I’m so glad you brought up Fichte, Monsieur Hans (Sophie remarked, stroking the inside of her teacup handle, almost introducing her finger into it, then pulling it back again, while Hans watched, becoming increasingly troubled), because if I remember rightly last Friday none of us mentioned him during our debate about this country. Professor Mietter, so do you not think (she said, changing the tone and direction of her voice, her fingers wandering from the handle to the outside of her teacup, caressing its rippled surface as though she were reading Braille) that it might be appropriate to consider him for a moment? My dear young man (Professor Mietter, who had hitherto been dominating the conversation, addressed Hans with his fingers firmly clasped in front of him), I notice you show an interest in certain philosophers, may I ask what you have studied? (Sophie took her hands away from the teacup and they hung there for a moment, like ears.) Me? Philosophy (Hans replied, but not before hesitating and rubbing his hands together in what Sophie interpreted as a gesture of unease). Ah, philosophy (said Professor Mietter unclasping his fingers and leaving them pointing upwards), how interesting, and where exactly did you study? At Jena (Hans replied, hesitating once more, placing his hands on his thighs as if to say: That’s all).
From what I know of Fichte (said Herr Gottlieb without taking his pipe out of his mouth) I agree with his ideas about Germany, although I have heard he was virtually an atheist. Father (said Sophie, bringing her hands closer together), what an interesting ring the word virtually has! For Fichte, the “I” (observed Herr Levin, whose hands were usually motionless, as though bound together) is a divine category. In my view (said Hans, smoothing his trousers, perhaps in order to soften his disagreement with a gesture of false modesty), no “I” can be divine, except, of course, if it believes itself partly to be He. (Sophie’s forefinger moved back to the inside of the cup handle.) Ah, but (Herr Levin reflected, pointing to an imaginary spot on the table) the most important thing would be the We that is beneath this He. My dear (said Frau Pietzine, dropping her needlework), may I have a little more cake?
At the beginning of the session, Sophie had announced that Rudi Wilderhaus had just sent her a message in which he asked all the other guests to excuse his absence and promised he would be there without fail the following Friday. Hans had deduced that this was therefore his last chance to impress Sophie before her fiancé arrived on the scene. And so he threw himself into the debate about Fichte. I am quite drawn, he said, to his ideas on the individual, but his theory of Germany leaves me cold. If each of us were a country, then every people would be a country made up of countries, would it not? But surely no individual, however sacred he thinks himself, can embody a country or express its fundamental nature. (Tell us, protested Herr Levin, do Bach and Beethoven not represent our nation in the most favourable light? Ah, touché! Professor Mietter exclaimed, trying to look amused but sounding piqued. But Hans was talking only for Sophie now.) No, I don’t mean that. If a poet or musician succeeds in personifying a country’s sensibility it will always be coincidental, a historical phenomenon rather than a metaphysical one. Or do you really believe Bach composed from his Germanness? This is precisely why I am suspicious of Fichte. How can he espouse a radical form of subjectivity and from it construct an entire nation? I wonder what the devil he means when he speaks of the German ideal? Who exemplifies it? And who is incompatible with it? In his discourses, he explains how German uniqueness was a result of migration, while the other Teutonic tribes stayed in their places of origin. What amazes me is that Fichte acknowledges this and then has the audacity to assert that resettlement wasn’t really so significant, and that ethnic characteristics predominate over place, etc etc. You yourself, Professor (Hans was speaking almost without drawing breath, and the professor, unable to find a natural break in his rapid monologue, turned away as though he had not heard his name) have traveled and are therefore aware of how outward changes give rise to inwards ones. History shows that peoples are as changeable as rivers. Fichte describes them as if they were made of marble, solid blocks that can be moved or chiselled but remain essentially unchanged. He underestimates the importance of the mixing of the Germanic lineage with the conquered peoples, and as if that weren’t enough he insinuates that all our problems, our age-old problems, aren’t really German, but foreign. What nonsense! What is he trying to tell us? Whom is he suggesting we flee from in order to avoid contamination? (Herr Levin coughed twice.) I have learnt everything I know from traveling, that is, from associating with foreigners. Very well, let us suppose Fichte’s intention was to restore our faith in ourselves after the French occupation or whatever. Much obliged to you Herr Fichte for having renewed our Germanic spirit, but now our optimism has been restored, let us discover common principles not Germanic tribes.
Hans finally fell silent, like the others. It only lasted a moment. Sophie had difficulty concealing the impression Hans’s words had made on her. And in particular she was unable to work out whether this impression had been philosophical or of some other nature quite unrelated to Fichte. But at once the habitual noises, voices and gestures resumed as a teaspoon clinked against a cup, someone asked for sugar, and someone else stood up and asked to use the water closet.
Rubbing his knuckles, Álvaro argued that Germany was the only country in Europe where the Enlightenment and feudalism had been equally influential. He went on to say that in his opinion (and Professor Mietter considered this idea too republican) the nature of German government was directly at odds with German thought. And this contradiction explained why the Germans were so bold in their thinking and so submissive in their obedience. The professor returned to Fichte. He argued that precisely because of Germany’s feudal roots, the only way forward was to find a cornerstone upon which to build a united Germany, and this cornerstone could only be Prussia. At this point, Frau Pietzine (to everyone’s amazement) stopped embroidering and quoted Fichte. The quotation was not philosophical, but it was Fichte, and it referred to the physical education of German youth. Ah, gymnastics! Hans tried to sound ironical. That great manifestation of culture! Professor Mietter defended physical discipline as an expression of spiritual control. Indeed, I myself exercise every morning (he confessed with a flash of coquetry). And rest assured, my dear Professor, Sophie said, you look splendid, you are quite right to keep yourself in shape, take no notice of Monsieur Hans. Vielen Dank, mein liebes Fräulein, Professor Mietter replied contentedly, the thing is some people think they are going to stay young for ever.
The topics alternated between the trivial and the lofty. However, each time they went back to discussing philosophy, neither Professor Mietter nor Hans was prepared to yield an inch. The professor leant back in his chair and folded his legs, as if to make clear he had experience and calm on his side, while Hans had nothing but unease and uncertainty. Hans leant forward in his chair and straightened up, as if to suggest that strength and conviction were his, while the professor could offer only cynicism and world-weariness. As the two men continued debating, Herr Gottlieb’s whiskers vanished behind plumes of pipe smoke. Herr Levin would tentatively take sides depending on the topic, and then contradict himself. Frau Levin did not say a word, but watched Hans in a vaguely hostile way. Álvaro scarcely spoke, but when he did it was nearly always to back Hans, either because he agreed with him or because the professor’s authority irritated him. He was surprised to see Elsa the maid stop tapping her foot and give the appearance of listening intently. Sophie quoted authors, books, ideas, then withdrew discreetly, making a great effort not to seem to take either of their sides, so that both men felt they could respond freely. And yet their opinions overwhelmed her, and a few times she was tempted to take the floor and challenge them both. Some afternoons, thought Sophie, pouring the tea, one feels the urge to behave in an unladylike way.
If I had to choose a national discourse, said Hans, then I would opt for Herder, who says that without history we are nothing a priori, don’t you agree? A country ought not to ask what it is, but when and w
hy. Professor Mietter responded by comparing Kant and Fichte’s ideas of nationhood in order to show that, rather than betraying Kant, Fichte had taken his argument a step further. Hans said that in contrast to his views on Fichte, he liked Kant better when he spoke of countries rather than individuals. Every society, said Hans, needs order, and Kant proposes a very intelligent one. Yet every citizen also needs a measure of chaos, which Kant refuses. In my view, a free nation would be, let us say, a group of chaotic elements that respects the order containing them. In my view, Professor Mietter retorted, Fichte’s national aspiration is invaluable in the present situation (and what situation is that, Professor? asked Hans), you know full well. Germany cannot go on choosing between foreign occupation or disintegration. It is time we took a step forward and decided our own fate. (But our fate, Hans argued, also depends on that of the other European countries, you cannot define any nation without redefining the continent.) Are you saying this because of your Napoleon, gnädiger Hans? (No, Hans parried, your Holy Alliance!)
Sophie felt excited and troubled in equal measure—this was the first time she had seen a guest seriously stand up to the professor, and she could not bring herself to intervene since she knew she would be incapable of expressing some of Hans’s ideas as eloquently herself, partly owing to her father’s presence, but also because of her neutral role as host. This neutrality was beginning to strike her as suspect, and the greater her misgivings, the more her slender hands moved hither and thither, the more she devoted herself to passing round the canapés, jellies, pastries and hot chocolate. In the meantime, surprised that Sophie did not censure Hans’s impertinences, Professor Mietter continued to argue without growing angry, and indeed hoping she did not do so, in order that he could go on refuting them.
My dear friend, the professor said, should I remind you that without strong nations there can be no satisfactory international law? And I, my dear Professor, said Hans, must insist that I cannot help feeling much more like a citizen of Kant’s Europe than of Fichte’s Germany. Your feelings are your own affair, said the professor, the fact is that federal republicanism did not bring peace to Europe, only power struggles. Quite the contrary, Hans retorted, we have had wars when federalism failed. Kant envisaged a society of free states, which is incompatible with imperialism. The problem is each European treaty is a signature on the next war. Europe, my dear young man, said Professor Mietter, is founded on a common religion; that is the only basis for lasting unity. Do you not see that denying that is counter-productive? It surprises me (Álvaro declared, trying to tear his eyes away from Elsa’s ankle) to hear a Lutheran speak in this way. I am a Lutheran, Professor Mietter bridled, but first and foremost I am a Christian, a Christian and a German. Gentlemen, ahem, Herr Levin ventured, if you will allow me, it is trade, not morality, that guarantees unity, that is, if Europe traded more it could not allow itself to go to war, you see, no, not so much cake, please, that’s enough, thank you. Agreed, said Hans, but such changes cannot take place independently of a common political policy, for if we over-emphasise the identity of every nation, there will continue to be wars to decide who controls the markets. It is also possible to educate the economy, wouldn’t you agree? Yes, replied Herr Levin, not forgetting that education depends on the economy. Economic wisdom, Professor Mietter insisted, forms part of nation building, and there Fichte hit the nail right on the head. Kant hit the nail on the head, Hans replied, when he wrote Lasting Peace. That’s a good one! (said the professor, devouring a canapé, without clarifying whether he meant the canapé or Kant.) For your information, young man, the utopia of peace was invented over five hundred years ago by a man named Dante. But Dante thought peace depended on a political elite, Hans objected, almost exactly like what we have today! Kant thought law should be the guarantor of peace, a law established by a union of equal states. Entrusting peace to a handful of leaders is to legitimise despotism. Ahem, my belief (Herr Levin asserted, evading the caress his wife tried to give him by way of a warning) is that we occasionally get caught up in abstraction, that is, with all due respect, don’t you think peace is related to wealth? But that, Hans nodded, also takes us onto moral ground, for unless wealth is shared there will never be peace—poverty is a potential cause of conflict. Hear, hear! said Álvaro. Gentlemen, please, Professor Mietter sighed, let us not be ingenuous. Peace and war seek to achieve the same aim, which is to decide who rules, only the former does so by different means we like to think of as peaceful. That’s all there is to it. Ahem, perhaps, Herr Levin demurred, there is another reality to war, which is that the cost often outweighs its benefits, even for the victor, so that an impartial evaluation of the cost of war should be enough for us to renounce it.
Gentlemen, said Herr Gottlieb rising from his seat, please feel free to continue. I have a few matters to attend to in my study. This has been a most stimulating evening, as always.
Hans had the impression that as he said the word stimulating Herr Gottlieb had looked at him. Herr Gottlieb wound up the clock, which said ten o’clock sharp. He gestured to Bertold to light the candles, kissed his daughter on the forehead, bowed in a way that sent his whiskers flying, and vanished down the corridor. Finding herself alone with her guests, Sophie took a deep breath—now she could speak her mind without having to worry so much. Just when she was getting ready to join in the debate, Frau Pietzine intercepted her to take her leave as well, grasping her by the hands and whispering a few words no one else could hear. Sophie nodded, glancing sideways at the group made up of Professor Mietter, Hans, Álvaro and the Levins. No sooner had Elsa fetched Frau Pietzine’s blue scarf and ribboned bonnet than Sophie hastened to sit down again. To her dismay, the others were no longer discussing politics but had moved on to Schopenhauer.
No, it hasn’t enjoyed much success, Herr Levin was saying, although I found the book interesting, or at least different. This fellow Schopenhauer can’t be all bad, Álvaro jested, if he has translated Gracián he must speak Spanish, which is quite good coming from a German. Bah! said Professor Mietter dismissively, mere plagiaries of Eastern religions, these people cannot replace God, so they go searching for answers in Buddhism. I like Schopenhauer, said Hans, because he loathes Hegel. But don’t you find all that despair rather tragic? retorted Herr Levin. Perhaps, Hans replied, but he also lends himself to an optimistic reading. We can admit the idea of free will, while refusing to accept that it must always lead to suffering. That would mean we are condemned to try to be happy, would it not? And yet, gentlemen, the professor objected …
And so the gentlemen of the salon went on spouting their opinions endlessly, their lips quivering in the candlelight, as though the glow of the flames breathed life into their arguments. Sophie listened with a mixture of concentration and exasperation—she appreciated the things they said and detested what they left out. She glanced at the silent Frau Levin, clutching her husband’s shoulder, knowing he enjoyed the fact that she was listening to him. Sophie imagined them going home, strolling in search of a cab, she leaning on her husband’s arm, he bending slightly towards her, and saying: Are you all right, my dear? Are you warm enough? Or declaring: Ahem, what an interesting discussion about Schopenhauer! Waiting for her to say, Yes it had been most interesting and how brilliant his observations had been, even though she did not know much about it, at which Herr Levin would straighten up, grip her arm more tightly, and explain to her who Schopenhauer was, where he taught, what works he had published, It’s really quite simple, you know, my dear, and he would proceed to tell her everything he had not had the opportunity to say in the salon, once more listened to and listening to the sound of his own voice.
Sophie wrung her hands like someone screwing up a piece of paper.
What about you, my dear? she asked Frau Levin all of a sudden. Have you nothing to say? Frau Levin looked bewildered. My wife, Herr Levin spoke for her, ahem, my wife agrees with me. What a happy coincidence! Sophie exclaimed. He’s right, Frau Levin said in a faint voice, I agree with him. Sophie
bit her lip.
What about you Mademoiselle? Hans said provocatively, staring intently at her lip.
Me? replied Sophie crooking her wrist level with her chest. Why, learned gentlemen, I feel honoured simply to be listening to you, for nothing delights us women more than to witness such a show of wisdom, isn’t that so, my dears? Why, we could spend days on end admiring this virile exchange of opinions. Yet, lo and behold, in full flow, you question a novice like me about Schopenhauer! and I must admit to feeling embarrassed, as the mere question bestows on me a value of which I am unworthy. And so, meine Herren, I beg your indulgence as well as your pardon for my poor knowledge of the subject, but you know what scant attention we women give to the great thinkers. Having said all of which, I shall venture upon this difficult topic in order to state that, as far as I can see, which undoubtedly is not very far, Herr Schopenhauer is decidedly one of the most wretched authors I have ever had the opportunity of misinterpreting. I must admit it is only recently I have had the temerity to read his book, but he seemed rather muddled on the subject of women, insisting we devote ourselves to housework or gardening, but never to improving our minds by reading literature, much less thinking about politics. And therein, gentlemen, lies a paradox, because in order for his ideas to thrive, that is, in order for his doctrine to be heeded, Schopenhauer would do better to recommend all of us women to make a thorough study of philosophical works, in particular his own. Despite my limitations as a theorist, it seems to me the greatest philosophers of our day are bedevilled by a contradiction—they all seek to establish new systems of thought, yet they all think the same way about women. Do you not find that terribly amusing, gentlemen? I am sure there are more palm hearts if anyone is hungry.
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