GoKawiilWilhelm wished to be “the stag at every hunt, the bride at every wedding, and the corpse at every funeral.”
Thomas Carlyle famously claimed that “The history of the world is but the biography of great men.” In his view, history only really “progressed” when a “great man” through his actions ushered in a new epoch. Napoleon was the archetype for this model, a man who seemingly came from nothing to leave an indelible mark on world history. This model places extreme focus on individuals and thus on elite politics. The theory does not account for mass politics or leave room for the histories of those far from the levers of power. The clear deficiencies of a focus on “great men” led to its abandonment in favor of a broader approach to history, more interested in historical forces than in personalities. This historiographical turn led to the exploration of many important and previously neglected areas, yet “history from below” came with problems of its own. By emphasizing the role of structural forces, it deemphasized the role of individuals. With this approach, the course of history begins to appear inevitable. If it was the social and political forces of the French Revolution that made Napoleon successful, the logical conclusion is that it would have made no difference to the course of history should he have, say, suffered a fatal stroke in 1801, a premise few would accept. It is clearly untrue when applied to specific cases. Not only who ends up in power, but the specific decisions they make are deeply consequential. Who would really contend that the 20th century would remain unchanged had Hitler been killed in WWI?
The synthesis position is what I call here the “mediocre man” theory of history. The idea of this mediocre man theory is that history is not just shaped by great men or by mass sociological forces that make individual irrelevant. Instead, while it is shaped by structural forces, it is also shaped by ordinary people who end in positions of extraordinary importance. Sometimes those individuals have vision and the character to try to impose that vision on the world and constitute the “great” figures of history. Others are complete incompetents you wouldn’t trust to run a lemonade stand. As su, history is not shaped by the talented alone and mundane failures may be as consequential as grand successes. Dilettante monarchs neglect crucial reforms, awkward diplomats reinforce prejudices, military thinkers become set in their ways, etc. These idiosyncratic, average figures shape history not necessarily any less than their more talented counterparts.
Perhaps no one better illustrates the concept than German Emperor, Wilhelm II. After all, it would be extremely difficult to call the Kaiser a “great man,” even in the loosest sense. However, the impact of his rule and his personal decisions on world history is undeniable. A simple counterfactual demonstrates this: If Wilhelm II had been more like his liberal father or his passive grandfather, it is near impossible to imagine the path the twentieth century would have taken.
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Yet, his actual influence is harder to pin down. During WWI and in its immediate aftermath, the Kaiser was understood as the “brute of Europe,” a tyrannical warlord who was responsible for German aggression and bringing about the war. Before long, however, this image was replaced with one still popular today, that of a “shadow Kaiser.” A figure more influential than a traditional constitutional monarch, but one whose power was rarely felt compared to the prestigious military and overwhelming modern state. In this view, the Kaiser contributed, but was merely a small player in the making of German policy.
More recent research (particularly from John C. Röhl and Annika Mombauer) has established that Wilhelm, far from being a mere “shadow emperor” succeeded in centralizing power following his accession. While not a traditional autocracy, his power over personnel and the need for royal assent assured the Kaiser’s ability to shape policy. Germany’s constitution made it particularly susceptible to this kind of “personal rule.” A Chancellor, not a prime minister, headed the government. The Chancellor ruled by confidence of the monarch, regardless of the makeup of parliament. The military owed no allegiance to the civil state, only to the monarch, allowing Wilhelm to flex his influence as supreme arbiter between institutions.
What’s more, advancement in both the armed forces and the civil service required the emperor’s approval. Promotion was impossible without royal assent. At the highest levels, nothing mattered more than his confidence and, indeed, friendship. Wilhelm ruled out candidates on the basis that they weren’t tall enough to cut an impressive figure. In fact, the Younger Moltke owed his appointment to Chief of the General Staff less to his famous name, and more to his personal relationship with Wilhelm and his conformity with what the Kaiser thought a soldier ought to look like.
This power had extreme effects on the behavior of Germany’s ruling bureaucrats and officers. To incur the Kaiser’s displeasure meant the end of a career. As such, those that attained influence at court were those who could judge which topics were safe to broach in front of his majesty. There was no question of discussing harsh truths.
Wilhelm certainly brought Europe closer to the precipice of war through his actions and rhetoric, yet he was far from the warmongering brute often imagined. In fact, the Kaiser was far more peaceably inclined than many of his advisors, particularly Chief of the General Staff Moltke (the Younger) and War Minister Falkenhayn who strongly pressed for “war, the sooner the better.” Wilhelm, in keeping with the theme of mediocrity, was thoroughly ambivalent. At times, he raged, declaring his desire to crush Germany’s enemies. During the Boxer rebellion, he ordered Beijing to be razed in revenge for murdered German dignitaries. He was convinced to rescind this order, which is illustrative of the manner in which he was given to flights of fancy and malicious rage. When he spoke to foreign representatives or even the foreign press, he expressed the most fervent desires for cooperation and cordial relations. But the moment he felt slighted, particularly by the English, he seethed, calling for a humbling war.
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