Suppose a millenium from now historians found a lost copy of Alexis de Tocqueville's Democracy in America about the early days of the American republic. What would be the reaction of our decendants? Would they embrace the book wholeheartedly as the definition of American character? Would it be just a quaint relic of a long-lost era?
That is the question I kept in mind as I read Christopher Krebs' A Most Dangerous Book: Tacitus's Germania from the Roman Empire to the Third Reich. Krebs traces the book, actually a tract of less than 30 pages, from the hand of Roman historian Tacitus to the hands of Nazi leaders in the Third Reich. To borrow a phrase, Tacitus would spin in his grave at the knowledge of the uses and misuses of his work throughout history. Written at a time when what we think of as modern Germany was a collection of tribes, Tacitus finds both brutality and nobility in this loose federation of people.
Tacitus' words might have forever been lost to history if not for the work of mideval scholars and humanists who brought the Roman's book to light 1,000 years or so after it was written. From that point on, Germania was a text seemingly made of putty whose meaning could be stretched and shaped to meet the demands of whoever controlled it. Want feudal Germans to take part in a Crusade? Then play up the tales of their forefathers banding together to defend against their enemies. Want to rail against the German character? Then stress the passages that mention human sacrifice by the early Germanic tribes.
By the time the Third Reich came to power, Heinrich Himmler, head of the dreaded SS, desperately searched for ancient copies of Germania at the same time he was putting some of the book's darker passages in action: that the German volk did not interbreed nor even welcome outsiders. From such observations as this made by a Roman historian who never visited the area of which he wrote and gathered his information second hand, Nazi attacks against "outsiders" were justified.
Though this is a fairly short book (especially since the last third of the book is given over to footnotes), it is also aimed at an academic audience. Because of this it's easy to get lost among the always shifting cast of characters. Unless you have some grounding in mideval European history it's easy to loose track of the various scholars, clergy, humanist phiolosophers, forgers, popes and others who play a role in the story. Despite the occasional difficulties for a non-academic, I would advise sticking with it. A Most Dangerous Book makes for fascinating reading of history as well as a cautionary tale on how meanings become elastic in the hands of those who strive to stretch them to meet their own agenda.