… American Progressives and European fascist theorists admired each other and exchanged ideas. From William James to Georges Sorel, from eugenics to the militarization of society (”War on Poverty” anyone? It was William James who penned the “Moral Equivalent of War” in 1906), both the American left and European fascists sought to remake society using crises to urge action to justify bigger government at the expense of individual liberty.

Ronald Reagan had it right in 1981, when he remarked that Roosevelt’s New Deal had much in common with Mussolini’s fascism, including frequent words of praise from Roosevelt’s brain trust directed towards Italy in the 1930s.

Absolutely nothing controversial here from the Tea Party perspective, and the “words of praise” line is accurate. But how will this play in a state that in 2008 gave Barack Obama the biggest Democratic landslide margin since FDR in 1936?

President Franklin D. Roosevelt signs the Tennessee Valley Authority Act in 1933. (tva.gov)

President-elect Barack Obama is confronting a cascading economic crisis, which seems to worsen by the day, not the week. As venerable banking houses collapse, once-mighty industries teeter on the brink of oblivion and unemployment mounts, the air thickens with recollections of the Great Depression of the 1930s, and comparisons between Obama and President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

But let’s define our terms. So what exactly was the Great Depression, and what did FDR do about it?

Illustration by: Matt Mahurin

The short answer is: The Great Depression was a rare political opportunity, and Roosevelt made the most of it — to the nation’s lasting benefit.

A longer answer would acknowledge that the Great Depression was a catastrophic economic crisis that Roosevelt failed to resolve – at least not until World War II came along, some eight years after he took office.

A still longer answer would recognize the connection between FDR’s short-term economic policy failure and the New Deal’s long-term political success. Much misunderstanding surrounds this matter.

“At the heart of the New Deal,” the distinguished historian Richard Hofstadter once wrote, “there was not a philosophy but a temperament.” In a kind of caricature of Hofstadter’s view, a New York Times writer not long ago said that Roosevelt “threw a slew of policies at the wall, and whatever stuck became the New Deal.”

That accepted view of the New Deal — as a kind of harum-scarum frenzy of random, incoherent policies that failed to slay the Depression demon — has become deeply embedded in our national folklore. But it is woefully and mischievously mistaken.

The fact is that Roosevelt purposely forged in the crucible of the nation’s most harrowing economic crisis a set of reforms that cohered in a more systematic pattern than is dreamt of in most philosophies. The essential logic of that pattern fairly leaps from the pages of the historical record. It can be described in a single word: security.

A Great Depression bread line, as depicted at the FDR Memorial in Washington, DC (Flickr: Tony the Misfit)

It is altogether fitting and proper that the New Deal’s most durable and consequential reform bears that very word in its title: the Social Security Act of 1935. A even greater measure of security was the New Deal’s gift to millions of Americans — farmers and workers, immigrants and blue-bloods, children and the elderly, as well as countless industrialists, bankers, and merchants, not to mention enormous tracts of forest, prairie, and mountain.

Forget about the colorful creations of the decidedly frenzied and much ballyhooed Hundred Days — like the Civilian Conservation Corps and the National Industrial Recovery Act. Most of them were attended by much sound and fury, but signified little, and strutted the briefest of hours on history’s stage.

But all the New Deal reforms that endured – the Federal Deposit Insurance Corp., the Securities and Exchange Commission, the Federal Housing Administration, the National Labor Relations Board, the Fair Labor Standards Act and, above all, the Social Security Act — had a common cardinal purpose. Roosevelt’s goal was not simply to end the immediate crisis of the Great Depression, but to make life less risky, to temper for generations thereafter what FDR repeatedly called the “hazards and vicissitudes” of life.

The New Deal provided more assurance to bank depositors (FDIC), more reliable information to investors (SEC), more safety to lenders (FHA), more stability to relations between capital and labor (NLRB), more predictable wages to the most vulnerable workers (FLSA), and a safety net for both the unemployed and the elderly (Social Security).

Those innovations re-wove the very fabric of national life. They profoundly shaped the fates of Americans born long after the crisis of the Great Depression had passed. With the exception of the FDIC, none dates from 1933.

Had economic health been miraculously restored in the fabled Hundred Days, a swift return to business as usual might have meant politics as usual as well — and none of those landmark reforms would have come to pass. Indeed, there would have been no New Deal as we know it.

Roosevelt understood this. He was a deeply strategic political actor and an astute student of history. He keenly appreciated what the engines of history had wrought and what they might be made to yield in the uniquely enabling circumstance of the Depression.

FDR had sketched the broad outline of his grand design well before the Great Depression descended. Proposals for old-age pensions, for example, dated back to the platform of the Progressive Party in 1912, which nominated for president his beloved cousin and political role model, Theodore Roosevelt. FDR publicly endorsed the idea as early as 1930.

But FDR also told his fellow Democrats throughout the 1920s that his comprehensive reform agenda must wait “until the Republicans had led us into a serious period of depression and unemployment.” He eventually confronted a more dangerous depression than he could have anticipated — but he realized the opportunity that it afforded.

The Chinese character for “crisis,” we are told, is a melding of the characters for “danger” and “opportunity.” FDR did not read Chinese, but he appreciated the logic of that etymology.

In his extraordinary second Inaugural Address, delivered Jan. 20, 1937, Roosevelt crowed about the actually quite modest recovery since 1933. “Our progress out of the depression is obvious,” he said. Then he added something altogether novel in the annals of presidential addresses: “Such symptoms of prosperity may become portents of disaster!” Roosevelt went on to describe the “one-third of a nation ill-housed, ill-clad, ill-nourished,” whose plight made a mockery of the American dream.

The context made it clear that he was not then speaking about the victims of the transient depression crisis, which he saw as ending, but about the accumulated social and human deficits spawned by more than a century of let-‘er-rip, swashbuckling, unregulated American capitalism — deficits not yet fully redeemed.

Solving that problem was what he meant when he said that “this generation of Americans has a rendezvous with destiny.”

“We are going to make a country,” Roosevelt once remarked, “in which no one is left out.”

In that unadorned sentence, Roosevelt summed up his highest purposes and his lasting accomplishments. The New Deal’s legacy was to give countless Americans, who until then had never had much of it, a strong sense of security. And with it, Roosevelt gave them a deeper sense of having a stake in their country and a bond with their countrymen.

Obama’s chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel, seems to have taken this essential history lesson on board. “You don’t ever want a crisis to go to waste,” he said recently. “It’s an opportunity to do important things that you would otherwise avoid.”

Like Roosevelt, Obama faces an urgent economic crisis. Like Roosevelt, Obama must use the (now considerably greater) powers of government to restore economic health. But like Roosevelt, Obama will ultimately be judged not simply on whether or how he ended this crisis, but on how he used it.

We have our own accumulated social and human deficits. Some, like the lack of universal health care, have been begging for attention since Roosevelt’s time. Others, including a crumbling infrastructure, struggling public schools, climate change, energy dependence, environmental degradation, widening income disparity and illegal immigration, have been festering merely for the last several decades.

If this generation is to have its own rendezvous with destiny, and if Obama wants to stand in FDR’s company, those matters can no longer be avoided.

David M. Kennedy is the Donald J. McLachlan Professor of History at Stanford University. He won the 2000 Pulitzer Prize for History for “Freedom From Fear: The American People in Depression and War, 1929-1945.”

Franklin Delano Roosevelt (Wikimedia)

Republicans have unveiled their closing argument. Desperate to prevent a huge Democratic landslide, Republicans warn that one-party government under Democrats would surely mean liberal extremism.

Raising the specter of an “Obama, Pelosi and Reid” government, Sen. John McCain refers to the combination of Sen. Barack Obama, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) and Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid (D-Nev.) as a “dangerous threesome.” Sen. Orrin Hatch (R-Utah) warns, “Liberals are bent on handing Barack Obama a filibuster-proof Senate majority to rubber-stamp his radical agenda.”

The argument is based on a misreading of American history. For, during periods of one-party government, when Democrats controlled both the White House and the Congress, history demonstrates that they have not shifted radically toward a leftward agenda.

Illustration by: Matt Mahurin

Few observers, other than those on the far right, characterized the New Deal as liberal extremism in action. Most perceived President Franklin D. Roosevelt as an experimenter who tried to please everyone. FDR and his Democratic counterparts did everything in their power to save capitalism from the threat of totalitarianism and communism during the Great Depression.

The period between 1933 and 1938 witnessed a dramatic expansion of government. But with each and every policy, Democrats were careful to constrain the ability of government officials to control capitalist institutions and to protect the power of state and local government.

The economic regulations passed in the 1930s allowed private economic institutions to maintain power and profit. Wall Street regulations primarily curbed dangerous and unethical transactions, while the Securities Exchange Commission was set up to monitor wrong-doing. This left the basic decisions to investors.

The major effort to manage pricing and production was the National Industrial Recovery Act in 1933. In the worst economic moment of the nation’s history, the legislation essentially asked businesses to voluntarily adhere to codes that would be enforced through voluntary compliance combined with public pressure. The program collapsed by the end of 1934, before the Supreme Court deemed it unconstitutional, because so many business leaders were not living up to their promises.

The farm programs, created in 1933, subsidized agribusiness as opposed to taking it over. The New Deal offered the agriculture industry financial incentives to make decisions that benefited the larger economy. The government paid for crops. The Communist Party leader, Earl Browder, lamented that Roosevelt was “carrying out more thoroughly and brutally than even Hoover the capitalist attack against the masses.”

Social Security, passed in 1935, only covered a limited portion of the workforce — excluding farmers, domestic workers, professionals and others — while relying on a regressive, self-financed tax to pay for benefits.

Lyndon Baines Johnson (Wikimedia)

Lyndon B. Johnson and the Democratic Congress in 1964 and 1965 were also quite timid. The War on Poverty received meager funding. Democrats had given priority to passing an across-the-board tax reduction to stimulate the economy, rather than spending on the poor.

Congress allocated $500 million for the Community Action program, a figure that paled in comparison to what Washington spent on Social Security, agricultural benefits or defense. The War on Poverty focused on developing self-sufficiency among the poor, a far cry from socialism, and the programs relied on civic organizations and local government rather than centralized control in Washington.

The civil-rights bill that Democrats passed in 1964 emphasized the protection of individual rather than group rights. The more aggressive program of affirmative action would not emerge until a Republican was in the White House, in 1969, and then there was divided government.

When Democrats controlled the White House and Congress, in 1964, they insisted on civil-rights legislation that focused on the more moderate goal of eliminating racial discrimination against individuals. This, they said, respected American principles. The government remained reactive under their plan, responding when individual rights were violated, rather than proactively combating institutional racism.

When it came to health care, the Medicare bill of 1965 was a watered-down version of the far bolder health-care proposals that Democrats floated in the 1940s — unsuccessfully. To avoid another defeat, Democrats decided to narrow their ambitions with a limited program to provide hospital insurance coverage just to the elderly. Medicare was created within Social Security to bolster political support, using its regressive self-financed tax system. The government refrained from regulating the prices hospitals could charge. Blue Cross and Blue Shield handled the insurance.

Even when Southern Democrats lost their power in Congress, united government did not result in a dramatic swing to the left. President Jimmy Carter struggled with the various factions within the Democratic Party over energy independence, welfare reform, defense spending and more. United government did not help the president overcome horrible relations with legislators in his own party. Carter’s concern with inflation trumped his worries about unemployment.

Conservative grass-roots activists took advantage of these problems by allying with the GOP congressional minority in the Congress to stifle measures like SALT II.

Bill Clinton (Flickr: World Economic Forum)

President Bill Clinton did not fare much better. Democrats controlled Washington, but Clinton decided to start his term with deficit reduction and free trade. When he proposed health-care reform, it was a far cry from the single-player, national health insurance models that had been championed by Democrats like Sen. Edward M. Kennedy. And even that legislation did not make it through Congress.

The best case for Republicans to show how one-party government produces extremism comes from the period of GOP rule between 2002 and 2006. One-party government allowed Republicans to pass a massive tax reduction in 2001 that severely cut into the coffers of government and provided significant tax relief to wealthier Americans. After 9/11, the Bush administration authorized a huge expansion of the national security state.

Yet much of what George W. President Bush actually accomplished still relied on executive power and secrecy. Signing statements, covert national-security programs, executive orders and misleading information were all instrumental to how Bush achieved his goals. Bush has continued to rely on these tactics under divided government as well.

The historical record is clear. One-party government does not lead to political extremism — and a look at the past contradicts GOP claims that Democratic control of both ends of Pennsylvania Avenue would produce a dramatic shift to the left. Democrats will face all sorts of pressures, from internal factions to budgetary restraints to the 2012 election, that will serve as a powerful check on what the party can accomplish.

Disappointment, not extremism, is a more realistic prediction of what the party could ultimately face.

Julian E. Zelizer is a professor of history and public affairs at Princeton University’s Woodrow Wilson School. He is the author of “On Capitol Hill: The Struggle to Reform Congress and its Consequences, 1948-2000″ and the editor of “The American Congress: The Building of Democracy.” He is finishing a book on the history of national-security politics since World War II and another on the presidency of Jimmy Carter.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt makes a speech to Kansas farmers during his 1932 campaign for president.

In the wake of the largest financial crisis since the Great Depression, Sen. John McCain and Sen. Barack Obama have scrambled to develop effective responses. Even as they take pot shots at each other, both nominees have weathered criticism from the punditocracy for not advancing specific blueprints for stabilizing Wall Street. Even Comedy Central’s “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart” piled on, mocking the presidential contenders’ bland statements as a “generic off.”

Scurrying to offer a plan, McCain called for the establishment of a high-level bipartisan commission. Obama, meanwhile, ostentatiously met with his top economic advisers in Coral Gables, Fla., while asking voters to review the detailed economic proposals on his campaign website.

Illustration by: Matt Mahurin

These required displays of seriousness are a familiar, and ludicrous, feature of contemporary U.S. politics. In the American system of government, a new president cannot simply enact his program — even if his party controls both houses of Congress. Consider the fate of President Bill Clinton’s 1993 health-care reform, or President George W. Bush’s 2005 Social Security privatization. In fact, campaign plans almost never form the basis for actual policy.

History demonstrates that detailed responses to complex, evolving crises are not only disposable rhetoric — they are also bad politics. Successful campaigns avoid tying themselves down. Specificity only creates targets for the opposition and makes governing after Election Day that much more difficult.

Just look back to Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1932. Facing the worst economic crisis in the nation’s history, Roosevelt published no plans to combat the Great Depression. Throughout the campaign, FDR remained studiously bland — offering rousing calls for change with little in the way of detail. In a commencement address at Oglethorpe University, Roosevelt criticized incumbent President Herbert Hoover’s inadequacies with an unspecified commitment to “bold, persistent experimentation.”

In his acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention — where Roosevelt initiated the tradition of the candidate accepting his party’s nomination in person — he made an even vaguer promise of a “New Deal for the American people.”

The few times FDR revealed actual plans during the campaign, he made modest, reassuring pledges to restore sound government finances. The most specific he got was a promise, made at a rally in Pittsburgh, to balance the federal budget and cut “government operations” by 25 percent.

Of course, he pursued no such thing as president, taking unprecedented steps to combat the Depression. But when President Roosevelt planned a return trip to western Pennsylvania, his staff remembered that earlier pledge.

In one version of a famous story (sources differ), a young presidential speechwriter, Samuel Rosenman, entered the Oval Office puzzled about how Roosevelt could explain his broken campaign promise, should it come up. Did the president want to say he is misquoted? Did he want to say he had never said that? Roosevelt flashed his trademark smile, and replied, “I will deny I was ever in Pittsburgh.”

Two decades later, Dwight D. Eisenhower trod even more carefully. Indeed, Americans knew so little known about the former World War II commander’s plans for governing the country that even his party affiliation had been in doubt. Four years before he became the Republican nominee for president, many prominent Democrats — including FDR’s own son — had tried to draft him as their party’s standard-bearer.

Much like today, in 1952 the United States found itself with a deeply unpopular president mired in a frustrating foreign war. Resolving the stalemate in Korea was the year’s most important issue. But extricating U.S. troops from Korea presented complex diplomatic, military and political challenges.

Eisenhower wanted to exude confidence that he could resolve the conflict without laying out specific plans that his opposition could criticize, or that the international community might later regard as commitments. Instead, the former five-star general lambasted the idea that he should reveal his plans. Any such pledge, he suggested, “would brand its speaker as a deceiver.” Instead, Eisenhower promised that, if elected, he would go to Korea personally, hinting that he could end the war without indicating when or how.

In 1968, with the help of a story-starved reporter, Richard M. Nixon raised the art of vague promises to a new level. Taking a leaf out of Eisenhower’s book, Ike’s one-time running mate dodged most questions about the continuing conflict in Southeast Asia. “New leadership,” Nixon blandly repeated, “will end the war in Vietnam.”

By neglecting to reveal precise steps to stop the fighting, Nixon simultaneously appealed to “doves” seeking an early end to the war without renouncing the victory staunchly desired by “hawks.” Nixon’s shrewdness, however, did aggravate the traveling press. So much so that one journalist repackaged the candidate’s generic brief for new leadership as a “secret plan to end the war.”

Though Nixon never used those words, the idea stuck. Many voters assumed that Nixon had a quick exit strategy up his sleeve. It turned out that Nixon did have a secret plan of sorts — not to end the war, but to torpedo President Lyndon B. Johnson’s peace negotiations and ensure that no settlement could be reached before Election Day.

President Jimmy Carter at the 1976 Democratic Convention (Library of Congress)

On the other hand, detailed plans along the lines that today’s pundits are calling for can make it difficult to win an election and even harder to govern after Election Day. In 1976, Jimmy Carter campaigned with an earnestness and specificity that foreshadowed today’s era of Internet-posted briefing papers.

Carter committed himself to a wide range of ambitious plans: tax reform, universal voter registration, “a nationwide comprehensive health program for all our people,” a balanced budget by 1980 and energy independence.This agenda created unreasonable expectations; annoyed his own party’s congressional leaders, and earned him a reputation as a waffler when he shifted gears in response to changing conditions. Above all, it made Carter a sitting duck for opposition attacks.

Monday, the presidential candidates renewed the battle of the plans. Obama mocked McCain’s call for a commission as an empty proposal, while McCain faulted the Illinois senator for playing politics with the financial crisis without offering detailed proposals to stabilize Wall Street.

The winner of this election, and the man likeliest to handle the crisis most effectively as president, might avoid such specificity. The experiences of Roosevelt, Eisenhower and Carter suggest that Americans should beware the man with a plan.

Bruce J. Schulman holds the Huntington Chair in American History at Boston University. His latest book, co-edited with Julian E. Zelizer, is “Rightward Bound: Making America Conservative in the 1970s.” He is the author of “The ’70s: The Great Shift in American Culture, Society and Politics” and “Lyndon B. Johnson and American Liberalism.”