Münch was naturally at fault for this intellectual confusion in my dear friend Kirnberger, who was himself deeply pious and antinationalistic. Münch was so superior to Kirnberger intellectually and in force of personality that it was not difficult to induce Kirnberger to join his own “wishful thinking.” There were many unconscious motives at work in Münch. First, he was terribly anxious about his own well-being. Second, he feared that the Association might be banned, thus leading to the destruction of his life’s work. Third, he labored under a tendency toward self-deception and of falling into “wishful thinking.” He frantically sought an interpretation of the circumstances in Germany which would not confront him with the alternative of either giving up everything or making compromises—this would have weighed heavily on his conscience.
So he tried desperately to talk himself into believing that he was taking a much more hopeful path and that everything could suddenly take a turn for the good, as for example through the “conversion” of Hitler. He did not want to see that it would be far more horrifying if Hitler committed all manner of awful deeds while at the same time adopting a positive and friendly stance toward the Church, thus bringing about a friendly coexistence between National Socialism and the Catholic Church in Germany.
The Concordat reached between the Third Reich and the Vatican naturally contributed to this intellectual confusion.*34 Von Papen had personally gone to Rome for this purpose and to my greatest sorrow the Concordat was solemnly ratified. From the perspective of the Church, of course, a concordat does not in any way signify an endorsement of the regime with which the concordat is agreed. It is a treaty to secure the rights of the Church: to dispense the sacraments and so forth. After all, following the Concordat with Mussolini, Pope Pius XI had said, “I would have concluded a concordat with the devil if I could thereby save a single immortal soul.”
Yet the impact on the minds of believers is completely different in a country where those who represent the most pernicious and false doctrine are capable of exerting terrible pressure. This danger was very great in Germany, as soon became evident. Fr. Leiber*35 grasped the situation correctly when he said at the time, “The only remaining hope is that von Papen (who was on his way to Rome for the ratification of the Concordat) will perish in a plane crash; otherwise there will no longer be any escape from the disaster of the Concordat.” A year or two later one frequently heard the witticism, “Papen Papam fefellit” (“von Papen tricked the Pope”). This was at the time when the Concordat was already being violated and the open battle for the annihilation of Christendom, and with it the persecution of the Church, had already begun.
Critics hold that in signing the Concordat the Church sought to preserve its own interests rather than speak out against Nazism with uncompromising force, pointing to ambiguous statements by the German Catholic bishops that von Hildebrand deplored. Defenders counter that the agreement was a defense mechanism against an increasingly dangerous regime, citing, for example, an article in the Vatican newspaper L’Osservatore Romano by Cardinal Secretary of State Eugenio Pacelli published a week after the Concordat was signed. The article stressed that the Concordat in no way implied Church tolerance for Nazism’s moral and religious errors.
The Holy See thought that the Concordat would at least secure continuing religious liberty, including the right of the Church to operate its schools and charities. Only unusually prescient individuals like von Hildebrand remained immune to the notion that the Church could find a modus vivendi with the Third Reich.
In later years, von Hildebrand would write, “I personally regretted the Concordat for its psychological effect on the Catholics in Germany, and so did many others.” But then he adds, “The Concordat itself did not contain any yielding to Nazism—and Germany was at that time still a militarily weak country. It was not yet the dangerous aggressive power that it became in 1938; Hitler was not yet at the head of a strong and powerful state. Germany was still tolerated as a member of the ‘League of Nations’ in Geneva.”
He continues, “But as soon as Pope Pius XI saw that Hitler was not respecting the terms of the Concordat, but was trying to enslave the Church in Germany, he raised his voice in the magnificent encyclical Mit brennender Sorge (With Burning Anxiety). He did not speak in a conciliatory spirit, but he condemned with holy authority, like a St. Gregory VII. Hitler’s response was a terrible persecution of the Church.”2
Fr. Leiber later echoed von Hildebrand, “At that time, in the early months of the Third Reich, the Holy See would have preferred a modus vivendi in the form of an extended validation of the individual Länder concordats [with the individual German states] rather than the Reich concordat. But the government exerted pressure and offered extensive concessions. The Holy See would have been wrong to refuse and thereby to have exposed Catholics in Germany to the gravest dangers. This was the considered opinion of all those who were consulted for responsible advice, even of those who had little liking for the Concordat.”3
Around Pentecost, relatives came to visit in Florence. I was told I could not be too strict in judging National Socialism since the young people with whom they were coming were all more or less enthusiastic about Hitler. They were not ideological disciples of National Socialism, but were enthused for the new, for “upheaval” and for “breakthrough,” for national self-consciousness, for Hitler’s “forceful” emergence and entry into the fray. They were young people caught up in National Socialism while it was at the present moment in the air. Some of them were Catholics.
In general, the directive from German bishops and priests was this: one may participate in everything that does not violate the faith and the commandments of God. In other words, one can join the SA, continue teaching at the school that has conformed itself to National Socialism, one ought not to give up one’s position where one can at least prevent what is “worst” in small things, continue to do good, and so forth. With the bishops and priests adopting this stance, it is hardly surprising that young, naïve Catholics, particularly those who were only Catholic out of tradition, should merrily sing the Horst-Wessel Lied and be filled with enthusiasm for the Führer. I was of course horrified by such a friendly and benign attitude toward the Nazi regime, and I expressed my total rejection of National Socialism and my disdain for Hitler in very clear terms.
But I was much more upset when I noticed that anti-Semitism was being somewhat excused, “Of course, it is terrible to persecute the Jews—but really they are often very provocative and disagreeable, there is something about them that engenders the antipathy of so many people in so many countries; one can’t deny this if one wants to be objective.” I answered, “I will not tolerate a word against the Jews at the present moment. This kind of argumentation means that you give the devil your little finger—it means opening a door for infection by a dreadful heresy.”
At a time when a heresy was rampant, the Catholic Church would forbid all debate of the issues, even when such debate was in itself justifiable, as long as believers might thereby be infected by this heresy. Thus, in the time of Luther, every stress on the apostolate of the laity was forbidden because of the heresy of the priesthood of the laity. Just when a racism absolutely incompatible with Christianity is spreading, when Jews are being persecuted in a horrible way because of their “race” and independently of their religion and their convictions, when human beings are treated not as persons but as horses or dogs, when the individual no longer counts but only one’s membership in a race—at such a moment one simply cannot entertain any kind of discussion about whether Jews are really agreeable or disagreeable. The very idea of such a sweeping question is stupid and immoral; such a question can and should only be asked with respect to individuals.
But even if one can meaningfully speak about the agreeable quality of a national identity (and that, of course, is by no means a question of race!), one should not do it at this moment, since it represents, if only slightly, an “understanding” and to some extent excusing gesture toward National
Socialism and thus it opens a trap door for the evil enemy. In the face of such dreadful movements and heresies as Bolshevism and Nazism, in which the Antichrist raises his head, every attempt to “understand,” every attempt at a certain neutral objectivity, is entirely impermissible. Here we are required to pronounce nothing other than an unconditional anathema sit.
For this reason, at Pentecost 1933, I wrote a letter to close friends in Munich in which I attempted to describe the stance which to my mind was the only one possible for Catholics living in Nazi Germany. I called attention to the terrible danger of allowing oneself to be pressed into compromises and above all of inwardly adopting a neutral or even friendly stance toward National Socialism. I explained that they were being confronted by the Antichrist and that, if they were forced to live with him—indeed, even to be exposed to his force—it was absolutely necessary to bear the concealed “dagger,” as it were, of absolute and irreconcilable enmity, ready to make use of it at the first opportunity, without thereby risking the concentration camp.
I further wrote that it is completely immaterial if the Antichrist refrains from attacking the Church for political reasons, or if he concludes a Concordat with the Vatican. What is decisive is the spirit that animates him, the heresy he represents, the crimes committed at his behest. God is offended regardless of whether the victim of a murder is a Jew, a Socialist, or a bishop. Innocent blood cries out to heaven. The absolute, unbridgeable antithesis toward the Church lies in the racism, the totalitarian system, and in the anti-Christian ideology, none of which is mitigated by the fact that Hitler for political reasons concludes a Concordat with the Vatican—which, on top of everything else, he has no intention of observing in any real way.
I think the letter succeeded in expressing all my love and concern for my friends, and in articulating why I thought it necessary to make them aware of a dangerous attitude growing among many Catholics in Germany, and from which I wanted to protect them, namely of inwardly “making peace” with the Nazis. At the very least, these friends ought to adopt the stance, which from the Catholic standpoint was the right and only possible one, even if all around them many Catholics and a portion of the hierarchy in Germany did not do so themselves.
Von Hildebrand was visited by Fr. Max Josef Metzger, who after serving as a chaplain in World War I had become a pacifist and founded the German Catholic Association for Peace. As described above, von Hildebrand had met him in Paris at a convention in 1921 and the two had become friends.
Fr. Metzger spoke with us about the situation in Germany, and he and I were in complete agreement. He was just as unhappy as I about the stance of the bishops and of many Catholics. He recognized the Antichrist in National Socialism and wanted to avoid falling into any compromises whatsoever. I was terribly concerned for his safety in Germany, yet he believed that he must persevere there. I had the impression that he had grown a great deal since 1923. Back then, he was a deeply religious person, with a touch of the zealot and a genius for business. Now it appeared that the purely religious element had become completely dominant; he was much gentler and humbler than before.
I can hardly express how encouraging and consoling it was for me to meet a German priest who saw everything in a true light, who was completely free of all confusion, and who understood that there was only one possible stance for Catholics, namely the relentless battle against National Socialism—waged secretly when it would be futile to act publicly, yet never with even the slightest acquiescence or tolerance.
Metzger was murdered by the Nazis in 1933 or 1934.*36 He died as a martyr in the broad sense, by which I do not mean the completely meaningless and illegitimate use of the term to describe those who would rather die than change their convictions. This use would apply to every idolater who would rather perish than recant, to anyone who is executed for clinging to their evil idols. Giordano Bruno was clearly not a martyr. In speaking of a martyr in the broad sense, I mean those who because of their uncompromising repudiation of the enemies of Christ and the Catholic Church are murdered by these enemies, in contrast to those who, given the choice to reject Christ or face death, choose death.
I forgot to mention that, upon returning from Germany, Gretchen told me that her old friend Jacobsohn had thrown himself under a moving train. He could not bear the thought that his children, being Jewish, would no longer count as full Germans, as full citizens. I had just seen Jacobsohn in the summer of 1931, barely two years before, when he came to visit me at home at the Maria-Theresia Strasse with his son, who was an extremely talented student of mine. Gretchen was completely beside herself as she told me about his death. She said, “Even if the Nazis had done nothing besides driving this noble and deeply gracious person to his death, it would suffice to qualify them as criminals.”
It was truly symptomatic of the ugly face of National Socialism that such a pious and noble man was driven to suicide by the “Third Reich.” What must a man like Jacobsohn have endured that he, a pious Protestant, would decide to take his own life! I was profoundly shaken, and yet at the same time it showed me how deeply these Protestant Jews were rooted in Germany—so much so that Jacobsohn never even considered leaving Germany with his family. The thought that his children could no longer be full citizens drove him to despair.
Around this time, I came across a copy of the Summa of St. Thomas Aquinas, which the Dominicans had newly translated and published in collaboration with the Catholic Academic Association. To my horror, there on the first page I read, “In the Holy Year of the Germans.” When I inquired through others about the meaning of this very ambiguous and misleading choice of words, I was told that since this was a Holy Year it was also a Holy Year for the Germans. Of course, this was a very stupid response; adding “the Germans” would inevitably cause people to make a connection with the Third Reich. This Holy Year was equally for Catholics everywhere, yet by this emphasis the impression was given that this Holy Year had some special relation to Germany. There was absolutely no basis for this link to Germany, and so one could only have seen an allusion to the Third Reich.
One day, Hamburger visited me with a friend from a previous chapter in his life, a very likeable and intelligent Jew. We had a very beautiful and interesting conversation. He was so deeply dejected by the persecution of the Jews that it was difficult to encourage him and to offer him consolation. Though I surely advised him to abandon Germany, like many Jews, he could not bring himself to do so since he was still deeply attached to Germany. I think his name was Bloch. To my great sorrow, I later heard that he had taken his life.
News again arrived from Germany that cast an increasingly stark light on the terrible unfolding of events. I heard that a schoolteacher who had been fired for drinking but who was a fervent member of the Nazi Party had been appointed Minister of Culture in Bavaria. His name was Schemm.*37 In an address to professors of the University, he said, among other things, “From now on, you no longer need to ask in your research, ‘Is this true?’ but only ‘Does it correspond to the spirit of National Socialism?’ ” These words from the Minister of Culture, let alone the fact that Schemm had become the Minister, spoke volumes about the “spirit” of National Socialism—to the extent that one can even speak of spirit. Coming out of the lecture, Professor Vossler*38 said humorously to his colleagues, “I am ‘aschemmed.’ ”
But much sadder and incomparably worse than this radical intellectual and cultural decline was the letter of the Catholic bishops gathered in the town of Fulda. Contrary to all tradition, the bishops took a position toward the government. They began by listing all the things within National Socialism to which they spoke a full, approving “yes.” We affirm the spirit of authority, we affirm the commitment to the German Nation, we affirm, etc., etc. All this affirmation was a shameful betrayal, quite apart from the fact that the bishops after World War I did not take a similar position toward the Weimar Republic, so that taking an official position in the present context was unnecessary. Terms such as “authority,” “nation,
” and the like were used equivocally, when it was clear to everyone that what the National Socialists understood by these terms was something the bishops could never affirm. Besides, the fact that the affirmation of many points was very much in the foreground created the impression of a primarily affirmative stance toward National Socialism as such. It is true that the bishops in an appendix stated that they could not accept racism in certain forms, yet the impression remained that the overall tenor was one of joyous affirmation, so that the faithful could only take it as an approval of National Socialism. No word about the heresy of the totalitarian system, no protest against the innumerable crimes and the terrorism, no real condemnation of racism and of the whole ideology of National Socialism! Two weeks before Hitler seized power, membership in the Nazi Party still entailed excommunication, and now this affirmation!
Words cannot describe how this failure of the German episcopacy grieved me. To my sorrow, I saw how right I was to fear that Catholics in Germany would allow themselves to be carried away by a shameful spirit of compromise and accommodation toward the Antichrist. Later I found out who the “evil spirits” were among the German bishops. Above all, it was Bishop Berning of Osnabrück, who really was infected and later was appointed a member of the Staatsrat,*39 as well as Bishop Gröber of Freiburg,*40 who went along primarily out of fear. Many bishops did not have clear positions of their own, and so allowed themselves to be determined by these two. Bishop Bares*41 and Bishop Preysing*42 were naturally completely outstanding. It is thanks to Preysing that the restriction about racism was at least added to the end of the letter.
Having publicly opposed Hitler and Nazism until his appointment as chancellor on January 30, 1933, the German bishops were faced with a situation in which this very man and movement were now the official rulers of Germany. On March 23, in a speech to the Reichstag, Hitler promised to respect the Christian churches and work with them. He had no intention of keeping that promise, of course, but many Christians, including influential bishops, took him at his word.
My Battle Against Hitler Page 9