My Battle Against Hitler Read online

  Not long after, I received a letter from Gilson asking me to send my manuscript in German so that he would have time to translate it into French. Gilson also told me, “You cannot say anything against National Socialism in the lecture. Otherwise the ambassador will get in trouble.” I also could not say that the spiritual unity of Europe could only be restored through the Catholic Church since this would cause considerable embarrassment for the Minister of Culture, de Monzie,*12 a Freemason, who was to speak after me. None of this made the lecture any easier, since I did not in any way want to make compromises.

  I immediately sat down and worked intensely on the lecture. I could ignore National Socialism without any compromises and speak only of the danger of nationalism. I could also point to the role of the Church in the earlier unity of the West without saying that the spiritual unity of the West could only be revived if everyone became Catholic. I succeeded in bringing everything into the lecture that was burning in my soul without failing to meet the two conditions given me by Gilson. Within about ten days, the lecture was finished. Hamburger,*13 whom I found in Florence, once again helped me in the most wonderful way. It was a great gift for me to be together with him at this moment.

  Leaving Florence, von Hildebrand traveled to Paris by way of Basel, Strasbourg, Metz, Brussels, and Leiden, where he was a guest in the home of Johannes Barge, a Catholic doctor and professor.

  It was a strange feeling for me to pass through Alsace, so near the German border, which I no longer wanted to cross at any cost—the Germany from which I had been separated so suddenly, the Germany which now lay before me as enemy territory.

  Barge was a very nice person and we had a very good time together. I asked him whether as a Catholic he did not feel a closer bond with the Flemish of Catholic Belgium than with the Protestant Dutch. After all, the Flemish and the Dutch derive from the same racial group and speak almost the same language. As a Catholic I thought he would feel a greater connection to the Belgians than to the Protestant Dutch. He answered, “No, because we Dutch, whether Catholic or Protestant, are a Renaissance people, whereas the Belgians are medieval. The Belgians remain in their cities with their narrow streets, while we are sailors who have circumnavigated the world. Among us there is a different overall sense of life.”

  I found this remark intriguing and I understood what he meant. As I looked upon the charming old furniture with its ornate metal fittings, with the afternoon sun streaming into the room, I breathed the very particular air of the Dutch world. I reflected on the incredibly enterprising spirit of the Dutch, on their deep bond with ships and with the sea, and on their mercantilism, which Swedenborg claimed they would not give up even in eternity. I thought of the paintings and frescos of the elder Sattler,*14 in which he painted Holland with its coastlines and its ships. Of course, I have a special love for the particular cultural character of different nations, and I always enjoy the opportunity to experience in a potent way the atmosphere and genius of a country.

  Following dinner, my lecture took place at the university, where I was received by Huizinga,*15 who was the rector there at the time. Huizinga was, of course, a very significant man who had achieved great renown in Europe through his various books. Though he was not a Catholic, he showed a great degree of receptivity to, and also understanding for, the world of the Middle Ages, and indirectly also for the Catholic Church. He was a very attractive personality and impressed me as being a significant mind.

  After the lecture, some of us sat together and Huizinga asked me what I thought of the burning of the Reichstag and whether I knew who had set the fire. He added, “Please don’t feel you must answer, if it would be awkward for you. We would entirely understand.” I had not explained that my departure from Germany was for good, so in their eyes, I was still the professor from Munich. My first response was to say that the fire had been caused by the man who had been arrested on this charge (a Communist, whose name I have forgotten*16). Everyone laughed and had the impression I would prefer not to answer for understandable reasons. I no longer remember why I spoke like this. After all, I knew it was the Nazis themselves who had set the fire, and as I no longer wished to return to Germany, I had no reason not to speak openly. Perhaps I was joking, and I assume I must then have said that I suspected the Nazis had set fire. It was in any case an interesting, stimulating evening.

  From Leiden, von Hildebrand traveled to Paris for the celebration of St. Albert the Great.

  My first visit in Paris, I think, was to Count d’Harcourt,*17 who lived on the Rue de Grenelle. It was a beautiful spring day. The trees were already green, but still with that new green of spring. It was uncharacteristically warm. Paris lay before me in all of its unbelievable charm. I told him that I had left Munich and why I no longer wished to return. He said, “I admire you for being so resolute and so filled with an enterprising spirit at a moment when you have given up everything and are facing such a completely uncertain future.” I remember how I paced back and forth in the room and spoke about the situation in Germany.

  It was probably on the same day that I visited the attaché at the embassy, or perhaps he came to me at the hotel and invited me to dinner. In any case, I quickly established a very warm rapport with this fine person. He had previously been an officer and then become a diplomat. I think he was a convert. He was certainly very pious. He shared my political views completely and was an ardent anti-nationalist. Our mutual understanding was excellent.

  He hoped that Gilson would arrange a professorship for me at the Sorbonne or at the Collège de France. He told me that there was a strong atmosphere in France at the time in favor of bettering relations with Germany. The celebration in honor of St. Albert the Great was proof of this. Having chosen the German ambassador to preside over the celebration, and having invited a German keynote speaker (namely myself), it would be entirely consistent to nominate a German professor who would act as a living link between these two countries.

  This was all very attractive, yet I did not see how this role could be given to me, for I had left Germany and could never represent a “link” between France and the Germany of National Socialism. At best, I could hope that I would be given a professorship in France as an act of protest against National Socialism—that I, the German who had fled his homeland for reasons of conscience, would be welcomed warmly and with honor by the French, and as the symbol of “another” Germany. I did not place a great deal of hope in this prospect, since I did not really know how Gilson stood toward me philosophically.

  I had already planned to ask Foerster*18 not to talk to me at the solemn celebration where I was to give my speech. I could hardly greet Foerster except in the warmest way, yet since he was now persona non grata in Germany it would be highly embarrassing for the ambassador if the speaker from Germany (in this case, myself) were to approach Foerster as a friend in such a public setting. So I had sent word to Foerster through d’Harcourt asking him not greet me publicly that evening. It is possible the attaché at the embassy had also suggested I do this.

  I lost no time in going to the home of Reynald, to see if I might still find Wolfgang,*19 who had lived there while studying in Paris. Upon arriving, the concierge told me that Wolfgang had quite suddenly left for Cologne, as he had received very bad news from home. What this news consisted of she did not know, but her words shook me and filled me with great concern. I also visited the German ambassador.*20 He was a very cultivated and congenial man, and he received me with great warmth. He seemed very worried about the course of events in Germany. He looked sad. Of course, he chose his words carefully, yet from his demeanor I saw he was under no illusions about the Nazis. His own leaning, I think, was Deutschnational.

  Gilson had invited me to supper. This was the first time I met him. He made a very congenial impression on me. He had an attractive face expressive of real inner life and he impressed me as a very cultivated personality. We sat first in his study to discuss my lecture, of which he handed me a French translation. At the end
, he said, “There is just one change you ought to make. You speak of Berlioz as the greatest French composer, when you should really say this of Debussy. Berlioz can hardly rival Debussy!” Naturally, I objected and we had a lengthy discussion about music. He had great reverence for Mozart, yet he lacked sufficient enthusiasm for Beethoven, while his opinion of Wagner was downright dismissive. But of course that attitude was quite typical at that time.

  Gilson’s wife was very likeable and friendly. One of his daughters—I think her name was Claude—was very beautiful. I told him so, which pleased him immensely, and I could see how much he loved her. The food, and especially the wine, was excellent.

  We had a lovely time together, yet Gilson avoided entering into a philosophical discussion. When I sought to raise a philosophical question with him, he immediately said, “You will find something very interesting on this in St. Thomas.” And that was the end of that.

  The next evening the German ambassador hosted an elegant dinner that was part of the celebration for St. Albert the Great. As the speaker representing Germany at the celebration, I was naturally one of the principal guests. To my great joy, I was seated next to Count d’Harcourt for the meal. We had a wonderful conversation, and I was edified by the way he observed the Lenten fast, truly a sacrifice as the meal was excellent. With charming simplicity, he remarked, “Sadly, I cannot eat any more of this delicious food as it is Lent.” I felt myself somewhat dispensed from fasting, as I was traveling.

  After dinner there was a musical performance. A choir of young men from the music conservatory in Cologne sang a variety of selections. During the intermission I introduced myself to them and asked whether anything had changed at the conservatory in Cologne. They were amazed. “What, don’t you know that your brother-in-law [Walter Braunfels] was dismissed and how this came about?” This was how I learned that my dear Walter had already lost his position as a victim of anti-Semitism. I was deeply affected and distressed. To learn indirectly of the heavy misfortunes of close and beloved friends is a very unique experience, especially when their misfortunes are part of a larger catastrophe. It is an experience in which we are able to “feel” the rhythm of historic events in what befalls those we love, and it is not entirely unlike actually living through these historic events ourselves.

  Either on this trip or his December visit to Paris—von Hildebrand is not sure which—he met Charles Du Bos (1882–1939), a Catholic writer and philosopher of religion. Through Du Bos, he met the Catholic philosopher Gabriel Marcel (1889–1973). Du Bos invited von Hildebrand to lunch at his home on the Île Saint-Louis.

  Upon arriving, I met a very dignified and cultivated looking person—much more delicate in appearance than Gilson. By comparison, Gilson was imposing and possessed a certain potent vitality. There was something very English about Du Bos and he reminded me much more of certain English rather than French types. He received me with great friendliness and warmth, telling me that he had known my father and that he had been at San Francesco many years before. He told me that he had converted only recently, though I don’t know whether he had been a Protestant before or just a lapsed Catholic. He was a great friend of André Gide.*21 In any case, he had lived in a milieu that was completely areligious although intellectually very refined.

  We had a very good conversation. There was something deeply spiritual and also incredibly kind about Du Bos. He told me that a friend of his by the name of Gabriel Marcel, a very gifted philosopher and writer, had also recently converted. Du Bos had invited Marcel because he wanted me to meet him. At lunch, we were joined by a man of small stature and very unusual appearance. He was neither physically attractive, nor did he possess the spirituality and nobility so evident in the face of Du Bos, yet I found him to be very likeable. As we spoke, Marcel immediately made clear that he was not a Thomist and that in philosophical matters he was not in accord with Maritain.*22 He gave me a copy of one of his plays, La Soif.

  Marcel certainly awakened my interest, yet I did not realize sufficiently that I was in the presence of a great and significant philosopher, nor did I adequately appreciate the wealth of thought and culture embodied by Charles Du Bos. It is remarkable how deeply we can become trapped in our own inner world and how much this diminishes our ability, if we are not sufficiently prepared, to open ourselves to significant encounters, which are a gift from God. We focus on what lies immediately ahead, on our plans, and on those people we already know and will see tomorrow. As a result, we fail to approach those we do not yet know well with sufficient attentiveness to be able to grasp their importance fully.

  The next morning there was a solemn liturgy at Notre-Dame, a votive mass in honor of St. Albert the Great. The mass was celebrated by a Dominican priest and the singers were also Dominicans. The music was a special type of chorale, i.e., it was a Gregorian chant with certain specifically Dominican elements. I was greatly impressed by the beauty of the celebration, which was enhanced by the magnificent space of Notre-Dame.

  Upon leaving the church, I met the priest who was then the provincial of the German Dominicans. I think this must have been the first time I met him. When I praised the beauty of the celebration and of the singing, he declared, “In Germany we also sing beautifully.” His words struck me uncomfortably as being extremely nationalistic. After all, I hadn’t said anything to imply that the German Dominicans would have sung any less well. Having just heard something beautiful, why should he be defensive rather than happy, as if my praise had implied a reproach of the German Dominicans? Besides, I very much doubted that the German Dominicans cultivated the liturgy, especially Gregorian chant, in the same way as the French Dominicans. The French Dominicans are unique and the level of their spiritual culture surpasses that of Dominicans in all other countries, including those of Italy and Spain, and even those of England, whose level is very high. Of all these, the German province was the least prominent. With a few exceptions it was engaged only in pastoral care at this time and stamped by popular piety. All this only served to make the provincial’s remark more disagreeable.

  At midday there was a formal luncheon at the Dominicans on Rue St. Honoré. I was seated next to Cardinal Baudrillart,*23 the Rector of the Institut Catholique. This in fact was a seat of honor, though not necessarily very comfortable for me, since I knew the Cardinal had a bitter hatred of Germans and saw in me a representative of Germany; after all, I was the speaker who had been formally invited to represent Germany. It was quite impossible to explain to him my attitude toward National Socialism and toward German nationalism: he would hardly have believed me and, moreover, out of respect for the German ambassador, I could not openly criticize Germany. The entire dinner long, I could feel how the poor Cardinal struggled not to show too much of his antipathy for all things German, how he tried to hide from me the sacrifice he had to endure by being seated next to me.

  After the meal, I again met the German provincial in the hallway. The dinner had been excellent, a rich demonstration of the great culinary culture of France. I said to him, “Was that not a wonderful meal?” to which he responded immediately, “Indeed, in Germany we also know how to cook.” This was just too much for me, and I said to him, “No, when it comes to cooking, no connoisseur can doubt that France is superior to Germany.”

  The major event of the celebration for St. Albert took place later that evening at the Panthéon of the Sorbonne. Gilson spoke first. He gave a very entertaining lecture portraying the history of the Sorbonne during the time of St. Albert. He spoke much longer than the forty-five minutes he had previously indicated to me. I was to speak for an hour, followed by the Minister of Culture, who was to speak for about half an hour. There were to be musical performances between the talks.

  Gilson spoke for an hour. The most significant dimension of his lecture was his strong emphasis on the antinationalism that marked the two highpoints of the Sorbonne, namely the thirteenth and seventeenth centuries, during which there were more foreign professors at the Sorbonne than French. Duri
ng the time of St. Albert, then, the glory of the Sorbonne was primarily the contribution of foreign professors: Alexander of Hales and Roger Bacon from England, St. Albert from Germany, and St. Thomas and St. Bonaventure from Italy.

  The music performed following his lecture was very long. I was very worried how I would still fit my lecture into the remaining time. I began, but after just a quarter of an hour, Gilson said to me, “You have to shorten your talk as the Minister of Culture is already getting impatient.” There is nothing more disruptive for a speaker than to be forced to abbreviate in the middle of a talk, especially when one is not speaking freely but bound to a manuscript as I was. I did my best, but regrettably I had focused on the difficult philosophical parts at some length so that I was unable to do justice to the issues of present concern, except in abbreviated form, which would have interested most of the audience of 2,700 people.

  As a result, my lecture obviously did not have the impact I had hoped for. This really was too bad. The applause as I concluded was merely friendly and polite. I no longer remember what the Minister had to say. After the lecture, I still spent a little time talking with Gilson and the embassy attaché at a café. After a little while, Gilson said, “You’ve exerted yourself. Speaking in a foreign language at length is draining. Go and get some rest.” And so we parted.

  It was at this time that many terrible things happened in the world. April 1 saw the first large boycott against the Jews in Germany. The response of Cardinal Verdier,*24 the archbishop of Paris, was very beautiful and edifying, namely to call for prayer in all the churches of Paris that the suffering of the German Jews would be alleviated. This was particularly uplifting as, to my great sorrow, just fourteen days after Hitler’s seizure of power, the German bishops had lifted the excommunication that previously had been attached to membership in the National Socialist Party, including both the SA and the SS. Moreover, Franz von Papen*25 was working zealously for a Concordat between Germany and the Holy See. The conclusion of the Concordat was imminent, and it must have given Catholics throughout Germany the impression that the Vatican was withdrawing its rejection of National Socialism and of racism—as if it were possible to be a Catholic and a Nazi at the same time.