All these special circumstances gave the resistance its highly individualistic, insular character. Postwar analyses have blamed the bourgeoisie, the army, the churches, the traditional curriculum in the schools, and various other social factors for the Germans’ failure to resist the Nazis more resolutely. In actual fact, no institution, no ideological current from either the left or the right, no tradition, nor any social class proved sufficient to confer on its members or adherents immunity from Nazi blandishments. Resistance was entirely a matter of personal character, whether it occurred in the bourgeoisie, the unions, or the army. The conspirators’ social background or intellectual training provided them at most with support against occasional doubts or the temptation to give up. The German resistance has thus quite properly been called a “revolt of conscience.”26
The large role played by personal determination and individual strength of character turned out, ironically, to be one of the reasons the resistance failed. It explains the lack of a unifying ideology, the disagreements, and the characteristic indecision. One person’s views were apt to raise the hackles of someone else, whose convictions would in turn be denounced by still others. The ensuing rounds of discussion and debate soon degenerated into arguments over basic philosophies that demanded to be resolved, everyone seemed to believe, rather than simply papered over with easy compromises. The result was the inaction that in retrospect makes the German resistance look like nothing more than a passionate debating society. Moltke’s elation at Freisler’s conclusion that Moltke did nothing, arranged nothing, and planned no violent acts-that he merely thought-remains one of the keys to understanding the resistance. German philosophy is often said lo be rather removed from reality, and this characterization certainly holds true for the German resistance. All the discussion papers, draft constitutions, cabinet lists, and endless debates about a new order were at least partially an escape from the practical needs of the moment. Only a few conspirators avoided the temptation to indulge in theorizing. Indeed, it seems likely that if Stauffenberg had not appeared on the scene the conspirators would have spent the rest of the war discussing with great profundity the many insurmountable problems impeding them.
Closer examination also reveals that a deep melancholy settled over the conspirators as a whole (excluding, of course, the indomitably optimistic Goerdeler). Even Tresckow was said to suffer from it; Yorck was described at one point as having been “very serious and sad the last few weeks,” and Trott observed just before the assassination attempt: “If this colossus Hitler falls, he will drag us all into the abyss.”27 At some deeper level, the conspirators all seemed to realize that their chances of success were small. The assassination of Hitler would not necessarily liberate Germany from Nazi tyranny. All it would do for certain was free German soldiers from their loyalty oaths and possibly rouse some senior officers from their moral slumber. But those results would not necessarily have been any more decisive than the successful launch of Operation Valkyrie. The real struggle would have only then begun, and its outcome would by no means have been certain. Goerdeler’s objections to violence were based not only on moral principles but on practical political considerations as welclass="underline" he feared it might lead to civil war, thereby destroying the last of the conspirators’ hopes; to defeat on the battle fronts, especially in the East; and to chaos and lawlessness. Finally, Germany might be forced to surrender unconditionally, a result he hoped to the end to avoid.
Goerdeler may well have understood the uncertain consequences of Hitler’s assassination better than those who advocated it. Stauffenberg, however, thought in different terms. Determined to overthrow the Nazi regime, he knew that there was no realistic alternative to violence. He felt it was absurd to attempt, as Carl Langbehn and Johannes Popitz had, to turn the Nazis against one another or to undermine the system from within. No less unrealistic, to his mind, was Goerdeler’s hope that a public debate with Hitler would trigger a broad popular uprising. If there were no alternatives worth discussing, then the only way to break out of the conspirators’ “little debating circle,” as Stauffenberg called it, was clearly to assassinate Hitler and stage a coup.
Like Goerdeler, Stauffenberg was still confident that an anti-Nazi government would be able to work out an arrangement with the Allies and avoid unconditional surrender. Julius Leber sought in vain to disabuse him of this illusion. In a paper apparently written by Stauffenberg himself and left behind in army headquarters on Bendlerstrasse on July 20, the hope was expressed that Germany would remain a “significant factor in the constellation of powers” and that the Wehrmacht would be an “effective instrument” in bringing about negotiations “on an equal footing” with the Allies.28 The tenacity with which Stauffenberg clung to this misconception has often been noted. Perhaps, as some commentators have speculated, he needed it as much as he needed his moral outrage in order to take action.29 After all, any clearheaded assessment of the situation could only have led to the conclusion that events should be allowed to play themselves out to the bitter end. The historian Gordon Craig regards the German conspirators as incurable “romantics,” and his characterization is probably apt, even in respect to Stauffenberg. But the critical undertone of that judgment denies them the dignity of their efforts, however desperate, impulsive, and irrational they may have been.
The particular heroism of the German resistance resides precisely in the hopelessness of the conspirators’ position, in what one historian calls the “last hurrah of a lost cause.”30 Utterly without support or encouragement from within or without, they carried on the struggle even though, by the end, no national or tangible political interest could be advanced. Thus the assassination attempt of July 20 was launched in the spirit of Tresckow’s words to Stauffenberg: “coûte que coûte”—do it “whatever the cost.” Stauffenberg surely knew that the political goals he was serving by killing Hitler were now a mere fantasy. To the Allied demand for unconditional surrender he and his friends responded with an equally unconditional determination to act, motivated at this point by only the most abstract and general ideals: the dignity of humankind, justice, responsibility, self-respect. It is revealing that all discussion of the “right psychological moment,” which had played so prominent a role in the debates of previous years, had long since ceased.
In the end success or failure no longer mattered very much. All that remained was to make a dramatic gesture disavowing Hitler and everything his regime stood for. Tresckow’s words to Stauffenberg have become the most memorable phrase of the resistance because they convey this idea in its most forceful form and express the need for action regardless of the political or practical consequences.
The July 20 attack was, therefore, primarily a symbolic act. Those who point disparagingly to the hopelessness of the conspirators’ undertaking or the inadequateness of their planning fail to see the real significance. It is only a slight exaggeration to say that the decision to attack was a decision for martyrdom. Schulenburg made this explicit late in the evening of July 20 when the idea of taking flight came up again: “We must drain this cup to the dregs,” he said to Hans Fritzsche, “we must sacrifice ourselves.”31