by Joseph Goebbels
Everything is discussed openly in Germany, and every German claims the right to have an opinion on any and all questions. One is Catholic, the other Protestant, one an employee, the other an employer, a capitalist, a socialist, a democrat, an aristocrat. There is nothing dishonorable about choosing one side or the other of a question. Discussions happen in public, and where matters are unclear or confused one settles it by argument and counter argument. But there is one problem that is not discussed publicly, one that it is delicate even to mention: the Jewish question. It is taboo in our republic.
The Jew is immunized against all dangers: one may call him a scoundrel, parasite, swindler, profiteer, it all runs off him like water off a raincoat. But call him a Jew and you will be astonished at how he recoils, how injured he is, how he suddenly shrinks back: “I’ve been found out.”
One cannot defend himself against the Jew. He attacks with lightning speed from his position of safety and uses his abilities to crush any attempt at defense.
Quickly he turns the attacker’s charges back on him, and the attacker becomes the liar, the troublemaker, the terrorist. Nothing could be more mistaken than to defend oneself. That is just what the Jew wants. He can invent a new lie every day for the enemy to respond to, and the result is that the enemy spends so much time defending himself that he has no time to do what the Jew really fears: to attack. The accused has become the accuser, and loudly he shoves the accuser into the dock. So it always was in the past when a person or a movement fought the Jew. That is what would happen to us as well were we not fully aware of his nature, and if we lacked the courage to draw the following radical conclusions:
1. One cannot fight the Jew by positive means. He is a negative, and this negative must be erased from the German system, or he will forever corrupt it.
2. One cannot discuss the Jewish question with the Jews. One can hardly prove to a person that one has the duty to render him harmless.
3. One cannot allow the Jew the same means one would give an honest opponent, for he is no honorable opponent. He will use generosity and nobility only to trap his enemy.
4. The Jew has nothing to say about German questions. He is a foreigner, an alien, who only enjoys the rights of a guest, rights that he always abuses.
5. The so-called religious morality of the Jews is no morality at all, rather an encouragement to betrayal. Therefore, they have no claim to protection from the state.
6. The Jew is not smarter than we are, rather only cleverer and craftier. His system cannot be defeated economically — he follows entirely different moral principles than we do. It can only be broken through political means.
7. A Jew cannot insult a German. Jewish slanders are but badges of honor for a German opponent of the Jews.
8. The more a German person or a German movement opposes the Jew, the more valuable it is. If someone is attacked by the Jews, that is a sure sign of his virtue. He who is not persecuted by the Jews, or who is praised by them, is useless and dangerous.
9. The Jew evaluates German questions from the Jewish standpoint. As a result, the opposite of what he says must be true.
10. One must either affirm or reject anti-Semitism. He who defends the Jews harms his own people. One can only be a Jewish lackey or a Jewish opponent. Opposing the Jews is a matter of personal hygiene.
These principles give the anti-Jewish movement a chance of success. Only such a movement will be taken seriously by the Jews, only such a movement will be feared by them.
The fact that he shouts and complains about such a movement therefore is only a sign that it is right. We are therefore delighted that we are constantly attacked in the Jewish gazettes. They may shout about terror. We answer with Mussolini’s familiar words: “Terror? Never! It is social hygiene. We take these individuals out of circulation just as a doctor does to a bacterium.
The source: “Der Führer,” Der Angriff. Aufsätze aus der Kampfzeit (Munich: Zentralverlag der NSDAP., 1935), pp. 214-216.
Der Führer
by Joseph Goebbels
A leader must possess character, will, ability, and luck. If these four characteristics form a harmonious unity in a brilliant person, we have a man called by history.
Character is the most significant factor. Knowledge, book learning, experience and practice do more harm than good if they are not based on strong character. Character brings them to their best expression. It requires courage, endurance, energy, and consistency. Courage gives a person not only the ability to recognize what is right, but also to say and do it. Endurance gives him the ability to pursue the chosen goal, even if apparently impossible obstacles stand in the way, and to proclaim it even if it is unpopular, even if it makes him unpopular. Energy mobilizes the strength to risk everything for the goal and the persistence to keep at it. Consistency gives his eye and mind the sharpness of knowledge and logic in thought and action that gives truly great people the ability to reach the eternally wavering masses. These manly virtues together comprise that which we call character. Character, in short, is style and behavior in the highest form.
Will raises character from the individualistic to the universal. Will makes the man of character into a political man. Any man of significance wants something, and indeed is ready to use every means to attain his end. The will distinguishes the man who acts from the man who merely thinks. It is the intermediary between knowledge and action. It is much more important for us to want that which is right than it is simply to know what is right. This is particularly true in politics. What good is it for me to know the enemy if I do not have the will to destroy him! Many know why Germany has collapsed, but few have the will to end its misfortunes. What distinguishes he who is called to leadership from all the rest is this: He not only has the will to want, but also the want to will.
But in politics it is also important not only what one wants, but what one accomplishes. This leads us to the third characteristic of the able political person: ability. Progress requires accomplishment. Leadership means to want something, and to be able to show the way to realize what one wants. History judges by what has been done. We Germans need to realize that. Politics is a public affair, and one cannot apply the laws of private matters to public matters. We Germans often tend to confuse the desire for something with the ability to do it, and to forgive the incompetent who says that he wanted good and proper things. “We have not brought about socialism,” say the November Marxists, “but at least we wanted to.” That is irrelevant, just as we do not care if someone wants to play the violin. He must be able in fact to do so. He who wants to rescue a people must above all have the necessary ability.
Character, will and ability, the three prerequisites to leadership, show themselves in capable people. They are either there, or they are not there. The fourth characteristic binds the other three together: luck. The leader must have luck. He must have a blessed hand. One must be able to see that all his actions stand under the protection of a higher power. A leader can lack everything save luck. That is irreplaceable.
The masses do not oppose leaders. They do instinctively oppose usurpers who claim power without having the necessary will and ability. The leader is hardly an enemy of the masses. He shuns only the cheap tricks of mass flattery that feed the people with phrases rather than bread.
The leader must be able to do everything. That does not mean that he understands all the details, but he must know the basics. There are other helpful people who can keep the wheels of politics spinning.
The art of organization is one of the most important factors in the capabilities of political leaders. Organization means rightly assigning work and responsibility. The leader is the master in the clockwork of an intricate political machine.
*
Today we celebrate Adolf Hitler’s 40th birthday. We believe that fate has called him to show the German people the way. We greet him with honor and devotion, and wish only that he be preserved for us until his work is finished.
The source: “Die Fahne hoch!” Der Angriff. Aufsätze aus der Kampfzeit (Munich: Zentralverlag der NSDAP, 1935), pp. 268-271.
Raise High the Flag!
by Joseph Goebbels
It was late in the evening and I was enjoying the rare pleasure of reading a good book. I was relaxed and at ease. The telephone rang. I picked up the phone with trepidation. It is worse than I expected. “Horst Wessel has been shot.” Trembling with fear, I asked: “Dead?” “No, but there is no hope.” I felt as if the walls were collapsing around me. It was unbelievable. It cannot be!
*
A few days later. I step into the small hospital room on the ground floor and am shocked by the sight. A bullet in the head has done terrible damage to this heroic lad. His face is distorted. I hardly recognize him. But he is happy. His clear, bright eyes shine, though we cannot talk for long. The doctor has ordered him to keep calm. He only repeats a few words: “I am happy.” He does not need to say it. One sees it by looking at him. His young, bright smile overcomes the blood and wounds. He still believes.
*
I sat by his bed on a Sunday afternoon as streams of visitors came until evening. One can hope. He is improving. The fever has dropped, the wounds healing. He sat up part way and talked. What about? A foolish question! About us, about the movement, about his comrades. They stood outside his door today, and one after the other came by and raised his arm to salute the young leader for a moment. “I could not bear it otherwise!”
I look at his hands, which are now small and white. His strong nose stands out in the middle of his face, and two bright eyes sparkle. But the fever is back? He cannot eat, his strength gradually declines, though his spirit remains fresh and alert. He is not allowed to read. He may only talk. It is hard to obey the warning look of the nurse. Will I ever see him again? Who knows! If blood poisoning does not develop, everything will be OK.
A lonely mother sits outside. He face reflects a question. “Will he make it?” What can one say but yes? I try to persuade myself and others.
Blood poisoning develops. By Thursday, there is little hope. He wants to talk with me.
The doctor gives me a minute. How hard it is to walk past the death watch into the room! He does not know how serious his condition is. But he senses it may be the last time: “Do not go away!” he begs. The nurse relents, and he is comforted. “Do not lose hope. The fever comes and goes. The movement, too, has suffered in the last two years, but today it is hard and strong.” That consoles him. Come back!,” his eyes, his hands, his hot dry lips, say, as I leave with a heavy heart. I fear I have seen him for the last time.
*
Saturday morning. It is hopeless. The doctor is no longer allowing visits. He is hallucinating. He does not even recognize his own mother any longer.
*
It is 6:30 Sunday morning. He dies after a hard struggle. As I stand by his bed two hours later, I can not believe that it is Horst Wessel. His face is yellow, the wounds still covered with white band aids. Stubble shows on his chin. The half-open eyes stare glassily into the eternity that we all face. The small cold hands lie in the midst of flowers, while and red tulips and violets.
Host Wessel has passed on. His mortal remains have given up struggle and conflict. Yet I can feel almost physically his spirit rise, to live on with us. He believed it, he knew it. He himself put it in words: He “marches in spirit in our ranks.”
*
One day in a German Germany, workers and students will march together singing his song. He will be with them. He wrote it in a moment of ecstasy, of inspiration. The song flowed from him, born of life and bearing witness to that life. The brown soldiers are singing it across the country. In ten years, children will sing it in the schools, workers in the factories, soldiers on the march. His song makes him immortal. That is how he lived, that is how he died. A wanderer between two worlds, between yesterday and tomorrow, between that which was and that which will be. A soldier of the German revolution! Once he stood with his hand on his belt, proud and upright, with the smile of youth on his red lips, always ready to risk his life. That is how we will remember him.
I see endless columns marching in spirit. A humiliated people rises up and begins to move. An awakening Germany demands its rights: Freedom and prosperity!
He marches behind them in spirit. Many of them will not know him. Many will have gone where he now is. Many others will have come.
He strides silently and knowingly with them. The banners wave, the trumpets sound, the pipes sound, and from a million threats the song of the German revolution resounds:
“Raise high the flag!” [This was the opening line to the “Horst Wessel Song,” a poem he had written that became the Nazi Party anthem.]
The source: Joseph Goebbels, Der Angriff. Aufsätze aus der Kampfzeit (Munich: Zentralverlag der NSDAP, 1935), pp. 94-96.