My Battle Against Hitler Read online

  Just after my talk, Abbot Ildefons*9 and I were strolling up and down along the cloister walk of the monastery. He said to me, “When you speak, I always learn something new. Your remarks have opened new dimensions for me.” This made me very happy since Abbot Ildefons, because of his opposition to a nineteenth century misconception of community and its intrinsic value, was in fact rather prone to falling into collectivist errors. I was thus all the more touched by his open-mindedness toward ideas that were foreign to him. I think he was primarily struck by the way I showed that one could never arrive at a true conception of community without acknowledging the full ontological dignity of the individual person. This had made sense to him.

  Not everyone was as receptive as the abbot—who later would still fall for Nazism, and try to do exactly what von Hildebrand warned against—reconcile Christianity with nationalism—before he was persecuted by the Nazis himself.

  One participant at the conference was Fritz Thyssen (1873–1951), a Catholic and early major donor to the Nazi Party. He later grew to oppose Hitler and was sent to a concentration camp for several years.

  The most negative moment of the symposium occurred when the industrialist Fritz Thyssen requested the floor and made a short speech. It was horrible in every respect, yet in places so grotesque that it had a comical effect. He began by attacking Catholics who were critical of Fascism—he avoided the word National Socialism—especially those who were infected by pacifist ideas. He expressed all of this in a totally primitive way, both in the formulation of his sentences as well as in his use of foreign expressions. As a result, he came across as completely naïve. It was pure propaganda for National Socialism, above all for the militarism of National Socialism.

  The pinnacle of the grotesque came when he remarked, “I find myself in good company with this thesis of mine, namely with St. Teresa of Avila. After all, it is she who says, ‘Take care, be ready, the enemy is near at hand.’ ” Already the imprecision of the quotation was problematic, because St. Teresa is quoting from the Gospel, not to mention that the passage clearly refers to the devil and to a preparation of self in the sense of being spiritually alert. The quotation thus had an extremely comical effect as an argument for militarism and for the ideology of violence promoted by the Fascists and National Socialists.

  Later I was riding to Cologne in a car with several industrialists who worked for Thyssen and they all expressed regret that he had spoken and embarrassed himself in such a way. It was so apparent that even his employees saw it clearly. Franz von Papen was also present at this symposium. In those days he did not yet play an important role. Still, his sympathies for the Stahlhelm*10 and for Fascism were known.

  In the fall of 1932 I spoke in Giessen, where I was invited by Professor Theodor Steinbüchel. This lecture was significant for me in many respects. First of all, Steinbüchel and I had an excellent mutual understanding, both philosophically and politically. It was a joy to encounter a person of real philosophical talent who was so open-minded and so free of any narrow Thomism.*11 He wanted to publish a “Handbook of Philosophy” in multiple volumes, and I believe it was on this occasion that he invited me to collaborate by writing the first volume on “The Nature of Philosophical Questioning and Knowing.”2 The theme of my lecture must have been individual and community since I remember being sharply critical of collectivism in all forms, of the deification of the state, and above all of National Socialism.

  Afterwards I also met Ernst von Aster, who was a professor of philosophy in Giessen and whom I knew well from the time of my studies at the University of Munich. I had met him already in 1906 and had also taken one of his courses. Regrettably he was a follower of the philosopher Hans Cornelius and a total positivist. In those days we discussed issues at the Academic Psychological Association and always arrived at completely opposing views. But now we did not speak of philosophy but of the political situation and were very much in agreement. This is why he was enthusiastic about my lecture, and we spent a beautiful evening together. It is always a joy to meet someone who brings back vivid memories of earlier times and with whom one gets along better than before. Even if the new rapport now lies in another sphere, still it is a joy to be able to make common cause in an important and pressing matter.

  A very different response came from a friend of Ernst Kamnitzer.*12 I had heard a great deal about this friend, who was a specialist in German studies and professor in Giessen. He disagreed with my lecture because he was already infected by the rising Nazi movement, even though he was half Jewish.

  Most people, especially the intellectuals, were not attracted to Nazism because of its anti-Semitism, let alone its racism. They were drawn by the dynamism of a powerful movement, by the celebration of blood and soil in the face of a mechanized world, and primarily of course by nationalism. But of all factors, perhaps the most contagious for the more sophisticated intellectuals was the collectivism, the Hegelian influence, which manifested itself in a great variety of ways during this time, whether in Communism, in Fascism, or in National Socialism.

  But Communism had discredited itself by the awful terrorism, the horrid crimes, and the rivers of blood. As bloody as National Socialism would become, most did not see or even sense it coming the way I did. There was a great deal of sympathy for Fascism and also for National Socialism. The intellectual who typified this collectivist mentality was Othmar Spann.*13 Yet there were many professors at the German universities who were drawn to Nazism in this way, and I am not speaking of those who were then already Nazi Party members.

  Around this time there was the possibility of a professorship at the German university in Prague. There was a vacancy in the position that I believe Fr. Johannes Lindworski had previously occupied. I pursued the position as financial reasons made it necessary for me to have a paid professorship. Sad as it would be to leave Munich, Prague naturally offered a much more attractive atmosphere than the university towns in Germany.

  I no longer recall why nothing came of this opportunity. I only remember being severely reproached for my antinationalistic statements: one said that I risked throwing away the possibility of a professorship. Being the bulwark of the Sudeten Germans*14 against Czech nationalism, the German university in Prague was of course dominated by German nationalists. I no longer remember what I had said publicly that caused me to be scolded. But I responded, “The battle against nationalism belongs to my mission. I cannot make any compromises in order to secure my career.”

  * * *

  *1 Both the “Sturmabteilung,” or SA, and the “Schutzstaffel,” known as the SS.

  *2 Heinrich Brüning (1885–1970), German chancellor from 1930 to 1932.

  *3 Fr. Thaddäus Soiron, OFM (1881–1957), well-known theologian and homilist.

  *4 Franz Xaver Münch (1883–1940), priest, theologian, and general secretary of the Catholic Academic Association.

  *5 Franz Xaver Landmesser (1890–1940), priest, theologian, and general secretary of the Catholic Academic Association.

  *6 Probably Fr. Expeditus Schmidt, OFM (1868–1939), historian of theater and literature.

  *7 Damasus Winzen, OSB (1901–71), monk at Maria Laach, he sought to establish common ground with the National Socialist concept of the Reich. He abandoned these efforts after 1933, emigrating to the USA in 1938.

  *8 Conrad-Martius (1888–1966) belonged to the Göttingen circle of philosophers around Edmund Husserl and was a close friend of Edith Stein.

  *9 Abbot Ildefons Herwegen (1874–1946), abbot of Maria Laach and a key figure in the liturgical movement.

  *10 A paramilitary associated with the conservative German National People’s Party.

  *11 Meaning doctrinaire followers of St. Thomas Aquinas.

  *12 Ernst Kamnitzer (1885–1946), writer and friend of von Hildebrand’s, who later emigrated to Paris where he belonged to the circle surrounding philosopher Jacques Maritain.

  *13 Othmar Spann (1878–1950), influential Austrian Catholic philosopher and political the
orist who, despite his support for National Socialism, would later be imprisoned by the Nazis.

  *14 The ethnic German population living within Czechoslovakia, who numbered over three million.

  1933

  In late 1932, the Catholic Association for Peace in Munich asked von Hildebrand to address a meeting of pacifists representing a range of political parties. Realizing there would be a preponderance of socialist and communist groups, he initially declined, then accepted when told that Cardinal Michael von Faulhaber, the archbishop of Munich and Freising, wanted him to speak. The Nazis tried to disrupt the meeting, which took place January 10, 1933, but the police cleared their protesters and let people enter the hall. Many journalists were there, including one from the Völkischer Beobachter, the Nazi newspaper.

  I was the first speaker. Among other things, I said, “The deification of the state is an old error—found already in Sparta—while nationalism is a product of the modern era, above all a creation of the French Revolution. Both rest on classical dangers in human nature. Racism, by contrast, is a completely artificial, far-fetched, stupid theory with no organic basis in human nature.”

  My talk dealt primarily with the Catholic conception of peace, the meaning of the supranational, and the moral obligation to oppose both nationalism and militarism. I was followed by several speakers who attacked the Church and who pushed what was plainly Communist propaganda. I was outraged, and Dr. Quidde,*1 the chairman and a friend of my parents, attempted in a very dignified manner to suppress these outbursts, which had nothing to do with our theme. But the Communists were not to be deterred, whereupon I stood up and publicly declared that I was not willing to listen to this nonsense any longer; I had not come to hear Communist propaganda and mendacious attacks on the Catholic Church. Having said this, I left, to the great disappointment of Dr. Quidde.

  Arriving at home, I found my wife Gretchen in a state of great agitation. She had received phone calls from several of the people who had attempted to prevent the gathering. They had called to say that my presence was scandalous, and that they would deal with me soon enough. This was very galling for me, since I had only attended and agreed to speak at the urgent request of the Cardinal. After all, I hated both sides equally: the Nazis who wanted to sabotage the gathering, and the Communists who wanted to exploit it to disseminate their propaganda. Give me clear battle lines and even persecution for standing on the side of the good, for defending justice and truth—this is much more to my taste. My speech was indeed given very much in this vein, yet the overall spirit of the gathering, which the Nazis opposed for dishonest reasons, was in the end very unsatisfactory. For this reason, my participation did not succeed in contributing to the cause of justice against injustice.

  On January 30 came the terrible news that Hitler had been appointed Chancellor by [German president] Paul Hindenburg. I was terribly distressed by this political development. Until the very end, I had firmly hoped that Hindenburg would never take this step. To be sure, I had reckoned with a putsch, but then it would have come to civil war, and the armed organization of the Social Democrats—the so-called “Reichsbanner”—together with the completely dependable police force would not have been easily overcome. I quite realized that I would probably not be able to remain in Germany. I still had a faint hope that Hugenberg*2 had perhaps tricked Hitler and then, as much as I hated Hugenberg, Germany would remain a constitutional state under the rule of law, where one could freely speak one’s mind and not be forced into compromises. This is why I only say that I “probably” would have to leave Germany, since this faint hope still existed. I wanted to wait to see if it might be realized, and I assumed the coming weeks would likely make this clear.

  As long as Hitler did not abolish the Constitution, the government led by the Bavarian People’s Party still remained in power in Bavaria, and it was still possible to live on as before, even if with the greatest apprehension and with the awareness that the clock might soon strike for me.

  February 13 marked the fiftieth anniversary of Richard Wagner’s death in 1883. I took this occasion to speak about Wagner’s genius and his artistic work for the entire hour of my aesthetics class. I knew that real understanding for Wagner had declined since the First World War. The official Nazi admiration for Wagner rested on a complete misunderstanding of his work. For to approach the music of Wagner in search of overarching philosophical themes is to find the denunciation of power, the glorification of love and compassion, the rejection of the merely conventional, and the exaltation of the individual in contrast to all collectivism. There was therefore no basis for the Nazis to have such enthusiasm for Wagner.

  I spoke about the true greatness of Wagner and also about how deeply his music had come to be misunderstood. I spoke with deep emotion and out of my great love for Wagner, mindful of all that he had revealed to me and of everything his art meant to me. Today I would speak with even greater enthusiasm and with much greater clarity. Yet at that time, I was oppressed by the overall situation.

  One evening I returned home to find my wife in a frantic state over a speech Hitler had given in Munich. His words had been full of threats against the Bavarian monarchists and full of warnings that any attempt to restore the Bavarian monarchy under Crown Prince Rupprecht would immediately be squelched.*3

  The next day von Hildebrand and his wife were invited to lunch by the Archduchess Maria Josepha, mother of the Emperor Charles I and a friend who “had been the most faithful and regular attendee of my afternoon discussions between 1924 and 1931.” Among the other people there were his “very dear friend” Infanta Maria de la Paz (1862–1946), daughter of Queen Isabella II of Spain, and Count Konrad von Preysing (1880–1950), then bishop of Eichstätt, who would become bishop of Berlin in 1935 and a fierce and unbending foe of the Nazis.

  Also at the luncheon was a friend and Catholic industrialist named Theodor von Cramer-Klett (1874–1938), who said, to von Hildebrand’s horror, that he liked Hitler’s speech very much. Von Hildebrand comments, “How could Cramer-Klett, the great Catholic and Bavarian monarchist, say such a thing?” The luncheon was especially significant in hindsight because, “though I did not realize it at the time, this was the real moment of farewell for me.” He never again saw the Infanta Maria or the Archduchess Maria Josepha.

  On February 28, news came that the Reichstag had been burned, and on the evening of the same day, the arrest of many Communists and the ban of the socialist press. Not even for a moment did I doubt that all of this was a farce being put on by the National Socialists to gain emergency powers to clear the way for a dictatorship. With this, the die had been cast for me. I neither could nor wanted to remain in a National Socialist Germany—in the “Third Reich.” New elections to the Reichstag were set for March 5. I decided to go to Salzburg [Austria] on February 28 to await the outcome of the coming days.

  But I was already firm in my resolve to leave Germany once and for all. I simply could not make compromises, and it was clear to me that I was in the greatest danger of forfeiting my freedom. On the afternoon of February 28, Gretchen packed my bags and I rode to Salzburg. While this was not to be the last parting from the house on the Maria-Theresia Strasse, from Munich, and from Germany, I cannot say that I felt any certainty about returning to Munich for a final farewell.

  The Catholic Academic Association had scheduled a conference in Munich on social questions that was to take place on March 11. I had agreed to give a lecture at this conference. Curiously enough, I felt a kind of obligation to deliver my talk as long as the situation in Munich did not deteriorate to the extent that my departure could no longer be postponed. It really is quite striking how formal obligations continue to play a role, even in such a decisive moment when entirely different goods are at stake. In any case, I wanted to be outside of Germany when it came time to decide whether to speak at the conference, and in Salzburg I was certainly free to make this decision.

  My reasons were various. In the first place, it seemed likely that th
e conference would be cancelled given the current political situation. Second, in Salzburg the door could not close on me and prevent my flight. Finally, I did not want to be in Munich for the elections to the Reichstag scheduled for March 5. I was well aware of the elections in Soviet Russia, of how elections in totalitarian and terrorist states took place, and I did not want to put myself at risk of being violently forced to vote for the Nazis. Of course, it was possible that the election would still proceed normally, yet who could guarantee this in a moment of upheaval when even a deceitful farce like the burning of the Reichstag no longer shocked anyone? My time in Salzburg passed in great tension.

  Meanwhile, the government in Berlin issued an official declaration that it would recognize the Bavarian government and—for the time being at least—that it would not insist on any changes. In light of this, I felt I could return to Munich for a few days to give my lecture and then to leave for good. As long as the Bavarian government remained in power, I assumed that I did not have to worry about being prevented from leaving, that it would be too late, and I would be trapped. So, I decided to travel back to Munich. In the election of March 5, the Nazis had only received 44% of the vote. This was not hugely successful given how many people, especially in Germany, fall prey to the idea that history unfolds inexorably—and will then swim with the current. Considering how many Germans already realized that the election would no longer alter the situation and that it was safer not to take a contrary stance—one cannot forget that people’s votes were somewhat influenced by the oppressive air of terrorism—the outcome of less than half the vote was really quite poor.