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The key problem which I, and others (inter alia De Grand 2006; Mann 2004; Woodley 2010, 2013), have with Griffin’s definition of fascism stems from his philosophical idealism and the constitutive power imputed to political myth. Griffin’s ontology has its origins in the Romantic movement of the early nineteenth century, and specifically in the way it lays “emphasis on the way in which we invest the world with our own meanings” (McLellan 1986: 7). From such an Idealist ontological foundation, there is believed to be a movement from ideas to material reality; in other words, social consciousness is taken to determine social being. Opposing such an approach is a Materialist view of social practice. Those who adopt a materialist perspective suggest that this determining relationship is predominantly the other way around, from material reality to ideas. Critiquing the Idealistic philosophical position, Marx argues it is “a mistake to start from human consciousness and to proceed from this to an investigation of material reality. The correct approach [is] the other way around. The origin of the problem was not mistaken ideas, but the misshapen nature of social reality which generated mistaken ideas” (McLellan 1986: 12). I point this out not to push for a narrowly deterministic explanation of the relationship between social practice and (fascist) ideology, nor to argue that fascist ideology is simply symptomatic of class conflict and so a reflection of ruling class interests—such interpretations were always a caricature of Marxist dialectical analysis. Rather, it should be acknowledged that political ideas are never divorced from social practice—they are both constituted and constituting; shaped by situations, institutions and social structures, but also shaping them (Fairclough & Wodak 1997: 55). As De Grand (2006: 96) puts it, by “cutting the analysis off from the economic and social realities, we lose a sense of how the regimes affected real people. Abstract projects become more important than realizations”. Or, in more stark terms:

Griffin’s idealism is nothing to be proud of. It is a major defect. How can a ‘myth’ generate ‘internal cohesion’ or ‘driving force’? A myth cannot be an agent driving or integrating anything, since ideas are not free-floating. Without power organizations, ideas cannot actually do anything. (Mann 2004: 12)

The three concepts Griffin identifies (palingenetic; populist; ultra-nationalism) may well be necessary but, even combined, they are insufficient to properly define fascism since they are detached from material practices. Griffin, however, mocks analysts who approach fascism from a Marxist dialectical perspective:

The sense of living in a post-fascist world is not shared by Marxists, of course, who ever since the first appearance of Mussolini’s virulently anti-communist squadrismo have instinctively assumed fascism to be endemic to capitalism. No matter how much it may appear to be an autonomous force, it is for them inextricably bound up with the defensive reaction of bourgeois elites or big business to the attempts by revolutionary socialists to bring about the fundamental changes needed to assure social justice through a radical redistribution of wealth and power. (Griffin 2006a: 37)

There are three points to make regarding this extract. First, he claims that Marxists “have instinctively assumed fascism to be endemic to capitalism” [my emphasis]. Marxists would argue that their conclusions are based not on instinct or assumption, but on an understanding of how labour is organised under capitalism and basic empirical observation. Capitalism rests on workers not being paid the full value of their labour. An employer will pay workers, but they will not compensate them for the full value of their labour—the remainder, this ‘surplus value’, is the accumulated product of the unpaid labour time of workers. In layman’s terms, this is what is called profit. Every fascist regime was founded on such a capitalist mode of production; every fascist ideology is founded on (qualified) support for a capitalist mode of production; no fascist regime threatened the property and economic privileges of the upper classes (Mann 2004: 62–63; see also Chapter 5). Benjamins (1973: 243) summarises this as follows: “Fascism attempts to organize the newly created proletarian masses without affecting the property structure which the masses strive to eliminate.” As I discuss below, fascist opposition to certain capitalists, or companies or (especially) international capital does not remove the basic fact that, under fascism, labour continued to be organised in such a way that it generated surplus value—profit—for companies and their owners. Indeed, Griffin (2006a: 44) acknowledges this, stating that Nazism ‘renewed’ the economic sphere of inter-war Germany “by adapting capitalism rather than abolishing it”. Obviously there are many different forms of capitalism; clearly these can be more or less repressive, more or less exploitative, more or less illiberal. But all fascisms are capitalist—that is, they assume and advocate a political economy structured with the means of production in private hands, and labour power purchased in order to produce surplus value (profit).

In the second sentence, Griffin presents an “extreme case formulation” of what Marxists (plural, and presumably all of us) apparently argue, in order to convince readers to buy into his own academic project. This formulation appears to be based on Dimitrov’s (1935) speech to the Seventh Comintern, wherein fascism is defined as “the open terrorist dictatorship of the most reactionary, most chauvinistic and most imperialist elements of finance capital.” But Dimitrov’s polemic was not the only, and certainly not the most sophisticated Marxist analysis, even in 1935. Marxists do not (all) argue that fascism is restricted to “defensive reaction” of “bourgeois elites or big business”, as repeat empirical analysis of middle class, petty bourgeois and lumpenproletariat membership and activism demonstrates (cf. Mason 1995). Nor is this “defensive reaction” directed in response to the actions of only “revolutionary socialists”, but against all organised labour and indeed any group perceived as being in opposition to the aims and objectives of the Party (as metonym for the Nation). Nor is it only groups and individuals committed to “a radical redistribution of wealth and power” that fascism violently opposes, but any campaigning based on egalitarianism; fascism “dispenses with all the trappings of parliamentary discourse. No opposition whatsoever is allowed, either within or without the fascist movement” (Kitchen 1976: 86). In his eagerness to reject what he calls ‘Marxist’ understandings of fascism, Griffin reproduces some of the characterisations that fascists offer of their mythical opponents—a characterisation which emphasises Marxist revolutionary excess in order to justify fascist excess—and, in so doing, throws the baby out with the bathwater.

To summarise: I do not doubt or deny that the myth of imminent ‘national rebirth’ can be documented in a copious number of Fascist/fascist primary sources; it is clearly the case that Fascists/fascists did, and do, invoke ‘national rebirth’ in their discourse. But how much does that tell us? Analysis is insufficient if it begins and ends with identifying the surface of fascist ideological discourse. The more important points are: what fascist ‘national rebirth’ is taken to actually mean given that: (1) myths of rebirth are “shared with many other political ideologies” as well as cultural and religious movements (Baker 2006a: 73); and (2) for most fascist movements, ‘rebirth’ appears to translate to ethnic and political cleansing (Mann 2004). Is ‘national rebirth’ in fact a fascist euphemism? Examining in greater detail what ‘rebirth’ is taken to mean is the first step towards a critical examination of the role(s) that such myths play in fascist political projects and the relationships between such myths and what Fascists/fascists actually did (and did not do).