Prof. Stanley G. Payne on Fascism and Authoritarianism

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/01/31

Dr. Stanley G. Payne is Professor Emeritus of History at the University of Wisconsin–Madison and a globally recognized expert on fascism, authoritarianism, and 20th-century European history. He earned his Ph.D. from Columbia University in 1960 and has authored numerous influential works, including A History of Fascism, 1914–1945 and Fascism: Comparison and Definition. Known for his comparative approach, Payne’s research explores the origins, ideologies, and impacts of fascist movements, with a focus on Spain and Europe. His groundbreaking scholarship has significantly advanced the study of political ideologies, shaping modern understandings of authoritarian regimes and European political history. Payne explains the historical context and enduring legacy of fascist politics. Fascism emerged in advanced nations with organized nationalism and modern systems, distinct from communism’s reliance on force and violence. Fascist movements used alliances and systemic manipulation to achieve power, unlike communists who seized power through coups or revolutions. Modern political movements share superficial similarities with fascism but lack its foundational elements. Leaders like Giorgia Meloni and Marine Le Pen succeeded by distancing from neo-fascist traits, reflecting how fascist strategies influence today’s political landscape without replicating its essence.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Today, we are here with the eminent historian and scholar, the prolific academic Stanley G. Payne. You are an expert in Spanish history, fascism, and 20th-century European political movements. You are an emeritus professor at the University of Wisconsin–Madison. You received a Ph.D. from Columbia University, an M.A. from Claremont Graduate School, and a B.A. from Pacific Union College. Some of your key works include Franco and Hitler: Spain, Germany, and World War II, published in 2008; Cuarenta Preguntas fundamentales sobre la Guerra Civil, published in 2006; The Spanish Civil War, the Soviet Union, and Communism, published in 2004; A History of Fascism, 1914–1945, published in 1995; Fascism in Spain, 1923–1977, published in 1999; and The Franco Regime, 1936–1975, published in 1987. As with every superhero story, there is always an origin. What sparked your interest in fascism, and how did this develop into your world-class expertise over time?

Prof. Stanley Payne: Well, it has a long history. Like all scholars, I had to write a master’s thesis and a doctoral dissertation. My advisors directed me to the fascist movement in Spain, which had never been studied on a scholarly level. We are talking about the late 1950s, a very long time ago. None of this work had been done yet; there was no research. I took up the topic as a project during graduate school. I wrote a book on the early history of the Spanish fascist movement.

I became interested in fascist parties, even though my main focus was on Spanish history. I began reading extensively about other European fascist movements and eventually wrote two books on fascism as a broader topic. One was a more political science-oriented account focusing on definitions. At the same time, the other was more fully empirical and had a general history of fascism. Over time, this developed into a specialization in fascist studies, which finally emerged as a recognized scholarly field toward the end of the 20th century. Now, there is even a fascist studies association, although I am not a member, as I think that might be gilding the lily a bit too much.

Jacobsen: Here is a big-picture question: What is fascism’s character? Additionally, what defines the key figures involved in fascist movements?

Payne: Fascism was a European revolutionary movement of the early 20th century that became increasingly popular during the interwar period, though it was never predominantly popular. It was primarily a phenomenon of the era of world wars in Europe between 1914 and 1945. This period of fascism represented the most extreme aspects of European nationalism.

Fascism was an authoritarian nationalist movement with several distinctive features. These included charismatic leadership, a focus on authoritarianism, and even, to some extent, a distinctive economic policy that emphasized militarization. It also had what we might call a “therapeutic” doctrine of violence, as opposed to a “necessitarian” one. This unique combination of characteristics defined the fascist movements of that era.

Of course, the problem with fascism is that when you outline its characteristics, most of them—though not all—overlap with communism. Fascist characteristics were first exhibited in Russia in 1921, but fascism evolved into a very different kind of West European nationalism. Its enemies labelled it as a right-wing movement, and, in some sense, it was indeed a right-wing movement, but it was quite different from communism. However, the overlap in authoritarian movements is very significant.

When people say, “Oh, this and that characterize fascism,” they are not necessarily wrong. The issue is that “this and that” are often characteristic of communism and other authoritarian movements. To specify what is uniquely fascist, you have to identify the aspects of fascist movements that are distinct from communism and other forms of authoritarianism. This narrows the scope considerably and demands much more precision.

It isn’t just about dictators—there are all kinds of dictators. It isn’t just about authoritarianism—there are many forms of authoritarianism. It isn’t just about nationalism—there are numerous types of nationalism. Fascism was a specific kind of European radicalism that emphasized a non-rationalist, anti-materialist approach rooted in the European Cultural Revolution of the 1890s. This movement had a unique cultural and philosophical background, characterized by vitalism, non-rationalism, anti-materialism, and distinctive aesthetics. However, its defining feature was a particular approach to violence and militarization.

It wasn’t merely about being authoritarian. Communists were often more authoritarian than fascists. While communists could be just as aggressive as fascists at times, their actions depended on circumstances. Fascism’s doctrine of violence, however, was more therapeutic and fundamental in its ideology than in communism.

After the end of the fascist era, the term “fascism” has been widely discussed. In the post-fascist period, the term is almost always used pejoratively as a means of stigmatization. It has become a term of political labelling rather than a reference to genuine fascism, which was a historical phenomenon that could not be recreated after 1945.

In the past few generations, when people refer to fascism, they’re not talking about Mussolini and the Italians, who were a minor political authoritarian phenomenon without much importance. What they actually mean is Hitlerism and Nazism. If that’s the case, why don’t they say Nazism? Why do they consistently use the term fascism?

The reason fascism remains such a potent term of stigmatization in the post-fascist era is multifaceted. First, fascism, unlike communism or socialism, doesn’t have a clear definition or meaning. Communism means something. Socialism means something. Liberalism means something. But a fascist? Presumably, that refers to a “fash.” And what does that mean? Nothing in any language other than Italian. As a result, the term is completely malleable, capable of being shaped to mean whatever someone opposes or dislikes.

Moreover, there’s the aesthetics of the term itself. If you say “Nazi,” it sounds odd but not particularly sinister. If you say “fascist,” it sounds much more menacing. The double sibilants give it a sinister tone. “Fascist” becomes a politically charged and ominous adjective, making it especially useful as a term of stigmatization.

Jacobsen: It’s a boo word in many ways.

Payne: It has lost all cognitive content. Eventually, after 1945, the term “fascism” began to lose its cognitive content. It’s what linguists call an empty signifier—a word for which you supply the meaning. The meaning is not inherent in the word itself.

Jacobsen: So, it is less about the direct cognitive meaning that ended in 1945 and more about the colloquial intent of the term when it is thrown around, typically as either a social or personal epithet—”fascist.” Could we delve more into what they mean when referring to authoritarianism or authoritarian tendencies in the current period? Is that a more accurate usage?

Payne: Yes. It can mean virtually anything undesirable and is usually unrelated to Mussolini because no one knows much about Mussolini. They mean Hitler. When people talk about fascism and the breakdown of democracy, they don’t mean Italy in 1922 because most people know nothing about that. They’re referring to Germany, the Weimar Republic, and the rise of Hitler. Of course, they don’t typically know much in detail about that either. Still, it’s an idea broadly understood in a general sense.

Jacobsen: So then, outside of terminology, in terms of the actual structures, processes, and outcomes of these movements, what threads do we see connecting communism, fascism, authoritarianism, Hitlerism, Nazism—these ideological and personality-driven movements that you’ve previously stated had a therapeutic character in some ways? What was the ailment they aimed to address?

Payne: The therapeutic aspect lies in the perception of violence and its use. Communism was always extremely violent, practicing violence on a massive scale—even during peacetime, more so than Hitlerism. However, communism viewed violence as a necessary evil. The communist idea was that violence isn’t inherently good but must be employed against enemies to achieve its goals. In that framework, violence was justified as a necessary evil to be used, often on a massive scale. However, it was something to be hidden.

What was different about historical fascists was their emphasis on the glorification of violence and militarism. Coming out of World War I, fascism was born from the massification of militarism and violence. Fascists promoted militarization as intrinsically valuable because it fostered discipline, idealism, morality, unity, and a sense of collective purpose—working for the common good. This was presented as a positive national culture to be developed.

This distinction sets fascism apart from communism. While communism also used violence and militarization on an even larger scale, it did not openly glorify these practices as fascists did. Fascism, in a sense, was more transparent—it didn’t disguise its qualities the way communists excelled at doing. Fascists were overt, openly glorifying aspects that most people would consider inherently negative or destructive.

That said, it wasn’t always straightforward. Even in Italian and German fascist regimes, leaders often had to disguise their actions because they were dealing with general populations that had not been fully “fascistized.” These regimes sometimes had to pretend to be something other than what they were. Still, these tendencies and characteristics remained fundamentally distinct from those of communism.

Jacobsen: So, these values—meticulousness, discipline, embracing military structure, and respecting military order—are the values. As they were implemented, what were the actual outcomes?

Payne: Well, they were implemented, and the logical outcome was destruction and annihilation, to the extent that it has never been possible to reconstitute a significant fascist movement after 1945. There have been attempts at imitation. It’s true. There have been some efforts at neo-fascism in various places. However, they always fail because the culture of Europe and the world has changed so much, and the examples of extreme militarism have proven so destructive that post-fascism no longer dares to invoke them.

Even authentic neo-fascist movements cannot officially label themselves as neo-fascist. They don’t dare. Most so-called neo-fascists are not even truly neo-fascists. They aim to borrow elements from authoritarianism or extremist nationalism that can be repurposed in other contexts.

Each historical period and its corresponding phenomena must be studied and analyzed on its own terms. Politically, authoritarianism is a common and recurring temptation—a perpetual temptation. It is, historically, the normal style of politics. As a result, authoritarianism always reappears in one form or another. The challenge for political analysts is to study each successive form of authoritarianism in detail, examining it for what it truly is, without imposing anachronistic or ahistorical labels that confuse more than they clarify.

You should strive to be as specific as possible about the political phenomena you’re dealing with in the present moment. If you’re talking about new political phenomena, don’t pretend it’s a recreation of 1930. What happens in 2030 will not be a recreation of 1930; it will reflect the unique characteristics of 2030.

Jacobsen: What about two things, both centred around worship? First, the worship of personality. Second, individual worship practices in small communities as used for political purposes—essentially, theocratizing a state or using religion for political ends. How have these two phenomena historically played roles in fascist movements? Do they play roles in authoritarian movements today?

Payne: Not in quite the same way. In the first half of the 20th century, it was typical to sacralize extremist political movements and turn them into substitute religions—not political religions, because that’s a contradiction in terms, but something akin to religions. You saw this in the Soviet Union and fascist Italy. At one point, they even said, “Fascism is like a religion.”

At other times, they would acknowledge, “Well, of course, the Catholic Church is a religion. We are not a religion.” Both statements were true in their own ways.

Jacobsen: Because they said, it’s like a religion.

Payne: Fascism was somewhat like a religion, but it couldn’t be a real religion. Mussolini didn’t pretend it was an absolute religion, as he officially recognized and signed a concordat with the Catholic Church, which was considered the real religion. In National Socialism, however, the situation was different. The culture of German Romanticism—what is called the völkisch or populist culture of Germanism—antedated Nazism for a long time, going back into the 19th century.

In Germany, there were very cult-like forms of this culture, even more so than in fascist Italy. Similar dynamics could also be observed in the Soviet Union, albeit in different forms. The most religious-like political movement, however, is found in communist North Korea. There, a secular religious cult, Juche—the national doctrine of Korean communism—has been officially established as a form of religion.

It’s fascinating that North Korea was the part of Korea most heavily Christianized by Western missionaries before 1945. In Juche, Christian elements are transposed into a secular political cult, with the ruling Kim dynasty becoming almost pharaonic in stature—more like gods than political leaders. North Korea exemplifies a regime where the ruling family embodies absolute power and functions as a kind of divine center.

This sacralization is not unique to historical fascism. It can also be found in other forms of authoritarianism. Certain elements central to fascism are broader phenomena, not exclusive to fascism. However, this is often overlooked or misunderstood.

Jacobsen: Do you think the missionary zeal, along with the attempts at conversion and successful conversions, softened the population for Juche?

Payne: No. The Soviet military takeover made Juche possible. It was a straightforward Soviet power play. Much like Hitler, Stalin was an ideologue, but he was a more rational political strategist. Stalin had learned from Lenin that politics is the art of the possible, requiring supreme opportunism, even if it meant temporarily betraying one’s own nominal principles.

Stalin’s approach relied on using ideologies like Hitlerism as icebreakers for violent political takeovers, then following up to consolidate power. The Soviet entry into North Korea set the stage for the emergence of Juche. There might be an indirect, bastardized, pseudo-Christian influence in the development of Juche in North Korea, but whether this softened the population is debatable. It depends on how we define “softening.” We need a longer discussion to explore that.

Jacobsen: What about Franco and Spain from 1923 to 1977?

Payne: Franco didn’t have the same issue because he had a real religion. Franco was always a devout Catholic. He declared, “We’re going to have a very Catholic regime.” After initially dabbling with fascism—a complicated phase that we may not have time to delve into here—he realized during the later stages of World War II that fascism was doomed. It was a losing ideology.

Franco began transforming Spain into a monarchy, with himself as a pseudo-king or regent for life. His approach was rooted in traditional legitimization, not revolutionary ideology. Franco’s regime became the most overtly Catholic regime in the world, using real religion as the cultural and moral foundation rather than relying on any form of cultural or political religion.

Franco’s Spain was characterized by Catholicism as the core of its identity, contrasting with regimes that relied on substitute or quasi-religious elements for cultural cohesion.

Jacobsen: So you’re referencing a transposition from Soviet Stalin’s cynical political maneuvering. What about the transposition of real religion about fascism? How does that work out? It’s different, but it seems broader in terms of the level of dogma.

Payne: Fascism, as distinct from Soviet communism, operated in a European context—an institutionalized, civilized, and more sophisticated setting—quite different from the more backward and chaotic context of Russian Bolshevism. In Europe, there had to be more careful and calculated approaches to Christianity.

In the Soviet Union, communists were enemies of Christianity from the outset. However, Lenin was a skillful opportunist. When the Bolsheviks first seized power, it was not through a nationwide takeover but by controlling key cities like Moscow and St. Petersburg. The communists solidified their control of Russia during an enormous civil war that cost 15 million lives—far more than Russia’s losses in World War I. World War I was relatively mild compared to the Civil War, even though it led to the collapse of the tsarist regime.

Lenin understood that launching an all-out assault on the Orthodox Church during the Civil War would be impossible to win. Thus, he postponed the attack until the war was over. Once the communists secured power, they began systematically dismantling the Orthodox Church.

In contrast, the Italian and German fascists, if we include the Nazis as fascists, operated in more politically complex contexts. Unlike Russia, which collapsed after World War I, Italy and Germany retained their institutional frameworks. If Mussolini or Hitler had attempted a coup d’état similar to Lenin’s, they would have been swiftly crushed by their respective armies.

Hitler initially did not grasp this reality. His failed coup in 1923 taught him the importance of adjusting his tactics. Fascist movements had to make alliances, form political deals, and come to terms with existing power structures, including the influence of Christianity.

After Mussolini became dictator, he negotiated a Concordat with the Vatican, establishing a formal relationship between fascism and Catholicism. However, this created a fundamental contradiction. Fascism aspired to be totalitarian, yet recognizing the autonomy of the Catholic Church undermined this goal. Fascism invented the term totalitarianism but never achieved its full realization. It simply wasn’t strong enough.

The Germans, under Hitler, followed a similar path. Hitler negotiated a Concordat with the Catholic Church and made arrangements with the dominant German Protestant Church, akin to the Lutheran tradition. He attempted to create a symbiosis between National Socialism and German Christianity.

This symbiosis, however, was not about equality. National Socialism sought to become the predominant force, granting Christianity only a limited sphere of autonomy. Hitler went even further than Mussolini in making Nazism a political religion in Germany, albeit within this symbiotic framework.

Unlike communism, which relied purely on raw power and avoided alliances, fascist movements depended on forming alliances to achieve their objectives. This necessity for collaboration made fascism a more complex, albeit contradictory, ideological and political system compared to Soviet communism’s monolithic approach.

Payne: Since fascist movements never had the raw power that communists wielded from the outset, they were forced to rely on political deals, especially in their early stages. This included making arrangements with the predominant forms of Christianity. However, these deals often didn’t work out well for the Christians, nor did they always work out entirely well for the fascists, particularly from the Italian perspective.

Jacobsen: Before the 1900s, were there any proto-fascist movements that could be identified or pointed to?

Payne: This is a matter of interpretation. Some historians argue that, yes, you can identify what is sometimes called the “roots of fascism.” Where do you find these roots? If you look at Italy or Germany in the 19th century, there aren’t any clear examples. However, in France, you can see the origins of modern European radical nationalism.

The French invented much of modern European radicalism, including radical nationalism, before these ideas emerged in Germany or other countries. During the early years of the French Third Republic, in the 1870s and 1880s, radical nationalists began to express ideas that resembled some aspects of fascism. While they didn’t encompass the full range of fascist ideology, these movements could be considered the first proto-fascist expressions. If you were to find early examples, they would be in France, not Germany or Italy.

Jacobsen: Have we learned any lessons from the fascist movements of the 20th century, and have we avoided repeating those mistakes?

Payne: I think so. We’ve learned the dangers of neo-fascism very well, to the extent that no neo-fascist party has been able to establish itself since 1945 firmly. Those kinds of movements haven’t been replicated.

Since the end of World War II, democracy has become the dominant political form in the Western world. Almost all political movements in the West now identify themselves as democratic, regardless of their ideology, and no one openly imitates fascism.

There’s a saying attributed to Huey Long, the “Kingfish” of Louisiana and a formidable Democratic Party politician during the early 1930s. Long was said to be the only rival Roosevelt truly feared because of his ability to appeal to the masses, perhaps even more effectively than Roosevelt. According to this attribution—which I’ve never been able to verify and may have been invented by a journalist—Huey was asked in 1934, “Will fascism come to America?”

Payne: And he said, “Oh, of course, fascism will come to America, but here we’ll call it democracy.” This takes us into a very convoluted argument, but it highlights a key point: fascism did not emerge in primitive countries. It developed only in relatively advanced nations, which already had organized nationalist movements and modern political systems.

Otherwise, there’s no need for something as complex and seemingly contradictory as fascism. In primitive societies, you simply have dictatorships—such as African or Latin American-style dictatorships. There’s no necessity to take the full fascist route. Fascism, emerging in more advanced and sophisticated nations, required complex forms and a more intricate path to power.

One enduring legacy and danger of fascism is not necessarily its ideology but its strategy—the fascist style of taking power, which is not overt. Consider Hitler’s attempted coup in 1923. He came within an eyelash of being shot dead during that effort. He was walking arm in arm-with a colleague when a bullet struck the colleague and could just as easily have hit Hitler. He was pulled down by the fall of his comrade, which dislocated his shoulder. While not wounded by a bullet, Hitler was injured—and extraordinarily lucky. He had been lucky throughout his early life, surviving World War I and this failed coup attempt.

Hitler learned from the failed 1923 coup: Don’t attempt coups. Lenin never attempted a coup, understanding that a fascist party—or any similar movement—would be swiftly crushed if it tried such a thing in a functioning state. Italy, for example, had a victorious and united army after World War I. It would have been invincible against a coup.

Therefore, fascist movements had to find allies to come to power. No fascist party in a fully developed political system could seize power on its own; it needed alliances, and those alliances had to be ones the fascists could dominate. The only two successful examples were Mussolini in 1922 and Hitler at the beginning of 1933.

In both cases, they used and worked the system. Violence and force, the tools of communists in more broken-down or primitive systems, could not be the primary strategy in advanced constitutional democracies. Fascists had to navigate within the existing political framework, forming and leveraging alliances.

Mussolini and Hitler demonstrated this approach by forming alliances that enabled their rise to power. This strategic manipulation of democratic systems remains a cautionary tale. A danger to democracies lies in the ability of movements or leaders to exploit alliances and use democratic systems against themselves.

Payne: Alliances are crucial in determining who leads and who benefits within them. In advanced democracies, no political alliance has ever fully replicated the characteristics of fascist alliances, but that strategy remains a notable threat. Fascist movements come to power not through coups but by working within the system and forming alliances. This fundamentally differs from the communist strategy, where movements almost always come to power through force and violence—a historical and political constant.

Fascist parties, in contrast, achieve power by navigating the system. This strategy, though devoid of current fascist actors, is still relevant. For example, after the fall of communism, the Cuban government adopted what they called “21st-century socialism.” While Cuban communism originally came to power through civil war and direct violence, the global political climate of the 21st century no longer permits such overt methods. Today, alliances and systemic manipulation are required, which mirrors the fascist strategy more closely. In this context, the Cuban regime began to emphasize this strategy as a practical necessity for functioning in more advanced political systems.

The legacy of fascist politics is, therefore, this practical strategy: working the system from the inside out. Movements that emulate fascist tactics often lack the power for civil wars, insurrections, or coups. Instead, they must operate politically, using alliances and systemic influence to achieve their goals.

Jacobsen: Are there any political movements or quasi-political movements in Western Europe or North America today that share some characteristics—or even many—with fascist movements leading up to 1945? If not, do they share traits we associate with authoritarianism?

Payne: The candidates for comparison today are predominantly right-wing forces. However, being right-wing is not synonymous with being authoritarian or violent. Right-wing movements may or may not exhibit charismatic leadership or authoritarian tendencies.

Take, for example, Giorgia Meloni, the Prime Minister of Italy. She is not a neo-fascist. Her political organization had to deliberately “de-neo-fascistize” itself to become effective and lead a parliamentary coalition. She operates within the political system and has no intention of overthrowing it.

The Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) is a constitutional political party in Germany. While it is very much right-wing—anti-immigration, pro-populist, nationalist, and so on—there is nothing inherently neo-fascist about it. It operates within the framework of German constitutional democracy.

Similarly, Marine Le Pen’s party underwent significant de-neo-fascistization in France to achieve its current size and influence. This process of distancing from overtly fascist traits is a recurring pattern. There’s a rule of thumb here: the more successful a putative neo-fascist party becomes, the more it must abandon the significant characteristics of historical fascism.

In short, while some political movements may share superficial similarities with fascism or authoritarianism, their methods, goals, and frameworks remain fundamentally distinct from the movements that defined the early 20th century.

My rule of thumb is that the more genuine fascist characteristics a given party has, the smaller and insignificant it is; the more a given party frees itself of genuine fascist characteristics, the larger and more successful it is, like Marine Le Pen and Meloni.

Jacobsen: Thank you for the opportunity and your time, Prof. Payne.

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