take on a key role in this,8 while the CSU did not involve itself in European party politics until the 1970s. The relations between the CDU, CSU and Conservative Party between the 1950s and 1980s developed in three different phases, which will be investigated more closely: a first phase, from the mid-1950s to the mid-1960s, was marked by a calculated foreign policy and personal relations; a second phase was one of coordinated activity in European politics, which stretched from the mid-1960s to the early 1970s; and a third phase saw intensive cooperation, characterized by the shared convictions of anti-socialism. In the early 1950s, the incipient Federal Republic of Germany first had to gain a foothold on the international stage and had to begin to court the trust of others. European and international organizations, into which West Germany was integrated, helped to this end, as did civil-society institutions and networks, which could often reconnect with contacts from the interwar years.9 Within this framework, politicians from the CDU and the Conservative Party met and became aware of one another, beginning in the early 1950s. On the British side of the ledger, party relations as part of Churchill’s European policy had been granted specific attention since the late 1940s, which eventually led to the establishment of the Conservative Overseas Bureau (COB) in 1949, a department responsible for party relations in the Conservative Central Office.10 Peter Smithers, a foreign policy expert, who was active in various European bodies and spoke fluent German, was appointed to be its head in 1956 and would go on to serve as secretary general of the Council of Europe from 1964 to 1969.11 Kurt-Georg Kiesinger, the foreign affairs representative of the CDU and chairman of the Bundestag Foreign Affairs Committee, suggested the formation of bilateral relations to a receptive Smithers in 1955. The two had in fact met before at the Council of Europe.12 In doing so, Kiesinger built upon an initiative by Heinrich von Brentano, who had already brought such an idea into play at a meeting with Smithers in Strasbourg, as well as at the 1954 Königswinter Conference.13 The Königswinter Conferences, which were convened each year by the German–British Society and which – similar to the Wilton Park Conferences14 – became an important communications forum for German–British elites,15 also served as a forum for contacts between the CDU and the Conservative Party. These personal contacts ultimately led to an unofficial invitation to the British on the part of Otto Christian Archibald von Bismarck at Schloss Friedrichsruh, with five representatives of the Conservative Party visiting in October 1955. Bismarck was a member of the Bundestag for the CDU and, as a former diplomat on behalf of the National Socialist regime, was one of the

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party’s foreign policy experts. He represented the right-wing German National People’s Party (DNVP) in the Reichstag from 1924 to 1928, joined the NSDAP in May 1933 and maintained contacts with pro-Nazi circles in the United Kingdom as a German embassy official in London (1928–36) and a member of the Anglo-German Fellowship, founded in 1935.16 Following the meeting at Friedrichsruh, he seemed to have lost his interest in cooperation between the parties. The five-member CDU delegation also included Kiesinger and Paul Leverkuehn, a member of the Council of Europe (who also was active in the German Foreign Office during the Second World War as Chef der Abwehr or head of Wehrmacht espionage in Istanbul)17 and, interestingly, two women as well: Aenne Brauksiepe and Luise Rehling, both members of the Bundestag and of the Federal Board of the CDU, and both Anglophiles with a gift for languages. Rehling was a CDU delegate to the Council of Europe, and Brauksiepe had been chairwoman of the CDU’s Union of Women since 1958 and was thus familiar with the European arena of politics.18 The European Union of Women, which was founded in 1953 and had been inclusive from the beginning (so not limited to the C parties), functioned as an important forum for contacts between Christian Democrats and Conservatives.19 The CDU thus sent Anglophile foreign policy experts and politicians with experience in Europe. The British delegation was put together in accordance with similar criteria. Peter Smithers was accompanied by MPs Gilbert Longden, Richard Sharples and John Eden, who were connected by an interest in European politics, as well as Ursula Branston, who was responsible for foreign affairs at the Conservative Research Department. The discussions in Friedrichsruh, chiefly used by the CDU as a means of gaining further international acceptance for its political course, were viewed as valuable by both sides.20 What connected the CDU and the Conservative Party, in addition to pragmatic European political interests, was their anti-communism, the ‘need for non-Communist solidarity’, as Bismarck emphasized in his welcoming speech at Friedrichsruh.21 From the very beginning, the relations between the parties were embedded in an anti-socialist context. The return visit to London a year later, which was meticulously prepared by the British, providing for discussions with the top foreign policy bodies within the party and Parliament, ultimately fell apart due to the short-term cancellation by the CDU delegation, as a Bundestag debate on fundamental principles of foreign policy coincided with the planned visit.22 Relations between the parties were, however, strengthened through a series of visits by members of the German federal and state parliaments to Conservative Central Office, and they stayed in London as guests of the Foreign Office.23 The CDU, in return, organized similar informational visits, albeit limited to a small number.24 The Junge Union (JU, Young Union) and the Ring Christlich-Demokratischer Studenten (RCDS, Association of Christian Democratic Students) also formed contacts with the

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Young Conservatives.25 Quite generally, the European Union of ChristianDemocratic and Conservative Students (in addition to the European Union of Women and the Conservative and Christian Democratic Youth Community of Europe) promoted the formation of a bridge between continental Christian Democrats and North European Conservatives.26 An important component of relations between the CDU and the Conservative Party now involved looking after political groups from the other party. It was important to the cooperation between the Conservative Overseas Bureau and CDU Federal Headquarters that their respective heads – R.D. Milne and Konrad Kraske – had become acquainted at the 1957 NEI Congress in Arezzo.27 The CDU, furthermore, appointed Otto Lenz, a political heavyweight, to maintain contacts with the Conservative Party.28 Lenz was state secretary in the Chancellery from 1951 to 1953, a member of the Foreign Affairs Committee of the Bundestag, chairman of the Foreign Policy Working Group of the CDU Parliamentary Group and a member of the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe. Peter Smithers’ visit to the 1958 CDU Federal Party Conference and the return visit by Raban von Adelmann to the Conservative Party Conference of the same year provided an official context for the relations. Von Adelmann was appointed to be the new CDU contact following Lenz’s sudden death in May 1957, and once again the party opted for a foreign affairs politician with diplomatic experience from the Nazi era.29 In Kiel, Peter Smithers evoked the anti-socialist ties between the CDU and the Conservative Party; united in a ‘common belief in the value of a free society, in which the state is the servant, and not the master of its citizens’, and whose ‘mutual knowledge and understanding’ was founded in ‘a somewhat similar outlook on life and its problems’, they would develop a solid friendship.30 Smithers also left a strong impression with the brand-new pamphlet Onward in Freedom, which he distributed among top CDU politicians at the Federal Party Conference. As we have previously seen, Eugen Gerstenmaier enthusiastically adopted that slogan in his highly controversial speech on the liberal tradition and the Union, thus invoking the new German–British alliance.31 The cultural divides that needed to be overcome on the way to such a friendship were reflected nowhere better than in Smithers’ conference report, which, incidentally, fitted in well with the rumours about his past as an intelligence agent. The story went that, during the Second World War, he was hired by Ian Fleming as an MI5 or MI6 agent and served Fleming as one of several models for the literary figure of James Bond.32 While Conservative Party conferences were marked by a culture of debate that was deeply anchored in British political culture, the Christian Democratic party conferences reflected the hierarchical style of leadership that was predominant in the 1950s. After three long days of speeches, Smithers was in need of a change:

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I had, frankly, had far too much of very serious-minded searchers after political truth, and to correct my perspective, I then began the evening in the lower beer-halls by the Kiel waterfront, and ended it at 3 a.m. in a very superior night club. I was at first startled to find that the German in earnest pursuit of beer and the opposite sex went about his business just like the earnest seekers after truth in the conference hall. The Conference had none of the boisterous vigour or sharply critical vigilance of our party gatherings. The waterfront cafes had none of the spirit or rowdiness of our young teddy folk. A curious feeling of inertia, almost torpor, seemed to hang over both. From this I conclude that in the CDU Conference organization Germans have what their nature requires and likes. The impetus, the ideas, the criticism, all come from above, and are quietly accepted and enjoyed so long as they please. If they were not acceptable, one has the impression not that the Conference would protest violently as ours would, not that the cafe would be broken up by flying furniture and beer mugs, but that the inmates would drift off quietly somewhere else. To further correct my view, I rose punctually if painfully next morning to join the Protestant leaders of the CDU … at Lutheran service. The impression made upon me was quite different from anything in the Conference, or in the lighter side of the local German community the night before. The church bombed out and restored, the communal singing of the old German hymns, stirred those present in a way which politics, beer and sex clearly did not. It was easy to understand how Hitler had played upon the emotions of the German people. At the same time, it was clear to see that the founders of the CDU in the postwar period were both sincere and also right when they declared that the Christian faith was the only neucleus [sic] around which a new Germany could rally. From this I conclude that the CDU is well adapted to hold the loyalty of the German people and, if any political party can do so, to canalize their great industry and many virtues in wise and profitable directions. Its Christian side provides that emotional satisfaction without which the German cannot put forth his strength; its political side provides a comfortable and sensible attitude to material things, well suited to the realities of modern Germany.33

Reflections of the kind, which once again display the significance of the British discourse on the ‘national character’,34 are not to be found in Raban von Adelmann’s report on the 1960 Conservative Party Conference.35 But also for the German emissaries of party diplomacy a hitherto largely unknown world opened up when they visited the United Kingdom. The British side subsequently did everything possible to intensify the contacts. The British strategy at the end of the 1950s was indeed quite clear: the reorientation of British foreign policy towards Europe and ultimately efforts to join the European Communities, which were met with decisive French resistance, meant that the German–British relationship took on key significance. It therefore hardly comes as a surprise that the Foreign Office practically urged the party to pursue close contacts – despite having previously sought to stop Smithers’ plans for regular exchanges between the Conservative Party and the CDU.36 Konrad Adenauer, moreover, who dominated West German politics

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as much as he did the CDU itself, was well known for being closer to France than Britain. He followed Macmillan’s initiatives towards the relaxation of political relations with great scepticism and unvarnished criticism. The conflict escalated in 1959 when Macmillan believed he could reach a solution of the Second Berlin Crisis through a separate diplomatic agreement with the USSR; Adenauer believed West German security interests to be strongly endangered in the process.37 The Foreign Office and Conservative Central Office sought to pursue a strategy of using the party to win support for the British position, beyond any personal animosities between the two heads of government and beyond the solidified fronts between the British and German Foreign Offices. Adenauer hence reacted with annoyance when relations between the parties did in fact begin to take on the character of foreign policy. He put a forceful stop to it in November 1959, when he made the CDU Federal Party chairman, Konrad Kraske, call off his visit to the Conservative Party in London just hours before his departure, supposedly due to an important and unanticipated meeting of the party’s Federal Board. Adenauer, in fact, was seeking to avoid being unnecessarily handcuffed before his state visit to Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, which had been planned to mend poisoned relations. He wished to remain in charge of the process.38 Kraske’s visit had indeed been given the highest priority by the British hosts, with a focus on foreign policy. In addition to Prime Minister Macmillan, Kraske was to meet with figures such as Martin Redmayne, R.A. Butler and Toby Low, as well as Conservative members of the Parliamentary Foreign Affairs Committee.39 This was not the first cancellation that the British had received from the CDU over the previous two years, but was the most prominent example. London was offended,40 Kraske greatly embarrassed, and the German embassy saw it necessary to issue an official apology.41 This fiasco in party diplomacy for the CDU led to a concerted effort on the part of the Atlanticists among the party leadership, who were determined to build up a new foundation for the party contacts.42 In February 1960, the chairman of the Bundestag Parliamentary Group, Heinrich Krone, and Kurt Birrenbach, a member of the Bundestag, influential industrialist and an Anglophile foreign policy networker for the CDU, used their official trip to London to smooth over party contacts.43 Afterwards, Krone reported to the CDU/CSU Bundestag Parliamentary Group on their mutual wish for ‘close contact … in order to make it possible to attain a certain level of coordination in certain matters’.44 A group of CDU parliamentarians followed in June, again including Birrenbach as well as Kai-Uwe von Hassel, the minister president of Schleswig-Holstein and deputy leader of the CDU, who was to become a key figure in the parties’ cooperation.45 Von Hassel’s dedication lent weight to the party relations.46 It was actually agreed for Kraske to come to London as part of the group, but he cancelled during the planning period, not wishing to be compelled to take a side in intra-party squabbles over foreign policy.47

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Birrenbach and Krone’s plan in March to introduce a ‘steering committee’ to take care of contacts with the Conservative Party was apparently soon shelved, however.48 There was thus no organizational unit for party relations at the CDU headquarters as had been the case for the Conservative Party with its Conservative Overseas Bureau since the late 1940s. It became eminently clear that party relations would have to rely on the involvement of various individuals for whom German–British relations was a personal concern, during this initial, early phase of party relations. This was just as true for London as it was for Bonn, despite its head start in terms of professionalization. After Peter Smithers’ move to the Foreign Office, it was Evelyn Emmet, Baroness Emmet of Amberley from 1964, who took the helm of the Overseas Bureau. Also active in the European Union of Women, and fluent in German, Italian and French as the daughter of a diplomat, Emmet worked tirelessly to establish her party within the European party networks.49 She was omnipresent, rarely missed a CDU Federal Party Conference between 1960 and 1971, was able to build trusting relationships with leading politicians through the years, and was a well-received guest who had the ear of many. In the form of comprehensive reports, she provided her party leadership with the diverse information that she collected. Emmet turned being a woman into a strength, mastering the social aspects of party relations with a keen eye for the significance of dinner seating arrangements as well as for the time budgets of top politicians at conferences.50 Even though Heinrich Krone could not attend the 1964 Federal Party Conference in Hanover due to illness, he did not neglect to send Evelyn Emmet a bouquet of roses.51 Emmet knew that party conferences and transnational committees were important places to pursue informal politics. Kai-Uwe von Hassel and the chairman of the Hamburg CDU, Erik Blumenfeld, numbered among Emmet’s friends, and were guests at her Amberley Castle estate whenever the party sent them to England.52 On the German side, the two Northern German politicians served as pillars of support for interparty relations. Hassel, a Protestant born in German East Africa in 1913, and expelled from there in 1919, saw himself as a lifelong bridge-builder between British Conservatives and Christian Democrats.53 The Protestant Erik Blumenfeld embodied the Hanseatic ideal as a cosmopolitan and eloquent Anglophile. Persecuted by the National Socialists as a ‘half-Jew’, he survived Auschwitz and represented the liberal wing of the Union. His Anglophilia earned him the nickname Sir Erik.54 Hassel and Blumenfeld practically stood as ideal types for the two ways in which British Conservatism was perceived within the CDU: Hassel admired its patriarchal and traditional side, whereas Blumenfeld appreciated the amalgamation of tradition, progressiveness and liberalism. They no longer pursued interparty relations solely for reasons of foreign policy but also for programmatic motives. This was indeed something new. Hassel and Blumenfeld also recognized the opportunities that an exchange on organizational matters

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offered, for example with regard to the organization of election campaigns, the structure of the party organizations and the medialization of politics.55 Years of intensified exchange followed upon the German initiative to formalize interparty cooperation. In July 1963, a high-ranking CDU delegation (consisting of Josef Hermann Dufhues, Heinrich von Brentano, Kurt Birrenbach, Erik Blumenfeld and Konrad Kraske) travelled to London, where they met Iain Macleod, the Conservative Party chairman, and Michael Fraser, the head of the Conservative Research Department, the party’s analysis and strategy department, and established regular meetings and a mutual information policy. Party relations were not to be concentrated at the highest party levels, but to be deepened through cooperation between the party organizations and placed on a firm institutional basis.56 It was no coincidence that Erik Blumenfeld initiated this meeting in spring 1963, shortly after de Gaulle’s renewed veto of the United Kingdom’s accession to the EC.57 The British were only too happy to respond as they continued to see the key to their European goals in Germany: Iain Macleod was certain that ‘the only important thing to do is to have links with the German CDU Party’.58 It became clear that the perspective on party relations had changed. While foreign and European policy calculations had previously predominated, programmatic aspects were now also coming to the fore. It was Iain Macleod who pointed out that ‘Great Britain and Germany were in a similar political position, both parties having been in power for a long time and facing elections soon, Great Britain in 1964 and Germany in 1965. Both parties stood for free enterprise, the rights of the individual, rising social standards, and a robust attitude in matters of defence and foreign affairs’. Dufhues agreed with this.59 The politicians involved were in fact quite realistic: the exchange did not aim at an ‘identity of views on a specific subject, but a maximum understanding of each other’s approach to issues of mutual concern’.60 It was no coincidence that this mutual acknowledgement across all forms of nomenclature began at a time when both parties were considering programmatic reorientation. As we have seen, since the mid-1960s, both in the UK and West Germany, the parties were challenged to redefine their positions in a rapidly changing society – and, furthermore, they had to figure out their party identity. The outward view and the effort to come to know a party that operated in a different political context were induced by this tentative pursuit of future potential. The exchange of literature served this end as did visits of individual politicians and leading party staff members. After his party’s defeat at the 1966 parliamentary election, for example, Gordon Pears, representing the Conservative Research Department, asked Kraske for a bibliography of Christian Democratic thought for those involved in programmatic reform. As Pears reported, they had been amazed in the course of their work at ‘how often our own ideas coincide with what we know of Christian Democrat thinking’. Christian Democratic

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concepts, moreover, were to be found in political areas that had previously been neglected by the Conservatives: ‘[W]e feel that we have much to learn from you in the field of relations between the individual, the corporation and the state in a modern society and, in particular, regarding social services’.61 The Conservative Party already received the Berlin Programme in draft form, and the party took great interest in the discussion process within the CDU.62 Bonn, in turn, followed the programmatic reform of the Conservative Party closely.63 While the party organizations pursued a keen programmatic interest, European and foreign policy topics continued to predominate at the meetings of top politicians of the two parties: the leading agricultural politicians of the parties met for discussions in November 1963,64 and talks on defence policy took centre stage in February 1965,65 after the party had organized a meeting with Shadow Foreign Secretary Richard Austen Butler and Shadow Defence Minister Peter Thorneycroft around an official visit of Foreign Minister Gerhard Schröder to London in December 1964.66 They had lost their offices two months earlier with the electoral victory of the Labour Party. Relations between the parties thus secured ongoing international contacts during the parties’ stints in the opposition. This was indeed one of the most important functions of the relations between the parties. They guaranteed, for one thing, a flow of foreign policy information to parties in the opposition, and the opportunity to maintain networks beyond governmental channels. Their relations, furthermore, opened the doors to an international stage for opposition politicians, which was of great importance to their image as statesmen. In fact, international contacts were frequently implemented for support in election campaigns.67 The interparty cooperation, moreover, created informal spaces far from all public attention, in which politicians could meet, get to know one another and exchange their views. This helped them to understand their counterparts’ positions, which would be seen later in international and supranational negotiations. They could also coordinate their positions and exchange information. Especially with a view to the integration of the Conservative Party into the NEI and its successor organization, the European Union of Christian Democrats (EUCD) founded in 1965, this aspect turned out to be important, as we will see in greater detail below. The cooperation among parties provided a protected space both for meetings at the highest political level as well as for middle and lower levels. Countless CDU politicians and groups were received at Conservative Central Office in London, beginning in the early 1960s. They met with British politicians there, who explained the party organization to them and presented them with position papers. The level of interest was not, however, entirely mutual, due in particular to the generous financial support for the travel on the part of the West German government; while the CDU had few groups to look after, it did not fall behind the Conservative Party in terms of its hospitality towards British politicians. John

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Davis’s study on the Federation of Conservative Students in the late 1960s, and its contacts with the RCDS and Scandinavian Conservative student organizations, demonstrated that the immediate experience of personally getting to know one another was significant in its contribution towards the European socialization of politicians. He identified a generation of British Conservatives who were enthusiastic about Europe and active in the institutions of the EC, but this was deliberately left unmentioned in the party-historical narratives of Thatcherism.68 The cooperation between the parties that extended all the way down to the party base distinguished it from other international circles and discussion forums that also served as informal exchanges.69 It was only the foreign relations elite that came together there. Johannes Großmann drew attention to the significance of conservative networks during the Cold War. From the late 1950s, the Institut d’Études Politiques Vaduz played an important role in the integration of British Conservatives into the continental, Christian Democratic-informed networks. These were centred on the Centre Européen de Documentation et d’Information (CEDI), with which the Institut d’Études Politiques Vaduz was closely connected in terms of personnel and ideology. Designed as a typically English club with a strictly limited membership, it provided a space for the discussion of foreign policy matters. The British members, including Geoffrey Rippon, Francis Bennett, William Deedes and Peter Smithers, were pillars of the Vaduz institute. Konrad Kraske, among others, represented the CDU.70 The various networks in Europe were intertwined, distinguished by the particular functions that they took on within the framework of the emerging ‘Conservative International’.71 While CEDI, The Vaduz Institute and, later on, Le Cercle offered partly clandestine forums for the international political elite, the cooperation between the CDU and the Conservative Party served the genuine needs of the parties. They were therefore increasingly supported by their professional party organizations. The ambivalent attitude of the Conservatives towards the European project was, however, also reflected in the party cooperation.72 While this was in fact supported by the idea of ​​European integration on the British side, it did not make inroads as deep into in the Conservative Party as was the case for the CDU. As mentioned above, the groups of German visitors greatly outnumbered those of British groups to Germany. And they involved a broader segment of the party, while the representatives of the Conservative Party – with few exceptions – involved the party elites who were enthusiastic about Europe. British Conservatives, moreover, saw their European involvement much more pragmatically and tied to particular political interests than did the CDU, for which the idea of European unity was a matter closer to the heart. The maintenance of national sovereignty was given greater importance in the Conservative Party than in the CDU, in which the shifting of national rights to the supranational

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level enjoyed a broad consensus.73 Even in the 1960s and early 1970s, when the ‘Europeanists’ had a strong influence in the Conservative Party and the policy of integration enjoyed great approval, opponents of EC membership also had a voice not to be overlooked.74 Anti-European sentiment could be mobilized, especially among the party base.75 To a much greater extent than in the CDU, the European vision of the Conservative Party was a project of the elite. Interparty relations, not least, enabled an exchange over matters concerning electoral campaign tactics, public relations and political analysis. They thus served a function with regard to party organization, and this was another reason why the party organizations were active in sustaining contacts. The increasing institutionalization of party relations boosted contacts between the individual departments of the party organizations. Bonn had a particular interest, for example, in the Conservative Research Department, and representatives of the CDU headed to London several times to study its work,76 as well as an interest in the organization and proceedings of the party conferences there.77 The British, in return, visited Bonn in 1967 to learn more about the methods of computer-supported political analysis, opinion research and electoral statistics.78 Following the founding of WIKAS, Gerhard Elschner came into contact with the CRD and left for London to find out more and seek possible forms of cooperation.79 The parties also shared their experience in the organization of election campaigns.80 Konrad Kraske finally managed to visit London after eleven years’ planning, studying in February 1970 how oppositional work was carried out there, an area in which the CDU had no experience at the federal level.81 The cooperation between the party organizations developed into an increasingly important aspect of interparty cooperation. This went hand in hand with the leap in professionalization of the parties, which was occurring in both countries at the time. Cooperation between the party organizations provided institutional support for interparty relations, and ensured continuity. When the momentum of the mid-1960s for party cooperation slowed and direct contacts – apart from the regular meetings at party conferences and the intensive collaboration within the EUCD – dwindled, the COB grasped the initiative to reactivate them.82 This institutional backbone became especially important when the first generation of bridge-builders began to depart from the party-political stage in the early 1970s. Relations between the CDU and the Conservative Party firmed up in the mid-1960s. This enabled the parties to work together within the complex networks of European party contacts, which informed the relations between the parties during the second phase, beginning with the founding of the EUCD in 1965. Right from the start, the link between the two parties stood in the context of European politics. It was its starting point and remained its nucleus. Back in 1959, Smithers used the brand new contact with Bonn to underscore the position of the Conservative Party with regard to its activity in the

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Nouvelles Équipes Internationales and to gain the support of others for the British position. The NEI had increasingly lost importance in the course of the 1950s. The organization was not up to the task of meeting the needs of party politics within the European Communities, which were becoming increasingly institutionalized. Initial irritations also arose over the self-image of an international movement under the common banner of Christian Democracy. The programmatic chasms between the parties and movements represented in the NEI came to the fore following a speech by Ludwig Erhard at the May 1958 NEI Congress in Scheveningen, in which he laid out the concept of the social market economy and its ordoliberal foundations. He met with strong opposition as a result. The Dutch representatives, in particular, supported dirigiste solutions.83 Bruno Heck, still CDU Federal Party chairman at the time, was rendered ‘pensive’ by the squabbles: ‘It is part of the nature of Christian politics that it adapts to the traditional and economic realities of the different countries. I have nevertheless always – and currently as well – felt with particular intensity that neither here, as far as I can tell, nor elsewhere does a clear theory of Christian politics exist’. He consequently suggested the creation of an NEI commission with the task of working on ‘a common theory of Christian politics’.84 Instead, the NEI Congress in Freiburg the following year grappled with the Christian Democratic self-understanding – without really taking on the stark differences in social and economic policy programmes and without introducing the organizational reform demanded by important politicians of European integration.85 The need for programmatic clarity ultimately led to the founding of the Centre International Démocrate-Chrétien d’Études et de Documentation in Rome in 1960, which, led by Karl-Josef Hahn of the Netherlands, would serve as a platform for the international Christian Democratic movement.86 After they were called upon to take responsibility for the British NEI team, the British Conservatives made their continued commitment dependent on a reform of the organization. In response to Konrad Kraske, Smithers, at the beginning of 1959, underscored the wish of the Conservative Party to be officially recognized as a participant in Christian Democratic party networks. ‘Although it is true that there is no denominational basis for politics in this country, nevertheless the principles of Christianity and Democracy are fundamental to Conservative politics’, he stressed.87 While his arguments were received well in Bonn, he was met with rejection within the Steering Committee of the NEI in Brussels, which he, not unrealistically, ascribed to a lack of understanding of the structures and realities of British politics. After the organizational reform failed, despite the support of the CDU, the Conservative Party decided to pull out of the NEI.88 Kraske had already given up on such a reform anyway, after the joint proposal for reorganization by the CDU and Conservative Party had been rejected by the NEI Steering Committee

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in February 1959.89 The CDU now placed its hopes in alternative and more effective instruments for a better understanding among Christian Democratic and Conservative parties in Europe. The bilateral cooperation between the Conservative Party and the CDU was part of this toolbox. It was hoped that the relationship would grow ‘even closer’ and ‘in the course of time replace that which could apparently not be achieved within the NEI for the time being’, Kraske wrote to Peter Smithers in May 1959.90 The pitfalls connected to this strategy, as we have seen, were to become apparent in late autumn of 1959, when Kraske was harshly reminded by his party leader of the limits of his political scope of action. The discussion over the NEI reform would not quieten down. It was fed by the urging of the Christian Democratic group within the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe, which also became involved in 1959, hoping for a well-coordinated organization.91 There had, at this point, yet to be any discussion over the integration of North European Conservatives into the parliamentary group. This would change after de Gaulle’s first veto in January 1963. Only when discussions on a merger between the independent parliamentary group and the Christian Democrats had already seen considerable progress, did it come to any movement in the deadlock over the NEI situation. The CDU acted as an advocate for the British Conservatives here, and sounded out the situation.92 The party’s interest in integrating the British Conservatives into existing party networks was anchored both in power politics and ideology. For one thing, much was made of the level of organization and the power of the Social Democrat as well as the Liberal party cooperation in Europe. The Centre-Right camp had been fraying by comparison, especially as no realistic or feasible strategy for the expected expansion of the Communities had been able to emerge. This could only lead to a power-political dead end in the view of the CDU and CSU. They were concerned that the planned expansion to North European countries would primarily strengthen the position of the Social Democrats. Another concern for the Union parties was the ongoing leftward trend in several Christian Democratic parties. It was hoped that the North European parties, which also pursued liberal concepts in their economic policy, would play a strong role as a counterweight to this.93 It was not by chance that the intensification of cooperation between the Conservative Party and the CDU ran parallel to the massive deterioration of relations between the CDU and Democrazia Cristiana (DC), whose leftward course was the source of serious concern for the Italophile Adenauer.94 The muddying of the contours of Christian Democracy in the course of the leap in secularization from the late 1950s onwards, the significant electoral defeats of the NEI parties – including a complete loss of relevance in the case of the French Movement Républicain

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Populaire (MRP) – and the gains in popularity of the reformed Left all across Europe, all these combined to form the broad framework within which conflicts and reorientations unfolded within the NEI.95 The reform of the NEI, which was re-established as the EUCD in 1965, did not however achieve the intended result. Even though (a) only parties could now attain membership, (b) the organization was more closely interwoven with the institutions of the EC, (c) the particular work of the congresses was transferred to working groups and (d) the membership of non-Christian Democratic parties was permitted by the statutes,96 the new EUCD president, Mariano Rumor of Italy, blocked the membership of the British and Scandinavians in every imaginable manner – and did so just as an understanding between the parliamentary groups had been rolled out in the European parliaments.97 In accordance with Article 7 of the EUCD, for parties in countries without a tradition of Christian Democratic party formations, a ‘special representation’ could be established, connected with an advisory seat on the executive board (Comité Directeur). Democrazia Italiana had particularly stood in the way of integrating North European Conservatives, and this policy of obstruction continued after the adoption of the new statutes. That Mariano Rumor, an Italian, now headed the EUCD, made much more possible to that end. While a draft of the statutes providing for two such special representatives on the board had been adopted by all participating parties, the finalized statutes only spoke of one such representative, which Bonn reacted to with indignant silence.98 That was not the end of it, however. For years, Rumor ignored the membership application submitted by the Conservative Party in July 1965.99 This was the case for the Conservative Party of Norway as well. The CDU strongly intervened and at least pushed Rumor to take a clear stand in April 1966. He justified his intransigence by pointing out that ‘the British Conservative Party is not a Christian Democratic party. The Scandinavian Conservative parties aren’t either’. It was not the task of the EUCD, he added, to water down the Christian Democratic idea, but to support it, which was why it was necessary to help to found Christian Democratic parties wherever such parties did not yet exist due to other traditions. Rumor believed that the only way forward was competition within the countries and not the assimilation of Conservatives.100 The CDU held fast to its position, as did Rumor. He was even dismissive at first towards Edward Heath in July 1966, who had called upon the Italian prime minister Aldo Moro to become involved in the matter.101 But under pressure, he could no longer avoid placing the topic on the agenda. As Rumor proposed, the British and Scandinavians were offered a loose association following the model of the NEI.102 The proposal was not, however, acceptable to the British because, as Milne stressed, it would have meant being set back a number of years.103 The British felt isolated and rejected. ‘It is humiliating to realise that in this milieu we are of no

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account; but it must be faced as a fact’, Evelyn Emmet had already commented with regard to the EUCD founding assembly, from which she returned home ‘extremely depressed’.104 As the previously pursued strategy had apparently failed, another path forward was followed instead.105 At the Conservative Party Conference in Blackpool, representatives of Scandinavian, Maltese and British Conservatives as well as of the Austrian People’s Party (ÖVP) and the CDU agreed on annual working meetings in an informal, non-institutional framework.106 This was a matter of using and institutionalizing an existing forum, which had developed since the late 1950s away from the public eye as part of party conferences. The parties involved did not form an organization opposed to the EUCD but instead built on bilateral party structures and made use of existing European networking spaces. They also courted the participation of the parties of the EUCD. Their goal was to maintain personal contacts and the opportunity for ‘regular conversation’, and hence the establishment of an ongoing communications forum.107 The Inter-Party Conferences, as the meetings were called, were also, and not least, meant to promote the integration of those European Centre-Right parties that were also being prevented from joining the Christian Democratic networks – including and especially the French Gaullists.108 Following a 1967 meeting, organized for the first time under the aegis of the CDU in Karlsruhe, which Mariano Rumor of course attempted to thwart,109 the Inter-Party Conference would take place most years at different locations until 1975. Rumor ultimately could not help but accept this solution.110 The German–British alliance was firmed up by this development. As Bruno Heck wrote to former prime minister Alec Douglas-Home following the 1967 Karlsruhe Inter-Party Conference, which was widely considered a success: ‘I am compelled to tell you that we are not only glad, but feel that it is our duty to bring about this Europe with Great Britain’.111 The former British prime minister had spoken in Karlsruhe on international politics and had lent the meeting a degree of lustre.112 The hope of Evelyn Emmet that the CDU and the Conservative Party would enter into ‘a new era of cooperation’113 with the establishment of the Inter-Party Conferences was indeed not unfounded. It was not only foreign and European policy matters that were discussed at the Inter-Party Conferences; the party representatives also spoke openly on domestic policy problems, tactical questions and electoral campaign methods, and compared their respective situations with one another.114 They were particularly connected by concerns over the continued strengthening of the Left, who already seemed to have been wresting power away from them, and who were now also working to define the dynamics of European integration. They believed that only a strong and united Centre-Right camp could meet this challenge.

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When the United Kingdom finally joined the EC under Edward Heath’s Conservative government in 1973, the place of the North European Conservatives in European politics became a major issue.115 This involved the formation of the parliamentary group as well as the efforts of the Centre-Right camp during the direct election of the European Parliament as well as communications forums for the parties, whether currently in the government or in opposition. The Social Democrat and Socialist camp now appeared united and strengthened, forming the largest parliamentary group for the first time in 1975 as British Labour representatives took their place in the European Parliament.116 The Centre-Right camp, by contrast, was divided into four parliamentary groups, a frequently lamented situation.117 The initial strategy of the CDU and Conservative Party to strengthen their camp involved the further intensification of bilateral relations, and ultimately the formation of a European party association under the umbrella of the EUCD, which had been presided over by Kai-Uwe von Hassel since 1973.118 While the cooperation between the CDU/CSU and the Conservative Party flourished during this third phase of party relations, their strategy of inclusion failed in the face of well-established resistance organized by Italian, Dutch and Belgian Christian Democrats.119 The European People’s Party (EPP) was founded in 1976 as a purely Christian Democratic party alliance in the EC member states, whereupon the parties of the 1978 Inter-Party Conference, one year before the direct election of the European Parliament, formed the European Democrat Union (EDU) at Kleßheim Castle near Salzburg.120 This deliberately did not maintain its focus on EC member states but viewed itself as a collective movement of the CentreRight camp in all of Europe. That the first EDU chairmen were always representatives of the Austrian People’s Party (ÖVP), which, as a EUCD member, was excluded from membership in the EPP, was part of the programme.121 The founding of the International Democrat Union (IDU) in June 1983 expanded the sphere of action to the Pacific region. The CDU and CSU belonged to both the EPP and the EDU – again serving a pivotal function here. In addition to the ÖVP, the CDU and the Conservative Party were driving forces behind the founding of the EDU – as was the CSU, which, led by Franz Josef Strauß, became strongly engaged in the European party cooperation of the 1970s. Strauß had a particularly keen interest in connecting with the British Conservatives.122 To this end, he employed the contacts that he had collected over the years in the diverse informal forums of the conservative networks.123 He also sought in the 1970s to turn Le Cercle, another clandestine discussion group that had the objective of a ‘Conservative International’ with strong British representation, into a hub for an anti-socialist front in Europe. Julian Amery served here as a contact to Thatcher.124 It was within this context that the EDU was founded. It remains to be shown how this became an internally

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explosive matter in the deeply divided Union of the mid-1970s.125 Even if reservations persisted among the British side with regard to the rather baroque party leader from the German backwaters, and they had politely but resolutely blocked all of the CSU’s approaches,126 they came to appreciate the CSU in the mid-1970s after all, even if they were not ‘the easiest customers’, as Douglas Hurd remarked.127 Strauß then attempted to use the contacts for the sake of his own personal foreign policy ambitions as well.128 When he campaigned for the chancellorship in 1980, the Bavarian party leader was able to take the London stage as the guest of the Conservatives.129 He returned home with the comforting certainty that the Conservative Party and CSU were ‘completely coinciding in all decisive and important questions’.130 Bilateral relations between the CDU and the Conservative Party were further intensified after 1970 during the British negotiations to join the EC, and became considerably more professional on the German side with the formation of the CDU International Bureau in 1972,131 which was headed by the career diplomat Heinrich Böx (1972–77) followed by Henning Wegener (1977–81). The organizational reform of the CDU thus had an impact on the party’s international contacts as well. Both Helmut Kohl and Gerhard Schröder paid visits to Conservative Central Office in 1972 and had the chance to speak with Edward Heath.132 He was also briefed on party cooperation on the occasion of Rainer Barzel’s visit to London.133 Party relations expanded further following changes in party leadership, first in Bonn in 1973 and then in London in 1975. As in other policy areas, the dynamics triggered by the perceived crisis in the EC beginning in the late 1960s led to an intensification of the involvement of non-state actors in the ‘Europe of the second generation’.134 Kohl’s general secretary Kurt Biedenkopf showed particular interest in German–British cooperation. In February 1975, a trip to Britain, long in planning, finally came about, which coincided by chance with Thatcher’s election to the party leadership.135 Biedenkopf used the opportunity for a conversation, establishing a direct connection to the new strong woman in the Conservative Party.136 And he did not miss the chance to invite the new party leader to Bonn.137 Thatcher took Biedenkopf up on his invitation as soon as June 1975, came to know Helmut Kohl and Ludwig Erhard, whom she deeply revered,138 and returned to London in the knowledge of having found good friends of similar minds.139 As she wrote to Biedenkopf: ‘The cooperation between our two parties is of paramount importance, and I would like us to establish even closer links in the future’.140 Thatcher’s friendly contact with Karl Carstens also began on this occasion.141 Biedenkopf, who enjoyed diverse contacts as a regular guest of the Königswinter Conferences, once again travelled to London as a guest of the Conservative Party for a working meeting in March 1976.142 Following Biedenkopf’s departure, Thatcher underscored the conviction of the Conservative Party of bringing about, through its cooperation with the CDU, ‘a

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strong non-Socialist union in Western Europe’.143 Thatcher’s visit to the CDU Federal Party Conference in May of the same year served precisely this goal.144 She met Kohl for further talks only a few weeks later in early July, this time in London.145 While there, he discovered a ‘profound agreement in the central political principles and in the goals concerning European politics’ between the two parties.146 The personal chemistry between Kohl and Thatcher seems to have been good at the time. Thatcher was, in any case, particularly taken by Kohl’s remark ‘that there is more to life than economics, and that friendship and fun must never be forgotten in the pursuit of political ends’. She added that nothing ‘could have underlined this more plainly than your own personal warmth and good humour, which left all my colleagues convinced that we have found a true friend and partner’.147 During the 1980s, when Thatcher and Kohl both led governments but their national interests collided, this personal warmth during their respective years in the opposition turned ice cold at times.148 Years later, neither would wish to remember the early days of their relationship.149 There had, however, been no sign of their later quarrels in the early years. In October 1976, Biedenkopf represented the CDU at the Conservative Party Conference in Brighton, and once again had the opportunity to meet personally with Thatcher.150 The cooperation between the parties had now reached the highest level. Never before and never again did top politicians of the CDU and the Conservative Party coordinate their parties’ efforts as intensively. While Edward Heath, with all his enthusiasm for Europe, had little involvement in the cooperation between the parties, his successor, who would go down in history as a major critic of European integration, did so with great vigour in her years as the leader of the opposition. This mutual understanding was not, however, limited to the top of the party, as relations intensified at all party levels. Speakers were organized to speak at each other’s seminars, and representatives were sent to conferences.151 Cooperation between the party organizations emerged as particularly solid, and went through its most intensive phase after Heiner Geißler took the reins from Biedenkopf. Geißler indeed supported the cooperation between the parties no less than his predecessor. He travelled to London in November 1977, both to get to know the party and its key figures and to discuss the way forward in European politics. This not only included steps towards founding the EDU but also common campaigning for the direct elections to the European Parliament.152 They therefore decided to intensify contacts between the Conservative Research Department and the CDU Federal Headquarters and the Konrad Adenauer Foundation ‘with a view to harmonizing the two parties’ policies’.153 The initiative came from Wegener and Chris Patten, head of the CRD and later EU commissioner.154 Political strategists of both parties met in February 1978 to work together on topics ranging from worker codetermination to family

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policy. Patten enthusiastically pushed for further meetings,155 which would take place in spring 1979 and which were continued by Patten’s successor, Alan Howarth.156 As an admirer of German Christian Democracy, Patten would also act as an important liaison between the Conservative Party and the CDU in later years.157 When the British Conservatives won the 1979 election and formed the government, the CDU worked to maintain their close contacts. As Kohl wrote in his hope-filled telegram to London: ‘The fact that political views much the same as ours helped you to your victory will have a healthful effect on the political developments here and throughout Europe’.158 Once the CDU returned to government, however, the contacts would be maintained through both party and government channels, as Kohl informed John Cope, the Conservative Whip in the House of Commons, at the Finnish Conservative Party Conference in May 1981.159 The great significance placed on the party contacts within the CDU was reflected with particular clarity in the establishment of a London office for the Konrad Adenauer Foundation in 1980.160 That this view was also shared by the British emerged in May 1982, when the CDU announced its unconditional support in the Falklands War,161 and not least in October 1982 when a group of top-level political advisors visited the CDU and were able to provide London with first-hand information on the new government.162 Cecil Parkinson, chairman of the Conservative Party, also trusted that, after Kohl’s election as chancellor, ‘the close ties that have been developed between our two parties in recent years will provide an excellent basis for intergovernmental cooperation in the future’.163 This would turn out to be but a pious hope. The frictions in the German– British relations of the 1980s, which emerged from divergent concepts for European and defence policy, are sufficiently well known. They were also reflected in the personal relationship between Kohl and Thatcher.164 However, even if the leadership of the CDU and Conservative Party had lost their interest in an intensive exchange within the framework of party cooperation, the party organizations continued to maintain their contacts.165 The initiative, begun in 1982, for younger CDU/CSU and Conservative Party parliamentarians to have working meetings under the auspices of the London office of the Konrad Adenauer Foundation was of particular importance. The first such meeting took place in 1984 and was such a success that the format was established in an institutional framework. Participants would subsequently meet each year and, beginning in the late 1980s, at Konrad Adenauer’s summer residence in Cadenabbia on Lake Como. These meetings were supported in particular by the generation of the ‘Conservative 1968’ within the CDU/CSU and Conservative Party, with a wide range of German–British contacts dating back to their joint commitment in the European student and youth organizations of the Christian Democratic and Conservative parties in the late 1960s and early

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1970s.166 Volker Rühe, Matthias Wissmann, Norbert Lammert, Karl Lamers and Elmar Brok among the German group, and John Selwyn Gummer, Jim Spicer, Quentin Davis and David Hunt among the British, used the meeting for an annual exchange, and continued to do so after they had taken on ministerial offices.167 The meetings helped to bridge rifts that had opened up between the two parties. Carrying the responsibility for their national governments, interests began to collide that had been possible to conceal when the parties had formed the parliamentary opposition. It was no longer as easy to achieve unity and foster harmony when in power.

4.2. Conservative Connections? CDU, CSU and the Conservative Party, and the Solution for Conceptual Predicaments in Europe The history of relations between the CDU, CSU and the Conservative Party can be told as a history of mutual acknowledgement. Politicians from both sides increasingly discovered that there was more to unite their parties than mere common interests in European politics, and that their programmes were similar in many ways. These were further reasons to enter into conversation with one another. The process of mutual acknowledgement was conveyed through language(s) and focused on central concepts of political vocabulary. While the party cooperation was built upon concepts for which there was considerable agreement on their meaning, certain concepts, for which the meaning diverged in the two political languages, would first need to be negotiated. This applied, first of all, to the concept of conservatism. The interparty relations were rolled out at precisely the same time as the CDU began its intensive debate over its self-image. As discussed in detail above, the CDU negotiated its relationship with liberalism in the course of that process, and the concept of conservatism was readjusted as well.168 The programmatic divides in the party erupted at the Kiel Federal Party Conference, the same conference that Peter Smithers attended as a representative of the Conservative Party for the first time, leaving a strong impression on him. Invited to speak to the conference, Smithers used the opportunity to allay any reservations over his party. As a politician experienced in European affairs, he was surely aware of the Continental reservations over British Conservatives, so he placed an obvious emphasis in his talk on the ‘moderate politics’ and undogmatic self-image of British conservatism. He emphasized that his party stood for ‘steady progress built upon previous experience’ and it was certainly ‘not a party of a class’; on the contrary, it unconditionally rejected ‘the class war’ in order to ‘govern in the interest of the entire British people’.169

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This was in full accord with the definition of conservatism that the advocates for a liberal concept of conservatism supported within the Union. Eugen Gerstenmaier picked up on this with enthusiasm and concluded his Party Conference speech with a call to join ranks with the British Conservatives, calling out to the delegates ‘Vorwärts, Freunde, vorwärts in Freiheit’ (Onwards, friends, onwards in freedom), thus adopting the slogan of the British Conservatives Onward in Freedom word for word.170 Smithers did not expect this kind of success when he diligently handed out copies of his pamphlet Onward in Freedom, which summarized Conservative policy, to leading CDU politicians.171 The slogan impressed not only Gerstenmaier; even ten years later, Gerhard Schröder remembered the fascination that the Conservative phrase had unleashed for him.172 The slogan captured the most salient elements of the concept of conservatism of the Conservative Party in the late 1950s: the emphasis on freedom in an anti-socialist context, as well as an orientation towards progress. Men such as Gerstenmaier and Schröder hoped to see the concept take on this sense in the political language of the Union. The reservations of the Christian Social wing over a new emphasis on conservatism were nearly as strong as those against the adoption of the concept of liberalism in the party’s conceptual inventory. ‘Christian Democratic cannot be replaced by conservatism’, Hans Katzer apodictically stated.173 He did, however, accept a ‘conservative’ position with regard to historical change as part of the Christian Democratic way of thinking, especially when it came to the conservation of Christian values. Conservative was subordinated to the concept of Christianity. The fears that haunted Katzer and others within the Christian Social wing were fed by the emerging discussion over the value of the C in the party name. The attractiveness of the concept of conservatism in the late 1950s and early 1960s derived from the increasing questionability regarding the C in the face of the progressing secularization and liberalization of society. This led to Christian and conservative increasingly being viewed within the Christian Social wing of the Union as standing in opposition to one another. As the Ketteler-Wacht, the periodical of the Catholic workers’ movement, expressed it in June 1963, it took ‘a good deal of courage to assign the Christian parties to conservatism, lock, stock and barrel’. The European dimension of the debate in the early 1960s emerges clearly in such a rejection of the equation of Christian and conservative. The electoral losses of Christian Democratic parties in Europe did not go unnoticed by the public, and the conclusion was often drawn that this would be the end of the Christian Democratic era. As the argument went, if being Christian was no longer sufficient, conservatism provided an alternative. The Ketteler-Wacht rejected this. It was ‘not appropriate to equate the Christian parties of the European continent with the English Conservatives’. The position towards the welfare state was emphasized here as the main distinction. Christian Democratic policies were

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characterized as supporting social reform, while precisely this was excluded as a feature of conservative politics.174 This did not in fact reflect the politics of the Conservative Party under Harold Macmillan, Richard Austen Butler or Iain Macleod, but it reflected more a lack of understanding of British politics within Christian Social circles. This did not, however, detract from the force of the argument. From the very beginning, the establishment of party relations between the Conservative Party and CDU was thus connected to the discussion within the Union over its self-image. Even if Christian Social advocates did not get involved in the matter, neither did they actively oppose it.175 During her visit to the 1964 CDU Federal Party Conference, Evelyn Emmet still felt the need to clarify what conservative meant for her party, which was ‘conserving the best and building upon it in the particular present for the future’. She added that ‘the Christian faith’ numbered among the most important matters and that, in this regard, ‘we are in agreement with the CDU’. In her message to those who might differ, she added that the Conservative Party was founded in Christianity and that being Christian and conservative did not contradict each other but were interconnected.176 The grumbling on the part of the Christian Social wing of the CDU was the smallest problem here. As described above, some NEI member parties refused the British and North European Conservatives the opportunity to join the Christian Democratic party network on equal terms. The Italian DC and the French MRP were particularly vehement in supporting this policy. Emmet’s explanatory words at the party conference were thus meant for a broader audience. The main obstacle to their integration into the NEI, as the British learned from informal conversations at the party conference, was the name of the Conservative Party, as ‘Conservative’ represented reaction. This, together with the feeling that the party was not Christian in the sense that CDPs were Christian and the fact that CDPs in Italy and in the Low Countries regarded themselves as left of centre, would make a close grouping difficult. There was no doubt that the name rather than the party was suspect in some CD quarters outside Germany.177

Nothing serves better to demonstrate how misplaced external and personal perceptions could be than the self-assessment of the British and North European Conservatives, who positioned themselves ‘to the “left” of most Christian Democrats, not least in Italy’, thus placing themselves within the conservative tradition of the ‘political via media’ or ‘middle way’.178 Not only did the concept of conservatism lead to misunderstandings in Continental Christian Democracy but also the concept of the Right, which, as we have already seen, did not at all carry the negative and anti-liberal connotations in the British political language that it did in those European countries that had been confronted with strong fascist movements. In the years of contention over the integration of the North

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European Conservatives into the NEI and EUCD, differences in the political vocabulary of the European partners emerged; moreover, they were so strongly politicized that they themselves became the object of political dispute. From the early 1960s, the Centre-Right parties in Europe had been involved in a ‘conceptual struggle’ that concerned both power and identity politics. Following the loss in importance of the MRP, it was the Democrazia Cristiana in particular that emerged as a counterweight to the British Conservatives. The Conservative Party tried, time and again, to call attention to the specific development of the British party system and, in particular, to the relationship between political parties and Christian denominations, which differed from the situation in Continental Europe. It also worked to defuse the accusation of being reactionary. As Edward Heath informed his Italian colleague Aldo Moro: ‘The modern Conservative Party during this and the last century has compared favourably as regards enlightenment and progressiveness with any “Centre” party anywhere. It could not otherwise have been in power for so many of these years, alone or in coalitions for forty out of the last fifty years’.179 The conflict escalated in late 1967, when a report on the EUCD Congress in Bonn, printed in Il Populo, the DC party journal, insinuated that the lack of a party based in the Christian faith in the United Kingdom meant that it was the task of the EUCD to create one.180 That was the last straw for London, especially as they were certain that Rumor was behind it all. Emmet sent words of protest, in an unusually harsh tone, to EUCD general secretary Leo Tindemans, and announced further steps: In a country where the Queen’s style includes for good reasons ‘Defender of the Faith’, where bishops are active members of our Upper House and where Christian prayers are said in both Houses at each sitting and where the parties of this country, notably our own, have countless active workers individually and jointly inspired by all kinds of Christian dedication – we find it extremely difficult to remain polite about these continued aspersions … upon our country and our party, which undoubtedly vitiate what should be an atmosphere of wholehearted cooperation within the Centre/Right of all Free Europe. One would suppose from this paragraph that the only solution for our national recovery and for Christian Democrat/ Conservative cooperation was the wholesale realignment of parties in this country. Nothing could be more unrealistic or more oblivious of a fundamental difference in party-political evolution between Britain/Scandinavia and the Continent – of which proper and sensible account should be taken. We are well accustomed to the egocentricity of Gaullist France, but can be forgiven for not expecting or accepting it elsewhere.181

The assumption that the article had been instigated by Rumor was not completely out of the blue, as it indeed corresponded precisely with his opinions. The North European Conservatives, he informed Bruno Heck, were ‘not

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Christian Democratic parties due to their worldviews and political positions, both in domestic policy and in many foreign policy questions. The Christian principles do not provide the basis for their political principles and do not determine their specific political action’. He did not, however, provide evidence for his assertions.182 The intransigent stance of the Italians, which was shared by the Dutch and Belgians, was anchored in a number of motives.183 First, they were afraid of losing their own identity, for which the concept of Christianity was of central importance; the fact that the British had pushed for omitting ‘Christian Democratic’ in the name of the organization in their negotiations for membership in the EUCD,184 further fed these fears. The predominantly Catholic parties also had reservations relating to denomination. Secondly, they shied away from a European association with the Conservatives due to coalitions they held with parties of the Left. And thirdly, such ties would run counter to the leftward course the parties had taken (apertura a sinistra), as supported by strong party wings.185 The semantics surrounding the concept of conservatism in the individual national languages was decisive in bringing about this stance. The difference to the political language of the CDU emerged with great clarity here. As we have seen previously, the party required an integrative political language as a middle-class, big-tent party, bringing together the Protestant and Catholic denominations after 1945. In addition to the comprehensive self-descriptive concepts Christian and centre, other concepts such as conservative and liberal were cultivated, which aimed at different groups within the party and which made it possible to integrate them into the people’s party (Volkspartei). Cooperation with the British Conservatives was then no longer a major semantic obstacle. Moreover, this semantic network equipped the Union well to serve as a mediator at the European level. This was also based on the Union’s own European political standpoint, which aimed at the broadest possible integration of the Centre-Right camp and drew from individual experiences in dealing with differences. Within the context of German–British party cooperation, the very fundamental problem of how Christian Democratic and Conservative programmes were to be harmonized was consequently described as a conceptual problem, and not one of substance. At a basic level, it was argued that the two parties shared a common worldview and pursued very similar goals. The semantic variability of the concept of conservatism in European languages also became a political argument in the negotiations for a British place in the NEI and EUCD. This reflects an understanding of the role of language in conservatism that marked the 1960s and 1970s. The struggle over the concept of conservatism makes it clear how the expansion of international networks dynamized this heightened linguistic awareness and increasing linguistic reflexivity.

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Another matter arose as well. As we have seen, the concept of liberalism developed from a counterconcept to a self-descriptive concept for the Union parties in the course of the 1960s. The concepts of Christian and liberal blended into one another. The impulse for this semantic shift emerged from the Protestant wing of the CDU but also had Catholic counterparts, as could be seen in the CSU. Only the Christian Social wing maintained the opposition between the two concepts into the 1970s. When the NEI also faced the challenge, in the early 1960s, of describing its identity, and founded an institute in Rome to that end, they followed a path opposite to that of the CDU/CSU. Christian Democracy continued be defined in opposition to liberalism and socialism, just as the Christian Social Workers’ Congress had done in West Germany. ‘We are strongly convinced that neither liberalism nor socialism can oppose communist materialism and totalitarianism with the sort of intellectual universalism provided in the foundations of Christian Democracy’, Karl Josef Hahn stated in his address to the 1961 NEI Congress in Lucerne.186 As the director of the Centre International Démocrate-Chrétien d’Études et de Documentation for decades, he had a strong influence on the EUCD programme.187 For Hahn, the liberalism of the British and Scandinavian Conservatives was the actual impediment to their membership in the NEI, while he recognized that the differences in social policy had nearly vanished.188 An openness towards liberalism paved the way for the CDU and the Conservative Party to come to an understanding. The significance attached to the concept of freedom in this context will be discussed in greater detail below. The policy of exclusion from the NEI and EUCD drove the British Conservatives into a mode of self-justification, viewing their position as being the result of a Continental ‘obsession … about Conservatism as such’,189 something that those directly involved often found humiliating.190 The departure from the EUCD project and the establishment of the Inter-Party Conferences calmed the situation down for a number of years, in part because the diverging concepts were accepted by the parties involved as semantic and not as programmatic differences. The label given to the annual meetings of Danish, Finnish, Swedish, Norwegian, Icelandic, British, Maltese, Luxembourgian, Dutch, Austrian, Swiss and German Centre-Right parties could hardly have been more neutral. The term ‘Inter-Party Conference’ elegantly masked any conceptual problems. The question, however, arose as to what united the parties beyond the European-political interests of those parties that were members of the EC or who sought to join, and beyond the allure of an informal forum, in which current issues in international politics were discussed alongside electoral campaign tactics and political strategy. This question was answered in the negative in the first instance. The parties involved strived for the establishment of a strong international movement on a ‘non-Socialist/

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Liberal/Communist basis’.191 The intention was to oppose the strength of the Social Democratic and Liberal party networks – or at least how they were perceived – with a network of similar strength. Instead of Conservative and Christian Democratic, the concepts Centre and Right were often used here, and frequently together as Centre-Right. The placement at the ‘centre’ of the political spectrum was especially significant due to the suspicions of some Christian Democrats of it being a class-based initiative on the Right. In 1971, the parties felt the need to counter this impression in a communiqué to emphasize their broad popular character: ‘Christian Democrats and Conservatives were unanimous that, unlike other parties, neither were dependent for support on sectional groups of their populations, but that as modern people’s parties they represented the interests of all sections of their populations’.192 The unifying impetus here was anti-socialist. It was indeed no coincidence that the Inter-Party Conference was established in the mid-1960s. Two impulses were responsible for this. First, the institutions of the EC brought about increasing politicization at the European level, with the parties feeling compelled to play along; and the individual successes of reformed Social Democratic and Socialist parties in the 1960s were seen as a European trend, which made a counterreaction seem all the more urgent. This fuelled the perception of political polarization. The cooperation between the Conservative Party and the CDU, beginning in the 1950s, was also based on a ‘strong feeling of parallelism between the respective fortunes of CDU/SPD in W. Germany and of Conservative/Labour in the UK’.193 They, moreover, found there to be a general leftward trend. As a late 1966 analysis in The Times had it, the ‘Centre’ was sliding to the left all across Europe.194 This was cause for the Conservative Overseas Bureau Committee to collect a list of key topics seen as common to the parties involved. The ‘recovery of party-political initiative’ in Europe was viewed as a decisive task for the multilateral cooperation of Centre-Right parties. The COB experts drew up a long list of commonalities. The antithetical pairings underscored the anti-socialist thrust of the Inter-Party Conference more strongly than ever. Competition with compassion Humanization v. nationalization Broad v. narrow attack on human problems Progress through consolidation Voluntary unity v. deliberate division Integrated communities with infinite variety Tolerance v. intolerance Modern open-mindedness v. out-of-date doctrine Equality-of-opportunity, not equality-of-reward Leaderful, mobile communities

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Responsible liberty v. erosion of liberty Reinforce legitimate success and help the weak Utilise the traditional to build for the future Religious belief to inspire, not divide Politics as the servant, not the master The spiritual over the material Quality of life to take over from mere quantity Establish the political framework for family and individual effort Integrate Europe and the world pragmatically Reinforce success in overseas aid Take race as well as class out of poverty Freer trade through fairer trade True patriotism understands other-national aspirations Greater prosperity through division of function Disarmament and true peace through strength Stick to civilised principles, but co-exist

The search for commonalities led to the creation of a semantic network to support interparty cooperation. Due to the concisely recorded minutes of the meetings, we can no longer establish how deeply these semantics permeated the discussions, or to what degree the other involved parties shared them. The listed points were to be understood as ‘working maxims rather than rigid fundamentals’, as the COB Committee emphasized.195 The cooperation at the Inter-Party Conferences was not indeed founded upon a fundamental programmatic declaration. Its effectiveness derived more from this flexible semantic situation, in which conceptual agreements were found in regular political discussion. The participants discovered that they were ‘much closer to each other in policy terms than at first some of them imagined’, as the Conservative Overseas Bureau noted in 1969.196 It should not be forgotten that the parties of the Inter-Party Conference were staking out new territory in their regular discussions. The search for commonalities was hence a tentative one. This applied especially to the CDU, which itself was in the midst of a phase of programmatic searching, especially after leaving government in 1969. The bilateral cooperation with the British Conservatives and the multilateral work through the Inter-Party Conference opened up the possibility of forming a secularized identity. The ‘typically “Christian” substance in the programmes of all of Western Europe’s Christian Democratic parties’ had ‘largely faded’, as a 1970 internal strategy paper admitted, so that nothing stood in the way of cooperating, especially as ‘the fundamental and specific political programmatic goals of the Christian Democratic and Conservative parties’ were congruous. The parties, furthermore, were of a ‘similar or identical view’ with regard to their ‘resistance to totalitarianism’, the ‘promotion of democratic government’, the ‘reconstruction and integration of Europe’, the ‘defence against the

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Communist threat in the postwar era’ and concerning the ‘Atlantic community’ and ‘developmental aid’.197 Such a context of European experience was also reflected in the internal party debate about the future of the Union parties. Bruno Heck’s plea for ‘progressive’ conservatism at the height of the party’s crisis in early 1973 seems to have also been based on the experiences he had had in the course of his many years of commitment to interparty cooperation. As a Catholic, Heck also showed that an emphasis on Christianity was now compatible with one on conservatism in the CDU.198 Richard von Weizsäcker, the second highest-ranking advocate of conservatism in the CDU, was also one of the party’s German–British go-betweens.199 Kai-Uwe von Hassel, EUCD president since 1973, intervened only indirectly in the programmatic debate within his party. His advocacy of the concept of conservatism manifested more in his work for European interparty cooperation. He was invited by the British Conservatives in 1972 to the prestigious Swinton Lecture to talk about Christian Democracy and conservatism, and used the opportunity to point out commonalities and to draw attention to misconceptions held on the Continent. At the 1976 CDU Federal Party Conference, he underscored – in the presence of Margaret Thatcher – his views on an identity of Centre-Right parties in Europe. As Hassel had argued in Swinton, ‘Conservatism and Christian Democracy draw their concepts and values from the same sources’, while still declaring plurality to be a characteristic of the Conservative–Christian Democratic family of parties.200 For those who had a daily involvement with the interparty cooperation, it was ‘clear’, as Hassel told his party, ‘that when one is ready to seriously study the programmes of others, one establishes that there are only still differences in the programmes when inspected under a magnifying glass, but that, generally speaking … nothing divides us other than the fact that we do not know each other well enough’.201 This did not seem as clear to the Christian Social wing of the CDU, however, in which the interparty cooperation continued to be met with resistance, apparently in connection with a sense that the British Conservatives lacked a social conscience. Whether Keith Joseph’s speech as secretary of state for Health and Social Services at the October 1973 Conservative Party Conference,202 which Hassel had distributed at party headquarters and in the Sozialausschüsse (as well as among the Dutch Christian Democrats), was able to assuage any feelings, cannot now be determined.203 The CDU International Office took the initiative, in any case, and worked on an expanded synopsis of the party programmes of the European Centre-Right parties, which was to clear up matters and provide a better level of understanding with regard to the other partners at the European level.204 The debate over the concept of conservatism would reignite again among the cooperating European Centre-Right parties, when, after the United Kingdom

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and Denmark joined the EU in 1973, the real possibility of impending direct elections for the European Parliament lent urgency to making a decision regarding the integration of North European Conservatives.205 The terminological problems did not vanish even after the emergence of a new generation of politicians in European party relations. On the contrary, the resistance of the Italian, Belgian and Dutch Christian Democrats to a Christian Democratic– Conservative party alliance was just as active as in the 1960s.206 ‘Despite many years of explanation, the reactionary connotation of the word “Conservative” in various European countries continues to elicit hostile reactions’, the British Conservatives found, concluding that ‘every opportunity must be taken to explain to those parties … that British Conservatism is moderate, modern and broadly based’.207 In near desperation, William Whitelaw, the deputy leader and party chairman, asked the September 1975 Inter-Party Conference at Kleßheim Castle to understand the stance of the British Conservatives and to support them in their conceptual struggle in Europe: ‘He pointed out that we could not change our name – even if we wished to do so – nor could we introduce the word “Christian” into our party title, even though we upheld Christian principles in fact’.208 The meeting in Kleßheim was marked by a particular urgency, as the parties from the EC member states within the EUCD had taken concrete steps towards the founding of a European party.209 The CDU and CSU, which again served a pivotal function, continued policies dating back to the late 1950s in joining EUCD president Kai-Uwe von Hassel’s call for a comprehensive solution – that is to say, a broad Centre-Right alliance. The Kleßheim meeting took place in this context. For Hassel, the crux of the matter was the refusal of certain EUCD parties to examine each other’s programmes. If they did so, he was still certain that ‘they would find that the differences were ones of emphasis, not of substance’. He announced the founding of a broad European Democratic Centre Party – even the proposed name spoke volumes by circumventing the two problematic concepts of Christian Democratic and Conservative.210 Hassel always spoke in German of the ‘Parteien der Mitte’ (parties of the centre),211 picking up on the compromise concept that was predominant in the Union parties of the 1970s, and transferring it to the European level. This made particularly clear how strongly the political language of the Union parties determined their stance towards European policy – and why they reached their political limits in one case of dialogue with other parties, while being able to reach success in the other. Nevertheless, in the mid-1970s, the advocates of pure Christian Democracy in Europe carried the day, founding the EPP in July 1976. The question of its name became a political poker game as well. The CDU and CSU saw the new party as only an initial step towards a broad Centre-Right alliance. They did not therefore wish the party name to become an obstacle to the future

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integration of the parties of the Inter-Party Conference, and so supported European People’s Party as the name. This connected with Christian Democratic semantics, while also exhibiting sufficient openness. The secondary name of the party, Federation of Christian Democratic Parties of the European Community, did adopt the Christian Democratic concept, but it was too complicated to persist with it in the end.212 The politicization of political semantics in the European networks of the Centre-Right parties, beginning in the early 1960s, also led to a naming debate among those parties that came together as the European Democrat Union in 1978. The name put forward by the Germans found agreement as it avoided ‘Christian’, ‘people’s party’ and ‘conservative’. Just as the Christian Democratic parties on the Continent had a hard time with the concept of conservatism, it was difficult for British Conservatives to accept the word Christian in their party name.213 The name European Democrat Union, at the same time, adopted the concept of democracy, which, as we have seen, represented a key anti-socialist concept in both the CDU/CSU and the Conservative Party of the 1970s.214 Scott Hamilton, a British member of the European Parliament, viewed it practically as the task of the British to use their country’s centuries of experience with democracy to help in the further development of the EC. The European mission of the British was thus viewed as a mission for democracy, one that applied to the Conservative Party in particular, with Labour not even being viewed as holding a democratic position. At the 1975 Conservative Party Conference, Hamilton underscored that the future ‘party of European democracy will secure for the people of our Community a free society in a free Europe’.215 The concept of democracy was tied together with that of freedom, which, as we shall see, would form the nucleus of the EDU. After some discussion, the British were persuaded to accept the concept of Union, even if they had preferred the looser Alliance, despite it having been associated by their European partners with relations between countries.216 The dynamics that these negotiations over political concepts were able to set loose among the parties at the European level is reflected nowhere better than in a February 1977 letter written by Adam Butler to Margaret Thatcher, for whom he served as parliamentary private secretary. This was during the negotiations over the founding of the EDU. Due to the problems that the concept of conservatism had been creating, he suggested to her a change in the party’s name: ‘The two “ingredients” we need are Democrat and National’, Butler argued. ‘Whilst I think it would be difficult at one stroke to drop Conservative altogether, and wrong, the adoption of the name ‘The National Democratic Conservative Party’ would allow a gradual transition to National Democrats, and this abbreviation would gain more ready usage in Europe’. Thatcher’s response is not recorded – if she even felt it necessary to respond at all. The recommendation apparently did not fit in with her strategy of taking hold of

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her party’s concept of conservatism and interpreting it in her own fashion.217 The fact that the suggestion vanished amidst a pile of other documents speaks volumes in itself. The brakes were applied here on the semantic dynamics of Europeanization.218 Differing political concepts met in the serious terminological conflict between the Centre-Right parties in Europe during the 1970s. In face of the polarization that marked the decade, the conceptual disagreements could not be reconciled in an integrative language of the centre. This became particularly clear when domestic issues were related to European policy. It applied to the struggles within the CDU between the Christian Social wing and the party as a whole, and was reflected at the European level in the opposition of the Sozialausschüsse to the founding of the EDU and in the EPP’s programmatic work. Hans Katzer played a decisive role here as the chairman of the European Union of Christian Democratic Workers (EUCDW), who did all he could to prevent the admission of the British Conservative Trade Unionists (CTU) to the organization.219 The terminological conflicts in Europe particularly concerned the relationship between the CDU and the CSU, which was anything but relaxed during the mid-1970s. For the CSU in general and Franz Josef Strauß in particular, the squabbles over the founding of the EPP reflected the disputes over the direction of the Union parties. The ‘intellectual struggle’ over the name ‘European People’s Party’ expressed ‘the enormous tensions between those oriented towards the Left and conservatives in Europe’, as Franz Heubl reported to the CSU Board in May 1976. The EDU was, for him, ‘the community of conservative forces in Europe’.220 The CSU worked towards uniting these forces on all party-diplomatic fronts, driven by a strict anti-socialist credo and very few reservations towards the Right, occasionally pursuing confrontation with its sister party abroad. This applied in particular to Spain, with the CDU supporting anti-Franco Christian Democratic forces, while the CSU did not shy away from cooperating with the reform wing of the Francoists.221 Alarm bells ultimately went off at the CDU when the decision to separate the parties was made in Kreuth and talk of a ‘fourth party’ made the rounds all throughout the country. It was feared that Strauß would take complete command of the EDU project and use it as a European platform for his own plans. The division of the CDU and CSU would have been reflected by the EPP and EDU at the European level, and could have been equally understood in programmatic terms.222 The CDU put an end to this by taking hold of the initiative behind the founding of the EDU, and later ensuring that it would not grant the CSU too much space for independent agency in the EDU.223 This did nothing to diminish the enthusiasm of the CSU leader for European politics. He instead addressed the European situation through his dichotomous language of anti-socialism. Strauß fought his struggle against socialism on all

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fronts, and believed he had to carry it out within the Centre-Right camp – and his experience with the Italians, Dutch and Belgians in the EUCD only informed this further. The parties of the EDU, he warned at the founding conference, must ‘not allow their traditional conceptual world to be denounced and ultimately taken away, because the loss of concepts’ would mean ‘the loss of language and consequently a defeat in the political struggle for the majority’. The ‘Socialists and their helpers have’, he continued, ‘by denouncing words such as “conservative”, long sought to wrap the mantle of the reactionary or even fascistoid around those who hold them high’. It was for the EDU to ‘stand up to this’.224 This fitted in with Strauß’s motion at the second EDU party leaders’ conference, which took place in London in 1979, for the subcommittee on ‘European structures’ to discuss a ‘modern and objective definition of the notion “conservative”’.225 His call to the EDU parties to connect ‘the modern concept of conservatism … with a credible promise for security in the future’ aimed in the same direction.226 The anti-socialist war of words arrived here at the European level. The conceptual warrior Margaret Thatcher also placed the founding of the EDU within such an anti-socialist or anti-Marxist context.227 While the leader of the British Conservatives avoided exclusively applying the concept of conservatism to the EDU for tactical reasons, as did Kohl and Josef Taus, the first chairman of the EDU, Strauß did not tire of doing precisely that. The CSU leader, in any event, liked to stylize himself as ‘the German Thatcher’ in the 1970s, as Richard von Weizsäcker recalled.228 The way he presented himself at the EDU clearly shows why this self-designation could not be dismissed out of hand. The irreconcilable meanings attributed to the concept of conservatism had ultimately prevented the unification of the European Centre-Right camp – with far-reaching consequences. It was not the British variant of the political system, with the connected nomenclature, that won out in the end in the European Communities, but the Continental, Catholic-informed systematization of strands of political thought in the Europe of the second half of the twentieth century. This had a direct impact on the institutional structure of the Centre-Right. Two parliamentary groups formed in the European Parliament in 1979, with the British not participating in the process when the Single European Act was pre-negotiated within the framework of the EPP.229 The EDU and EPP worked independently of one another during the 1980s, and when the two groups united in the 1990s their views of the aim and purpose of the European Union as well as the conceptual terms with which they were described had diverged so far that, in 2009, the North European Conservatives, led by the British Conservatives, once again left the parliamentary group.230 It was the failed conceptual transfer of the 1960s and 1970s that had paved the way for these developments.

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4.3. Anti-socialist Agreement in 1970s Europe: Strauß, Thatcher and Kohl and the Struggle for Freedom The concept of conservatism drove a wedge between the European CentreRight parties during the 1960s and 1970s. Other concepts, by contrast, were able to bring about unity – and most prominently the concept of freedom. The CDU, CSU and the Conservative Party cooperated because they believed that only together could they defend freedom in Europe. Kohl and Thatcher shared a mutual appreciation through their efforts for freedom. ‘[W]e share the same vision of free Europe’, Thatcher was certain,231 and Kohl let her know that he admired her for her ‘struggle for more freedom in your country and in Europe’.232 Freedom was the key concept in Thatcher’s speech at the May 1976 CDU Federal Party Conference in Hanover, in which she defined freedom as the roof over the ‘friendship’ between the CDU and Conservative Party. ‘You as Christian Democrats and we as Conservatives came into politics for the same reason. Like you, we believe that the enlargement of individual freedom must be the first objective of our societies. Like you, we see that freedom is threatened everywhere, and often undermined’, she called out to the delegates, without failing to underscore the significance of West Berlin as an ‘island of freedom’.233 She finished in German with a pathos-laden appeal to both parties: In a world in which freedom is being threatened more and more, it is our task to defend freedom. … The torch of freedom is not extinguished with the death of a generation. It is passed on from hand to hand. The flame may flicker at times – but it never goes out. It is our task to let it burn brightly so that it can light up the world. … Let us again strive for freedom with all our might. Let us build a Europe worthy of freedom. And let us pass on to our children a legacy for which they can continue to work with pride and joy … in a free Europe.234

This hit a nerve in the CDU of the mid-1970s with its enthusiasm for freedom. As Tom Normanton, both MP and European parliamentarian, reported to London, there was agreement in CDU circles ‘that Margaret hit the jackpot’.235 Freedom did in fact evolve into the key concept both in the CDU/CSU and the Conservative Party of the 1970s – with a clear anti-socialist thrust. The concept of freedom became the centre of a semantic network that targeted one opponent alone: socialism. This socialism was used here to label all political currents that were left of centre: from Social Democracy through to the Eurocommunism, so often discussed and vilified by the CDU and CSU of the 1970s.236 The Centre-Right parties were convinced that an anti-socialist struggle for freedom had to be carried out at the European level in the 1970s. Kohl also believed that intensive relations with London would lead to the citizens of both countries deriving ‘new courage for the struggle with socialism’.237 Similarly,

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Thatcher’s speech on freedom at the CDU Federal Party Conference drew its rhetorical strength from a thoroughly dichotomous approach. The ‘philosophy of the Christian Democrats and the Conservatives’ that she described took on its contours through the Marxist antithesis. She applied the political language that she cultivated in the British context to the European level. Thatcher saw not only the United Kingdom but all of the countries of Western Europe as under threat of Marxist attack, ‘not only from within our societies, but from without’.238 The British Conservatives’ anti-socialist creed was shared by the CDU/CSU, as we have seen above. The concept of freedom connected central concepts in the parties’ vocabulary, revealing the parallels between them in the process. When Thatcher spoke of the ‘obligations’ that accompanied freedom, she was evoking a semantic network that was strongly similar to that of the Union parties: she emphasized the ‘moral obligation’, based on humanist and Christian tradition, she accentuated the meaning of ‘family’ as the ‘foundation of society’, recalled the obligation towards law and order, towards ‘high norms of integrity in child-rearing’, towards the ‘greatest possible dispersal of property’ and, lastly, the ‘obligation to help the weak and downtrodden’. She concluded that they were ‘the same obligations as for every Christian Democratic party’.239 The polarization of the British and West German political cultures dynamized interparty cooperation while also providing it with a strong cohesive element. The CDU slogan for the 1976 Bundestag election, Freiheit statt Sozialismus (Freedom instead of socialism) encapsulated this political polarization well. Thatcher was so enthused by the slogan that she promised Kohl that she would include it in her own rhetorical repertoire.240 That the slogan, which was anything but uncontroversial within the Union parties, had come from the CSU under Strauß is hardly surprising: the political language of the CSU leader was indeed marked by this type of polarization. He shared this with Thatcher; both spoke a similar language. After her election as prime minister, Strauß emphasized in his congratulatory letter their mutual solidarity in a ‘common fight against socialist totalitarianism … in the European struggle between the Popular Front and freedom’.241 The anti-socialist enthusiasm for freedom did not just begin to provide a basis for cooperation between the CDU/CSU and the Conservative Party in the 1970s. From the earliest interparty relations, evoking freedom itself served to ensure that the parties pursued a common goal. Peter Smithers received ‘vigorous applause’ at the 1958 CDU Federal Party Conference for his statement: ‘As members of the CDU and the Conservative Party, we share a common belief in the value of a free society, in which the state is the servant, and not the master of its citizens’.242 We have already discussed the success of the programmatic brochure Onward in Freedom among the CDU leadership. It was the Cold War that provided the context for this enthusiasm for freedom.243

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Freedom was a key concept in the political language of the Cold War, one that the CDU/CSU and Conservative Party made their own while also contributing to the expansion of its meaning.244 The concept would subsequently take on additional relevance within the context of the ‘Second Cold War’ of the late 1970s and early 1980s,245 which had a deep effect on society, especially in West Germany, due to the widespread protest movement against the NATO Double-Track Decision of 12 December 1979, while also leading to the renewed mobilization of the peace movement in the United Kingdom.246 The emphasis placed on freedom by Conservatives and Christian Democrats led to political polarization connected both with domestic and foreign political affairs. The goal was to defend the free Europe in the struggle between West and East. The Christian Democrats and Conservatives viewed themselves, in terms of domestic policy, as the only forces that stood for freedom – in stark contrast to the SPD and the Labour Party, that is. It was therefore the concept of freedom, coded in terms of anti-socialism, that, from the very beginning, held the interparty cooperation together. It was, however, only in the course of the political polarization of the 1970s that freedom became a polemical concept among Europe’s Centre-Right parties. It not only informed the cooperation between the CDU/CSU and the Conservative Party but also the multilateral networks of the Centre-Right. Europeanization and political polarization thus went hand in hand. The parties of the EPP also embraced freedom. They sought to make Europe’s ‘ideals’ into a reality, those of ‘freedom, solidarity, justice, peace and democracy’, as was promised in the 1978 EPP political programme. The concept of freedom was thus placed here on an equal footing with the concepts of solidarity, justice, peace and democracy.247 This distinguished the political language of the EPP from that of the EDU, in which the concept of freedom outshone all other concepts. It could, nevertheless, still serve as a bridge, and the CDU in particular placed its hopes in it to bring about unity among Centre-Right parties. As Kohl phrased it with reference to the countries of Western Europe: ‘The idea of freedom is the bond that ties us together and provides strength to our solidarity with one another’. He thus appealed to the partner parties of the EPP to open up to the Conservative parties in the face of the ‘ideological unreliability of the Socialists and Social Democratic parties, both in terms of regulatory policy and ideology’.248 This hope would be dashed, however. In the process, the political rapprochement of certain EPP parties with the Left was becoming a growing problem for the Union parties. This became particularly critical in 1976 when the Democrazia Italiana formed a minority government that was tolerated by the Communists. The CDU and CSU had to ask themselves in what way their unconditional anti-socialism in Europe was compatible with their collaboration with the DC.249

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The anti-socialist power of the concept of freedom had been cultivated by the parties of the EDU well before 1978, and the Inter-Party Conference had pointed in that direction. The anti-socialist position in the European context had already played a major role in its establishment in 1966.250 When the Inter-Party Conference addressed the issue of the ‘socialist challenge’ with a special agenda item in 1974, the representatives of the CSU starkly portrayed the ‘nature of socialism’ as being akin to the two-faced Janus, with the faces of Social Democracy and of Marxism.251 In this view of matters, while the Communist East threatened Western Europe from the outside, the West European Left undermined the liberal social order from within. According to this logic, the Cold War was waged in domestic, social and economic policy as well. Just as in national and global policy, the socialist threat to freedom was now also viewed as being at work at the European level, and more specifically within the institutions of the EC. Anti-socialism, under the banner of freedom, hence developed into a European political design, with its nucleus in the EDU. As Thatcher wrote to the EDU’s first president, Josef Taus, following its founding: ‘[W]ith the forming of the EDU we have started a new chapter in the history of freedom in Europe’.252 How she meant this was underscored by the creation of a committee, chaired by the Conservative Party, to deal with Eurocommunism. His report was adopted at the July 1979 EDU Second Party Leaders’ Conference in London. The member parties were urgently called to move ‘from the defensive to the attack’ and to use all ‘available political weapons’ in the fight against Eurocommunism, remembering that the Eurocommunist strategy aimed at ‘convergence with the socialist parties’. The goal was to ‘uncover the important role that the socialists play here, especially in Great Britain’.253 The work of the Eurocommunism Committee was continued after 1979 with the newly founded Committee on ‘The European Left’, again led by the British Conservatives. This expansion implied a warning that was no longer limited to the Eurocommunists, with all Social Democratic parties in Europe now under the general suspicion of Marxism. The committee established that the ‘common trend in the programmes of the European Socialist parties is a renaissance of Marxism, which is again viewed as a valid political philosophy’.254 The EDU’s anti-socialist creed took such deep root in its language that the party association was described as a ‘European umbrella association of non-collectivist parties’.255 This anti-socialist closing of ranks, acting under the flag of freedom, was semantically marked by a clear-cut either/or proposition. There was only one choice or the other to the exclusion of any compromises. Kurt Biedenkopf, for one, warned the politicians of the European Union of Women in August 1977 about Eurocommunism gaining strength. ‘Free society’ could only be defended from this threat through an unwillingness to compromise: ‘Debate not with

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the idea of compromise, but with the idea of thrashing it out’. The ideological struggle with Marxism was thus the central task of the Centre-Right parties in Europe, which required internal unity and, in any event, it was no time for ‘petty schisms between Conservatives and Christian Democrats’, Biedenkopf confirmed. ‘If we lose sight of the real conflict, we gamble away the heritage and the knowledge of freedom that we have gained through great suffering and great triumph in our European history’.256 Unity entailed both the unity of the organization and the unity of concepts, which needed to stand out in their clarity. This conviction lay at the foundation of Biedenkopf’s strategy of struggle over concepts, which he recommended in West Germany and in Europe more generally. The conviction also characterized Thatcher’s rhetorical style, just as it did that of Franz Josef Strauß, both of whom believed their own positions to be undermined by reaching consensus and bringing about compromise. This distinguished them from Helmut Kohl, who valued the principle of balance in the formation of concepts to bring about the unity that appeared necessary to come to terms with the problems of the day. He derived his hope for unity among the Centre-Right parties in Europe from the German model of the Union parties, which he underscored again at the founding of the EDU.257 The linkage of the CDU to both party alliances spoke to this issue but also amplified the ambivalences of its political language. The anti-socialist creed of the European Centre-Right party cooperation not only moved the concept of freedom to the centre of their political language but also boosted the structural principle of the formation of opposites. This was reflected nowhere better than in the agenda for the afternoon session of the working meeting on political analysis of the CDU and the Conservative Party in February 1979. Following a German suggestion, the discussion was to be on the ‘Menace of European Socialism to the social market economy in Europe’, structured as follows: 1. Free competition versus dirigistic restraints; 2. Structural changes as a result of adjustment processes in the market versus Socialist models of regulated economy and control of investment; 3. Integrated family policy versus exclusively job-oriented women’s liberation; 4. Social welfare as a means to safeguard individual freedom versus socialist regulation of the citizen.258

The dichotomous logic of anti-socialism provided a structure to the discussion on the economic and social order. By placing the concepts into clear-cut opposing pairs, a semantic network was created, capable of finding a consensus that, above all else, was oriented towards the concept of freedom. The boundaries were clearly drawn of what could be said with general consent. The concept of the social market economy (or ‘socially oriented market economy’) was advanced here in opposition to the concept of the planned

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economy (or the ‘centrally planned and administrated economy’). It is indeed remarkable how consistently the EDU spoke of the ‘social market economy’, not only in its charter, the Kleßheim Declaration of 1978,259 but also in its internal working papers. As could be read in the papers of the Committee on ‘The European Left’: Socialist parties all tend to reject the social market economy and clearly express their preference for a centrally planned and administered economy, although it has proved to bring about considerably worse results than the social market economy for general welfare, social justice and freedom.260

The concept of social market economy undoubtedly numbered among the key concepts of the political language of the German Union parties. In the 1970s, it basked in the lustre of solid economic success – especially in a United Kingdom that had been hit hard by crisis. The Tories, who were searching for an alternative to Macmillan’s failed middle way, looked with interest across the English Channel. Keith Joseph, in particular, advocated the social market economy with the support of the Centre for Policy Studies, one of the most important think tanks in Thatcherism. In the think tank’s first pamphlet, he tackled the subject of Why Britain Needs a Social Market Economy.261 In its 1974 guidelines, the Centre for Policy Studies was to ‘state the case for the social market economy’.262 Joseph’s first thoughts of naming his think tank the ‘Erhard Foundation’ points to the German model even more clearly.263 This also corresponded with the interest in the social market economy that Kurt Biedenkopf encountered in London. His conversation with Margaret Thatcher in February 1975, shortly after her election to lead her party, focused on the social market economy.264 He also met with Keith Joseph during his March 1976 visit.265 The British Conservatives identified with the social market economy throughout their time in opposition, and were encouraged to do so by the Centre for Policy Studies, even if the concept was not always promoted with full vigour.266 It was certainly ever present in discussions with the CDU, and the interparty cooperation provided the conceptual transfer with both an organizational and a discursive basis. The semantic network that the EDU had initially established and which was woven into the concept of the social market economy, was intentionally very loose by nature.267 The Kleßheim Declaration was limited to the formulation of a few central phrases that were meant to emphasize concepts that united the parties. Due to their brevity, particular concepts took on all the more significance: freedom, democracy, rule of law, social solidarity, the person, values, open and pluralistic society, basic human rights, obligation, self-realization, cooperation of all Europe’s peoples, the law of each individual country, maintaining one’s identity, partnership, family, social responsibility and social

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market economy. Their counterconcepts were: extreme Left and Right, totalitarianism, materialistic and collectivist dogma and class struggle.268 The interparty cooperation in Europe was based on classical concepts of the political vocabulary that existed in all European languages, often with Greek or Latin roots, which were therefore easy to translate and which, moreover, had been formed in a European, transnational dialogue from the advent of modernity. This provided the basis for a political understanding in Europe, which was the prerequisite for the project of European integration being able to flourish. The European integration project strongly dynamized the trend towards uniformity in the abstract political vocabulary in Europe, which had gained momentum over the course of centuries.269 The conceptual network into which the concepts were interwoven connected with the political languages of the member parties – and all of the concepts were part of the essential linguistic inventory of the CDU, CSU and Conservative Party of the 1970s. The founding of the EDU would indeed have been unthinkable without the two decades of intensive interparty cooperation between the CDU/CSU and the Conservative Party. Not only had leading politicians and officials come to know each other in the party organizations, building up relationships of trust and gaining a grasp of the parties’ policies; they had also learned to understand the political language of their counterparts through years of dialogue, while learning to deal with conceptual differences and to find a consensus for common concepts. This formed the basis for multilateral party cooperation at the European level. It was thus no coincidence that the integration of the British and North European Conservatives was met by vehement resistance among parties that lacked this sort of experience. The thematic work of the EDU committees, as the participants envisioned, was to tie the semantic network of the Kleßheim Declaration more closely together: the parties of the EDU sought to move more closely together themselves through the ‘establishment of commonalities – but also of divergences – … through detailed work’.270 This would, in particular, provide an ideal basis for the loose party association, which was ultimately and chiefly held together by its anti-socialist bonds. Alois Mock, the Austrian EDU president, elected in 1979, spoke openly about this problem: ‘We define our Union not as a group of parties whose sole common denominator is their anti-socialism. It has been fascinating to see how easy it was to formulate recommendations on complicated political problems … and find a common approach for the solution of these matters’.271 This expression of commonalities only appeared necessary because the parties had begun to fall behind at a time when it was ideas that were being celebrated, having been proud for decades for having anchored their political action in pragmatic decisions. Hand in hand with the European anti-socialist

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closing of ranks went a departure from a pragmatic political style and a move towards a political design led by ideas. This development was enhanced at the European level as well. At the meeting of party leaders at the 1975 Inter-Party Conference in Kleßheim, the argument was put forward that ‘a renewal and revival of interest in basic ideas’ was necessary. The main decisions for the present and future of a free society in the European democracies cannot be taken on the basis of day-to-day pragmatism. Only a dynamic and convincing identification with the lasting values of liberty and the dignity of man will guarantee an open and democratic society.272

The debate over basic values in the CDU, the debate over the Basic Programme in the CSU and the systematic reformulation of the political designs of the Conservative Party all derived from these convictions – as did the tentative attempts in the EDU to arrive at commonly shared concepts. This cautious collective approach had its limits, as it was clear from the beginning that no agreement was to be had. This applied particularly to those concepts that would be used to describe the future of European integration. While the EPP aimed at a ‘federalist structure’ for the EC,273 the EDU more nebulously supported ‘increasingly close cooperation among all of Europe’s peoples’, while preserving national identities and rights.274 The latter was a conditio sine qua non for the British in particular. As an internal memorandum recorded: ‘One of the reasons the Conservatives could not join the EPP, apart from the fact they do not want us, is the inclusion of a “federal” clause in their charter’.275 The phrasing of the Kleßheim Declaration was so broad, however, that the CDU and CSU, which were clear in their support for a supranational Europe, still felt sufficiently represented by it. The EDU could hardly attain a clear European policy position in this way. Freedom remained the key concept for the EDU: it sought to be an ‘alliance for freedom’.276 Freedom covered together an entire set of concepts with an anti-socialist thrust, which provided the Centre-Right parties with political direction. This semantic network began to gain credibility from the 1970s and increasingly appeared as a valid strategy to solve crises – and at a time in which the diagnosis of ‘Eurosclerosis’ was applied to the European Communities, and national economies were shaken by crises. The anti-socialist concept of freedom received additional fuel through the re-intensification of Cold War confrontation. It was not by chance that the Single European Act, which undid the Gordian knot of European paralysis in 1986, contained typical bits of the political language of freedom, as had been hammered out in the parties of the EDU.277 The Thatcher government indeed believed that, with the realization of the European market, it could both anchor market-liberal convictions at the

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European level as well as secure economic reforms in Britain.278 The opposition’s accusations of ‘Euro-Thatcherism’ were by no means unfounded.279 For Thatcher, however, the European project developed into a drink with an increasingly bitter taste. She was neither comfortable with the culture of toplevel European diplomacy and its focus on finding compromise, in which the UK was in an increasingly isolated position, nor with the political dynamics heading towards a deepening of the political union, as principally fuelled by the governments of Germany, France and Italy. The deep personal frictions between Thatcher and Kohl also derived from their irreconcilable views on the direction of the European integration process. It was therefore no coincidence that these frictions only began to emerge in the mid-1980s. While Thatcher wished to see the institutional Europe limited to an economic sphere, Kohl aimed for a political unity that was to surmount national statehood in Europe.280 This came in addition to the personal antipathy that had developed over the course of the years,281 leading to ‘increasing alienation’282 between the two heads of government as well as Thatcher’s deep-seated, historically founded scepticism towards a strengthened Germany, which peaked with her attitude of rejection towards German reunification in 1989/90.283 By contrast, back in November 1982, after the first German–British summit during his term in office, Kohl had still been very optimistic about the common future of Germany and Britain in Europe.284 These prospects would soon be clouded over, however. Even the conviction had dissipated that the Conservative Party and the CDU were pursuing similar social and economic policies. ‘I am not a supporter of the market economy, but of the social market economy!’, Kohl had exclaimed before the CDU/CSU Bundestag parliamentary group in September 1988. I do not believe in that idea of liberalism – I do not wish to use the words Manchester Liberalism now that the wealth of an entire group automatically spills over and continues to spill over, pulling up the weak. … We should really stop holding up the British, of all people, as our model.285

This did not, however, prevent Kohl from promoting the liberalization of global trade alongside the British.286 The Christian Democratic stance towards Thatcherism was by no means clear-cut. The tensions at the top, dominated by conflicting positions on European politics, could neither drown out the diverse contacts between the parties and individual politicians nor the agreement between the parties in many areas of policy.287 The changed premises of Conservative politics in the UK with regard to Europe were primarily precipitated by the reconfiguration of national identity following the victorious outcome of the Falklands War. Thatcher believed her country to have returned to its old greatness, and so anchoring Britain to

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a European alliance was now hardly necessary.288 She instead relied on the transatlantic friendship, the ‘special relationship’ between the United Kingdom and the United States under Reagan.289 Her changed views on the European integration project, which culminated in her September 1988 speech before the Collège d’Europe in Bruges, was permeated by a postimperial longing for Britain’s past greatness.290 The changed stance on the European Communities also had an impact on the concept of conservatism, initially in groups critical of Europe and later, in the late 1980s, in broader circles within the party. ‘The term “Conservative” is well understood in Britain, but not in the EEC’, the League of Concerned Conservatives established, thus categorically questioning the decades-long conceptual convergence with a stroke of the hand.291 The language of freedom, which had served in the 1970s as a unifying force for European convergence among Centre-Right parties and conceptualized their European mission, turned against European integration itself: Thatcher’s anti-Europe rhetoric of the late 1980s located the socialist threat to freedom directly within the reformed institutions of the EC.292 She saw them only as bureaucratic monstrosities that represented the spawn of socialism and served to suffocate freedom. As she famously grumbled in Bruges: ‘We have not successfully rolled back the frontiers of the state in Britain, only to see them reimposed at a European level with a European super-state exercising a new dominance from Brussels’.293 What Thatcher did not recognize, however, was the dialectical interplay between the liberalization of markets and bureaucratic regulation that guided European integration. Brussels’ gains in terms of power and competence were tied to the logic of liberal market policy. This was the price of the freedom that Thatcher so longed for, and was one that she refused to pay.294 Such a consequence of the conservative language of anti-socialism was not something that she wished to recognize.

Notes 1. For an approach to the history of Europe based in communications theory, see Bauerkämper, ‘Wege zur europäischen Geschichte’. 2. On the significance of informal political arenas for the EC, see Middlemas, Orchestrating Europe; on the functions of European parties from the point of view of political science, see Mittag and Steuwer, Politische Parteien, 99–123; also Luther and Müller-Rommel, Political Parties. 3. CAC, THCR 2/6/1/21, Margaret Thatcher to Helmut Kohl, 9.7.1976. 4. See Kaiser, ‘Deutschland exkulpieren’; Gehler and Kaiser, ‘Transnationalism’; Gehler, ‘Begegnungsort’; Matl, ‘Europäische Christdemokraten’; Becker, ‘Die Nouvelles Equipes Internationales’.

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5. On the complex stance of the United Kingdom towards European integration, see Gowland, Turner and Wright, Britain and European Integration; Gowland and Turner, Reluctant Europeans; Ludlow, Dealing with Britain; Ludlow, ‘Constancy and Flirtation’; Kaiser, Using Europe; Young, Britain and European Unity, 57–85; Ellison, Threatening Europe; Ellison, ‘Accepting the Inevitable’; on the intra-party controversy over the turn towards the EC, see Kandiah and Seldon, ‘British Domestic Politics’, 75–81. 6. On the Catholic character of the NEI, see Gehler and Kaiser, ‘Transnationalism’; on political Catholicism in the United Kingdom, see Buchanan, ‘Great Britain’. 7. See CPA, COB 12, Folder: Nouvelles Equipes Internationales, 1954–1956; NEI, British Section, to Mr Milne, 26.5.1954; NEI, British Section, V. Welton, to Peter Smithers, 13.10.1954; Mr Milne to Mrs Brooke, 15.2.1956; R.D. Milne to R.C. Brooman-White, 23.2.1956; R.D. Milne to Tracy Philipps, 23.2.1956; summarized retrospectively: CCO 20/15/11, International Inter-Party Relations with special reference to Europe, 31.10.1970; ACDP, 07-001-12095, Peter Smithers to Konrad Kraske, 7.1.1958; Peter Smithers to Konrad Kraske, 18.3.1959; Peter Smithers to Konrad Kraske, 2.6.1959, including: Peter Smithers to Patrick McLaughlin, 4.6.1959. On the ‘Christian Democratic’ movement in the United Kingdom, see, if however with reservations, Keating, ‘The British Experience’. 8. On the first membership negotiations, see Schaad, Bullying Bonn; for the second membership negotiations, see Philippe, ‘The Germans Hold the Key’. For an overview of German–British relations: Deighton, ‘British–West German Relations’. 9. On the significance of networks in the history of European integration, see Kaiser, Leucht and Gehler, Transnational Networks. 10. On the party organization, see Ramsden, The Age, 94–137; Ramsden, Winds of Change, 68–82. 11. See Davenport-Hines, ‘Smithers’; Smithers was an avid gardener, thus the title of his biography: Smithers, Adventures of a Gardener, 1995. 12. On Kiesinger’s foreign policy style in the 1950s, see Gassert, Kurt Georg Kiesinger, 289–98. 13. See CPA, COB 12, Ursula Branston, Meeting with members of the Christian Democratic Union of the German Federal Republic, Friedrichsruh, 10.–13.10.1955, 28.10.1955; Conservative Overseas Bureau [Peter Smithers] to A.D. Dodds-Parker, 19.3.1956. On Heinrich von Brentano’s engagement for a united Europe, see Kroll, ‘Epochenbewusstsein’. 14. See Mayne, In Victory, Magnanimity, in Peace, Goodwill. 15. See Uhlig, Die Deutsch-Englische Gesellschaft; Haase, Pragmatic Peacemakers. 16. No biographical depiction of Otto Fürst von Bismarck is available; for the most important information, see ‘Otto von Bismarck’, in Hürter and Keipert; Schumacher, M. d. R., 114; for notes on his career within the Nazi regime, see Knigge, Das Dilemma eines Diplomaten; Malinowski, Vom König zum Führer, 500; Hauser, England und das Dritte Reich, vol. 2, 22–41; Conze et al., Das Amt und die Vergangenheit, 67, 360, 666; for a critique of the book, see Hürter, ‘Das Auswärtige Amt’; on the Anglo-German Fellowship, see the notes in Kershaw, Hitlers Freunde in England, 78 passim. 17. See Jähnicke, ‘Lawyer, Politician, Intelligence Officer’. 18. On Aenne Brauksiepe, see Beckmann, ‘Brauksiepe, Aenne (geb. Engels)’; Kaff, ‘Aenne Brauksiepe (1912–1997)’; on Luise Rehling, see Hospes, ‘Rehling, Luise (geb. Dieckerhoff)’.

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19. See z.B. CPA, COB 29/2, [R.D. Milne?] to C.L. Booth, 23.11.1959. There has unfortunately been no historical work on the European Union of Women. For the 1970s, see the note in Johansson, ‘The Alliance’, 137. 20. See CPA, COB 12, Ursula Branston, Meeting with members of the Christian Democratic Union of the German Federal Republic, Friedrichsruh, 10.–13.10.1955. 21. ACDP, 07-001-12095, Konrad Kraske to R.D. Milne, 3.6.1957. 22. See CPA, COB 12, Conservative Overseas Bureau to Mrs Henry Brook, 14.6.1957; ACDP, 07-001-12095, R.D. Milne to Konrad Kraske, 19.6.1956. On the debate see DBT, 2. WP, 156. Sitzung, 29.6.1956. 23. See e.g. CPA, COB 12, Programme of arrangements made by Central Office of Information on behalf of Foreign Office for Members of the German Federal Parliament, 20.2.–6.3.1956; Programme of arrangements made by Foreign Office on behalf of Members of Parliament and Officials from Land North-Rhine/Westphalia, 10.–22.9.1956; Programme of arrangements made by Central Office of Information on behalf of Foreign Office for Members of the German Federal Parliament, 25.4.–10.5.1956. 24. See ibid., R.D. Milne to Konrad Kraske, 30.5.1957. 25. See e.g. ibid., Junge Union Deutschland, H. Schwarz, to Young Conservative and Unionist Association, 29.3.1956; RCDS, Johannes Müller, to R.D. Milne, 12.4.1956; Junge Union Deutschland, H. Schwarz, to R.D. Milne, 25.4.1956; R.D. Milne to Mr Karberry, 28.11.1956. 26. See z.B. ibid., CCO 3/7/19, European Union of Christian-Democratic and Conservative Students, Memorandum on the Organisation; in the first half of the 1970s, the ECCS pushed for the creation of a powerful centrist party in Europe: ibid. Tom Spencer, The Concept of a European Democratic Party – A Proposal for ECCS Action, 26.5.1972; for the viewpoint of a participant, see ‘Peter Radunski’, in: Gehler et al., Mitgestalter, 107–8. 27. See ACDP, 07-001-12095, Konrad Kraske to R.D. Milne, 3.6.1957. 28. On Otto Lenz, see Buchstab, ‘Engagierter Demokrat’; Gotto, ‘Lenz, Otto’. On his visit to London as a guest of the government, during which he established contacts with the party, see CPA, COB 12, Conservative Overseas Bureau, Visit of Herr Dr. Otto Lenz (M.d.B.) and Frau Lenz, 24.–30.3.1957. 29. See CPA, COB 29/2, [R.D. Milne] to C.L. Booth, 23.11.1959. On Raban Adelmann von Adelmannsfelden see ‘Raban Adelmann von Adelmannsfelden’. 30. CPA, COB 64/2, Peter Smithers, 19.9.1958 [address to the CDU Federal Party Conference 1958]; for a German version see Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 38–40. 31. See pp. 168–69. 32. See ‘Sir Peter Smithers’ (The Telegraph); ‘Sir Peter Smithers, Model for 007’; ‘Sir Peter Smithers’ (The Guardian). 33. CPA, COB 64/2, Peter Smithers, CDU Annual Conference, Kiel, 21.–28.9.1958. 34. See Mandler, The English National Character. 35. See CPA, COB 64/2, Raban von Adelmann to R.D. Milne, enclosed: CDU/CSUFraktion des Deutschen Bundestages, Arbeitskreis für auswärtige, gesamtdeutsche und Verteidigungsfragen, Der Vorsitzende, Ernst Majonica, an die Mitglieder der CDU/ CSU-Fraktion im Deutschen Bundestag, 26.10.1960, therein: Die Parteikonferenzen in England. 36. See ibid. 29/2, Charles Boot to R.D. Milne, 18.11.1959; CCO 20/15/2, Peter Smithers to Iain Macleod, 29.4.1963; Peter Smithers to John Hare, 1.11.1963.

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37. See Pütz, ‘Aber ein Europa’, 295–346; Leupold, ‘Weder anglophil noch anglophob’, 266–76; Schwabe, ‘Adenauer und England’, 360–63; Lee, An Uneasy Partnership, 100–119, 177–277; on the relationship between Adenauer and Macmillan, see Lee, ‘Pragmatism versus Principle?’ 38. See ACDP, 07-001-12095, Konrad Kraske to Heinrich Böx, 10.11.1959. On Adenauer’s visit to London, see Pütz, ‘Aber ein Europa’, 337–43; also Adenauer’s report to the CDU/CSU Bundestag Parliamentary Group: Schiffers, Die CDU/CSUFraktion im Deutschen Bundestag 1957–1961, 506–9. 39. See CPA, COB 29/6, Visit of Secretary-General of German CDU and Frau Kraske, November 1959, Full Timetable. 40. See ibid. 29/2, [R.D. Milne] to C.L. Booth, 23.11.1959. 41. See ibid. 29/6, Konrad Kraske to R.D. Milne, 10.11.1959; ACDP, 07-001-12095, Konrad Kraske to Heinrich Böx, 10.11.1959; CPA, COB 31/6, Fritz Caspari to R.D. Milne, 30.11.1959. 42. On the contention between Atlanticists and Gaullists, see Geiger, Atlantiker gegen Gaullisten. 43. See CPA, COB 64/2, Foreign Office, Programme of Arrangements made for the visit of Dr. Heinrich Krone, Chairman of West German Christian Democrat (CDU) Parliamentary Party, 21.–26.2.1960; Kurt Birrenbach to Evelyn Emmet, 3.3.1960; Krone, Tagebücher, vol. 1, 2003, 406–7; Schiffers, Die CDU/CSU-Fraktion im Deutschen Bundestag 1957–1961, 564–65. On Kurt Birrenbach, see Hinrichsen, Der Ratgeber, esp. 29–67; Geiger, Atlantiker gegen Gaullisten, 47–48; on his commitment to German–British relations, see Pütz, ‘Aber ein Europa’, 303–8, 326–30, 342–43, 347–48, 363; also the recollections of the German ambassador Hans von Herwarth: Herwarth, Von Adenauer zu Brandt, 238; on Birrenbach’s view of German–British relations in the late 1950s, see Birrenbach, ‘Der dritte Partner’, 1959. 44. Schiffers, Die CDU/CSU-Fraktion im Deutschen Bundestag 1957–1961, 568. 45. See CPA, COB 64/2, Conservative Overseas Bureau, Visit of German CDU Members of the Bundestag, Full Programme, 30.6.1960; on the assessment of the visit from the British perspective, see Bodleian Library Oxford, Special Collections, Emmet papers, Ms.Eng.hist.c. 1056, [Evelyn Emmet], 6.7.1960, n.t. [report on a visit of the CDU delegation to London]. On Kai-Uwe von Hassel, see Speich, Kai-Uwe von Hassel; Koop, Kai-Uwe von Hassel; Grau, ‘Hassel, Kai-Uwe von’. 46. See von Hassel’s report on his talks to the Federal Board of the CDU: Buchstab, CDUBundesvorstandsprotokolle 1957–1961, 6.7.1960, 714–15. 47. See ACDP, 07-001-12095, Konrad Kraske to Evelyn Emmet, 25.5.1960. 48. See ibid., Kurt Birrenbach to Konrad Kraske, 22.3.1960, enclosed: Memorandum: Zusammenarbeit zwischen der Konservativen Partei in Großbritannien und der CDU/ CSU-Partei der Bundesrepublik; Konrad Kraske to Kurt Birrenbach, 25.5.1960. 49. See Maguire, ‘Emmet, Evelyn Violet Elizabeth’. 50. See the documents at Bodleian Library Oxford, Special Collections, Emmet papers, Ms.Eng.hist.c. 5725–26, 5731–34, 1056–58. 51. See CPA, COB 88/2, [Evelyn Emmet], n.t.: Bericht über den 12. Bundesparteitag der CDU in Hannover, n.d. 52. See e.g. ibid. 64/2, Conservative Overseas Bureau, Visit of German CDU Members of the Bundestag, 30.6.1960. 53. See Koop, Kai-Uwe von Hassel; Speich, Kai-Uwe von Hassel; Grau, ‘Hassel, Kai-Uwe von’.

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54. See Bajohr, Hanseat und Grenzgänger, esp. 124–31. 55. See e.g. Buchstab, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle 1957–1961, 714–15, 734. 56. See CPA, COB 65/10, Joint Meeting of CDU and Conservative principals, 19.– 20.7.1963, Minutes. See the short note in the minutes of the meeting of the CDU/ CSU Bundestag Parliamentary Group of 29.7.1963: Franz, Die CDU/CSU-Fraktion im Deutschen Bundestag, 1961–1963, 723. 57. See CPA, CCO 20/15/2, Iain Macleod to Evelyn Emmet, 11.5.1963; Evelyn Emmet to Iain Macleod, 13.5.1963; Evelyn Emmet to Iain Macleod, 29.5.1963; Iain Macleod to Evelyn Emmet, 29.5.1963. 58. Ibid., Iain Macleod to Lord Aldington, 9.5.1963; also e.g. Peter Smithers to John Hare, 1.11.1963. 59. Ibid., Chairman’s notes: Meeting with Christian-Democrat principals, n.d. [July 1963]. 60. Ibid., Joint Meeting of CDU and Conservative principles, 19.–20.7.[1963]. 61. ACDP, 07-001-11226, Gordon Pears to Konrad Kraske, 4.10.1966. 62. See ibid., R.D. Milne to Konrad Kraske, 21.1.1968; Evelyn Emmet to Konrad Kraske, 21.1.1968. 63. See ibid., Die Britische Konservative Partei, Politische Grundsätze für die Zwischenzeit. Verbessere Dein Leben [translation of ‘Make Life Better’, 1968]; Dr Vogel to Conservative Overseas Bureau, 22.4.1969; also enclosed: Maudling, The Ever-Changing Challenge, 1969. 64. See CPA, COB 64/1, Minutes of the meeting between the British Conservative Party and the German CDU at Eichholz, Bonn, 29.11.1963; CCO 20/15/2, Evelyn Emmet, 18.12.1963. On European agricultural policy and its significance for the British EC membership negotiations, see Patel, Europäisierung wider Willen, 227–51; Patel, ‘Europeanization à Contre-Coeur’. 65. See CPA, COB 87/4, Joint Meeting of CDU and Conservative Representatives, London, 12.–13.2.1965; Summary of Discussion on Defence, 13.2.1965. 66. See ibid., R.D. Milne to Erik Blumenfeld, 4.12.1964; 88/2, [Evelyn Emmet] to JosefHermann Dufhues, 14.12.1964. 67. This is confirmed by the politicians involved in interparty cooperation, see e.g. ‘Konrad Kraske’, in Gehler et al., Mitgestalter Europas, 2013, 46; ‘Peter Radunski’, in Gehler et al., Mitgestalter Europas, 2013, 115. On foreign policy in West Germany, see the overview in Haftendorn, ‘Kontinuität und Wandel’. 68. See Davis, ‘A Silent Minority?’; using the example of Christian Democratic party networks: Kaiser, Christian Democracy, 320–21; generally: Kaiser and Meyer, Societal Actors. 69. On the increasing significance of non-governmental actors in international relations, see Iriye, Global Community; Berman and Johnson, Unofficial Diplomats. 70. See Großmann, Die Internationale der Konservativen, 389–406. 71. See ibid. 72. See Crowson, The Conservative Party and European Integration; Kaiser, Using Europe; on the British ambiguity towards the European integration project in general: Gowland, Turner and Wright, Britain and European Integration, 205–44. 73. On the CDU’s stance in European politics, see Küsters, Deutsche Europapolitik. 74. See Crowson, The Conservative Party and European Integration, 105–26, 152–87; Lynch, ‘The Conservatives and the Wilson Application’. 75. See Crowson, The Conservative Party and European Integration, 165–72.

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76. See e.g. ACDP, 07-001-12095, Konrad Kraske to Evelyn Emmet, 6.8.1962; Konrad Kraske to Evelyn Emmet, 25.9.1962; 07-001-10119, Einige Beobachtungen im englischen Wahlkampf, 31.3.1966, including: Einige Eindrücke vom Conservative Research Department, 13; 07-001-10138, Vermerk für Herrn Dr. Kraske: Conservative Research Centre, 12.7.1966; 07-001-11226, Johann Christoph Besch to R.D. Milne, 14.6.1966. 77. See ibid., 07-001-11226, Konrad Kraske to James Douglas, 10.6.1967; CPA, COB 110/5, M.E. Ritterbach to The Conservatives and Unionists Party, Central Office, 6.2.1968. 78. See ACDP, 07-001-11226, James Douglas to Konrad Kraske, 14.3.1967; James Douglas to Konrad Kraske, 24.4.1967; for the context, see Kruke, Demoskopie in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. 79. See CPA, COB 110/5, R.D. Milne to Michael Fraser, 16.10.1968. The workshop planned for May 1969 in Germany was cancelled, however, by the German side, allegedly due to unforeseen developments in the federal election campaign, see ibid., Dorothea Schneider to R.D. Milne, 28.3.1969. 80. See e.g. ibid. 64/2, M. Loeser to R.D. Milne, 9.3.1960; Robert E. Lembke to John Grist, BBC Television Studios, 21.3.1960; Konrad Kraske to R.D. Milne, 10.8.1961; ACDP, 07-001-12095, Konrad Kraske to R.D. Milne, 24.9.1959; Konrad Kraske to R.D. Milne, 5.8.1964; Konrad Kraske to R.D. Milne, 16.9.1964; 07-001-10119, Einige Beobachtungen zum englischen Wahlkampf, 31.3.1966. On the West German observation of elections in other countries, see Mergel, Propaganda nach Hitler, 63–85. 81. See CPA, COB 110/5, Conservative Overseas Bureau, Special Visit from the German CDU, February 1970, 27.1.1970; ACDP, 07-001-11226, Konrad Kraske, Bericht über einen Besuch bei der Konservativen Partei Großbritanniens, March 1970; on the preparations for the visit, see e.g. Bruno Heck to Evelyn Emmet, 4.12.1969. 82. See CPA, COB 110/5, R.D. Milne to Johann Christoph Besch, 10.11.1969; ACDP, 07-001-11226, Kai-Uwe von Hassel to Bruno Heck, 26.11.1969. This resulted in a meeting in Eichholz in December 1970, see CPA, CCO 20/32/4, Bruno Heck to Peter Thomas, 10.11.1970; ACDP, 07-001-11226, Vorläufiges Programm des Treffens zwischen Mitgliedern der Konservativen Partei Englands und Mitgliedern der CDU/CSU, 4.–6.12.1970. 83. See Erhard, ‘Eine Wirtschaftspolitik’, 1958; van Kessel, ‘Ruggen recht, heren!’, 21–23. 84. Heck, ‘Vorschlag zur Parteienkooperation’, 1958, 529. 85. See Meyers, ‘Einheit in der Freiheit’, 1959; Hahn, ‘Bericht über die Lage’, 1959; ‘Aussprache, NEI-Kongress’, 1959; on the organization and discussion of reforms at the NEI, see Gehler and Kaiser, Transnationale Parteienkooperation, 44–53. 86. See Kaiser, Christian Democracy, 312; on expansion, esp. to Latin America, see Dechert, ‘The Christian Democratic “International”’. 87. ACDP, 07-001-12095, Peter Smithers to Konrad Kraske, 7.1.1959. 88. Ibid., Peter Smithers to Konrad Kraske, 2.6.1959, in attachment: Peter Smithers to Patrick McLaughlin, 4.6.1959. 89. See ‘Lenkungsausschuss, Paris, 13.2.1959, Dokument 173’. 90. ACDP, 07-001-12095, Konrad Kraske to Peter Smithers, 16.6.1959. 91. See Kaiser, ‘Europeanization of Christian Democracy?’, 18. 92. See ACDP, 07-001-12095, Konrad Kraske to Martin Rosenberg, 10.12.1963; Johann Christoph Besch to R.D. Milne, 13.12.1963; R.D. Milne to Konrad Kraske, 19.12.1963; CPA, COB88/2, R.D. Milne to Evelyn Emmet, 16.12.1963.

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93. On the leftward trend in the EUCD parties during the 1960s, see Kaiser, ‘A Transnational Policy Community in Retreat?’, 130–31. 94. See Masala, ‘Die CDU und die Democrazia Cristiana Italiana’. 95. See Kaiser, Christian Democracy, 305–9. 96. On the EUCD see Meyer, ‘Die christlich-demokratische  Fraktion’, 36–44; Kaiser, Christian Democracy, 314; Papini, The Christian Democrat International, 85–100. 97. See CPA, IDU 30/1, Peter Kirk to Alec Douglas-Home, 6.7.1967. On the EUCD presidency of Mariano Rumor, see Malgeri, ‘The Italian Presence’, 193–200. 98. See ACDP, NL Bruno Heck, I 001 101/2, Johann Christoph Besch to Bruno Heck, 25.3.1966. 99. CPA, IDU 30/1, Edward du Cann to Mariano Rumor, 14.7.1965; copy in: ACDP, 07-001-12095. 100. ACDP, NL Bruno Heck, I 001 101/2, Mariano Rumor to Bruno Heck, 2.4.1966. 101. Ibid., 07-001-11226, Edward Heath to Mariano Rumor, 4.7.1966, enclosed: Edward Heath to Aldo Moro, n.d.; NL Bruno Heck, I 001 101/2, Mariano Rumor to Edward Heath, 13.7.1966. 102. Ibid., 07-001-11226, Johann Christoph Besch to R.D. Milne, 30.8.1966. 103. Ibid., Johann Christoph Besch, Vermerk für Bruno Heck, 12.9.1966, including translation of: R.D. Milne to Bruno Heck, 5.9.1966. 104. Bodleian Library, Emmet Papers, MS. Eng. hist. c. 1058, fols 15–28, Report by Lady Emmet, Annual Conference of the European Union of Christian-Democrats, Taormina, 9.–12.12.1965. 105. See ACDP, 07-001-11226, [Edward Heath] to Mariano Rumor, 26.10.1966. 106. See CPA, CCO 20/15/3, Minutes of a special meeting, Blackpool, 14.10.1966. 107. Ibid., Konrad Kraske to R.D. Milne, 8.3.1967. 108. See ibid., Report: First European Conservative/Christian-Democrat Conference, Karlsruhe, 27.–28.8.1967; 20/15/11, International Inter-Party Relations with special reference to Europe, 31.10.1970. A representative of the UDR was present for the first time at the Inter-Party Conference 1969 in Brighton, see ACDP, 07-001-11226, Minutes of an interim meeting, Brighton, 10.10.1969. 109. See CPA, CCO 20/15/3, R.D. Milne to Alec Douglas-Home, 24.4.1967. 110. See ibid., IDU 30/1, Edward Heath to The Chairman of the Conservative Party [Anthony Barber], 12.5.1967. 111. ACDP, 07-001-11226, Bruno Heck to Alec Douglas-Home, 23.5.1967; see also NL Bruno Heck, I 022 101/2, Bruno Heck to Edward du Cann, 23.5.1967: ‘… and you have perhaps heard in Karlsruhe that it is the need and aim of all of us not only to build bridges between Germany and Great Britain and the Nordic states, but also that we are filled with the wish for these bridges to be crossed regularly and often so that we can come together for similar discussions’. 112. On Douglas-Home’s activity and role after losing the election as prime minister in 1964, and before being named foreign secretary in 1970, see Thorpe, Alec DouglasHome, 378–403. 113. ACDP 07-001-11226, Evelyn Emmet to Konrad Kraske, 3.11.1966. 114. See e.g. CPA, CCO 20/15/3, Report: First European Conservative/ChristianDemocrat Conference, Karlsruhe, 27.–28.8.1967; Report: Stockholm InterParty Conference, 10.–12.5.1968; IDU 30/2, European Christian-Democrat and Conservative Inter-Party Conference, Bernstein nr. Vienna, 21.–23.5.1971; 30/3,

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Inter-Party Conference, Report of a meeting held on 19–20 May 1973; Report: InterParty Conference 1974. 115. On the United Kingdom joining the EC in 1973, see Lord, British Entry; Young, ‘The Heath Government’; Clemens, ‘Der Beitritt Großbritanniens’; on Heath’s stance on European policy, see Young, This Blessed Plot, 214–56. 116. On Social Democratic and Socialist party cooperation, see e.g. Steinnes, ‘Socialist Party Networks’; Hiepel, ‘“Europa gehört keiner Partei”’. 117. On the CD Parliamentary Group in the European Parliament, see Meyer, ‘Die christlich-demokratische Fraktion’. 118. See CPA, IDU 30/3, Party Leaders’ Conference, Klesheim Palace, Salzburg, 8.–9.9.1975; Speich, Kai-Uwe von Hassel, 451–75. 119. On the founding of the EPP from the partisan view of the EPP general secretary (1983–94): Jansen, Die Entstehung einer Europäischen Partei, 97–110; Jansen, ‘Die Europäische Volkspartei (EVP)’, 464–79; Jansen, ‘The Dilemma for Christian Democracy’; also Speich, Kai-Uwe von Hassel, 451–75; on the perspective of the Dutch Christian Democrats: van Kessel, ‘Ruggen recht, heren!’. 120. See the multifaceted documents on the founding of the EDU in CAC, THCR 2/6/1/23; 2/6/1/75; ACSP, Sammlungen, EDU; NL Strauß, Büro PV: 12965. The best depiction of the founding of the EDU is provided in Speich, Kai-Uwe von Hassel, 451–75; see also from the viewpoint of those involved: Tobisson, Khol and Wintoniak, Twenty Years European Democrat Union; Khol and Wintoniak, ‘Die Europäische Demokratische Union’; Mertens and Khol, Österreichische Christdemokraten, 77–115; from the viewpoint of contemporary political science: Pridham, ‘Christian Democrats’, 331–39; furthermore, the interesting collection of interviews: Gehler et al., Mitgestalter; as well as Johansson, ‘The Alliance’. 121. On the role of the ÖVP in transnational interparty cooperation: Gehler and Schönner, ‘Transnationale christdemokratische Parteienkooperation’; an overview of the ÖVP: Kriechbaumer, Die Ära Kreisky, 103–32; on Austrian politics with regard to the EC and EU, see Gehler and Kaiser, ‘A Study in Ambivalence’. 122. On the contacts, see ACSP, NL Strauß, Büro PV: 6496, Franz Josef Strauß to Edward Heath, 2.10.1970; Edward Heath to Franz Josef Strauß, 13.10.1973; CPA, COB 132/1, Dorothea Schneider to R.D. Milne, 26.1.1972; COB 132/2, Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Programme of Arrangements for the visit of Dr. Franz Heubl, Bavarian Minister for Federal Affairs and Deputy Chairman of the CSU, 16.–19.4.1972; IDU 28/1, R.D. Milne to Diana Elles, 24.10.1973; R.D. Milne to Diana Elles, 29.10.1973; IDU 28/3, Margaret Thatcher to Franz Josef Strauß, 22.7.1977; IDU 28/4 Douglas Hurd to Diana [Elles], 12.9.1978; IDU 28/5, Franz Josef Strauß to Margaret Thatcher, 8.2.1979; Rosemary Spencer to Anthony Royle, 13.3.1979, Invitations from Germany to Mrs Thatcher; IDU 30/2, Florian Harlander to Evelyn Emmet, 23.6.1970; CAC, THCR, 2/6/1/128, Franz Josef Strauß to Margaret Thatcher, 25.10.1976; Margaret Thatcher to Franz Josef Strauß, 27.10.1976 [Strauß cancels a planned visit to Thatcher due to a Bundestag debate]. 123. See Großmann, Die Internationale der Konservativen, 490–91. 124. See ibid., 493–96. 125. See pp. 400–1. 126. See e.g. CPA, CCO 20/15/11, European Inter-Party Conference, Vienna, 21–23 May [1971], Outline Notes: ‘Our relations with Dr. Strauß and the CSU are perhaps somewhat strained’.

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127. Ibid., IDU 28/5, Francis Pym to John Stanley, 13.2.1979. 128. See Strauß’s correspondence with Thatcher on Rhodesia: ACSP, NL Strauß, Büro MP: 1082, Franz Josef Strauß to Margaret Thatcher, n.d. [1979]; Margaret Thatcher to Franz Josef Strauß, 25.5.1979; Margaret Thatcher to Franz Josef Strauß, 26.9.1979; see short mention of Thatcher in connection with Strauß’s Africa policy in Strauß, Die Erinnerungen, 1989, 527. 129. See ACSP, NL Klein, 1144, Vorläufiges Programm. Besuch des Parteivorsitzenden bei der Britischen Konservativen Partei, London, 23.–25.4.1980; Abendessen für CSU-Vorsitzenden Strauß, Teilnehmerliste, 24.4.1980; List of Guests attending the Luncheon to be given by the Prime Minister, 25.4.1980. 130. Ibid., NL Strauß, Büro PV: 12977, Franz Josef Strauß to Margaret Thatcher, 28.4.1980. 131. See the positive mention of the ‘newly established … foreign office’ by Kai-Uwe von Hassell in the meeting of the Federal Party Board of 24 January 1976, Buchstab and Lindsay, CDU-Bundesvorstandsprotokolle, 1969–1973, 24.1.1972, 686. 132. See CPA, COB 132/1, e.g. Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Programme of Arrangements for the visit of Herr Helmut Kohl, 16.–19.2.1972; J.H. Moore to R.D. Milne, 22.2.1972; Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Programme of Arrangements for the visit of Dr. Gerhard Schröder, 28.2.–2.3.1972; Gerhard Schröder to A.D. Dodds-Parker, 13.3.1972. 133. See ibid. 132/2, R.D. Milne to Douglas Hurd, 7.7.1972. 134. See Knipping and Schönwald, Aufbruch zum Europa; Kaiser and Meyer, ‘Non-State Actors’; Middlemas, Orchestrating Europe. 135. See ACDP, 07-001-11479, Bericht über die Gespräche des Generalsekretärs der CDU, Prof. Dr. Kurt Biedenkopf, mit Vertretern der britischen Regierung, der britischen Parteien, der Wirtschaft und den Gewerkschaften anlässlich seines Besuches in Großbritannien vom 9. bis 12. Februar 1975. 136. Ibid., Kurt Biedenkopf to Margaret Thatcher, 21.2.1975; CDU-Pressemitteilung, 12.2.1975; CPA, IDU 28/1, Kurt Biedenkopf to Michael Fraser, 21.2.1975; Michael Fraser to Kurt Biedenkopf, 26.2.1975; CAC, THCR, 2/6/1/128, Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Programme of arrangements for Kurt Biedenkopf and Michael A. Miegel, 8.–12.2.1975. 137. See ACDP, 07-001-11479, Kurt Biedenkopf to Margaret Thatcher, 23.4.1975. 138. See CAC, THCR 2/6/1/23, Margaret Thatcher to Helmut Kohl, 12.5.1977: ‘He was a man for whom I had the greatest admiration and I am sure that when history is written he will be judged as one of the most outstanding political economists of the century. I shall always remember meeting Dr. Erhard for the first time as one of the highlights of my visit to Bonn in 1975. If only Britain had produced a man with similar foresight in the economic field, I cannot help feeling that our present economic situation would be rather better than it is today. … Those of us who share his vision of a free-enterprise economy can only be thankful that he had the opportunity of serving his country in such a dedicated and selfless manner at the highest possible level’. 139. See CPA, IDU 28/1, Michael Fraser to Margaret Thatcher, 20.5.1975; the organization papers of the visit are to be found in ACDP, 07-001-11479; Thatcher, The Path to Power, 1995, 343–44. 140. ACDP, 07-001-11479, Margaret Thatcher to Kurt Biedenkopf, 3.7.1975.

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141. See CPA, IDU 28/1, Margaret Thatcher to Karl Carstens, 15.7.1975; John Peel to Mr Ryder, 4.8.1975. On the contacts between Thatcher and Carstens, see Carstens, Erinnerungen und Erfahrungen, 1993, 443–44, 670–72. 142. See CAC, THCR 2/6/1/128, Programme for Professor Dr Kurt H. Biedenkopf, 25.–26.3.1976. 143. Ibid., Kurt Biedenkopf to Margaret Thatcher, 29.3.1976. 144. See the documents in CAC, THCR 5/1/2/73. 145. See CPA, IDU 28/2, Meeting of Mrs Thatcher and Dr Kohl, 8.7.1976, Agenda. 146. CAC, THCR 2/6/1/21, Helmut Kohl to Margaret Thatcher, 21.7.1976. 147. Ibid., Margaret Thatcher to Helmut Kohl, 9.7.1976. See also Hurd, Memoirs, 245–46. 148. See Larres, ‘Schwierige Verbündete’. 149. See the depiction of the relationship in the autobiographies: Kohl, Erinnerungen, 1990–1994, 58–65; Thatcher, The Path to Power, 344, 347; Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, 61 passim. 150. See ACDP, 07-001-11479, Kurt Biedenkopf to John Peel; Programm für den Parteitagsbesuch, 4.10.1976. 151. See the multifaceted documents in CPA, IDU 28/2, 28/3, 28/4. 152. See ibid., IDU 28/3, Visit of Dr Heinrich Geißler and Dr Henning Wegener to London, 3.–4.11.1977. 153. Ibid., Meeting on 4 November 1977 between representatives of the British Conservative Party and the German Christlich-Demokratische Union in Mr Clark’s Office, Central Office. 154. See ibid. 28/3, Tom Hooson to Diana Elles, 18.5.1977; Henning Wegener to Chris Patten, 5.9.1977; Chris Patten to Henning Wegener, 12.9.1977. 155. See ibid. 28/4, Chris Patten to Diana Elles, 16.2.1978; Sandy Walker to Diana Elles, 16.2.1978. 156. See ibid. IDU 28/5, Sandy Walker to Mr Patten etc., 16.1.1979; Sandy Walker to Mr Patten etc., 2.2.1979; a further meeting was planned in Bonn upon Howarth’s taking office, see Alan Howarth to Sandy Walker, 8.10.1979; Alan Howarth to Sandy Walker, 11.12.1979, and took place in 1980, see CDU-Dokumentation, CDUPressemitteilung, 7.3.1980; Deutschland-Union-Dienst, 9.7.1981, Arbeitskonferenz mit britischen Konservativen; Larres, ‘Schwierige Verbündete’, 240. 157. See Patten, Not Quite the Diplomat, 22–23. 158. CAC, THCR 2/4/1/8, Helmut Kohl to Margaret Thatcher, n.d. [1979]. Both Kohl and Thatcher recalled the significance of interparty cooperation in their correspondence of those years, see MTFW, 118809, Helmut Kohl to Margaret Thatcher, 18.12.1979; Margaret Thatcher to Helmut Kohl, n.d. [December 1979]. 159. CAC, THCR 2/6/2/68, John Cope to Ian Gow, 18.5.1981. 160. See CPA, IDU 25/1, Conservative Party International Office, Conservative Research Department, Brief on the Federal Republic of Germany, October 1982. 161. See MTFW 122768, Anthony Royle to Margaret Thatcher, 4.5.1982, enclosed: Points discussed with the CDU in Bonn, 4.5.1982. The positioning of the CDU or individual CDU politicians was observed intently from London, see CPA, IDU 27/1. 162. See CPA, IDU 25/1, Peter Cropper to The Chairman and Scott Hamilton, 2.11.1982, enclosed: Adam Ridley, Visit to Bonn, 28.10.1982. 163. Ibid., Cecil Parkinson to Helmut Kohl, 1.10.1982. 164. See Larres, ‘Schwierige Verbündete’; Young, This Blessed Plot, 306–74; an overview on diplomatic relations: Smith and Edwards, ‘British–West German Relations’.

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165. See e.g. CPA, IDU 42/22, Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung, Information Programme for Special Advisers to Her Majesty’s Government, Bonn, 10.–12.9.1986; Out Telegram, drafted by J. Houston, Special Adviser to Geoffrey Howe, 15.9.1986; Baker, The Turbulent Years, 348–52. 166. On the European character of this new generation in the Conservative Party, see Davis, ‘A Silent Minority?’; Evans, ‘Touching from a Distance’. 167. On the meeting of parliamentarians in Bonn, planned for September 1982 but then cancelled, see CPA, IDU 25/1; on the second and third parliamentarian meetings, in London 18–19 November 1985, and in Bonn 15–16 October 1986, see 42/1; see also the informative autobiographies: Hunt, ‘Unser Cadenabbia’; Lammert, ‘Cadenabbia’. 168. See pp. 154–79. 169. CPA, COB 64/2, Peter Smithers, 19.9.1958 [address to the CDU Federal Party Conference 1958]; for a German version, see Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 39. 170. See ibid., 108. 171. See CPA, COB 64/2, Peter Smithers, CDU Annual Conference, Kiel, 21.–28.9.1958. 172. See ibid. 132/1, Gerhard Schröder to D.P. Crossman, 9.10.1969. 173. Katzer, ‘Christlich-sozial in unserer Zeit’, 1960, 62. 174. ‘Christliche Demokraten ohne Zukunft?’, 1963. 175. See only ACDP, Dokumentation, Parlamentarisch-Politischer Pressedienst, 29.7.1963. 176. Bundesparteitag der CDU 1964, 56. 177. CPA, COB 88/2, [Patrick Wall,] Visit to 12th CDU Conference, Hanover, March 1964. 178. ACDP, 07-001-12095, R.D. Milne to Jean Seitlinger, 29.1.1964, enclosed: letter of the British Conservative Party to the Conservative parties of Scandinavia, 29.1.1964. 179. ACDP, 07-001-11226, [Edward Heath] to Mariano Rumor, 4.7.1966, enclosed: [Edward Heath] to Aldo Moro, n.d. 180. See CPA, IDU 30/1, Il Partiti CD e l’Europa, in: Il Popolo, 8.11.1967. 181. Ibid., Evelyn Emmet to Leo Tindemans, 15.11.1967; also in: ACDP, 07-001-11226. 182. ACDP, NL Bruno Heck, I 022 101/2, Mariano Rumor to Bruno Heck, 2.4.1966. 183. For the Dutch side, see van Kessel, ‘Ruggen recht, heren!’ 184. See ACDP, 07-001-12095, Konrad Kraske to Martin Rosenberg, 10.12.1963. 185. See the analysis in CPA, IDU 30/1, EUCD situation, 24.5.1966; on the politics of apertura a sinistra of Democrazia Italiana, see the overview in Woller, Geschichte Italiens, 269–323, and Giovagnoli, Il Partito Italiano, 1996; on the difficult relationship between CDU and Democrazia Italiana, see Masala, ‘Die CDU und die Democrazia Cristiana Italiana’. 186. Hahn, ‘Die geistigen Grundlagen’, 1961, 602. 187. See Lücker and Hahn, Christliche Demokraten bauen Europa; Hahn, ‘Konsequent durchgehaltene politische Grundpositionen’, 1990. 188. See Hahn, ‘Die Haltung der christdemokratischen Parteien’, 1964, 659. 189. CPA, CCO 20/32/1, Meeting on links with like-minded parties in Europe, 10.12.1962. 190. See Bodleian Library, Emmet Papers, MS. Eng. hist. c. 1058, fols 15–28, Report by Lady Emmet, Annual Conference of the European Union of Christian-Democrats, Taormina, 9.–12.12.1965: ‘One felt that we were non-existent, and that Europe was going to be built entirely by the CD parties. … It is humiliating to realise that in this milieu we are of no account; but it must be faced as a fact’. 191. CPA, CCO 20/15/3, R.D. M[ilne], Report: First European Conservative/ChristianDemocrat Conference, Karlsruhe, 27.–28.4.1967, 2.5.1967.

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192. CPA, IDU 30/2, European Christian-Democrat and Conservative Inter-Party Conference, Hernstein nr. Vienna, 21.–23.5.1971. 193. See ibid. 30/1, Conservative/CDU Relations, 4.10.1967. 194. ‘The Left Moves to the Centre’, 1966. 195. CPA, CCO 20/15/3, Conservative Overseas Bureau Committee, 23.11.1966, item 2B. 196. Ibid., IDU 30/2, Parties of the Centre-Right, Third European Inter-Party Consultative Conference, Maidenhead, 16.–18.5.1969. 197. ACDP, 07-001-11226, Möglichkeiten besserer Zusammenarbeit der christlich-demokratischen und konservativen Parteien Westeuropas, Helmuth Pütz, 17.11.1970. 198. See ‘Warten bis die SPD sich verschlissen hat?’, 1973. See pp. 275–76. 199. On his activity at the Königswinter conferences: Uhlig, Die Deutsch-Englische Gesellschaft, 61–64, 87–88. 200. Hassel, ‘The Swinton Lecture 1972’, 20. 201. CDU-Bundesgeschäftsstelle, 24. Bundesparteitag der CDU, Hannover 24.–26. Juni 1976, 156. 202. See Conservative Central Office, Conservative Party Conference Blackpool 1973, 96–99. 203. See CPA, IDU 28/1, Heinrich Böx to Michael Fraser, 8.7.1974. 204. See ibid., William Stephens to Diana Elles, 29.8.1974; the book concerned is most likely: Asmussen and Voss, Die europäischen Parteien der Mitte, 1978. 205. On the history of direct elections, see Mittag, 30 Jahre Direktwahlen. 206. See Speich, Kai-Uwe von Hassel, 452; on the Dutch Christian Democrats, see van Kessel, ‘Ruggen recht, heren!’; a summary of the reasons is in Meyer, ‘Die christlichdemokratische Fraktion’, 42–43. 207. CPA, IDU 30/3, The Problems of Inter-Party Links for the Conservative Party, 8.8.1975. 208. Ibid., Party Leaders’ Conference, Klesheim [sic] Palace, Salzburg, 8.–9.9.1975. On Whitelaw’s pro-European stance, see Whitelaw, The Whitelaw Memoirs, 1998, 74. 209. See Jansen, ‘Die Europäische Volkspartei (EVP)’, 469–73. 210. CAC, THCR 2/6/1/108, Party Leaders’ Conference, Klesheim Palace, Salzburg, 8.–9.9.1975. 211. See e.g. Speich, Kai-Uwe von Hassel, 454. 212. See Jansen, Die Entstehung einer Europäischen Partei, 471–73. 213. See e.g. Conservative Central Office, Conservative Party Conference 1975, 112. Scott Hamilton: ‘… we are inclined to be a bit suspicious of political parties who sport religious titles, since in our experience, politics and religion have not been such close companions’. 214. The concept of democracy was also proposed for the name of the planned parliamentary group of Christian Democrats and Conservatives in the European Parliament; see CAP, CCO 508/5/3, European Conservative Group, Study Days, Copenhagen, 9.–11.9.1975. 215. Conservative Central Office, Conservative Party Conference 1975, 112. 216. CAC, THCR 2/6/1/23, Diana Elles, Notes on a Meeting of Christian Democrat and Conservative Parties, London, 12.–13.2.1976, 14.2.1976. 217. See pp. 75–77. 218. See CAC, THCR 2/6/1/23, Adam Butler to Margaret Thatcher, 8.2.1977.

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219. See ACSP, CSA 66/1, Vorstandssitzung der EUCDA, Brüssel, 31.8.1978; Alois Mock to Hans Katzer, 2.5.1978; Aktenvermerk für den Landesvorsitzenden der CSA, Herrn Staatsminister Dr. Fritz Pirkl, 17.1.1978; NL Strauß, PV: 12965, Hans Katzer to Franz Josef Strauß, 9.6.1978, therein: Hans Katzer to Leo Tindemans, 30.5.1978; Franz Josef Strauß to Hans Katzer, 17.7.1978; on the programmatic discussions within the EPP, see Karnofsky, Parteienbünde, 197–99. 220. ACSP, LGF – V 31.5.1976, Niederschrift über die Landesvorstandssitzung der CSU, 31.5.1976, 37. 221. See Kaiser, ‘Europeanization of Christian Democracy?’, 24–25; Urigüen, Networking; ‘Kreuth international’, 1977; see also the discussion of the CSU Board on the CSU’s foreign endeavours in April 1976, ACSP, LGF – V 5.4.1976, Niederschrift über die Landesvorstandssitzung der CSU, 5.4.1976. On Portugal, see Stenger, Transnationale Parteienzusammenarbeit. 222. See Speich, Kai-Uwe von Hassel, 467. 223. See e.g. the heavy squabbles over the chair of the EDU subcommittee on European Structures, documented in: ACSP, NL Strauß, Büro PV: 12452. 224. Ibid., Sammlungen EDU, Pressemitteilung, EDU, CSU-Vorsitzender Franz Josef Strauß: EDU muss geistige Auseinandersetzung um Kollektivismus und Individualismus innerhalb der Demokratie führen, n.d. [1978]. 225. CAC, THCR, 2/6/1/21, EDU, Minutes of the Second Party Leaders’ Conference of EDU, London 20.–21.6.1979. 226. ACSP, NL Strauß, Büro PV: 12972, Erklärung des bayerischen Ministerpräsidenten Franz Josef Strauß auf der Tagung der Parteivorsitzenden der EDU in London, 20.7.1979. 227. See MTFW 103663, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to European Democratic Union, 24.4.1978. 228. Weizsäcker, Vier Zeiten, 1997, 245. 229. See Johansson, ‘Party Elites in Multilevel Europe’. 230. On the formation of the parliamentary groups in the European Parliament, see Wagner, ‘The Right in the European Parliament’; on the formation of the EPP, see Johansson, Transnational Party Alliances; Lynch and Whitaker, ‘A Loveless Marriage’; Steuwer and Janssen, ‘Die christlich-konservative Volkspartei’. 231. CAC, THCR, 2/6/1/21, Margaret Thatcher to Helmut Kohl, 9.7.1976. 232. Ibid., 2/6/1/128, Helmut Kohl to Margaret Thatcher, 13.10.1976. 233. MTFW 103034, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Christian Democratic Conference, 25.5.1976. 234. CAC, THCR, 5/1/2/73, Speech to CDU conference 1976, The Ending in German. 235. CPA, IDU 28/2, Tom Normanton to John Peel, 17.6.1976. 236. See Dörr, ‘Eurokommunismus’; Dörr, ‘Die Auseinandersetzungen’; Pons, ‘The Rise and Fall of Eurocommunism’. 237. CAC, THCR, 2/6/1/21, Helmut Kohl to Margaret Thatcher, 21.7.1976. 238. MTFW 103034, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Christian Democratic Conference, 25.5.1976; very similarly Thatcher, ‘Europa: Wie ich es sehe’, 1978. 239. Ibid., 1978, 11. 240. CAC, THCR 2/6/1/21, Margaret Thatcher to Helmut Kohl, 9.7.1976. 241. ACSP, NL Strauß, Büro PV: 12970, Franz Josef Strauß to Margaret Thatcher, 4.5.1979; see also Strauß, ‘Europas historischer Auftrag’, 1977.

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242. CPA, COB 64/2, Peter Smithers, 19.9.1958 [address to the CDU Federal Party Conference 1958]; for a German version see Bundesparteitag der CDU 1958, 39. 243. On the influence of the Cold War on political languages, see Steinmetz, Political Languages. 244. For a rhetorical analysis of the Cold War, see Medhurst et al., Cold War Rhetoric; Chilton, Security Metaphors. 245. See Gassert, Geiger and Wentker, Zweiter Kalter Krieg. 246. See Gassert, ‘Viel Lärm um Nichts?’; Heuser and Stoddart, ‘Großbritannien zwischen Doppelbeschluss’. 247. ‘Europäische Volkspartei’, 1978, 185; for a (contemporary) analysis, see Karnofsky, Parteienbünde, 191–229. 248. Kohl, ‘Perspektiven einer Europapolitik’, 1977, 29, 36. 249. See Dörr, ‘Die Auseinandersetzungen’, 224–28. 250. See p. 384. 251. CPA, IDU 30/3, Inter-Party Conference 1974, 19.5.1974. 252. CAC, THCR, 2/6/1/23, Margaret Thatcher to Josef Taus, 26.4.1978. 253. ACSP, Sammlungen EDU, Europäische Demokratische Union, Eurokommunismus, beschlossen am 20. Juli 1979, EDU Bulletin 5, Wien [1979]. 254. Ibid., Europäische Demokratische Union, Die Europäische Linke, beschlossen am 11. Juli 1980, EDU Bulletin 10, Wien [1980]. 255. Ibid., Europäische Demokratische Union, Europäische Strukturen, Europäische Politik, beschlossen am 20. Juli 1979, EDU Bulletin 3, Wien [1979]. 256. CAC, THCR, 2/6/1/23, Kurt Biedenkopf, Address before the General Assembly of the European Union of Women, August 1977. 257. ACSP, Sammlungen EDU, EDU-Tagung, 24.4.1978, CDU-Vorsitzender Helmut Kohl, Im Dienste der europäischen Bürger. 258. CPA, IDU 28/5, Sandy Walker to Mr Patten et al., 2.2.1979. 259. See ACSP, Sammlungen EDU, Erklärung der Arbeitsgemeinschaft Christdemokratischer, Konservativer und anderer verwandter Parteien (Europäische Demokratische Union), 24.2.1978. 260. Ibid., Europäische Demokratische Union, Die Europäische Linke, beschlossen am 11. Juli 1980, EDU Bulletin 10, Wien [1980]. 261. See Joseph, Why Britain Needs a Social Market Economy, 1975. 262. MTFW 111905, Centre for Policy Studies Management prospectus, 1.10.1974. 263. See ibid. 114760, Sir Keith Joseph note (‘The Erhard Foundation’), 21.3.1974. 264. See ACDP, 07-001-11479, CDU Pressemitteilung, 12.2.1975. 265. See ibid., Kurt Biedenkopf to Keith Joseph, 13.4.1976. 266. See e.g. MTFW 103736, Margaret Thatcher, House of Commons Speech, 28.7.1978; 111771, Stepping Stones Report, 14.11.1977; 111962, Minutes of CPS management board meeting, 14.12.1978. 267. See CPA, THCR 2/6/1/23, Diana Elles, Note on a Meeting of Christian Democrat and Conservative Parties, London, 12.–13.2.1976, 14.2.1976. 268. See ACSP, Sammlungen EDU, Erklärung der Arbeitsgemeinschaft Christdemokratischer, Konservativer und anderer verwandter Parteien (Europäische Demokratische Union), 24.2.1978. 269. Steinmetz, ‘Vierzig Jahre Begriffsgeschichte’, 197.

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270. ACSP, Sammlungen EDU, Europäische Demokratische Union, Europäische Strukturen, Europäische Politik, beschlossen am 20. Juli 1979, EDU Bulletin 3, Wien [1979]. 271. CAC, THCR, 2/6/1/21, Second Party Leaders’ Conference of EDU, 20.–21.7.1979, London, attachment 4: Statement of the elected Chairman, Dr Alois Mock. 272. CPA, IDU 30/3, Memorandum on Party Leaders’ conference, Kleßheim Palace, Salzburg, 8.–9.9.1975. 273. See ‘Europäische Volkspartei’, 1978, 185, 213–17. 274. ACSP, Sammlungen EDU, Erklärung der Arbeitsgemeinschaft Christdemokratischer, Konservativer und anderer verwandter Parteien (Europäische Demokratische Union), 24.2.1978. 275. CAC, THRC 2/6/1/75, The European Democrat Union, 21.9.1977; on the question of federalism, see also Thatcher, ‘England und die EG’, 1977, esp. 178–79. 276. ACSP, Sammlungen EDU, Margaret Thatcher, Ein Bündnis für die Freiheit, 24.4.1978. 277. See Dyson and Featherstone, The Road to Maastricht. 278. See e.g. Moore, Margaret Thatcher, Vol. 2, 406–8; Patterson, The Conservative Party and Europe, 129–38; in a broader context: Gowland and Turner, Reluctant Europeans, 102–8; Wall, A Stranger in Europe, 62–86. 279. See e.g. Hansard, HC Deb 26 May 1988 vol. 134 cc536-600, here 548, George Robertson; Office of Official Publications of the European Communities, Official Journal of the European Communities, 8.7.1986, 64, Alf Lomas (Labour Party); Palmer, ‘Why Europe Seems a Faraway Place’; Palmer, ‘Reading Europe’s Tea Leaves’, 1987; Palmer, ‘Look Out, the Europeans Are Coming’, 1988. 280. See Schwarz, Helmut Kohl, 397–419; Wirsching, Abschied vom Provisorium, 513–44; Moore, Margaret Thatcher, Vol. 2, 377–408; Vinen, Thatcher’s Britain, 230–48. 281. See Moore, Margaret Thatcher, Vol. 2, 22; Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, 1993, 257; Kohl, Erinnerungen, 1990–1994, 58–59. 282. Schwarz, Helmut Kohl, 420. 283. See Rödder, Deutschland einig Vaterland, esp. 156–63. 284. See Buchstab and Kleinmann, Helmut Kohl, 1982, 7–8. 285. Helmut Kohl before the CDU/CSU Bundestag parliamentary group, 5 September 1988, cited in: Wirsching, ‘“Neoliberalismus”’, 141. 286. Schwarz, Helmut Kohl, 338–39, 486. 287. See pp. 388–89. Nigel Lawson and Gerhard Stoltenberg were connected by a long trusting relationship, worthy of closer study; see Lawson, The View from No. 11, 274–75. 288. See Wellings, ‘Losing the Peace’. 289. See Cooper, Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan; Aldous, Reagan and Thatcher. 290. See Grob-Fitzgibbon, Continental Drift, 439–43; on the connection between imperial nostalgia and Euroscepticism, see Wellings, ‘European Integration’; Wellings, English Nationalism and Euroscepticism. 291. Cited in Grob-Fitzgibbon, Continental Drift, 429. 292. See e.g. MTFW 107332, Speech to the College of Europe, 20.9.1988; 107663, Margaret Thatcher, Speech to Scottish Conservative Conference, 12.5.1989; on Thatcher’s anti-European turn, see Vinen, Thatcher’s Britain, 230–48. 293. MTFW 107332, Speech to the College of Europe, 20.9.1988. 294. See Wirsching, Der Preis der Freiheit.

Conclusion

? The path to history is a linguistic path, it leads straight through the language. The present volume has shown that this applies in particular to the history of conservatism – and, in fact, that the history of conservatism can only be grasped if we trace its language. The concept of conservatism in the Federal Republic of Germany and in the United Kingdom between 1945 and the early 1980s formed the centre of this comparative study, and thus a basic concept in the political vocabulary of European modernity. It revealed how substantial the differences in meaning were among seemingly similar concepts in the national languages in question. History left behind clear traces in these concepts. The concept of conservatism was firmly established in the British political vocabulary. The Conservative Party bore it in its name and sought to control the discursive space within which its meaning was negotiated. The semantic network surrounding the concept contained a large number of conceptual elements that had accrued since its integration into the language in Britain around 1830. Its layers of meaning were consequently most diverse. They were conserved in a body of writings, speeches, aphorisms and statements. These texts could be put to use as required, while it was common to isolate individual concepts or sentences from their context and apply them to the present day. The debates within the Conservative Party were marked by this type of linguistic recall, which allowed for the construction of lines of tradition, and made it possible to interpret current political plans as the expression of eternal conservative values. The structural principle of repetition and application to the present was so deeply anchored in the political languages of conservatism because it matched its temporal structure: the conservative principle of conservation was itself realized in the language. Conservatives guarded their concepts this way as well. This application of language to the present was an effective method used in conflicts within the party to connect the meaning of the concept of conservatism with the desired direction, and to define its boundaries. At the same time, this restricted the semantic development of the concept as new concepts were needed to fit

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into the semantic networks in order to be considered ‘conservative’. Their meanings were qualified in this way. The development of the concept in the discursive space provided by the Conservative Party was equally driven by a reckoning with concepts viewed as attributions on the part of political opponents. The definitional distancing from the concept of the reactionary unfolded in this context, as did the rejection of the unqualified labelling of Thatcherism as ‘liberal’, which implied that the party was no longer to be viewed as conservative under Thatcher. The multifaceted layers of meaning of the concept of conservatism promoted the formation of different camps within the party, with only those seen as dyed-in-the-wool advocates of ‘true’ conservatism having any chance of success. The formation of party wings was thus connected with fierce conceptual disputes. Furthermore, the variation in meaning, linked to the application of historical conceptual elements to the present day, buoyed the idea of British exceptionalism, as the semantic reservoir derived exclusively from the British context. British conservatism appeared as a defining element of national history, practically as an expression of Britishness. The majority of German interpreters of conservatism, by contrast, sought to distance themselves strongly from the national tradition of conservatism. The layers of meaning that had accrued in the German concept of conservatism were not acceptable to the West German democracy. The conservatisms of established democracies provided alternatives, so the eyes of all those who sought a renewal of conservatism turned in particular towards both Britain and Switzerland. The 1950s in West Germany were characterized by a cautious search for a democratic concept of conservatism, in which semantic networks were reconfigured, traditional conceptual elements were negotiated, and debates were held over new attributions of meaning. Two variants of the concept of conservatism crystalized towards the end of the decade and would remain dominant in the course of the following decades: a liberal variant and a variant of the Right. The representatives of the liberal concept of conservatism distanced themselves from any anti-liberal or anti-democratic meanings, which the right-wing concept of conservatism emphasized all the more strongly, deliberately applying conceptual elements of the Weimar New Right. This polarization prevented the concept of conservatism from becoming anchored in the doubtlessly accepted vocabulary of the Federal Republic. It remained a concept unto itself, in an intermediary space between the vocabulary of democracy and that which was viewed as unacceptable and therefore unsayable. It thus spanned a range of meaning that rendered it relatively fluid and open to attributions of meaning. While the Conservative Party in Britain attempted to control this semantic development and was in fact able to monopolize the concept to a degree, the concept floated relatively freely within the political discourse space in West Germany. The contention over the concept

428 | Conclusion

of conservatism intensified considerably after 1968, with both the liberal and right-wing variants being more fully defined, and the corresponding semantic networks being consolidated. The concept was also adopted by the environmental movement with a left-wing variant also emerging in that context, dynamizing the pluralization of its semantic horizons even further. Its bipolar nature was, at the same time, radically reduced by the political Left, who restricted the concept to the right-wing variant. Despite concerted intellectual efforts, the concept of conservatism could not be separated from its anti-liberal and anti-democratic semantic horizons in the 1970s. It remained within the intermediary space of West German political language. Conservatism numbered among the -isms, or movement concepts, that emerged during the threshold period. Its horizon of expectation radically collapsed after 1945. The exploratory movements of the 1950s as well as the intensive debates of the 1970s ultimately worked towards the formation of a new horizon of expectation. The fact that the concept numbered among the -isms, rendered it suspicious after 1945, especially among conservatives, who appeared convinced that a flight from reality towards abstractions and utopias was responsible for the German catastrophe. For that reason as well, the concept was rarely used as a means of self-description; and when it was, it was used in its adjectival form, conservative, which avoided the -ism formation. This applied as well to the German form Konservativismus, which connected to the adjective and was rarely used after 1945. The import of conservatism from the Englishspeaking world in the form of Konservatismus not only exuded the charm of new beginnings and connoted a distance from German tradition, but it also relativized the German -ism form that was derived from the adjective. While the Conservative Party in Britain identified with the concept of conservatism and was practically symbiotically linked to it, German parties shied away from its unconditional adoption. Only the German Party attempted to use conservatism as an exclusive concept of self-description in the 1950s. While the CDU and CSU, in their early years, had incorporated it into their conceptual inventory in order to satisfy those groups in the party that felt connected to a conservative and mostly Protestant tradition, it remained secondary as a concept of self-description. It was increasingly adopted in the Catholic vocabularies of the Union parties, beginning in the late 1950s. The growing acceptance of the concept, which went hand in hand with a tendency towards liberalization, came to an abrupt halt when the student movement and the New Left placed it in close proximity to fascism and when, in the 1970s, a strengthened intellectual New Right adopted the concept more exclusively than had previously been the case. The SPD also used it as a counterconcept to progressive in order to depict the Union as completely outdated. The bipolar nature of the concept turned it into an exceptional challenge for the Union parties during the 1970s. The CDU distanced itself from the concept, even if individual politicians and intellectuals

Conclusion | 429

pointed to its liberal potential and sought to promote it further. The efforts, aimed at the Union, made by consensus-liberal intellectuals for a redefinition of the concept, also went unheeded. By contrast, the CSU, under Franz Josef Strauß, aggressively adopted the concept of conservatism as a means of describing its variety of Christian Democratic or Christian Social politics, with which it went on a course of confrontation with its sister party. The relationship of the CDU with its most difficult concept of self-description did not make this any easier, instead adding further fuel to the formation of party factions. The CDU and CSU resorted to the concept of the centre in order to circumvent their semantic predicaments. The difficulties that the Union had with the concept of conservatism also derived from the broad discursive space in which the struggle over the semantic horizons of the concept unfolded. While the Conservative Party was able to define the discursive space with a clear-cut framework, within which even intellectual debates were carried out, this was beyond the control of the Union parties in West Germany. Even the debates over the concept in the media and by journalists were closely interwoven with the party and its wings in the United Kingdom. Moreover, West German intellectuals in the 1950s and 1970s participated intensively in the discourse over conservatism, while the concept was interpreted and defended by the Right practically as an intellectual arcanum. Sharp divisions arose from differences regarding conservatism in the Federal Republic, and the debate was carried out with particular acerbity by the various political camps, as the outlook of West German democracy itself was being negotiated with reference to the concept. The role of intellectuals was defined differently in West Germany than in the United Kingdom: they were active in close proximity to the political arena, viewed it as their task to protect West German democracy – and, as in the case of Armin Mohler, to revise it as well.1 This also explains the mobilization of the consensus-liberal intellectuals around 1968, who believed themselves to be facing challenges deriving from the student movement and the New Left. They deliberately appropriated the concept of conservatism for themselves and sought to redefine it in liberal terms. They viewed themselves as guardians of those concepts that sustained the Bonn Republic and that needed to be protected from manipulation by the Left. Intellectuals also sought to make use of the mass press, both in West Germany and in Britain. The pluralization of the media landscape contributed to the pluralization of the discourse and the semantic enrichment of the concept of conservatism.2 Writers and journalists indeed became involved when the semantic horizon of the concept was called into question. They played an important role in the formulation of the concept of conservatism in Thatcherism, when market-liberal voices were calling upon the Conservative Party to change its course in the major newspapers of the day. Journalists became involved in the debate over conservatism and democratic theory in the commentary columns

430 | Conclusion

of German newspapers as well. The Conservative Party attempted to limit this plurality of meaning, especially as Thatcher sought conceptual clarity and unambiguity, whereas in West Germany the plurality continually fuelled the free-floating debate over conservatism, forcing those who took part in the discourse to continue to narrow things down to highlight their own interpretations of conservatism in contrast to other variants. The German–British comparison shows that the character of the discursive space had a considerable influence over the development of any concept. The British concept of conservatism tied together the political languages of conservatism – and those who were conservative generally described themselves as such. The political languages of conservatism in Britain were based, moreover, on the same morphology, formed of four structural principles: the principle of temporality, the principle of balance and synthesis, the principle of forming opposites and the principle of repetition and application to the present. The political languages of conservatism thus took on contours in connection with their semantic networks. The present book was able to demonstrate that the political languages spoken in the Union parties were ordered according to the same structural principles, and that liberal interpreters of conservatism made use of them. In contrast with Britain, the concept of conservatism was not available to the West German political languages of conservatism as a term of self-reference. The liberalization of the political languages of conservatism went unrecognized in West Germany, because it could not be distilled into a concept. Instead, the meaning of the concept of conservatism began to shift to the Right in the 1970s – and the strategy of the New Right in the ‘conceptual struggle’ proved a success. Their occupation of the concept of conservatism covered up the ideological fundaments that provided the basis for the intellectual New Right. The concept of conservatism served them as camouflage, and opened up the doors to middle-class society. These semantic problems were recognized, named and thus neutralized within the transnational discursive space that the cooperation between the CDU/ CSU and the Conservative Party had created. One absolute prerequisite for the success of the European conversation was a willingness for linguistic reflection and an awareness of the historical development of one’s own native tongue. Conceptual and semantic transfers then became possible, but they could only be effective in the long run if they could be integrated into the existing semantic networks and semantic horizons of the concepts in question. The European conversation could, however, also be abruptly interrupted if the semantic horizons of the political concepts proved to be incompatible and if there was a lack of willingness to set aside historically emerging discrepancies and to come to a modus vivendi. The inability of the Centre-Right parties in Europe to find a common conceptual denominator is a prime example for this.

Conclusion | 431

The 1970s were a particularly intensive period of cooperation among the CDU, CSU and the Conservative Party, at a time when all three parties were in the midst of a process of programmatic reform. It was no coincidence that the concept of freedom emerged as a unifying bond in their cooperation. While the anti-socialist creed manifested within the concept, unifying the parties after 1945, and drawing them closer together in view of the further strengthening of the Left in the 1970s, the concept also reflected the move towards liberalization, which affected all three parties in the 1970s, with central concepts of their political languages converging.3 The Centre-Right alliance in Europe, which resulted in the founding of the EDU, was a part of this development. The common anti-socialist front, however, covered up the differences that continued to exist between the parties and the political languages they spoke. The liberalization of the political languages of conservatism in West Germany and Britain each had its own characteristic centre: one economic and the other in democratic theory. The semantic networks were thus differently composed. As we have seen, furthermore, the structural principle of forming opposites came to the fore in the political language of the Conservative Party under Thatcher, while the structural principle of balance and synthesis was pushed into the background and recodified. A clear anti-socialist alternative was formulated here, with the CSU following this course as well. In the political language of the CDU, by contrast, the structural principle of balance and synthesis continued to play a major role, allowing for the divergent party wings to be integrated, the principle closely connected to the party’s self-image as a Volkspartei. These divergent developments, for which the foundations were laid in the 1970s, led to the political languages of the Union parties and the Conservative Party again being clearly distinct from one another from the 1980s. The governmental responsibility that they then held, and their differing concepts for European politics, further propelled these forces. Did Christian Democracy therefore come to an end in 1970s West Germany? Surely not. But the impetus towards liberalization that characterized the decade in Christian Democratic history did provide for the recodification of the political language of the CDU and CSU. This allowed for their Christian concepts to not entirely lose their theological semantic horizons, even as they were pushed into the background. Concepts such as partnership, the person, order and value could be placed in a Christian context and in theologically inspired semantic networks but could also be understood and used in a purely secular manner. In the Conservative Party, this process had already progressed considerably in the 1950s and was again revised to a degree in Thatcherism during the 1970s – even as the Christian vocabulary was fused with liberal market semantics and primarily dominated those semantic networks that unfolded around the concept of morality.

432 | Conclusion

The concept of Christianity played a much more important role in the Union, even in the secular 1970s, than it did in the Conservative Party. Parallel to conservative in Britain, Christian functioned here as a primary self-descriptive concept, which explains its cohesive power. It maintained the anti-totalitarian founding impulse of the two parties from 1945, recalled the integrative moment of the people’s party across denominations and classes, and symbolized the democratic new beginning following the end of the Nazi regime. It also connected the basic principles of the Union parties: a dedication to democracy and social balance, the belief in a transcendent power, anti-ideological, anti-utopian convictions and a trust in a pragmatic political style, oriented towards reality, as well as the need for European integration. The concept connected the political languages spoken in the different wings of the Union parties, and provided them with direction. The secularization and liberalization processes that had been ongoing since the early 1960s by no means meant the end of Christian Democracy;4 they instead led more to its transformation.5 In the case of Germany, the impetus towards liberalization was furthered considerably by the interdenominational nature of the Union parties. In this regard, the CDU and CSU moved closer to the North European Conservatives and further away from those Christian Democratic parties in Europe, which, due to their predominant Catholic background, followed a path that was more socialist than liberal in their approach to processes of secularization. The thesis of the absolute irreconcilability of continental Christian Democracy and North European conservatism, which has been posited in a large number of places and contexts, particularly in the historiography of Europe, is thus untenable when viewed in this context.6 Not only did the secularization and liberalization processes in Christian Democracy have a European dimension, but the reform process of the British Conservatives did as well. Thatcherism in the 1970s had a European face as well as transatlantic qualities. Any interpretation that reduces its ideological profile to the influence of American neoliberalism can in no way do justice to its complexity.7 In their search for economic-political models, the British Conservatives close to Thatcher, convinced of the necessity of a sharp change in course, turned their eyes to Germany and the social market economy. Their close cooperation with the CDU served both parties, enabling an exchange of ideas during the revision of their programmes. A common conceptual and ideological umbrella was provided by the anti-socialist front they organized in Europe under the banner of freedom. The European dimension of early Thatcherism was later erased from its self-narratives as it no longer fitted into the image of Margaret Thatcher as a fighter against a European project of integration that was supposedly infested by socialism. This was how she would enter into the historical narrative.

Conclusion | 433

This study has paid particular attention to the structural principle of temporality in the morphology of the political languages of conservatism, which was of particular importance from the 1950s to the 1970s as the societies’ complete orientation towards the future challenged the conservative principle of a balance of temporal dimensions. The idea, in particular, of controlling the future through forward-looking planning – steering the future from the present – also proved fascinating to conservatives, despite also being connected to the suspicion of utopianism. Whereas the Conservative Party of the 1950s and 1960s did indeed strongly shift the weight of the temporal dimensions of the concept of conservatism towards the future, the CDU and CSU remained sceptical and held to the principle of continual temporality, which they justified as anti-socialist and Christian. When expectations for the future abruptly fell apart in the 1970s, and the horizon of expectations spectacularly collapsed, which in Britain was connected with the Heath government’s ideas on conservatism, this opened the doors to the alternative critical views put forward within the party, which were characterized by a reconfiguration of the temporal dimensions.8 The orientation towards the future was reversed, the open-endedness of that orientation was stressed, and the principle of the continuity of temporal dimensions was underscored. That this connected with the general loss of certainty in society about the future, in a decade felt to be marked by crisis, also serves to explain the attractiveness of Thatcherism, which promised new confidence. The talk of the ‘end of confidence’ captures a mood that was widespread in the 1970s, if perhaps not ubiquitous.9 The Conservatives in the UK as well as in West Germany were willing to make use of the ‘crisis as an opportunity’.10 In West Germany, by contrast, the future horizons of the CDU and CSU did not come crashing down as precipitously as was the case in the United Kingdom of 1973 and 1974. The parties had, however, been having an internal crisis discourse since the mid-1960s, which called for the reformulation of a future horizon and which ultimately led to a fundamental revision of its programme in 1969 and 1972 in particular. The structural principle of continual temporality left its mark on this as well, helping the Union, not unlike Thatcherism in Britain, to attain credibility in a situation in which the growth paradigm was radically challenged. The Union was able to offer alternative models of qualitative growth, which did not condemn growth on principle but codified it as an open evolutionary process.11 The concept of generational justice, which was championed by Heiner Geißler, was also a response to the crisis of temporality in 1970s West Germany. Inasmuch as they remained committed to liberal principles, this recodification of temporality was accompanied by intellectual attempts at redefining conservatism, although by no means uniformly so. The New Right, by contrast, championed revolutionary models of temporality so that the future only seemed possible through a revolutionary upheaval of the present and a partial eradication of the past – and

434 | Conclusion

thus only through a blatant violation of the conservative structural principle of temporality. The model presented by Michael Freeden of conservatism as a relatively open and fluid language structure, with many variants and defined by a specific morphology, has in fact made it possible to contend with the ‘cliff of semantic nominalism’12 in a historical-semantic comparison. The suspicion that Freeden’s description of conservative morphology was in need of revision was confirmed in the source-based analysis. This book proposes alternative criteria. The morphological principles that structure the political languages of conservatism in connection with their semantic networks have been mentioned above and need not be repeated here. There is, however, something further to underline: the analytical description of conservatism featuring its themes and content, as carried out by most interpreters of conservatism, must inevitably reach its limits if its linguistic peculiarities are not continually reflected. Conservative thought was principally passed on through language. There were no internationally recognized, ‘canonized’ texts that defined conservatism – with the possible exception of Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France, while even that was not accepted by everyone as canonical. The morphological structural principles and a range of key concepts therefore took on such particular significance. Concepts such as authority, the state, family, the person or the individual, nation, partnership, moderation, centre and reform were strung together in the self-descriptions of conservatives like a chain of pearls. In this way, they were confirmed, passed on and placed in semantic networks. Every attempt to draw closer to conservatism through a list of themes and content repeats this mode of conservative self-description. This type of analytical model ultimately runs the risk of being caught in the structures of conservative language. The use of conservatism as a historiographic concept proves to be as difficult as its history. Freeden’s model opens up a path to pursue the phenomenon without repeating the linguistic structure of conservatism. This study has shown that it is only possible to speak of conservatism in the singular if its wealth of variants is assumed from the start. What does the comparison of British and West German political languages of conservatism now teach us about the history of the basic concepts of the twentieth century? It shows us first of all, quite simply, how complex it was; it then reveals deep-seated differences between the national languages. Its scope, it must however be said, is limited by nature, as it can only take into account a small portion of the political vocabulary, with its focus placed on the concept of conservatism. The general conclusions therefore need to be provisional. The comparative study clearly illuminated the ties of the basic concepts of the second half of the twentieth century to those semantic horizons that had been accruing since the early nineteenth century. They were applied to the times, varied, forgotten, reactivated again, and recodified. This applies equally to Britain as to

Conclusion | 435

West Germany. The basic concepts of the second half of the twentieth century lingered in the horizon of modernity. The principles that Reinhart Koselleck defined for the threshold period characterized the conceptual development after 1945 as well: concepts were politicized (or depoliticized), could be ideologized (or de-ideologized), they were democratized and had a specific temporal structure that always held potential for the future. These principles varied in their importance from concept to concept, and period to period. In contrast with the threshold period, they were not exclusively processual in their impact during the second half of the twentieth century, but numbered among the underlying characteristics of basic political concepts. The principles had solidified. At the same time, however, the concepts were also changing, becoming fluid, as Christian Geulen established, with more ambiguity, integrated into new contexts and woven into new semantic networks.13 This ‘fluidity’ was not only apparent for ‘new concepts’, as Geulen saw it. The concept of conservatism is the best example for this also applying to the ‘old’ basic concepts of the threshold period. And this indeed had to be the case, as it reflected the semantic layers of numerous decades, which also grew rapidly through the mass media and progressing democratization of the twentieth century. In this German–British comparison, using the example of the concept of conservatism, we have seen what effects the multilayered nature of the semantic horizons evoked: attempts to control the semantic horizons, to bring about clarity and erase ambivalence, and the subsequent confrontative disputes over the concepts. Lübbe’s diagnosis of a ‘conceptual struggle’ was galvanized considerably by the fluidity of the basic concepts. There was a further cause for the proliferation of the semantic layers of basic concepts after 1945 that was of such great importance that it must be seen as a second developmental principle of the basic concepts of the era: the ongoing expansion of internationalization in the form of Europeanization and globalization, which added further semantic dimensions to the basic concepts in the different national languages through multilayered transfer processes. Political languages also emerged in international organizations and networks, which allowed for an understanding across different national languages, and in which individual, shared concepts played a central role. This was demonstrated here using the example of the cooperation between the Conservative Party and the CDU/ CSU. Basic political concepts thus received a further international dimension, which could have a subsequent effect on the concepts in the different languages. For the political vocabulary of West Germany, these processes of transnational conceptual transfer were of particular importance as part of the ‘Westernization’ of the political culture. We have seen how the liberalization of the concept of conservatism unfolded through an orientation towards ‘Western’ models. Transfers of this kind were often reflected in anglicisms, as Willibald Steinmetz pointed out.14 The anglicization of the political vocabulary was only one element

436 | Conclusion

within far-reaching processes of internationalization, albeit a particularly striking one. However, even in English-speaking countries such as the United Kingdom, the tendency towards the internationalization of political language was at work affecting political concepts, though rarely through direct imports but usually in the context of semantic enrichment, and thus more hidden and limited. Internationalization, in any event, contributed decisively to the reflexive development of the political language. Reflexivity in language use and its consequences, as Willibald Steinmetz underscored for the second half of the twentieth century,15 was nowhere as apparent as with regard to the West German concept of conservatism. It left a characteristic stamp on the political culture of the country by creating an intermediary level of political language in which concepts were negotiated that contained both anti-democratic and democratic potential. This linguistic reflexivity was driven by language criticism after 1945, and ensured a general awareness for the historicity of language. It therefore comes as little surprise that lexicographical conceptual history had its beginnings in the Federal Republic of Germany. At the same time, it sharpened the linguistic awareness of politicians on the international stage so that conceptual discrepancies could be recognized and negotiated. This reflexivity in language use was, by contrast, less common in Britain, and had little political significance there. Thatcherism would only politicize the language later, in the 1970s. The basic concepts of the West German vocabulary were hence doubly broken: both through the boundary drawn between what could be said in a democracy and what could not, and thus between semantic elements that could be activated and those that were consciously buried; and through the ongoing reflection on this boundary. Such boundaries hardly existed in Britain. The basic concepts of the British political language, by contrast, had such rich semantic potential that could readily be applied to the present day. This led to a focus on precisely these semantic horizons, which were all codified nationally. The basic concepts of the political language in the United Kingdom mostly remained within a national space of reference and contestation. The influence of other national variants of English, and American English in particular, which presumably grew in the course of the general internationalization of political language, would certainly be worthy of separate studies. No such transnational component among English-speaking countries could be established for the development of the concept of conservatism between 1945 and the early 1980s, though it may well have been much more significant for other basic concepts. Therefore, while the British concept of conservatism remained lodged within the national sphere, the doubly broken West German basic concepts led to an openness towards the integration of conceptual and semantic elements from other national languages, including the political languages of conservatism. From a historical-semantic perspective, the process of ‘Westernization’ can be viewed as a specific moment in the internationalization of basic concepts after 1945.16

Conclusion | 437

A re-formation of the political languages of conservatism can indeed be observed for the 1970s in both countries. Is there then a new threshold period to discover in the 1970s? Such an interpretation would be doubtful for the aforementioned reasons. The vocabulary of modernity did not transform within the span of one or two decades into a vocabulary of postmodernity or late modernity. Inasmuch as an evaluation is possible to date, it would seem that the transformation processes of the 1960s and 1970s do imply a reconfiguration of the political vocabulary, figuratively speaking, marking the apex of a wave of linguistic change that coursed through modernity. This language change was in fact a component of modernity and did not merely follow social, cultural, economic and political processes of transformation. It emerged within the horizon of modernity and thus within the framework of the potential that was entrenched in the language during the threshold period. The triggers for the change in the political languages of conservatism, as investigated here, were as similar in the United Kingdom and West Germany as they were different.17 Conservatives in both countries sought to conceptually capture the changed social and political situation, albeit with only limited expectations of success. The Left always seemed to be a step ahead and to be able to coin the concepts for the new era. The traditional semantic horizons of the conservative concepts lost their plausibility. The reformulation of the political languages of conservatism was, in both countries, a response to this loss of conceptual interpretative prerogative. The reform efforts under Heath were carried out with the hope of meeting this challenge in the United Kingdom of the 1960s; conservatism appeared to win the day in the language of forward-looking and pragmatic management. It was not until the striking collapse of the horizons of expectation in the mid-1970s that a comprehensive reformulation under Thatcher became possible. The Thatcherites availed themselves here of semantic elements from the nineteenth century, while also reactivating political concepts from the programmatic revision of the late 1940s and early 1950s. The advance of liberalization in the 1970s drew its impulses from the postwar semantic inventory. The year 1945 marked a language-historical turning point in the United Kingdom as well, if however triggered by other factors than those in Germany. Concepts from the socialist vocabulary were established in the political language of the United Kingdom with the reform programme of Clement Attlee’s Labour government, something that did not go unheeded by the Conservatives and could only be deflected through the employment of semantic policy. Thatcher’s anti-socialist counter-offer was part of this process. Any project that investigates the basic concepts of the twentieth century thus needs to take the historical-semantic watershed character of 1945 seriously, especially when it is a matter of defining general developmental principles of the basic concepts.

438 | Conclusion

The conservative conceptual struggles in West Germany during the 1960s and 1970s reflected a more expansive change in the political language, which began in the late 1950s and culminated in the 1970s. ‘1968’ is part of this broader framework, which serves to relativize its watershed character.18 The political language underwent a general liberalization trend, which emerged strongly and changed semantic inventories in the course of those two decades. The democratization of political language after 1945 was dynamized and, after more than a decade, led to a semantic recodification, which – as in Britain – remained bound to the semantic horizons that were evoked by the 1945 turning point. West Germany discovered its own language. The conservatives sought out concepts in this context that reflected the times but that also conserved the inventories of the past. They viewed themselves, in this sense, as guardians of the concepts. Reinhart Koselleck also numbered among these guardians of the concepts in the 1960s and 1970s.19 His lexicon of Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe (Basic historical concepts) reflects his efforts as such a guardian. He defined one of the tasks of the lexicon as being ‘semantic control over the use of [social and political] language today’. In his introduction to the lexicon, Koselleck wrote that the ‘exposure to experiences that once seemed distant and unfamiliar may sharpen consciousness of the present; such historical clarification may lead to a more enlightened political discourse’.20 However, in contrast to Wilhelm Hennis and Hans Maier, Koselleck knew that the meaning of basic concepts was by no means fixed and immutable but was subject to ongoing change. Concepts were a political instrument, and semantic development could be influenced discursively. The conceptual politics of the Right had led Germany to disaster. Applying past semantic elements to the present prevented another slide into dictatorship; raising the awareness of semantic alternatives ultimately safeguarded historical memory, plurality and discourse. The concepts of democracy were thus to be guarded in this manner – while conserving the catastrophic history as both warning and potential in an ‘intellectual pyramid’, as presented in Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe.21 The impulse to conserve the concepts was a conservative impulse. And this was no coincidence: conservative thought and action were passed down through language. Conservatism was constituted through the medium of language. This is the basis for the great sensitivity to language and language change that conservatives have always called their own. The path to the history of conservatism is a linguistic path; it leads straight through the language.

Notes | 439

Notes 1. On the role and self-understanding of intellectuals in West Germany and the United 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

Kingdom, see Kroll and Reitz, Intellektuelle in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland; Bavaj and Geppert, ‘Jenseits des “Elfenbeinturms”’; Collini, Absent Minds. For an overview of the methods, state of research and potential of media history, see Bösch and Vowinckel, ‘Mediengeschichte’. Johannes Großmann confirms this move towards liberalization also among conservative (European and transatlantic) elite circles in the 1970s; see the summary in Großmann, Die Internationale der Konservativen, 564–65. This thesis is presented e.g. by Caciagli, ‘Christian Democracy’. Conway, ‘The Age of Christian Democracy’, speaks of the transformation process; in connection with the history of democracy in Europe after 1945: Conway, ‘The Rise and Fall’. On this thesis, see e.g. Jansen, ‘The Dilemma for Christian Democracy’; Black, ‘The European Question’, 336. For such an interpretation, see e.g. Cockett, Thinking the Unthinkable; Plickert, Wandlungen des Neoliberalismus, 390–415; Tribe, ‘Liberalism and Neoliberalism in Britain’. On the interpretation of Thatcherism as a specific response to the crisis narrative of the 1970s, see Hall et al., ‘Living with the Crisis’; Saunders, ‘“Crisis? What Crisis?”’. See Jarausch, Das Ende der Zuversicht? See Bösch, ‘Die Krise als Chance’. See Seefried, Zukünfte; Graf, Oil and Sovereignty. Leonhard, ‘Von der Wortimitation zur semantischen Integration’, 45. Geulen, ‘Plädoyer’, 91. See Steinmetz, ‘Some Thoughts’, 100. See ibid., 99–100. On the concept, see Doering-Manteuffel, Wie westlich sind die Deutschen? On the connection between social and semantic change, see the model presented by Willibald Steinmetz: Steinmetz, ‘Vierzig Jahre Begriffsgeschichte’, 187–92. The thesis of the linguistic-historical watershed of ‘1968’ is especially presented in the field of linguistics; see Wengeler, ‘“1968” als sprachgeschichtliche Zäsur’. On Koselleck’s intellectual horizon, see esp. Olsen, History in the Plural; Mehring, ‘Begriffsgeschichte mit Carl Schmitt’. Koselleck, ‘Introduction’, 16. See Gumbrecht, ‘Pyramiden des Geistes’; answering Gumbrecht’s propositions: Steinmetz, ‘Vierzig Jahre Begriffsgeschichte’.

Glossary

? Abendlandbewegung

Occidental Movement

Arbeitsgemeinschaft katholischsozialer Bildungswerke

Working Group of Catholic-Social Educational Institutes

Auswärtiger Ausschuss des Bundestages

Bundestag Foreign Affairs Committee

Bergedorfer Gesprächskreis

Bergedorf Round Table

Bundesaußenminister

Federal Minister for Foreign Affairs

Bundesfinanzminister

Federal Minister of Finance

Bundesgeschäftsführer der CDU

CDU Federal Party Chairman

Bundesgeschäftsstelle der CDU

CDU Headquarters

Bundesinnenministerium

Federal Ministry of the Interior

Bundesminister für wirtschaftliche Zusammenarbeit

Federal Minister for Economic Cooperation

Bundesparteitag der CDU

CDU Federal Party Conference

Bundesparteitag der DP

DP Federal Party Conference

Bundestagsfraktion

Bundestag Parliamentary Group

Bundesvorstand der CDU

Federal Board of the CDU

Bundesvorstand der JU

Federal Board of the JU

Glossary | 441

CDU-Planungsgruppe

CDU Planning Group

CSU-Landesgruppe in der CDU/CSU Bundestagsfraktion

CSU Faction of the CDU/CSU Bundestag Group

Deutsche Angestellten-Gewerkschaft (DAG)

German Salaried Employees’ Union

Deutscher Gewerkschaftsbund (DGB) German Trade Union Congress Europäische Demokratische Union (EDU)

European Democrat Union (EDU)

Europäische Frauen-Union (EFU)

European Union of Women

Europäische Union ChristlichDemokratischer Arbeitnehmer (EUCDA)

European Union of Christian Democratic Workers (EUCDW)

Europäische Union Christlicher Demokraten (EUCD)

European Union of Christian Democrats

Europäische Volkspartei (EVP)

European People’s Party (EPP)

Fraktionsvorsitzender der CDU/CSU Bundestagsfraktion

Chairman of the CDU/CSU Parliamentary Group

Freundeskreis der CSU

CSU Circle of Friends

Generalsekretär der CDU

CDU General Secretary

Geschäftsführender Parteivorsitzender Acting Party Leader Geschäftsführender Vorsitzender der Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung

Executive Chairman of the Konrad Adenauer Foundation

Gesellschaft für Wehrkunde 

Society for Military Studies

Grundsatz- und Planungsabteilung der Department for Principles and CDU Planning Grundsatzkommission der CDU

CDU Commission on Fundamental Principles

Grundsatzprogramm

Basic Programme

442 | Glossary

Institut für Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft

Institute for Economy and Society

Internationale Demokratische Union

International Democrat Union (IDU)

Junge Union

Young Union

Katholische Arbeitnehmer-Bewegung (KAB)

Catholic Workers’ Movement

Konferenz der CDU-Landesvorsitzenden

Conference of the CDU State Party Leaders

Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung

Konrad Adenauer Foundation

Landesparteitag bzw. Landesversammlung der CSU

CSU Party Conference

Landesverband der CDU

CDU State Party Association

Landesverband der Deutschen Partei

DP State Party Association

Landesvorstand der CSU

CSU Board

NSDAP Auslandsorganisation

NSDAP Foreign Association

Österreichische Volkspartei (ÖVP)

Austrian People’s Party

Parteivorsitzender

Party Leader

Präsidium der CDU

CDU Steering Committee

Reichskriegsminister

Reich Minister for War

Reichsministerium für Wirtschaft, Landwirtschaft und Ernährung

Reich Ministry for Economics, Agriculture and Food

Reichswehrminister

Minister for the Reichswehr

Ring Christlich-Demokratischer Studenten (RCDS)

Association of Christian Democratic Students

Sekretär der Grundsatzkommission der CDU

Secretary of the CDU Commission on Fundamental Principles

Glossary | 443

Sozialer Rechtsstaat

Social Constitutional State

SS Obersturmbannführer

SS Lieutenant Colonel

Staatskanzlei

State Chancellery

Staatssekretär

State Secretary

Vertriebene

Expellees from Central and Eastern Europe with a German background, after the Second World War

Vertriebenenverbände

Expellee Associations

Vorsitzender der Programmkommission der CSU

Chairman of the CSU Programme Commission

Zentralstelle für Nachkriegsgeschichte Central Office for Post-War History

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Index

Abendroth, Wolfgang, 192, 218, 227 Addison, Paul, 80 Ade, Meinhard, 281 Adelmann, Raban von, 373–74 Adenauer, Konrad, 126–27, 133, 151, 154–55, 160, 164–67, 172–74, 180–81, 184–85, 192, 195, 213, 215, 240, 255, 260, 374–75, 382, 388 Adorno, Theodor, 208 Alexander, David, 70 Althammer, Walter, 197 Altmann, Rüdiger, 172–73, 192–93 Amberley, Baroness Emmet of. See under Emmet, Evelyn Amery, Carl, 237 Amery, Julian, 385 Ascherson, Neal, 78–79 Asmussen, Hans, 175 Attlee, Clement Richard, 28, 37, 43, 72, 437 Baader, Franz von, 243, 248–49 Bachmann, Ingeborg, 2, 5 Bakunin, Michail, 243, 250 Baldwin, Stanley, 39, 65–66 Ball, Hugo, 243, 250 Barth, Hans, 145–46 Barth, Karl, 175–76 Barzel, Rainer, 173, 180–81, 184, 186–87, 189–90, 192–93, 202, 274, 282, 300, 386 Becker, Hellmut, 208, 210 Beitzel, Marga, 184 Beloff, Max, 73 Bennett, Francis, 379 Benoist, Alain de, 266 Benz, Wolfgang, 263 Bergsdorf, Wolfgang, 207

Bergstraesser, Arnold, 208 Besson, Waldemar, 230–31, 282–83 Beyerle, Franz, 254 Biedenkopf, Kurt, 202–3, 205–7, 236, 289, 294–95, 298–301, 303, 306, 308, 361, 386–87, 405–7 Biffen, John, 64 Birch, Nigel, 59 Birrenbach, Kurt, 375–377 Bismarck, Otto Eduard Leopold Fürst von, 144 Bismarck, Otto Christian Archibald Fürst von, 371–72 Blake, Robert, 30, 79–81, 88 Blank, Theodor, 161, 182 Bloch, Ernst, 208, 243, 250 Block, Geoffrey, 29 Blüm, Norbert, 202, 277, 289, 302–3 Blumenfeld, Erik, 376–77 Böckenförde, Ernst-Wolfgang, 116, 211 Böhm, Anton, 183, 188 Bohrer, Karl-Heinz, 263 Böll, Heinrich, 193, 215 Bond, James, 373 Bösch, Frank, 15, 308 Boveri, Margret, 138 Bowhay, Dorothy, 33 Böx, Heinrich, 386 Boyson, Rhodes, 58, 66–67, 77, 82 Brandt, Willy, 166, 201, 237, 256, 271, 273–75, 305–6, 363 Branston, Ursula, 372 Brauksiepe, Aenne, 372 Brentano, Heinrich von, 371, 377 Brittan, Samuel, 87 Brok, Elmar, 389 Budde, Heinz, 162–66 Bühler, Karl, 205

536 | Index

Burke, Edmund, 26, 30, 41, 43, 56, 64, 79, 112, 116, 129–32, 140, 146, 150, 229–34, 238, 244, 267, 285, 298, 434 Butler, Adam, 399 Butler, Richard Austen, 34–38, 45, 75, 81, 92, 364, 375, 378, 391 Butterfield, Herbert, 66 Callaghan, Leonard James, 90 Carrington, Peter, 89 Carstens, Karl, 276, 290, 303, 386 Cecil, Hugh Lord, 28, 31 Chamberlain, Houston Stewart, 243 Chamberlain, Joseph, 77 Chamberlain, Neville, 33 Chateaubriand, François-René de, 26, 116 Churchill, Winston, 32, 36, 69, 78, 284, 371 Coleraine, Baron. See under Law, Richard Kidston Collard, David, 87–88 Cope, John, 388 Cosgrave, Patrick, 76, 92 Cowl, A.B., 52 Cowling, Maurice, 31, 54, 63, 90 Critchley, Julian, 45 Croker, John Wilson, 26–27 Dahrendorf, Ralf, 173, 273 Davis, John, 378–79 Davis, Quentin, 389 Day, Robin, 53 Deedes, William, 379 Dettling, Warnfried, 203, 205–6, 281, 304–5 Dirks, Walter, 174 Disraeli, Benjamin, 29, 33, 39, 40, 44, 64–65, 68–69, 77, 274 Dittmar, Rupprecht, 165–166, 170 Dönhoff, Marion Gräfin, 142–43, 172 Douglas-Home, Alec, 33, 49–50, 59, 384 Dregger, Alfred, 276, 281, 286, 290, 303 Drexel, Joseph, 261 DuCann, Edward, 74 Dufhues, Josef Hermann, 179–80, 184–85, 291, 377 Dürrenmatt, Peter, 138, 149, 151

Eccleshall, Robert, 7 Eden, Anthony, 32, 34 Eden, John, 372 Ehlers, Hermann, 173, 175 Ehmke, Horst, 275 Elbrächter, Alexander, 169 Elschner, Gerhard, 380 Emmet, Evelyn (= Baroness Emmet of Amberley), 376, 384, 391–92 Eppler, Erhard, 235–37, 279 Epstein, Klaus, 6 Erhard, Ludwig, 160, 166, 182–84, 188–89, 191–94, 302, 304, 381, 386, 407 Etzel, Franz, 158–61 Eucken, Walter, 159 Fairlie, Henry, 45 Fetcher, Iring, 226–27 Filbinger, Hans, 204, 276, 279, 281, 286, 290 Flechtheim, Ossip, 243 Forsthoff, Ernst, 15, 115–17, 123, 223, 239, 280 Fox, Charles James, 26 Franzel, Emil, 133–34, 149, 198, 255, 260–64, 282 Fraser, Michael, 53, 377 Frauendorfer, Max, 261 Freeden, Michael, 7–9, 11, 434 Freund, Ludwig, 263 Freyer, Hans, 15, 112, 119–22, 124, 225, 239, 248, 268, 327 Friedman, Milton, 89, 159, 361 Friedrich, Bruno, 291 Gablentz, Otto Heinrich von der, 139–40 Gaddum, Johann Wilhelm, 301 Gaitskell, Hugh, 50, 81 Gale, George, 78–79 Gallie, Walter Bryce, 7 Gallus, Alexander, 16 Gehlen, Arnold, 15, 120–22, 124–25, 141, 152, 190, 205, 213, 223, 225, 239, 241, 251, 264–65, 268 Geißler, Heiner, 202, 295, 298–99, 387–88, 433 Genscher, Hans-Dietrich, 276

Index | 537

Gentz, Friedrich von, 112, 140 George III, 26 Geppert, Dominik, 93 Gerlach, Ernst Ludwig von, 144 Gerlach, Ludwig Leopold von, 144 Gerstenberger, Heide, 225 Gerstenmaier, Eugen, 149, 154–62, 165–68, 172, 174, 176–78, 181–82, 186, 188, 190, 192, 274, 373, 390 Geulen, Christian, 14, 435 Geyer, Martin, 202, 296 Gilmour, Ian, 29, 78, 89–90, 92 Gladstone, William Ewart, 36 Goldwater, Barry, 57, 61 Gollwitzer, Helmut, 176 Goppel, Alfons, 198, 212, 263, 277 Grebing, Helga, 225–228, 290–91 Green, Ewan Henry Harvey, 77 Greiffenhagen, Martin, 6, 114, 125, 147–48, 225, 268, 290 Greiner, Ulrich, 252 Grimley, Matthew, 85 Gross, Johannes, 190 Großmann, Johannes, 16, 379 Gruhl, Herbert, 237, 246, 254 Gründel, Johannes, 288 Gummer, John Selwyn, 73, 389 Gundlach, Gustav, 134–36 Günther, Albrecht Erich, 111 Gurk, Franz, 183 Guttenberg, Karl Theodor von, 284–85 Habermas, Jürgen, 208, 233, 238–40, 264 Hacke, Jens, 229 Hahn, Karl-Josef, 381, 394 Hahn, Wilhelm, 175, 221–22 Hailsham, Viscount. See under Hogg, Quintin Hailsham of St Marylebone, Baron. See under Hogg, Quintin Hall, Joan, 60–61 Hall, Stuart, 68, 88 Haller, Carl Ludwig von, 146 Hamilton, Alexander, 231 Hamilton, Scott, 399 Hamm-Brücher, Hildegard, 194 Harpprecht, Klaus, 149–51, 153, 189 Harris, Ralph, 58, 88

Hassel, Kai-Uwe von, 155, 375–77, 385–86, 397–98 Hayek, Friedrich August von, 89, 159, 233, 266, 286, 361 Heath, Edward, 15, 19, 32, 50–76, 80, 83–84, 86, 88, 91–92, 292, 360, 364, 366–67, 383, 385–87, 392, 433, 437 Heck, Bruno, 194–196, 201–2, 275–76, 293, 381, 384, 392–93, 397 Heidegger, Martin, 15, 109, 116 Heinemann, Gustav, 174–75 Heiseler, Bernt von, 263 Held, Robert, 284 Hellwege, Heinrich, 126–27, 132–33, 146 Hennis, Wilhelm, 4, 209–15, 219, 229, 232, 237–39, 241, 289, 296, 307, 438 Henrich, Dieter, 232 Hepp, Marcel, 198–200, 261 Hepp, Robert, 152, 198 Herrmann, Ludolf, 290, 299 Himmelheber, Max, 253–54 Hitler, Adolf, 108–9, 144, 257, 374 Hobbes, Thomas, 30, 209 Hockerts, Hans Günter, 227, 232, 281–82, 288 Hofmannsthal, Hugo von, 1–2 Hogg, Quintin (= Viscount Hailsham, 1950–1963, and Baron Hailsham of St Marylebone, 1970–2001), 28–30, 32, 34–38, 43, 54, 58, 60, 62, 79, 88–89, 364 Hölscher, Lucian, 11 Horkheimer, Max, 236 Hoskyns, John, 90–91 Howarth, Alan, 388 Howe, Geoffrey, 62 Howell, David, 47–48, 63, 77, 83–84 Hugenberg, Alfred, 257 Humboldt, Wilhelm von, 156 Hume, David, 30, 41 Hunt, David, 389 Hurd, Douglas, 386 Inglehart, Ronald, 297 Jaeger, Richard, 200, 284 Jaspers, Karl, 239 Jens, Walter, 190

538 | Index

Jones, Harriet, 37–38 Joseph, Keith, 72–78, 81–82, 84–85, 88, 360, 397, 407 Jung, Edgar Julius, 109–10 Jünger, Ernst, 15, 110, 116–18, 255, 268 Jünger, Friedrich Georg, 15, 253–54, 268 Kaiser, Jakob, 168 Kaltefleiter, Werner, 205 Kaltenbrunner, Gerd-Klaus, 220, 229, 233, 242–253, 267–68, 280–82, 288 Kandiah, Michael, 37 Katzer, Hans, 157–159, 162, 168–69, 182, 277, 289, 294, 390, 400 Kedourie, Elie, 31 Kenmure, John, 67 Kennedy, John F., 48, 51 Ketteler, Wilhelm von, 163 Kiesinger, Kurt Georg, 166, 262, 273, 371–72 Kiesl, Erich, 293 Kirk, Russell, 6, 30, 41, 140, 159, 269 Klages, Helmut, 297 Klages, Ludwig, 243, 247–48 Klemperer, Victor, 107 Klett, Ernst, 221, 230 Knoll, August Maria, 249 Kogon, Eugen, 174, 291 Kohl, Helmut, 93, 202, 207, 273, 278–280, 288–90, 295–97, 300, 302–4, 308, 369, 386–88, 401–4, 406, 410 Köllner, Lutz, 194 Kolping, Adolph, 163 Kondylis, Panajotis, 6 Koselleck, Reinhart, 5, 9–10, 14, 17, 29, 435, 438 Kraske, Konrad, 202, 373, 375, 377, 379–82 Krausnick, Helmut, 263 Krings, Hermann, 211 Krockow, Christian von, 229–33, 238, 245 Kroll, Frank Lothar, 4 Krone, Heinrich, 167–69, 178, 375–76 Kuehnelt-Leddihn, Erik von, 255, 258, 268, 270 Kühn, Heinz, 217 Kühnl, Reinhard, 227 Künneth, Walter, 171, 175

Laak, Dirk van, 122 Lamers, Karl, 389 Lammert, Norbert, 389 Landshut, Siegfried, 141–42 Langguth, Gerd, 298 Law, Richard Kidston (= Baron Coleraine), 65–67, 80 Lawson, Nigel, 75, 77, 89, 425 Lejeune, Anthony, 71 Lemmer, Ernst, 302 Lenin, Wladimir Iljitsch, 243 Lenk, Kurt, 7 Lenz, Otto, 373 Leo XIII, Pope, 163 Leo, Heinrich, 6 Leonhard, Jörn, 5, 11, 14, 17 Lepenies, Wolf, 218 Leverkuehn, Paul, 372 Lilje, Hanns, 175 Lindemann, Peter, 205 Linke, Angelika, 11 Lippmann, Walter, 125, 159 Longden, Gilbert, 372 Lorenz, Konrad, 247 Low, Toby, 375 Löwenthal, Richard, 219, 239 Lübbe, Hermann, 212–19, 221, 224, 229–30, 233–34, 237–41, 245, 279, 306–7, 435 Lucan, Earl, of, 38 Luhmann, Niklas, 215 MacDermott, Lord, 85 Machovec, Milan, 341 Macleod, Iain, 39–41, 79, 92, 364, 377, 391 Macmillan, Harold, 19, 32–34, 36–38, 43–50, 55, 59, 65–66, 69, 81, 86, 92, 364, 371, 375, 391, 407 Mahler, Gerhard, 204–207 Maiberger, Erich, 197–98 Maier, Erich, 261–62 Maier, Hans, 207–15, 219, 221, 245, 282–84, 288, 304, 307, 438 Maistre, Joseph de, 146 Mann, Golo, 140–41, 149–51, 154, 221, 230 Mannheim, Karl, 6, 8, 138 Marcuse, Herbert, 201, 243

Index | 539

Martini, Winfried, 259 Marx, Karl, 85, 235, 243 Maude, Angus, 40, 54–60, 62, 65, 77, 84, 91 Meinel, Florian, 116 Mende, Erich, 232 Mende, Silke, 237 Merk, Bruno, 290 Merkatz, Hans-Joachim von, 126–137, 144, 146–47, 149, 153–54, 171, 189 Messelken, Hans, 204–7 Metz, Johann Baptist, 298 Meyer, Anthony, 67 Meyers, Franz, 182, 184 Mikat, Paul, 190 Mill, John Stuart, 61 Milne, R.D., 373, 383 Mises, Ludwig von, 159 Mock, Alois, 408 Moeller van den Bruck, Arthur, 109, 111, 225, 243, 267 Mohler, Armin, 110–11, 115, 117–18, 123, 134, 138, 143, 145–49, 151–54, 198–99, 223, 229, 246, 251, 255, 258–71, 281–82, 285, 288, 429 Mohn, Sigbert, 263 Molnar, Thomas, 258, 269 Montagu, Victor, 65, 67 Mooser, Josef, 159 Morat, Daniel, 116 Moro, Aldo, 383, 392 Möser, Justus, 129, 267 Motschmann, Bernd, 256 Motschmann, Jens, 256 Motschmann, Klaus, 256 Mühlenfeld, Hans, 127–130, 139–40, 144 Muller, Jerry Z., 7 Müller, Josef, 199 Müller, Ulrich, 283 Müller-Armack, Alfred, 159 Naumann, Friedrich, 156, 161 Nebel, Gerhard, 111 Nell-Breuning, Oswald von, 304 Nellessen, Bernd, 264 Neuwirth, Hans, 261 Nicholson, Godfrey, 40 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 118, 342

Nipperdey, Thomas, 113, 219, 228–29 Nixon, Richard, 251 Noelle-Neumann, Elisabeth, 251, 297 Nolte, Paul, 123, 125 Novalis, 248 Nozick, Robert, 89 O’Sullivan, John, 64–65, 67 O’Sullivan, Noël, 30, 83, 360 Oakeshott, Michael, 6, 15, 30, 41–43, 82–83, 360 Offe, Claus, 237 Orwell, George, 209, 214 Pareto, Vilfredo, 243, 248 Parkinson, Cecil, 388 Patten, Chris, 89–90, 92, 387–88 Patterson, Ben, 32 Pears, Gordon, 39, 377–78 Pechel, Rudolf, 138 Peel, Robert, 36, 64, 69–70 Percival, Ian, 85 Peters, Susanne, 16 Pfaehler, Dietrich, 282 Pirkl, Fritz, 200 Pocock, John, 6, 10 Powell, Enoch, 54, 58–61, 66, 86, 88, 90 Quinton, Anthony, 30, 82–83 Radunski, Peter, 203 Raison, Timothy, 39, 62 Ramsden, John, 15 Rapp, Alfred, 167 Rauschning, Hermann, 110 Reagan, Ronald, 16, 91, 93, 411 Redmayne, Martin, 375 Rees, Goronwy, 55 Rehling, Luise, 372 Reinisch, Leonhard, 220 Ridley, Nicholas, 70, 72 Riedweg, Franz, 259 Rippon, Geoffrey, 66–67, 379 Ritter, Joachim, 4, 238–39 Roberts, Henry L., 140 Rohr, Hansjoachim von, 256–57 Rollmann, Dietrich, 291–92 Röpke, Wilhelm, 159

540 | Index

Rudolph, Hermann, 221, 236–37 Rühe, Volker, 389 Rumor, Mariano, 383–384, 392 Rüstow, Alexander, 159 Sander, Hans Dietrich, 288 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 243 Schelsky, Helmut, 15, 122–25, 141, 152, 212–15, 219, 225, 233, 237–38, 241, 251, 264, 268, 280, 302 Scheuch, Erwin K., 219, 232, 236 Schildt, Axel, 7, 15, 125 Schiller, Karl, 193 Schlamm, William S., 16, 255–56, 281–82 Schmidt, Helmut, 206, 237, 296 Schmitt, Carl, 15, 109, 115–17, 123, 192, 209–10, 239, 245, 248, 250, Schoeps, Hans-Joachim, 143–45, 147, 152, 246, 255–58, 269 Schöningh, Franz Josef, 139–40 Schrenck-Notzing, Caspar Freiherr von, 149, 152–54, 229, 255, 258–60, 265–70, 281–82 Schröder, Georg, 172 Schröder, Gerhard, 135, 261, 378, 386, 390 Schulte, Hansgerd, 209 Schuster, Hans, 122, 142–43, 189–91 Schwabe, Gerhard Helmut, 254–55 Schwab-Felisch, Hans, 190 Schwarzenbach, James, 259 Schwarzkopf, Dietrich, 149–51, 153–54 Schwarz-Schilling, Christian, 298 Scruton, Roger, 30, 86–87, 90 Seidel, Hanns, 170–71, 178, 183, 186, 189, 199, 262 Seldon, Arthur, 62, 88 Sethe, Paul, 263 Sewill, Brendon, 54 Shanks, Michael, 49 Sharples, Richard, 372 Sherman, Alfred, 89 Sieburg, Friedrich, 143 Simmel, Oskar, 171 Skinner, Quentin, 10 Smend, Rudolf, 192 Smith, Adam, 59, 64 Smithers, Peter, 371–74, 376, 379–82, 389–90, 403

Sontheimer, Kurt, 212–15, 218, 221–24, 229, 232, 235–39, 241, 245, 252, 278–79, 282, 305–7 Spaemann, Robert, 221–22 Spann, Othmar, 244, 344 Spicer, Jim, 389 Spree, Ulrike, 5, 17 Springer, Axel, 261, 265, 282 St John Stevas, Norman, 78, 92 Stahl, Friedrich Julius, 144, 244 Stählin, Wilhelm, 134–37 Stalin, Josef, 125 Stapel, Wilhelm, 109, 117–18 Steinbuch, Karl, 232, 267 Steinmetz, Willibald, 5, 10, 14, 17, 435–36 Sternberger, Dolf, 234, 278 Stier, Hans Erich, 168 Stoltenberg, Gerhard, 181, 189–90, 202, 302–3 Strauß, Franz Josef, 2–3, 170, 172, 178–79, 189, 196–200, 258, 260–62, 265–66, 272–73, 276, 282, 284–91, 295, 300, 302, 305, 308, 367, 385–86, 400–3, 406, 429 Strauss, Norman, 90–91 Streibl, Max, 277–78, 293 Studnitz, Hans Georg von, 243, 255–56 Szamuely, Tibor, 61–64 Taus, Josef, 401, 405 Tebbit, Norman, 77, 90 Tenbruck, Friedrich H., 237 Teufel, Erwin, 201 Thadden-Trieglaff, Rudolf von, 143 Thatcher, Margaret, 3, 5, 13, 15–19, 30, 32, 57–58, 62, 64, 68, 72–93, 203, 360–67, 369, 379, 385–88, 397, 399, 401–3, 405–7, 409–11, 427, 429–33, 436–37 Thielicke, Helmut, 175 Thiess, Frank, 263–64 Thorneycroft, Peter, 40, 59, 378 Thucydides, 1–2 Tillmann, Robert, 168 Tindemans, Leo, 392 Tocqueville, Alexis de, 112, 142, 146, 231–34 Tomlinson, Jim, 38

Index | 541

Topitsch, Ernst, 232–34, 243, 267 Toye, Richard, 15, 66 Utley, T.E., 45, 62–63 Viereck, Peter, 94, 319 Vietta, Egon, 111 Vinen, Richard, 55 Voegelin, Eric, 208 Vogel, Bernhard, 278–79 Vonessen, Franz, 253–54 Waffenschmidt, Horst, 295 Wagner, Friedrich, 254 Waigel, Theo, 285–87, 304 Waldegrave, William, 89 Walker, Peter, 92 Walser, Martin, 190 Wegener, Henning, 386–87 Wehler, Hans-Ulrich, 228 Weizsäcker, Carl Friedrich von, 237 Weizsäcker, Richard von, 274–77, 289, 293–95, 397, 401

Wenger, Paul Wilhelm, 134–35, 137 Whitehouse, Mary, 85 Whitelaw, William, 398 Williams, Bernard, 32 Wilson, Harold, 33, 47, 50, 52, 55, 70–71, 73 Winter, Ernst Karl, 244 Wissmann, Matthias, 389 Wittkämper, Gerhard W., 205 Wood, John, 60 Wörner, Manfred, 196 Worsthorne, Peregrine, 58–60 Wright, Esmond, 69–70 Zehm, Günter, 232, 284 Zehrer, Hans, 15, 117–20, 124, 140, 149, 265 Ziesel, Kurt, 255, 259, 262, 264 Zoglmann, Siegfried, 232 Zöller, Josef Othmar, 177–78 Zöller, Michael, 288 Zundel, Rolf, 220–221