Moses Hess at the Nexus of Marxism and Zionism

 

Radically as Marxism and Zionism would part ways in the twentieth century, it is interesting to observe that the two ideologies’ early histories are intertwined in the person of Moses Hess (1812-1875), a Jewish radical Hegelian thinker and contemporary of Marx whose 1862 Zionist manifesto, Rome and Jerusalem, predates Theodor Herzl’s The Jewish State by more than three decades. Hess, like Marx, was born in Germany’s Rhineland to a merchant father who intended for his son to pursue a life of religious study. As Hess recorded in his diary, however, “the Talmud utterly repelled me” [1]. His adolescent intellectual awakening saw him drawn to French socialism and to the works of Baruch Spinoza and G.W.F. Hegel, whose thought would in different ways shape the course of Hess’s philosophical and political development. Under the influence of Hegel, Hess would in his early years stand out as a “dialectical Idealist” as opposed to a dialectical materialist, as his fellow left Hegelian Marx would come to be known. Hess’s ambition with respect to Hegelian thought was to rescue it from its preoccupation with the past and to transform it into a philosophy of action and social transformation. He has been described as “Germany’s first communist” [2] and the “father of German socialism” [3].

Hess’s New Jerusalem

In his 1837 book The Holy History of Mankind, Hess divided humanity’s development into three eras marked by the respective arrivals of Adam, Christ, and Spinoza. Hess saw himself as a “small tool of eternal prophecy” and claimed to be the first to “bring order into chaos” in the writing of history [4], coming to the conclusion that “social anarchism would be the final expression of God’s will through the actions of man” [5]. The first era of human history, in which spiritual and material realities were united, and the Christian era, in which the alienation of religious and worldly concerns generated philosophical consciousness of the Ideal, would be synthesized in the third era, in which “the soul is fated to shape the world according to its own image of perfection” [6]. “With Spinoza began nothing less than the time which He [Christ] and His first disciples had desired, hoped for, and prophesied,” Hess wrote: “The time of the Holy Ghost began, the Empire of God, the New Jerusalem.” [7] Hess’s vision therefore can be characterized as an idiosyncratic iteration of Judeo-Christianity. “Spinoza’s writings had acted with all the force of a divine revelation on the young Hess,” summarizes biographer John Weiss:

The Jew of Amsterdam had taught the unity of the ideal and the real, and in this Hess found the theme of the third and final era of history. In the third era, men will unite the divine and the secular, spirit and matter, by creating a society in which the ideal has been made real. [8]

For Hess, Spinoza represented “a synthesis between historical Judaism and historical Christianity, without the former being totally subsumed under the latter,” writes Shlomo Avineri in his study Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism: “According to Hess, the test for Spinoza’s revolution had to be, according to its own tenets, in the real, historical world; Hess saw the American and then the French Revolution as historical ramifications of Spinoza’s theoretical breakthrough […]” [9].

The young idealist Hess’s imagined “society of self-regulating men” as it would grow into maturity was anarcho-communist in nature [10]. “Hess readily accepted the utopian Socialists’ assumption of the universal appeal of ethical claims,” writes Weiss: “Hess expected that sooner or later all men, regardless of class [or religion], would accept socialism, simply because only socialism could fulfill the demands of the moral consciousness possessed by all” [11].

He found further justification for socialism in the example set by Moses [12] but opposed the right of inheritance in the material as well as the spiritual realm. “For this reason,” Avineri relates, “the descendants of Abraham, who thought they had inherited the knowledge of God from their ancestors, were responsible for that moral degeneration of Judaism which called for the spiritual subjectivity enunciated by Jesus” [13]. As Avineri explicates Hess’s thinking at the time he wrote The Holy History of Mankind:

It is true that the people of Israel itself cannot be resuscitated, yet the dialectics of history indicates that the social vision of Judaism will serve as the inspiration for the universal socialist future of mankind. Spinoza, not Jesus, is the true universalizer of this vision […] [14]

“In characteristic overcompensation,” Avineri observes, “Hess turned what has been viewed as a marginal element in history – Judaism – into its core” [15]. For Hess, “Spinoza brought back to world history a real, concrete Jewish aspect and thus transcended the abstract spirituality of Christianity” [16]. The “roots and intellectual lineaments” of Hess’s later Zionist writing “are clearly visible” in The Holy History of Mankind, as Avineri contends, as “the social and the national have been interlocked in his thought from the very beginning” [17]. At this point, however, it was “in the heart of Europe” that Hess believed “the New Jerusalem will be established” [18], “the idea of holiness attached to the political sphere” having “been bequeathed to European life by Judea, not by Greece or Rome” [19].

He continued to be intrigued by Judaism’s world-historical role in his 1841 book The European Triarchy, in which he accepted Jewry’s role as “the thorn in the side of Occidental humanity. Just as the Orient needed a Chinese Wall, so as not to be disturbed in its static existence, so the Jews are the element of fermentation in Western humanity,” Hess wrote, “and have been destined, from earliest times, to force upon it the element of movement and change” [20].

Hess’s Critique of Christianity

While Hess acknowledged the greatness of Christ [21], he was deeply critical of Christianity as it manifested itself as a reactionary factor in Europe’s social order. Whereas Hess called for socioeconomic transformation, he perceived that Christianity “delivered humanity into the claws of the Kingdom of Power and took refuge in a narrow, monastic contemplation of an otherworldly bliss” [22]. Christianity, unlike Judaism, “related solely to the inner man” and “thus abandoned terrestrial life to alienation, inner tensions, social cleavages, the war of the poor against the rich” [23].

Hess rankled at the realization that the German philosophy of his day was merely secularized Christian theology [24] and, as a philosopher of action, rejected the political “quietism” of the other Young Hegelians, who, unlike him, had Christian backgrounds [25]. The implementation of socialism, Hess believed, would solve the problem of the duality bequeathed to Hegelianism by Christianity [26]. Several of Hess’s most biting remarks about the social implications of the Nazarene faith appear in his 1844 essay On Money. “In ancient Judaism, the cult of blood was merely a prototype; in medieval Christianity it became theoretically, ideally and logically realized: one really partook of the alienated, spilled blood of mankind – but only in one’s imagination, in the blood of the God-Man,” Hess reasoned: “Finally, in the modern Jewish-Christian world of shopkeepers this inclination of the social animal world appears not symbolically or mystically any more, but quite prosaically.” [27] “Hess suggests that the mystery of the Christian Mass, in which the congregant partakes of the blood and flesh of the Savior, is an expression of an individualistic egoism which focuses on drinking and eating,” explains Avineri [28]. “Even Christ, the God-Man, is being ‘eaten’, ‘enjoyed’ in the Holy Mass,” as Hess pointed out [29]. “The essence of the modern world of huckstering, money, is the realized essence of Christianity,” Hess wrote more trenchantly [30]. Additionally, “Christianity is the theory, the logic of egoism – its egoistic practice is the modern Christian world of shopkeepers” [31] – and Hess also fingered the faith for enabling the “voluntary, modern slavery implied by capitalism” [32]. Again, as a proponent of action in the political sphere, Hess dismissed as useless mere critique of the existing social order without energetic activity directed toward social change, with social inertia reducing men “to the ideal of all Brahmins, rabbis and monks, priests, Pietists and religion-swindlers” [33]. “It is obvious that Marx adopted many of Hess’ ideas on the relationship between religion and economic life,” Avineri highlights:

But in the process of doing this – especially in On the Jewish Question – he tended basically to identify Judaism with capitalism. Hess did the exact opposite: while making some explicitly harsh comments on Judaism […] Hess basically identifies capitalism with Christianity. [34]

“Hess’ language about Christianity vies in its vehemence with Marx’s language about Judaism,” Avineri reflects [35] – and, indeed, it was from Hess that Marx borrowed the metaphor of religion as the opiate of the masses [36]. Consequently, even as he professed socialism, Hess admired the global marketplace’s ability to draw men closer to each other by dissolving national and religious boundaries [37] – another idea that would be echoed in Marx’s writing.

Hess and Marx

It is not an exaggeration to state that Marxism in the form in which people came to know it would never have existed without Moses Hess. “Anyone familiar with Marx’s essay On the Jewish Question, as well as with his Economic-Philosophical Manuscripts, will immediately recognize the profound impact Hess’s writings had on Marx’s own intellectual development,” writes Avineri:

One will also recognize the way in which Marx was able to systematize Hess’s incisive but less cogent thoughts into a much more developed theoretical structure. Marx’s indebtedness to Hess becomes evident; but so does his much more impressive intellectual stature. [38]

Even so, Hess’s romantic career as a radical warrants attention. He “saw in Goethe’s Faust the image of modern man who forges his own future out of a deep sense of historical consciousness” [39]. “If one cannot share Hess’s vision of the future, one can at least treat it seriously, if not for itself, then because Hess was willing to stake his future on its truth,” insists Weiss:

When Hess left his father’s business in Cologne to become a publicist for the third era, he traded security and comfort for the faint hope of converting men to a new ideal and showed the kind of nerve that makes idealism compelling and attractive however wrongheaded. For Hess had not chosen a safe task or an easy career, nor one which seemed to offer any chance of success. It was a leap in the dark. There were no political parties to be led, no political careers to be had, and as if that were not enough, no electorate to be persuaded. Hess launched himself upon a life of cheap rooms, bad food, and constant debt, with his very freedom threatened by the ever-present [Prussian] police agent patiently waiting just across the border [from France]. It meant that Hess must be continually on the move, writing brief articles, made briefer by the red pencil of the censor, for short-lived journals whose appearance was always doubtful and whose circulation at best could usually be numbered in the hundreds. Such was the life he chose. [40]

Hess’s “contributions to the left-wing journals of the day set the tone for a small group known [rather presumptuously] as the True Socialists” [41]. In The European Triarchy, the 1841 book that established his intellectual reputation in the socialist movement, Hess argued for a “synthesis of German philosophy, French politics, and English economics which eventually became the theoretical foundation of Marxism” [42]. Unlike Marx, who placed little emphasis on nationality, “Hess was able to fit the ‘national characteristics’ of the French and Germans into his grand prophetic scheme for the third era,” notes Weiss [43]. “As mediator between France and Germany, might he not bring Hegel to Paris and Babeuf to Berlin?” poses Weiss [44], who continues: “Could he himself not be at once Fichte and Babeuf, and could there be a more subversive combination?” [45] Hess “enjoyed contemplating the mighty power for social reform which would be unleashed if those halves could ever join in a common European task” [46]; but, perhaps betraying a racial grudge on Hess’s part, he excluded Russia from any role in a Europe united in the construction of emancipatory socialism, voicing disdain for Alexander Herzen’s imagined redemptive historical function for the Russian people [47].

Hess had met Marx in Berlin in 1841 and was immediately impressed with the power of his mind. It was Hess who recommended Marx to the editorial board of the Rheinische Zeitung and suggested that he read the French socialists [48]. “By the spring of 1843, those in the Prussian cabinet who all along had hoped to stifle the Rheinische Zeitung had their way, and the paper was suppressed in April. Marx left for Paris,” Weiss relates:

Paris in the forties had already become the second home of German radicals, and there many of them, like Marx, exchanged their liberalism for socialism, and so found weapons more capable of causing sleepless nights for the unenlightened despots who had driven them out.

Hess, of course, was a Socialist before he arrived in Paris. He was there to convert, not to be converted. [49]

Hess, consequentially, was the first to speak of the possibility of a “scientific” communism [50]. “Socialism,” Hess argued, “is not only the highest religion, it is also the highest science” – although, as Weiss explains, “Hess was not thinking, as Marx would later, of the science of political economy, but of the philosophy of dialectical idealism” [51]. It was instead the younger Marx who would in turn convert Hess, as the latter’s “turn to ‘realism’ started in 1846 and ended with his conversion to scientific socialism as then conceived by Karl Marx,” writes Weiss:

From 1846 on Hess collaborated with both Marx and Engels and increasingly found his utopianism challenged by Marx in letter and conversation. Indeed, Hess shared in that process by which Marx abstracted all the “tough” ideas from previous socialist theory and caused them to stand alone and forbidding […] [52]

The influence continued to flow in both directions, however. “With the development of Hess’ critical thought, one sees the elaboration of his concrete proposals for an actual proletarian revolution,” elaborates Avineri:

While his earlier thought, until the mid-1840s, abounds with theoretical discussions and historical constructs, a much more praxis-oriented thinking begins to pervade his writings once these theoretical questions have been settled. This becomes especially evident in two publications: A Communist Credo, printed in 1846 […] and a series of articles called “The Results of the Revolution of the Proletariat”, published […] towards the end of 1847. Many of these ideas were later incorporated by Marx in the Communist Manifesto, in the initial writing of which Hess himself was involved. [53]

Notably, it was to Hess that Marx and Engels owed their manifesto’s famous metaphor of the specter of communism [54]. Hess, espousing some proposals that do not sound so outlandish today, called for the imposition of progressive taxation on capital, expropriation of idle property, abolition of the right of inheritance, public education, a welfare state, and large-scale government intervention in industry [55]. Marx adopted Hess’s gradualist approach to the economic order’s evolutionary progress toward communism [56], but he and Engels, who rejected Hess’s insistence on moral persuasion [57], “never really believed he had lost his idealism and utopianism, and events were to prove them correct,” Weiss relates: “For during the revolutions of 1848, Hess’s utopian attitude reasserted itself, and from then dates the extreme hostility of Marx and Engels toward Hess” [58].

“It is such a terrible pity that the self-esteem of this man [Marx], the greatest genius of our movement, is not satisfied with the recognition given him by all who justly know and honor his achievements; rather, he demands a personal kind of submission which, I, at least, am not ready to render to any human being,” Hess confided in a passage he composed but did not ultimately include in the final draft of a letter to Herzen [59]. Hess considered Marx and Engels “to be the true synthesis of the German philosophical tradition and French revolutionary politics” [60] and “always insisted on Marx’s supremacy in matters of theory, but he never respected Marx’s party tactics,” Weiss explains:

When Marx insulted [Wilhelm] Weitling and drove the German Utopians […] out of the workers’ organizations in London, Hess came to their defense. Was it really in the interests of socialism to split the handful of German radicals into opposing camps, thus making them even more ineffective against the common enemy? [61] 

“As President of the German Workers’ League in Paris, Hess had done what he could with his pen to aid the revolutions,” Weiss summarizes the following period of Hess’s life:

In 1849 he fled to Switzerland as the agents of Prussia and France began rounding up the left. In Geneva and Zurich, Hess shared his despair with the wretched colonies of pursued revolutionists. Because they could not come to grips with their true enemies, these dispossessed fought among themselves. Theories, manifestos, proclamations, and prophecies multiplied; theoretical differences were often settled with sword or pistol. [62]

Hess in 1853

He became secretary of a London organization of communists who had broken with Marx over the latter’s insistence on waiting for the right economic crisis. Throwing in his lot with the radicals who desired the revolution as soon as possible, he returned to Germany with a forged passport in 1852. “Wanted for high treason, he had to leave Germany, and until the summer of 1854 he wandered from city to city, through Germany, Belgium, and Holland, finally finding respite in his adopted homeland, France”, where Hess did what he could “to maintain connections with the scattered and ineffective radical organizations of Europe” [63].

As Avineri concludes on the matter of Hess’s contribution to Marx’s thought, “it was to Hess that he owed more than to anybody else his development of social critique. That this debt was not always publicly – or privately – acknowledged, and that in subsequent life Marx had many bitter things to say about Hess, should not diminish our own acknowledgment of this intellectual link between the two.” [64]

“Not only did Hess reject his idealism of the forties, he, like so many of those disillusioned by the reaction of the fifties, turned in desperation to the study of the ‘real facts’, the ultimate realities as revealed by the sciences of matter,” Weiss continues, indicating how Hess had been left changed, as well, by his encounter with the “tough” Marxian sensibility: “In a series of articles and book reviews written for French and German periodicals during the fifties, Hess announced his conversion to materialism” [65]. It is possible that Hess’s new attention to biological reality helped push him toward a deeper racial consciousness and an understanding that “Judaism is a nationality” [66]. This is so because “a Jew belongs by his descent to Judaism, even if he or his parents had converted” [67]. Whatever disdain Hess had previously expressed for his father’s religion, he came to appreciate that Judaism’s exclusivity had worked to preserve the racial integrity of the Jewish people throughout the centuries, meaning that Judaism had a history as well as a future and would continue to perpetuate itself, whereas Christianity, lacking a national component, was ultimately doomed [68].

Hess’s Zionism

“Hess remained a marginal man not only to European society but also to its critics,” Avineri observes: “Unlike them, he came from the outside – and there, in a way, he always remained” [69]. Ken Koltun-Fromm, author of Moses Hess and Modern Jewish Identity, notes that “even as an influential and proud German socialist, Hess felt lost in the German culture surrounding him. His own socialist party members would desperately slander him with anti-Jewish epithets,” he further claims [70].

In France, Hess had involved himself with the League of the Just, a socialist workers’ organization that smuggled radical literature into Germany. Interestingly, the group’s leader, Wilhelm Weitling, was a friend and correspondent of Wilhelm Marr, who would become one of the most prominent anti-Semites of the nineteenth century [71]. “Hess made a point of attending their meetings, for he thought he might gain converts to his social anarchism [of the 1840s] and, more important, reach the German public through them,” Weiss notes [72]. It is not unreasonable to assume, however, that Hess also had the motive of steering the membership away from any anti-Semitic tendencies. He was not yet a Zionist during this period. “In the early 1840s, Hess was still committed to the conventional Enlightenment view of Jewish Emancipation,” Avineri observes: “The granting of equal rights will solve the Jewish problem.” [73] Even so, he was sharply aware of his outsider status, writing:

You wish to study the barometer level of spiritual freedom? Check a state’s attitude to its Jewish subjects. When it comes to the Jews, after all, one does not risk anything, on the contrary. By being intolerant towards the Jews one may even gain popularity among Christians, one may even become being loved by the Christian rabble […] [74]

In addition to Hess’s materialist turn of the 1850s, two developments helped to push him toward the Zionist idea. One was the publication in 1860 of Ernest Laharanne’s book La Nouvelle Question d’Orient, which suggested the creation of a Jewish state in Palestine, and the other was the Italian Risorgimento [75]. If Italians could muster the will to carve out a national state for themselves, Hess reasoned, why could a reconstituted Jewish nation not do the same?

Retaining his socialist economic orientation, Hess concluded that the “Jewish popular masses will participate in the great historical moment of modern mankind only when it [i.e., the Jewish nation] will have a Jewish homeland” [76]. “For Hess, so removed from the Jewish religious, political, and cultural heritage he endorsed but could not himself fully accept, race science became Jewish self-affirmation” and offered a way to potentially unite religious and secular Jews as a political entity [77]. Moving beyond his previous understanding of the Christian nature of anti-Semitism, Hess now attributed the phenomenon to racial consciousness: “The Germans hate less the Jewish religion than they hate their race, they object less to the Jews’ particular religion than to their particular noses” [78]. Additionally, Hess could find encouragement in a passage from one of his first loves, Spinoza, who had cursorily remarked that the Jews “may even […] raise up their commonwealth afresh, and that God may a second time elect them” [79].

Consequently, Hess set himself the task of writing what would become, for better or worse, his most famous work, 1862’s Rome and Jerusalem, irreverently autopsied by Avineri as follows:

Like most of Hess’ books, Rome and Jerusalem is poorly written, and its internal organization is even worse than that of his other books. It might have been the haste in which the book was composed, as well as his rush to show off his learning in a subject – Jewish history – which was not, after all, the central concern of his thought for many years. The bulk of the book consists of series of letters to a semi-fictitious lady correspondent: and the highly sentimental tone thus creeping into the book did not make it a very happy medium for a serious political tract. But it is the overall structure of the book which makes it so cumbersome: it is made up of a Preface, then the twelve “Letters” to the lady, followed by an Epilogue with six Appendices, then eleven lengthy Notes to the Letters, and finally, an Afterword. Even a reasonably patient reader might soon lose his interest in the maze of such a structure which is further complicated by lengthy quotations in Hebrew, sometimes not translated, sometimes merely paraphrased; then there appear numerous references to what to the average reader would be obscure talmudic tracts, as well as biblical quotations and philosophical dialogues, with occasional references to Greek literature as well. These organizational and stylistic qualities, probably more than its subject, contributed to the relative neglect and eventual obscurity of the book. [80]

Rome and Jerusalem was received with hostility even by Hess’s friend Berthold Auerbach. “Many reformers, Auerbach among them, were offended by Hess’s claim that Reform Jewry sat complacent in a foreign land, lost form its traditional moorings and fat in European high culture” [81]. “The efforts of our German [Jewish] religious reformers,” Hess argued, “amounted to making out of national as well as generally human Judaism another Christianity” [82].

The elderly Hess

The Zionist movement, in Hess’s lifetime, failed to materialize, and he continued to involve himself in Europe’s socialist scene, working with his fellow Jew Ferdinand Lassalle’s General German Workers’ Association. Expelled from France at the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War, Hess penned anti-Prussian articles in Belgium before returning to France to die “amidst the ruins, sick and old,” without having seen the creation of a socialist or Zionist state [83].

Hess’s opus cannot be credited with creating the modern Zionist cause, as Avineri observes that “in its own time, Rome and Jerusalem had little direct impact and was subsequently quickly forgotten.” Herzl had never heard of it at the time he published The Jewish State in 1896. When, however, “at a later stage, it was brought to his attention he said that had he known of Rome and Jerusalem, he would never have written his own tract, as so much of his thought had already been prefigured in Hess’ writings,” Avineri reveals [84].

Hess was a Jew ahead of his time and an intriguing figure whose “attempt to integrate the Judaic tradition into a science-oriented and future-directed social philosophy connected with nationalism and socialism” [85] makes him a forerunner in the field of national socialist theory – at least in an idiosyncratic Jewish iteration. “The two main currents of nineteenth century thought and social movement – socialism and nationalism – which were initially equally inspired by the French Revolution and then separated by Marx,” writes Avineri, identifying Hess’s significance, “again were united in Hess’ thought” [86].

Rainer Chlodwig von K.

Endnotes

[1] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 10.

[2] Weiss, John. Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1960, p. 24.

[3] Ibid., p. 3.

[4] Ibid., p. 14.

[5] Ibid., p. 12.

[6] Ibid., p. 16.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 32.

[10] Weiss, John. Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1960, pp. 20-21.

[11] Ibid., pp. 5-6.

[12] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 36.

[13] Ibid., p. 35.

[14] Ibid., p. 44.

[15] Ibid., p. 28.

[16] Ibid., p. 32.

[17] Ibid., p. 45.

[18] Ibid., pp. 38-39.

[19] Ibid., p. 69.

[20] Ibid., p. 71.

[21] Ibid., p. 42.

[22] Ibid., p. 43.

[23] Ibid., p. 42.

[24] Ibid., p. 135.

[25] Ibid., p. 134.

[26] Ibid., p. 137-138.

[27] Ibid., p. 132.

[28] Ibid., p. 138.

[29] Ibid.

[30] Ibid., p. 124.

[31] Ibid., p. 120.

[32] Ibid., p. 122.

[33] Ibid., p. 103.

[34] Ibid., p. 123.

[35] Ibid., p. 124.

[36] Ibid,. p. 103.

[37] Ibid., p. 119.

[38] Ibid., p. 115.

[39] Ibid., p. 50.

[40] Weiss, John. Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1960, p. 22.

[41] Ibid., p. 10.

[42] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 47.

[43] Weiss, John. Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1960, p. 25.

[44] Ibid., p. 24.

[45] Ibid., p. 25.

[46] Ibid.

[47] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 162.

[48] Weiss, John. Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1960, p. 10.

[49] Ibid., p. 28.

[50] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 86.

[51] Weiss, John. Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1960, p. 29.

[52] Ibid., p. 44.

[53] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, pp. 139-140.

[54] Ibid., p. 158.

[55] Ibid., pp. 149-150.

[56] Ibid., p. 152.

[57] Weiss, John. Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1960, p. 11.

[58] Ibid., p. 44.

[59] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 169.

[60] Ibid., p. 108.

[61] Weiss, John. Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1960, p. 47.

[62] Ibid., p. 56.

[63] Ibid., pp. 56-57.

[64] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 133.

[65] Weiss, John. Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1960, p. 53.

[66] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 180.

[67] Ibid., p. 181.

[68] Ibid.

[69] Ibid., p. 139.

[70] Koltun-Fromm, Ken. Moses Hess and Modern Jewish Identity. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2001, p. 4.

[71] Zimmermann, Moshe. Wilhelm Marr: The Patriarch of Antisemitism. New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 1986, p. 16.

[72] Weiss, John. Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1960, p. 28.

[73] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 72.

[74] Ibid., p. 75.

[75] Ibid., pp. 173-174.

[76] Ibid., p. 195.

[77] Koltun-Fromm, Ken. Moses Hess and Modern Jewish Identity. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2001, p. 4.

[78] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 200.

[79] Ibid., p. 238.

[80] Ibid., pp. 175-176.

[81] Koltun-Fromm, Ken. Moses Hess and Modern Jewish Identity. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2001, p. 13.

[82] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, p. 215.

[83] Weiss, John. Moses Hess: Utopian Socialist. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1960, p. 66.

[84] Avineri, Shlomo. Moses Hess: Prophet of Communism and Zionism. New York, NY: New York University Press, 1985, pp. 243-244.

[85] Ibid., p. 212.

[86] Ibid., p. 252.