Fascism — Not Right-wing or Left-wing, but a Genuine Spiritual Movement.
In an EU Parliamentary Session in 2010, UKIP politician Godfrey Bloom denounced German social-democratic politician and then-President of the European Parliament Martin Schulz as an “undemocratic fascist” (“UKIP’s”). Bloom was quickly ejected from the Parliament for shouting the “Nazi” epithet. UKIP, however, has not been entirely free of claims of having been “fascists” themselves. In 2017, a group of “antifa” (or “anti-fascist”) protesters castigated Farage, head of UKIP, as a fascist. Farage reasonably responded that those that “shout fascist [at him] are fascists themselves” (“UKIP”).
All that can be concluded from all of this mud-slinging is that all of them are fascists, none of them are fascists, or no one understands what the term fascism means.
What is fascism?
According to Spanish philosopher José Ortega y Gasset, “fascism is both A and not A,” or, in other words, fascism’s definition evades us (Passmore). It is a contradictory term that is troublesome to pin-down and pigeonhole as we do terms like “conservatism,” “liberalism,” “libertarianism,” and the like.
Based on Mussolini’s background before he rose to power, fascists should be more similar to “socialists,” since Mussolini wrote for a socialist magazine, was an avowed socialist for most of his life, and was beloved by the poor for fighting the bourgeoisie. But based on his groundswell of support from conservatives and reactionaries, however, Mussolini should be more similar to conservatives today. Should he not be? But wasn’t Mussolini also strongly supported by Italian Futurists, who so radically sought to abandon tradition that they wanted to “demolish museums and libraries” (Marinetti)? How does this all add up? What is the answer? Is it right to sling the fascist “mud” at conservatives or at liberals? At Communists or anti-Communists?
Fascism — the ideology that is “both A and not A” — the ideology that is the “reason of unreason” is neither conservatism nor liberalism, but a composition of both and, in the terms of modern politics, a “contradiction” (Passmore; Ortega y Gasset). Fascism is not economic; it is not political. Fascism is spiritual. It is for all these reasons, the leading experts of fascism (i.e. Payne, Paxton, and Sternhell) argue that fascist economic organization is indistinct and undefinable; indeed, this is also the reason that conservatives and liberals cannot seem to properly grasp the concept of fascism and merely use it as a term of opprobrium to sling at each other. Scholars struggle to use reason and the current instruments of political analysis to look clearly at fascism because fascism itself evades reason; fascism, once again, is spiritual, as Mussolini himself acknowledged when he said that fascism is a “religious concept of life” and “spiritual community” (Payne 215). Fascism, like the belief in Christ (according to the 3rd-century theologian Tertullian), was believed in by the Italians, not because people understood it, but precisely “because it [was] absurd” (Tertullian).
The origins of fascism are wrapped up in incomprehensible spiritualism and the proponents of fascism, like the proponents of a religion, traversed class, conviction, and sometimes, political and economic beliefs. Fascism is the anti-politics and to watch political theorists attempt to analyze and define fascism is much like watching an economist try his hand at hermeneutics. It is meaningless. But what of the roots of this religion of fascism — this “spiritual community” (Payne 215)? What do they look like?
Napoleon to the Paris Commune in the Wake of the Franco-Prussian War
By 1799, Louis XVI of France and most of France’s aristocracy had been liquidated, and the high ideals embodied in “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité” took their place — ideals that would be temporarily squashed during the coronation of Napoleon Bonaparte as Emperor and the subsequent constitutional monarchies of Louis XVIII, Charles X, and Louis Philippe I, who eventually abdicated after the Revolution of 1848 and left room for the implementation of the French Second Republic, led by President Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte.
In 1852, however, Louis-Napoléon abolished the Constitution of the Second French Republic and became the Emperor of the Second French Empire himself. Napoleon III’s reign as the Emperor of France lasted for eighteen years — until Germany, headed by Prussian chancellor, Otto von Bismarck, discomfited France in the Franco-Prussian war of 1870, ultimately causing the French Second Empire to collapse.
In the wind-down of the Franco-Prussian War in 1870–71, the French politicians resurrected the French Republic (this time, known as the French “Third” Republic), but, in Paris, a different system was put into place: So-called French “Communards,” headed by Louis Charles Delescluze, captured Paris on the 18th of March and transformed the entire city into a radical socialist/revolutionary commune, modelled on the ideas of Marx and other revolutionary Leftists of the period. Marx himself, who had published his Communist Manifesto twenty-two years earlier, praised the Paris Commune as a supreme “dictatorship of the proletariat” (Rougerie 264).
In the eyes of Catholics and conservative French citizens, however, the Paris Commune was a disgrace to the country. For one, during the first three days that the Communards took control of Paris, they arrested two-hundred priests, nuns, and monks; closed down all of the Catholic churches in the city; performed mock Masses to parody Catholicism, the predominant religion in France; and even executed the Archbishop of the city and his clergymen. Thereafter, the Communards destroyed the Vendôme Column in Paris, which honored the victories of Napoleon Bonaparte, on the grounds that it was a “monument of barbarism” and a “symbol of brute force and false pride” (“Sculpture’s”). Three days later, on 21 May, the French regular army finally entered Paris and, on the 28th of May, killed the leaders of the Paris Commune and successfully recaptured the city. Though short-lived, the ten-day revolution that turned Paris into a “dictatorship of the proletariat” would, for the Conservative and bourgeois ranks of French society, continue to remain a stark reminder of the left-wing radicalism that was always slithering through the tall grass of France. It created fear amongst certain ranks of French society and, in time, the democracy — “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité” — once idealized in the French Revolution met face-to-face with reality and France eventually became a country divided between left-wing and right-wing in the period following the Franco-Prussian War — factions of which eventually became intensified during the Dreyfus Affair.
The Dreyfus Affair and the Birth of Nationalism
In December 1894, the court case that separated the French Third Republic began: an Alsatian-Jewish artillery officer, Alfred Dreyfus, received a life sentence for allegedly leaking French military secrets to German intelligence. All of France was soon divided into “Dreyfusards” and “anti-Dreyfusards”; or, in other words, those who believed, respectively, that the Jewish officer was innocent and those who believed that he was guilty.
One of the more outspoken anti-Dreyfusards was a French Symbolist poet named Maurice Barrès, who later became politically active as a Boulangist (i.e. a support of Boulanger, an immensely popular figure during the post-Franco-Prussian War period). Barrès both popularized the term “nationalism” and subscribed to a poetical movement that “favored dreams, visions, and the associative powers of the imagination” — a poetry that sought to “access greater truths” by the “systematic derangement of the senses” (“Symbolist Movement”). And Barrès was surely not the only artist of the period in the Decadent or Symbolist tradition who accepted nationalism, Catholicism, and the French tradition. Huysmans was another. (Not all artists were leftists and iconoclasts, as Gustave Courbet was [a participant in the Paris Commune].) Barrès’ trilogy le Roman de l’énergie nationale is the book that put forth his ideas about nationalism and an “individualism that included a deep-rooted attachment to one’s native region” (Maurice Barrès). Barrès also composed a novel, La Colline inspirée, in 1913 that called for the French to embrace Christianity once again for the betterment of French society. In short, the nationalism of Barrès, which is the same nationalism that most of us think of when we hear the word, is rooted in something that is spiritual and organic. The popularizer of the term “nationalism,” one of the cornerstones of fascism, was a mystic and a poet first, a politician second. The biggest feature of Barrès political career was his relationship with Charles Maurras, the founder of the Action Française, a Catholic, anti-Dreyfusard organization that support monarchism, maligned democracy, and questioned the French Revolution and its legacy. Maurras, unlike Barrès, did not believe as strongly in the “cult of the self” or in the individual. Maurras once claimed that
“the political freedom of revolutionary doctrine utters without distinction one single appeal for the general liberation of every section of society, supposedly all equal, states, enterprises, persons, entirely without taking account of their different functions. The level of this indeterminate freedom is pitched so low that men bear no other label but that which they share with every plant or animal: individuality. Individual liberty, social individualism, such is the vocabulary of progressive doctrine. How ironical it is. A dog, a donkey, even a blade of grass are all individuals. Naturally, the jostling throng of disorganized ‘individuals’ will willingly accept from the revolutionary spirits its dazzling promises of power and happiness: but if the mob falls for these promises, it is the task of reason to challenge them and of experience to give them the lie. Reason foresees that the quality of life will decline when the unbridled individual is granted, under the direction of the state, his dreary freedom to think only of himself and to live only for himself. Posterity when it pays the price will declare this prediction all too well justified. In close parallel to this, the critical mind of the future will challenge the libertarian aspirations of romanticism, and literary history will see clearly the damaging effect they had upon the poet and his work: enslavement, decomposition.” (McClelland 251–55)
In other words, the individualism promised by the French Revolution is hogwash and one needn’t pay it much mind. It is a mere ruse that leaves men in a state of “enslavement and decomposition” (McClelland 251–55). In the period before World War I, Action Française, the counter-revolutionary movement that Maurras started and Barrès strongly supported, became the most influential and vigorous traditionalist movements in the country.
The Futurists and the Art of Fascism
In 1906, another man was in Paris — an Italian with socialist sympathies — named Umberto Boccioni. Boccioni studied Impressionist art in Paris and succeed as a painter in both Italy and in France. In 1907, he returned to Italy and settled in Milan. In 1910, he met Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, who had published his Futurist Manifesto on the front page of the Paris daily newspaper Le Figaro in February of 1909. As the name suggests, Futurism is an art that embraces the “future” and that hopes to demolish the past. “We want to demolish museums and libraries,” Marinetti writes in his 1909 manifesto, “fight morality, feminism and all opportunist and utilitarian cowardice” (Marinetti). Futurism is an art that idolized speed and technology. “We declare the splendor of the world has been enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of speed. A racing automobile with its bonnet adorned with great tubes like serpents with explosive breath … a roaring motor car which seems to run on machine-gun fire” (Marinetti). Moreover, Futurism declared that it would “glorify war — the only cure for the world — militarism, patriotism, the destructive gesture of the anarchists, the beautiful ideas which kill, and contempt for woman” (Marinetti). Boccioni died in 1916 in the midst of World War I, but Marinetti continued to push the Futurist movement and, in 1918, he turned it into a political movement — one that he called Partito Politico Futurista, which eventually merged with Benito Mussolini’s Fasci Italiani di Combattimento.
Mussolini: The Journey from Left-Wing Politics to Fascism
The same year that Marinetti originally published his Futurist Manifesto in 1909, Benito Mussolini was leaving his position as a school teacher to start work for his local Socialist Party in Trento. Mussolini edited a journal called L’Avvenire del Laboratore (The Future of the Worker) and Lotta di classe (The Class Struggle) at that time. He also published radical socialist tracts, such as IlTrentino veduto da un Socialista (Trentino as seen by a Socialist) as well as a novel, which had strong anti-Catholic themes, L’amante del Cardinale: Claudia Particella, romanzo storico (The Cardinal’s Mistress). By 1911, Mussolini became the editor of Avanti!, the newspaper of the Italian Socialist Party, and expanded its circulation from 20,000 to 100,000.
When World War I broke out in 1914, Mussolini, then head of the Italian socialist journal Avanti!, initially assumed a pacifist position towards the war, writing “Down with the war. We remain neutral” (Ludwig 321). But after some political infighting in the Italian Socialist Party regarding the question of neutrality during World War I, Mussolini came out and openly declared that the Italians, and especially socialists, should fight in the war in order to put an end to the reactionary forces of the Hohenzollern and Habsburg dynasties, which oppressed members of the Italian working class. Mussolini’s non-pacifist and militaristic stance caused him to be ejected from the Italian Socialist Party and, in 1914, Mussolini created a new party, Partito Fascista Rivoluzionario (The Revolutionary Fascist Party).
Originally, the term fascist referred to the Italian word for a political league, “fascio,” which was itself adapted from the literal term for a “bushel” or “sheaf” in Italian. But as the Fascist Party evolved and took on new forms, focusing more on “nationalism” than on “revolution,” it was renamed Partito Nazionale Fascista and the fasces (an object that Roman magistrates used to hold as a show of power and strength) was more associated with fascism and the meaning behind the term “fascism.”
Once Italian fascism had taken a fuller shape, it possibly became more noticeable that fascism was not like other movements. On the one hand, Mussolini was a former socialist leader in Italy; he, like the syndicalists of Italy, favored a syndicate that would eliminate class struggle; he, like the socialists and Communists and, of course, his promoter and dedicated follower, the artist Marinetti, discouraged reactionaries and did not wish to return to a reactionary political system, but, instead, wanted to do something new — something that looked to the future. On the other hand, Mussolini appealed to Conservatives because of his spiritual nationalism, which surpassed all other things — the same nationalism that Barrès had written about his Energy of the Nation . (Some might argue that the authoritarianism of fascism also appealed to Conservatives, Catholics, and other right-wingers, but, since most Communist regimes eventually had a single, authoritarian ruler who ‘pushed’ the revolution forward, it might not make sense to align authoritarianism exclusively with the Conservative/right-wing of Mussolini’s appeal. Quite possibly, people on all sides of the political spectrum admired the authoritarian element of fascism, especially in a time of great economic struggle after World War I, for the same reasons that the Futurists admired it: A single authoritarian leader can, as a representative of the state, deal with international and domestic matters with the quickness, speed, and effectiveness that the Futurists admired.)
“Under the species of Syndicalism and Fascism there appears for the first time in Europe a type of man who does not want to give reasons or to be right, but simply shows himself resolved to impose his opinions. This is the new thing: the right not to be reasonable, the ‘reason of unreason.’” (Ortega y Gasset)
Once again, fascism is a spiritual movement. It is a movement of faith. The spiritual connection with the nation is foremost and it takes priority over all else. This is the reason that, in the 20th century, many Socialists, Conservatives, Futurists, and others all came flocking to Mussolini’s Fascism. It presented the spiritual faith in the “native soil” and, as such, appealed to all those wished to see their nation prosper. (Of course, nowadays, nationalism is considered antithetical to Marxism and most other Leftist movements.)
The March on Rome to the Lateran and Treaty
In October 1922, the famous March on Rome began and Mussolini’s blackshirts planned to overthrow the Kingdom of Italy and usher in a fascist state.
In response, Prime Minister Luigi Facta rushed to King Vincent Emmanuel III and demanded that he sign a paper ordering a state of siege for Rome, but the king refused. Instead, he told Mussolini, who was backed by a coalition composed largely of Conservatives, to form a cabinet and appointed him Prime Minister. (It should be noted that the Kingdom of Italy was a constitutional monarchy and that the prime minister was appointed, not by the people, but by the king. It was bicameral system in which the lower house was elected; all of the other ministers, appointed directly by the executive, namely the King. The name of its Constitution was the “Statuto Albertino,” a constitution that remained in place during most of Mussolini’s reign, though was heavily modified as Mussolini gained more power.)
On 31 October 1922, Benito Mussolini became the 27th Prime Minister of the Italian State, though he was still, at the same time, the “Duce of Fascism.” When in power, Mussolini eventually reduced King Emmanuel III to a mere figurehead, but there was one obstacle in Italy that prevented Mussolini from gaining absolute control of the state and that was the “Roman Question,” or the situation of the Roman Catholic Church in the Kingdom of Italy.
Like most socialists (or in this case, former socialist), Mussolini despised organized religion; he admired Nietzsche more than Christ, wrote books against the clergy and once said, during his days as a socialist, that “religion is a species of mental disease. It always had a pathological reaction on mankind” (Haught 256). But the fact was that a large majority of the Italian population were Catholics and, in order to cement his role as “Il Duce,” Mussolini had no choice but to strike a deal with the Roman Catholic Church, which had, since the end of the Franco-Prussian War, been without temporal lands of their own.
From the 8th century AD until the aftermath of the Franco-Prussian War in 1870, the Papal States existed as the only temporal home of the Roman Catholic religion. Like most European states, it had its fair share of conflicts and, during the Napoleonic Wars, it became a client of Napoleon’s France known as the “Roman Republic” and was governed by one of Napoleon’s generals. In 1799, the French garrison left Rome and the Catholic Church set up its own rendition of the “Roman Republic.” However, the Romans, who did not have a sophisticated army, were incapable of suppressing rebellion and, during the Revolution of 1848, a mob descended on Rome, murdered the Prime Minister of Rome on the back and almost murdered the Pope as well. Such instability led the Pope to eventually call on Napoleon III to request for a French garrison to guard the city of Rome. The French garrison would remain there until 1870, when Napoleon had no choice but to pull his garrison and to use those troops for the Franco-Prussian War. Once the Italians discovered that Rome was unguarded, troops from the Kingdom of Italy, which had long ago declared Rome its capital but couldn’t capture it because of the presence of the French garrison, descended on Rome in an event known as the “capture of Rome.” From then on, the city belonged, not to the Catholic Church, but to the Kingdom of Italy — and that marked the first time that Italy was unified since the Ostrogothic rule of the peninsula in the 6th century AD.
Once Rome lost its title as the temporal home of the Roman Catholic Church and instead became the capital of Kingdom of Italy, a dispute known as the “Roman Question” arose between the Holy See and the Italian state: The Holy See wanted its own autonomous city, but King Victor Emmanuel II of Italy wanted Italy to be unified, and he wanted Rome to be its capital. This bitter dispute between the Church, who wanted Rome to be the home of the Roman Catholic Church, and Italy, who wanted Rome to be the fulfillment of the “Risorgimento” or unification of the Italian state, ended in 1929 when Benito Mussolini met Pietro Gasparri, the representative of Pope Pius XI, and spearheaded the signing of the Lateran Pacts — an agreement between the Holy See and the Kingdom of Italy that created Vatican City, an independent city state in the center of Rome that is still the temporal home of the Roman Catholic Church to this day.
Is Fascism Right-Wing or Left-wing? Neither.
So once more, the questions arises: Are fascists on the political right or on the left? Well, if nationalism is the spindle on which fascism turns — the central, spiritual eye of fascism, so to speak, and to which all else is secondary — , then it can be argued that fascism is more right-wing rather than left. For there are naturally more “patriots” on the right than there are on the left, since right-wingers typically seek to “conserve” the status quo and leftists, to usher in a new socialist paradigm. But is nationalism really patriotism? Or is it something quite different? The term “nationalism” was little known in the modern era until the poet Barrès popularized it in the 1880s, so it must also follow that “nationalism” as we know it is also a modern phenomenon (which it is). The patriotism that the Romans felt in ancient times and the superiority that the Chinese felt during the Tang Dynasty is not nationalism. It is merely what they knew — it was their world. As far as their eyes could see, no one was as great as Rome or as the Middle Kingdom. Everyone around them were “barbarians.” To the modern nationalist, on the other hand, it is clear that other cultures and other societies have achieved great things, so, in order to feel the same “superiority” and “primacy” that the Romans felt, the modern nationalist needs to believe in something. He needs to be spiritual. One must be determined to promote the prosperity and cultural primacy of one’s nation in spite of the competing cultures that surrounds it. This breed of nationalism is not rooted in ancient cultures, but in the Romanticism of the 19th century; it is fully spiritual in nature and is also the foremost attribute of fascism — the attribute to which all else, including economy, religious tolerance, racial theories, etc. is subordinate. How was it that Mussolini managed to please the Catholics who wanted to preserve tradition and the Futurists who wanted to destroy it? How was it that he appeased Syndicalists, such as Rossini — a man who once called capitalist industrialists “vampires” and “profiteers” — , but, at the same time, appeased Conservatives who traditionally supported capitalism (Paxton)? The reason is that fascism is mostly mutable in everything but its nationalism and its authoritarianism. For the autocratic ruler is a necessary instrument in the pushing forward of a nationalist society’s goals; he is the one who moves the culture towards a transcendent success and pushes the nation in the manner that a slow and lumbering Parliament or Congress could never do. Since the leader needs to have control of all aspects of the society and also wants to ensure the appeasement of the working class, he will likely usher in semi-leftists economy policies, just as Mussolini did.
The reason that scholars have failed to properly define fascism is that fascism is not a political system proper and therefore cannot be properly defined using political and economic theory; it is instead a spiritual movement that needs hermeneutics, philosophy, and the like. And the reason that fascism was able to bring together contradictory forces, such as Conservatives, Catholics, Socialists, Futurists, working class, upper class, etc., is that fascism puts nationalism first and foremost and those who were also willing to put their nationalism first and foremost — before their economic philosophy, before their religion, and, indeed, before their reason — turned to fascism when it became an option in Italy. All else, including economics, religious tolerance, racial policies, etc., are merely supplementary components of the fascist state and do not serve as “defining elements.”
What is fascism, then? And who are the fascists? I will attempt to define fascism as a political system that derives its power, not from the supremacy of God, as theocracies do, nor from the supremacy of laws, as constitutional states do, but rather from the supremacy of the nation — of the soil. And one man is typically elected as the embodiment of that native soil — as the mythical representative of the land. He is above all things; he is above the Church, above the Law, and above the People, not because he is himself an exceptional person, but because he has been endowed with the passion and the determination to do what is best for the nation. That is the belief. That is fascism — the so-called political system that collapsed in its purest form after World War II and that has since been relegated to a mere mud-slinging term in the Western liberal democracies of today. But who is to say that the vestiges of this spirituality of fascism do not live with us today and that, someday in the future, will not settle into the soil and take root again? Of course, those on the Left will be tempted to say that it is already happening and the Right are the fascists; the Right might say the same, but of the Leftists. But perhaps this root, when it takes, will be bear a fruit much purer than anyone imagined — and when it burgeons forth, perhaps it will be a true “Third Way.”
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