The Kaiser and a "Mediocre Man" Theory of History

A Case Study in the Historical Importance of Incompetence

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 such, 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. 

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. 

At the same time, the Kaiser’s commitment to peace was sufficiently strong as to frustrate even those who did not actively desire preventative war. During the First Morocco crisis, the Chancellor and Foreign Ministry sought to use the threat of war to break up the untested Anglo-French Entente. This attempt was completely undermined when the Kaiser declared publicly that he was utterly unwilling to take Germany to war. 

Likewise, when the Balkan wars broke out, many of Germany’s leaders saw an opportunity either for preventative war or at least using the risk of it to break the Entente. However, the Kaiser was immediately opposed to even the possibility of taking Germany to war over a Balkan affair. It was only after much haranguing that his mind was changed. With his typical capriciousness, he raged against England. Yet, ultimately, nothing was to come of the incident, much to the disappointment of those in favor of war. For all his immature rage and harsh words, the emperor had the sense to balk in the face of war. 

Understandably, there has been much speculation as to Wilhelm’s mental fitness. Both amongst historians and contemporaries, it has been marked that Wilhelm possessed a perpetual immaturity. He had great difficulty in taking matters seriously, and tended to fixate on surface level details that caught his fancy to the neglect of the heart of the matter. He spoke without preparation or consideration, seemingly unaware of the consequences this brought about. His insistence on giving innumerable speeches left his advisors perpetually frustrated. He also had a tendency to fly into rages in which he would completely lose control over himself, deeply disturbing even his intimate companions. While we may no longer be able to diagnose Wilhelm, even his most sympathetic contemporaries could not avoid considering that the Kaiser was deeply unwell. 

On the whole, Germany’s diplomatic isolation was primarily a product of the Kaiser. While the other powers of Europe were certainly concerned about Germany’s growing power, the near total isolation that made Germany willing to risk war in 1914 was by no means inevitable. It is unlikely either the Russians or French would have been willing to undertake a war of choice on the other’s behalf. However, the influence of the Kaiser on German politics made Germany’s isolation inevitable. A byzantine court system where promotions were based on the favor of a man who did not have the character to set a consistent policy made for a state that was not a credible partner. The Chancellor might say one thing, the diplomatic service another, military attachés still a third, and then all may, at any time, be contradicted by the Kaiser in a speech commemorating a battle or commissioning a ship. 

This, even more than Germany’s increasing power, was why the Entente powers formed an encircling pact against it. Germany’s interests were incomprehensible and thus there was no option other than to balance against this rogue state in the heart of Europe. Wilhelm’s unsuitability was not fully understood, and the incoherence of German foreign policy led its contemporaries to assume the worst. 

This was not entirely unjustified. While Wilhelm himself may have balked at throwing Germany into a Great War, his power over personnel meant that he was the one who appointed officers that pressed for war and diplomats that were willing to risk one. When war finally did come, the Kaiser eventually found himself truly sidelined. The army, understandably fearing his interference, did its best to inform him of developments in a vague manner that would insulate him from operations. Nevertheless, Wilhelm retained decisive influence in the power of personnel. The unpopular Chief of the General Staff Erich von Falkenhayn, architect of the Battle of Verdun, was sustained in his position by Wilhelm for years after he had fallen from favor among the high command. Even to the end of the war, as army high command under Hindenburg and Ludendorff consolidated power, candidates for replacing the Chancellor were subject to the Kaiser’s approval. Those who he personally disliked were summarily removed from consideration or never even put forwards. So long as the German government stood, the Kaiser’s views, no matter how facile, had to be accommodated. 

Ultimately, Kaiser Wilhelm II was not a great man. At times, he was certainly pathetic, but he was also possessed with considerable willfulness. He was far from a historical nonperson, and cannot be regarded as a mere tool of either more savvy operators or historical forces. The politics of Europe before WWI cannot be understood without an understanding of his character and the form of governance it produced. There was a saying of the Kaiser in Vienna, that Wilhelm wished to be “the stag at every hunt, the bride at every wedding, and the corpse at every funeral.” It is difficult to believe that such a man could nevertheless have extreme influence on the course of history. Even today, while the age of powerful monarchs has ended, personal rule is still present in many autocracies. The case of the last German Emperor is a sharp warning against the human impulse to over-rationalize events. Social and economic factors drive history, certainly. Likewise willful individuals may stamp their signature in the book of history. But no less often do the mere whims of the mediocre leave their mark.