Volumes 38 to 47 of Central European History, which appeared from July 2004 to June 2014, represented years of fundamental transition in the life of the journal and of its sponsoring society: then the Conference Group for Central European History, now the Central European History Society. This fundamental transition manifested itself in three forms: institutional formality, both of the journal and of the Conference Group/Society; publishing organization and technology—from the ways in which the editor produced the journal to the ways in which the audience consumed the scholarship it published; and, last but not least, the intellectual focus and content of the history of German-speaking Central Europe that Central European History presented to scholars and students alike. Although the decade presented some unexpected and surprising challenges, all these transitions were already visible in July 2002 when I presented my proposal to become editor of Central European History to the Editor Search Committee, which consisted of Konrad Jarausch, Kees Gispen, and then-editor Kenneth Barkin.

In the epilogue to his authoritative 1957 intellectual history, The German Idea of Freedom, Leonard Krieger concluded his exploration of German political thought from the Reformation to the Second Empire by excoriating the German liberal middle class, and especially the National Liberal Party, for its compromise with the authoritarian state and the landed aristocracy. He singled out for particular scorn the Rechtsstaat theory of Rudolf Gneist: Rudolf Gneist's doctrine of the Rechtsstaat, from which all oppositional elements had now been removed, set the tone for the adaptation of the old liberal political ideal to cover the legal reality of the new national state … The concept of Rechtsstaat, that barometer of 19th-century liberalism, was no longer defined in terms of a state which permitted to the individual rights apart from the state. It became now simply the kind of state whose power was articulated in legal modes of action — that is, in measures which conformed to general rules.

Inspired in part by a recent exchange in Central European History in which Volker Berghahn and Margaret Lavinia Anderson debated trends in the historiography of the Wilhelmian era of the Kaiserreich, Marcus Kreuzer offers to historians the perspective of a political scientist on what he calls the neglected issue of the “parliamentarization” of the imperial regime over its last two decades. From the starting point of an interpretive dispute about German exceptionalism among historians, a dispute that to him seems easily solvable, Kreuzer compares the various arguments that historians have made about whether by 1914 the Imperial Reichstag was already, or was developing toward becoming, a truly parliamentary regime; he next categorizes historians into schools of interpretation; and he finally resolves the issue for historians by comparing the imperial Reichstag with an array of other parliaments, showing that, based upon evidence contained in the cumulative scholarship produced by historians, it in most cases ranks toward the more powerful end of the spectrum. In the end, he remains puzzled as to why this easily available method has remained too difficult for historians to grasp, concluding that it has been rather easy to drive a stake through the heart of the German Sonderweg, as it is with any exceptionalism.

At the crossroads of sociology and history, scholars trained in different disciplines write legal history while engaged in a protracted guerilla war that focuses upon notions of normativity. Law and legal development as objects of investigation evoke in the sociology of law the very essence of normativity: what is law if not codified norms, and thus itself subject, perhaps, to norms of development or at least rationality? Conversely, legal historians trained in history departments, who subscribe to the particularizing norms cherished by that discipline, consciously pride themselves on their power to resist the temptations of normativity and, perversely in the view of some, insist upon examining, even celebrating, the deviant, the limiting case, the “exception to the rule.” At different times, one approach or the other has dominated the scholarly literature. Notoriously, the Parsonianism of the 1950s and early 1960s elevated a neo-Weberian normativity to hegemony in legal history as well as in social theory; now the chastened decades at the end of the twentieth and beginning of the twenty-first centuries have tipped the balance within legal history to social history's focus on people, ideas, and experience on the margin, a focus so full of potential to erode general schemes of normative development.

The outrageous history of German judges during the Third Reich should not so structure historical research as to distract historians from examining their role in the nineteenth century. Prussian judges played an important role in electoral politics by serving as parliamentary deputies between 1849 and 1913. This essay poses and answers two questions: What was the political, legal, and social setting that led to judges sewing in parliament? And, why did their number decline after 1877? Theoretical discourses of separation of powers, construction of a Hegelian “general estate,” and independence of the judiciary converged with administrative-legal-constitutional developments in Prussia begun under the absolutism of the eighteenth century and professional and personal interests of judges to bring them into parliament, often as members of the liberal opposition. But success in the liberal project of building a national state, including legal reform, professionalization, and the advent of mass politics, reduced the need and attraction for judges in parliament, resulting in a decline after the 1860s.

Markus Dirk Dubber has provided the readers of the Review with an erudite and fascinating essay that traces a change in modern western penal thought since the Enlightenment. What he presents is a very brave attempt to mount a left critique not only of contemporary vicious trends toward the escalation of retributive criminal penalties, but also of the therapeutic concepts of fundamental difference that have characterized rehabilitationist theories of punishment. In Dubber's view, rehabilitationism wandered from the path prepared by the Enlightenment and thereby invited barbaric reactionaries once again to dominate the field of criminal punishment. While the essay makes an important point about the blindness of rehabilitationists to the need to justify and legitimize the imposition of punishment, and while it brings to the attention of Anglo-American specialists the importance of figures from the German Aufklärung, such as Fichte, Kant, and Hegel, and rehabilitationists, such as Krause and Röder, it leaves the reader wondering about how to transcend the limits of the formalism of Enlightenment abstract identity and how to root the geistesgeschichtlich erudition of the author's idealism in the soil of social history.