In recent years the outlines of a new master narrative of modern German history have begun to emerge in a wide range of publications. This narrative draws heavily on the theoretical and historical works of Michel Foucault and Detlev J. K. Peukert, and on the earlier work of the Frankfurt School, Max Weber, and the French theorists of postmodernism. In it, rationalization and science, and specifically the extended discursive field of “biopolitics” (the whole complex of disciplines and practices addressing issues of health, reproduction, and welfare) play a key role as the marker and most important content of modernization. Increasingly, this model has a function in German historiography similar to that long virtually monopolized by the “Sonderweg thesis”: it serves as a broad theoretical or interpretive framework that can guide the construction of meaning in “smaller” studies, which are legitimated by their function in confirming or countering this broader argument.

When I assumed the editorship of CEH in 1991 the discipline of history was changing rapidly. Political, diplomatic, and economic history seemed to be fading after a long run, and even the nation state was being challenged as a central focus of research. Given the increasing interest in gender, race, post-colonialism, and memory, I had to consider “whither goeth” CEH. In part that decision is made for the editor by the manuscripts that are submitted to the journal. My own belief is that excellent history can be written based on a variety of theories, and with the employment of a diverse number of methodologies. I also concluded that weak and unconvincing history could equally be based on very different foundations as well.

G. W. F. Hegel's “Commentary on the Published Proceedings of the Estates Assembly in the Kingdom of Württemberg, 1815–1816” is the notoriously recondite philosopher's most lucid account of Germany's political transformation after the French Revolution and the Napoleonic wars. Written in a punchy, polemical style, yet brimming with philosophical distinctions, the 130–page essay features concrete analyses of political institutions, social groups, and parliamentary debates in Hegel's home state. He published it in the 1817 Heidelberg Yearbooks, hoping to reach the educated public and influence the shape of Germany's constitutional order after Napoleon's defeat. The work has never been fully translated or adequately interpreted; it earns but a few, albeit astute, remarks in Terry Pinkard's recent biography. The 1999 Cambridge edition of Hegel's Political Writings omits it entirely, citing its focus on “esoteric and antiquarian matters peculiar to the political history of Württemberg.” As Hegel himself realized, however, Württemberg's experience dramatized the most profound civic upheaval of the age: the shift from a corporate society composed of particular estates (Stände) to a civil society governed by universal precepts and a “rational” state.

On 9 October 2001 Vernon Lidtke delivered his valedictory lecture at The Johns Hopkins University on the topic of “Die Abstrakten,” a left-wing group of artists in Germany during the Weimar Republic. With this address before an appreciative audience comprising students, colleagues, and friends, Vernon concluded almost forty years of a distinguished scholarly career in the field of modern European and German history. In his scholarship Vernon is most widely identified with the study of the German labor movement in general and especially the Social Democratic Party, on which subjects he has thus far published two major books along with numerous journal articles and chapters. His formal retirement from academic life was also marked a few months earlier by a testimonial dinner held in Baltimore and attended by a large proportion of the twenty-five doctoral graduates whose dissertations he had supervised over more than three decades at Johns Hopkins. On both occasions he was fondly remembered as an accomplished historian, an inspiring teacher, and a generous mentor. In this and the four essays that follow, some of his former students wish also to commemorate Vernon's scholarly and teaching career.

In the midst of the upheaval created by military defeat, the collapse of the Hohenzollern and other German monarchies, and the threat of radical social revolution, a movement that had been taking shape for some time became a visible presence in German public life. Intellectuals, writers, visual artists, and numerous others declared that they would no longer remain aloof from the world of politics, social reform, and even revolution. On the contrary, they would seek to merge the arts and politics into a synthesis that would help to mold a new and greatly improved society. They issued manifestos and programs, founded organizations and journals, joined political parties — primarily on the left — and went to the streets, at least to observe if not also to act. The majority of the participants in this movement were, at some point in their careers, part of new artistic trends and, as such, contributors to the formation and advancement of aesthetic modernism in Germany.

Following the GDR's surprising collapse in 1989, historians have produced a range of studies that have added new contours to its state and society and contributed to a much fuller understanding of the reasons for East Germany's implosion. As scholars became more aware of the “limits of dictatorship” in the GDR, however, the longevity of a state that lasted for almost as long as the second German Empire became all the more perplexing. In response to this problem, a number of historians reflected on approaches practiced by historical anthropologists and sociologists, to explore the distinctive nature of GDR life in its everyday manifestations. Inspired by the pioneering work of Alf Lüdtke and Lutz Niethammer, they began to investigate the history of everyday life at the workplace, within and across generational and gender divides, and in areas such as consumption and leisure.

In September of 1899 the Czech National Social Party issued a stern warning to parents in Prague as the school enrollment season approached: “Czech parents! Remember that your children are not only your own property, but also the property of the nation. They are the property of all of society and that society has the right to control your conduct!” Czech and German nationalists in the Bohemian lands were hardly alone in claiming that children comprised a precious form of “national property” (nationaler Besitz, národanímajetek) at the turn of the century. In an age of mass politics and nationalist demography, nationalists across Europe obsessed about the quantity and quality of the nation's children. They were, however, unique in their ability to transform this polemical claim into a legal reality. Between 1900–1945, German and Czech nationalist social workers and educational activists in the Bohemian lands attempted to create a political culture in which children belonged to national communities, and in which the nation's rights to educate children often trumped parental rights. In 1905, nationalists gained the legal right to “reclaim” children from the schools of the national enemy in Moravia, a right which they retained until 1938. By the time Ota Filip's father dragged him to the German school in Slezská Ostrava/Schlesisch Ostrau, children had become one of the most precious stakes in the nationalist battle, and a parent's choice of a German or Czech school had become a matter of unprecedented personal, political, moral, and national significance.

In the epilogue to his authoritative 1957 intellectual history, The German Idea of Freedom, Leonard Krieger concluded his exploration of German political thought from the Reformation to the Second Empire by excoriating the German liberal middle class, and especially the National Liberal Party, for its compromise with the authoritarian state and the landed aristocracy. He singled out for particular scorn the Rechtsstaat theory of Rudolf Gneist: Rudolf Gneist's doctrine of the Rechtsstaat, from which all oppositional elements had now been removed, set the tone for the adaptation of the old liberal political ideal to cover the legal reality of the new national state … The concept of Rechtsstaat, that barometer of 19th-century liberalism, was no longer defined in terms of a state which permitted to the individual rights apart from the state. It became now simply the kind of state whose power was articulated in legal modes of action — that is, in measures which conformed to general rules.

In debates on the nature and degree of democratization in the Kaiserreich, the dynamics of rural politics have received perhaps less attention than they merit. Indeed, though the picture is more nuanced now, for a long period the ability of rural elites to dominate nonelites (a core aspect of these dynamics) was simply assumed, as was the relationship of this dominance to Germany's troubled democratization. In his 1943 work Bread and Democracy in Germany, for example, Alexander Gerschenkron blamed Germany's entrenched and elitist aristocracy for this trait of bullying voters into antidemocratic politics spanning from the Kaiserreich to the Third Reich. More subtly, the landmark 1966 study of Barrington Moore, Jr. noted the potential for an alliance between entrenched aristocracies and small peasantries, with each as reservoirs for antidemocratic (and potentially fascist) sentiment in several countries, with obvious application to the German case as well.

Recent work on the eighteenth-century public sphere has recast the debate about the Enlightenment's responsibility for the French Revolution. Historians have argued that the print public sphere and its concomitant forms of sociability, such as salons, reading clubs, and coffee houses created social spaces from which criticism of the state emerged. This elite criticism corroded the Old Regime's foundations and the revolutionary crash of 1789, if it was not directly the intellectuals' fault, was sufficiently related to their mental labors to show that enlightened publicness had consequences.

Throughout its history, the East German Communist Party (Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands, hereafter SED) organized campaigns to overcome the economic and political challenges facing it and to launch new program initiatives. Whether the aim was to increase factory safety, beautify a village, or raise standards of living, the party and the East German government used mass mobilizations to shape society, or at least certain social groups. Communist campaigns were directed attempts to improve diverse sectors of society by concentrating resources on arenas marked as economically deficient and socially resistant. By directing their efforts at revolutionizing narrowly defined critical areas, Communist leaders felt that they could enact overarching societal changes. Campaigns thus served as a means to initiate new policies and to correct problems that developed later. They were an essential part both of the state planning so prevalent in Communist systems, and of the often hectic short-term initiatives endemic in such economies. These mobilization efforts were so critical to the regime that one scholar has declared that the German Democratic Republic (GDR) possessed a campaign, rather than a command economy.

There is perhaps no more fitting way to honor Vernon Lidtke than to demonstrate, in the form of this essay, that the questions he posed to his students years ago continue to provide a grid for contemplating and analyzing historical subjects, both familiar and new. One such question involved the impact of one concept's transformation upon another: would class persist as a crucial historical category once it had confronted the differences of gender? This question preoccupied me in previous work and I return to it here, taking stock of that which has changed since I first contemplated this question, in the fields of both German and European gender history. Another question that remains an object of debate is the longer-term trajectory of the history of women and gender: how might we define the point at which its work of subversion or revision is complete? What directions might this field take once “mainstream” histories have successfully incorporated its findings? This essay aims to compare the ways in which the keywords class, citizenship, and welfare state have been redefined, expanded, or circumscribed through the turn to culture, language, and gender. This comparative exercise allows me to expand Vernon's original questions to include citizenship, the critical concept in my more recent scholarship, and to review the potentials and promises of main-streaming across the so-called Atlantic divide.

The diplomatic and religious climate in Protestant Northern Europe during the era of Louis XIV was filled with competing and at times contradictory impulses, and the repercussions of Louis's expansionist and anti-Protestant policies on the relations between the Protestant states were varied and complex. Taken in conjunction with the ascension of Catholic James II in Britain in February 1685 and the succession of the Catholic House of Neuburg in the Palatinate following the death of the last Calvinist elector in May of that year, Louis's reintroduction of the mass ins the “reunited” territories and his increasing persecution of the Huguenots in France added to an acute sense among European Protestants that the survival of their religion was threatened. It is a well-established theme in the standard literature on seventeenth-century Europe that the culmination of Louis's attack on the Huguenots in his revocation of the Edict of Nantes in October 1685 galvanized the continents Protestant powers in a common sense of outrage and united them in a spirit of political cooperation against France. Indeed, such an astute contemporary observer as Leibniz was to write in the early 1690s that it appeared now “as if all of the north is opposed to the south of Europe; the great majority of the Germanic peoples are opposed to the Latins.” Even Bossuet had to declare that “your so-called Reformation … was never more powerful nor more united. All of the Protestants have joined forces. From the outside, the Reformation is very cohesive, more haughty and more menacing than ever.”

In the early 1930s German democracy was dying, mired in political gridlock, burdened by four million unemployed, and under assault by Nazis and Communists alike. In the midst of this crisis the Reich Association of Catholic Workers' Clubs and Working Youth (Reichsverband der katholischen Arbeitervereine und der Werkjugend) published a modest anthology entitled Die Arbeit (Work), “dedicated to the poetic glorification of labor.” Editorially justifying the decision to provide Catholic workers with verses at such a time, Ferdinand Göbel, one of the rising young leaders of the Catholic labor movement, argued that the poems, far from serving as a distraction or a momentary boost to morale, would enable workers to find the only true and lasting solution to their predicament. Poetry would lead to an inner, spiritual renewal, a rediscovery by workers that their labor was “not simply to earn bread, but… joyful participation in the act of creation, sacrificial service to humanity and a means of atonement that makes us strong and free within.” Because of this, said Göbel, The modern worker, this man of iron, has discovered his soul. He believes in loyalty and comradeship, in brotherhood and the courage to sacrifice. He hopes in a new humanity. Yes, out of his heavy everyday existence he hammers bridges to the eternal and the divine. He turns hard slave labor into an act of worship.