During the course of the 1934/35 winter semester, the gatherings developed more and more into what they were meant to be, namely a political discussion which gave me the repeated opportunity to shed new light on the absolute impossibility of any kind of compromise with National Socialism. For it is unbelievable how vulnerable our human nature is to falling into illusions and to growing numb in our indignation over injustice which we come to accept. Here, as in so many others in life, we must be like the conductor of an orchestra, in continually renewing the call to alertness. The moment one lets up, people fall asleep, or at least become indifferent.
Allers was one of the main participants in the discussions and was always excellent. Naturally, Klaus was also one of the best—with respect to politics usually the very best. Mataja, when he came (his health prevented him from coming often), also had many excellent things to say. In short, the intellectual level was very high. I will still have quite a bit to say about these afternoon discussions, which later would sometimes draw as many as a hundred twenty participants.
Von Hildebrand then traveled to Fribourg in Switzerland for the symposium on social questions with a group of leading French theologians. But even here he stepped forward in his role as “intellectual officer” addressing the burning questions of the day. In addition to Monsignor Bruno de Solages (1895–1983), the rector of the Catholic University of Toulouse with whom von Hildebrand formed a lasting friendship, he also met various other priests who deeply impressed him by their learning and spiritual life.
Our conversations were chaired by the elderly Fr. Albert Valensin, SJ, a very intelligent specialist on political and social questions. He was extremely likeable and we got along superbly. His family was originally Italian-Jewish. Their name was Valensini. He had a niece, Georgia Valensini, who was half-Jewish. There were two Valensin brothers who were Jesuits. Fr. Albert’s brother was professor of philosophy at the Institut Catholique in Lyon. I rather think I already knew Fr. Albert Valensin from Munich, that he had once visited me there.
Also present was a young philosopher, Fr. Fessard, SJ,*51 a complete non-Thomist in the sense of holding that it is impossible to separate faith and philosophy. He made a very intelligent impression, but I did not sufficiently understand his position, thinking it was tinged by a slight fideism like that of Rosenmöller.*52 I failed to recognize the many avenues for mutual understanding that were opened by his critical stance toward Thomism. Having raised an objection to him on this point, he said to me after the meeting, “Don’t you see that everything you write is much closer to my perspective than to the Thomistic one?”
I was the only layman in the group. The discussion focused mostly on questions I had either addressed in my book The Metaphysics of Community or were the subject of many articles in Der christliche Ständestaat. I was in fact much better prepared to speak about these questions than any of the others, and so I had much more to say than they did. The group received my contributions with great interest and comprehension. These discussions were as stimulating for me as they were fruitful. Everything about the Catholic milieu delighted me, and I was given the chance to awaken in this group of professors and priests, who had great influence in their own country, a deeper understanding for the nature and danger of National Socialism, to show them the radical incompatibility of National Socialism and Catholicism. This was necessary because the Concordat with the Vatican as well as the stance of the German bishops and also of some German theologians contributed to concealing the abyss that separates National Socialism and Christendom.
What gave me the greatest joy, though, was a comment by Fr. Desbuquois, SJ,*53 after I had served at a morning mass he had celebrated. He said to me, “Do you know that God has granted you a rare sensus supernaturalis (sense for the supernatural)? And do you realize clearly the responsibility that such a gift entails?” He had formed this impression during the discussions. I have to admit that this remark made me much happier than a great deal of the praise I had received for my books and lectures. It was the most beautiful thing anyone could say to me, since I considered the primary theme of all of my religious writings to be the articulation of the essence of the supernatural in its qualitative character, beginning with my essay “The New World of Christendom”3 and continuing through to my book Liturgy and Personality.4 The book in which this theme is most central, Transformation in Christ, did not yet exist at the time, nor had it even been planned. These words were particularly precious coming from Fr. Desbuquois, who deeply impressed me by his saintly being. From then on, these discussions were held every fall, and I participated in 1934, 1935, and 1936.
Upon returning to Vienna, I soon noticed a great change in Weber’s attitude toward me. He was, as I had already come to notice, really more of a subordinate by nature, and so the fact that I was not nearly as much persona grata with Schuschnigg as I had been with Dollfuss did in fact influence him a great deal. Of course, Weber’s position became much weaker with Dollfuss no longer there to support him. But this should not have been a reason why our own personal relationship, which had developed over the course of a year of collaboration, should wane as it increasingly did. This was particularly unfortunate for the continuation of the journal.
But much worse, as I soon noticed, was the fact that Austria’s struggle against National Socialism no longer possessed the same character as it had under Dollfuss. There had been something totally unconventional and inspired about Dollfuss. This had won him affection from outside of Austria, particularly the friendship of Mussolini. He embodied Austria and everything about him had an Austrian charm.
By comparison, Schuschnigg was much more conventional, stiff, and Germanic than Dollfuss. And he was completely lacking in genius. Schuschnigg was a decent, pious, and dutiful man. He was also cultivated, in many respects more so than Dollfuss, yet he lacked Dollfuss’ brilliant intuitive perception. Schuschnigg was surrounded by many German nationalist elements, and even by traitors, like Wilhelm Wolf, yet he could not see through them. Above all, Schuschnigg himself, being burdened by a certain German nationalism, was not entirely free of sympathies for a “Greater Germany.” This showed itself on many occasions.
I noticed more and more how the notion of the “brotherhood” of Austria and Germany began to poison the entire politics of Schuschnigg. The fact that every step against Hitler was of course a step toward the liberation of Germany sheds light on the error at the root of this notion of “brotherhood,” namely that it makes an unfortunate and naïve identification of a nation, or people, with the political regime presently in power. One simply had to see that Germany had fallen into the hands of criminals, just as had also happened to poor Russia. Second, Austria and a Prussian Germany free of National Socialism were politically two different worlds, regardless of their many cultural links. Austria is a nation of its own. In the past, it had been a synthesis of East and West, North and South, a sort of European microcosm, which continues to animate the smaller Austria of today. Austria is therefore something totally distinct from Prussian Germany, which in reality has always been the traditional enemy of Austria.
Stepan approached me to ask whether I would like to write a book about Dollfuss, both his personality and his work. Otto Müller of Anton Pustet Press was to publish it. (Pustet was also the publisher of Liturgy and Personality.) I accepted this offer with great joy, for I desired to commemorate this singularly beloved and revered man. I also had the feeling that I understood his character and his greatness better and more clearly than anyone else who might have been considered for such a book. But it had to be completed in a very short period of time, because Müller wanted it to appear while the shock over Dollfuss’ murder was still in the air—a very understandable request for a publisher who was also very business savvy.
I pressed myself into an unbelievably intense state of work, much like the time in Munich when I was writing Liturgy and Personality. I worked from morning until night without interruption, received no visitors, and did not even write
any articles for the journal. Balduin came from Salzburg to Vienna for a few days to help me, for I felt the need to show him what I had already written as well as to discuss with him the overall structure and the parts that were still to be written. I wrote the book, Engelbert Dollfuss,5 in twelve days, which allowed it to appear before Christmas. I think it was in October that I wrote it—just after my return from Lyons—and the book appeared in the beginning of December.
The book even found its way to Germany, where several copies were sold before the Gestapo, upon becoming aware of it, confiscated and banned it. The book had great success in Austria. I received many appreciative letters. Even Professor Kastil called to say that from the moment he had gotten a copy one evening he had been unable to stop reading and that he had continued until five in the morning, so much had it captivated and moved him.
But Mrs. Dollfuss was not as pleased. I had mentioned in the book that Dollfuss was an illegitimate child, which was well known, to avoid any appearance of wanting to conceal anything. It fit very well in the passage where I was contrasting his simplicity, modesty, and above all his humility, with his genius and his courage. But Mrs. Dollfuss thought that my mention was superfluous, somehow indiscreet. I felt incredibly sorry about offending her, but I was also sorry about her tepid response to everything in the book which ought to have made her happy.
Domanig’s response to my Dollfuss book was very great, which made me very happy. Domanig had been one of Dollfuss’ closest friends, and it is from him that I had received most of my material for the book, above all the utterances of Dollfuss.
An official at the Ministry of Commerce by the name of Raimund Poukar, who had written various articles in many journals, increasingly became a collaborator of the Ständestaat. His articles were extremely useful, well written, and increasingly expressive of our basic orientation. It was very important for our journal that we also had many Austrian collaborators drawn from various circles and groups. This was so because Klaus and I often felt resistance toward us as “emigrants.”
In the case of Austria, this was a particularly foolish objection considering that many of the greatest Austrian patriots were foreigners, and that it was precisely these foreigners who understood the phenomenon of Austria in a special way and in certain respects even embodied it—from Prince Eugene to Metternich, Schlegel, Gentz, and Pastor. Regardless of the stupidity of this prejudice, still we had to be concerned with the reputation and dissemination of our journal, and thus we sought to dispel this prejudice by presenting many Austrian voices in our pages. To this end, Poukar was very helpful. Other Austrian collaborators included Missong, Mataja, Count Dumba (the Austrian representative at the League of Nations), and Ender. Later on, there was a very intelligent Protestant from Hermannstadt,*54 along with various others whose names I have forgotten. A regular collaborator was Karpfen, the colleague of Hovorka.
I had been invited by Fr. Gemelli,*55 the rector of the Catholic University of the Sacred Heart in Milan, to give a lecture at the university. The subject was a critique of the foundations of National Socialism. The lecture went well and I succeeded in carrying out my critique of the totalitarian ideal of the state without offending various attendees who were Fascists. Of course, my critique was primarily directed toward elements that were entirely lacking in Fascism, such as racism.
Some years later, in 1938, Italy passed the first of its race laws, which severely restricted the rights of Jews. Even so, von Hildebrand means that racism was not intrinsic to Fascism as it was to Nazism, and in 1934 it was still possible to criticize racism to an audience of Fascists.
Regrettably, I spoke too freely in an interview that I gave, without considering what could be harmful to my effectiveness in Austria and to my battle there against National Socialism. I mentioned that my paternal grandmother was Jewish—a completely needless revelation, as I was soon to find out, because it was able to do great harm to my position in Austria and because it had no real importance. After all, this fact did not have the slightest influence on my stance and had never, even in the past, played any role in my life.
While focusing primarily on my love for Italy, the interview had mentioned my Jewish grandmother, which various “neutral” Austrian newspapers eagerly seized upon. In truth, I spoke about my Jewish grandmother because I was proud of her. It was certainly important not to conceal this fact artificially, and to allow myself to fall into the attitude of denying any trace of Jewish ancestry, which even many anti-Nazis did in Austria.
Yet in this case it was also a mistake not to recognize that, having not been asked, there was no reason to make this revelation. Doing so would decisively weaken my struggle, not just against National Socialism, but also against the moderate anti-Semitism in Austria, if people could say of me, “But of course, he is speaking on behalf of his own people.” Soon after I heard that Funder—the same Funder who had received me with such incredible warmth in August 1933—had said of me, “Well, that was only said by the Jew Hildebrand.” Through this interview I had become fully Jewish even in the eyes of someone who was relatively well disposed to me.
Let me briefly describe a visit from Ludi Pastor.*56 He came to see me and asked if I would consider accompanying him to Rome on a particular mission. Wilhelm Berliner, the leader of the Austrian branch of Phönix, a brilliant businessman and a major entrepreneur, wanted a report on the general climate of opinion toward Nazism in Vatican circles. Naturally, he would finance the journey. He was not just looking for a report from me, though this was the primary purpose; I was also supposed to brief these circles where possible. Ludi would accompany me on the trip. I could choose the time.
Ludi also intimated that I might be able to secure some support for my journal by talking with Berliner prior to the journey.*57 Apparently Berliner valued the journal and considered it very important. This of course was very appealing for me, for it could lead to a source of support just when Schuschnigg was leaving me in the lurch as far as the journal was concerned. The trip to Rome was also very enticing, and I had especially high hopes for what might come out of an audience with the Secretary of State, Cardinal Pacelli, whom I knew so well from Munich.
At the end of 1934, von Hildebrand would finally be appointed as associate professor of philosophy at the University of Vienna.
Schuschnigg wanted to impose me on the faculty, not because he had any particular appreciation for me, but because Dollfuss had wanted it this way, and he wanted to be loyal to Dollfuss. This is the way things were around the middle of December 1934.
It was around this time that I made my first visit to Cardinal Innitzer.*58 In retrospect it now seems unlikely to me that I would only have visited him after being in Vienna for a full year; that would have been very impolite. I had probably visited him pro forma at the beginning, and this was the first time I had a serious conversation with him.
He received me with very great warmth. He said, “I am so happy that we finally have a practicing Catholic teaching in the philosophical faculty.” It was a good conversation, and I was particularly pleased to hear him say that he had not received Papen and did not want to receive him. Before leaving I ventured to ask him for an article for the Ständestaat, and he agreed.
He embraced me as I left and I went home feeling quite satisfied at our meeting. I knew, of course, that he was a weak man. Though he was certainly a very warm and kind person, one said of him that he always agreed with the last person he spoke to. He was too weak to say “no”—except in matters of sin. And so I did not overrate his friendliness.
But I certainly did not expect from this meeting something I soon found out. Wilhelm Wolf came to Cardinal Innitzer asking him to sign a petition drawn up by Wolf and others and addressed to Schuschnigg: it was a petition requesting that I not be appointed professor. Wolf said to the Cardinal: for the sake of peace we have to prevent von Hildebrand from becoming professor, he will just stir up trouble. With this argument, or rather by means of this pressure brought to bear on th
e Cardinal, Wolf was able to get him to sign the petition. This happened soon after my meeting with the Cardinal and about two weeks before my appointment. Schuschnigg ignored the petition and appointed me in spite of it. He certainly realized that the Cardinal’s signature on this petition was of little value.
* * *
*1 Eugenio Morreale (1891–1976), Italian journalist, foreign correspondent, press attaché at the Italian embassy in Vienna, influential opponent of National Socialism.
*2 Eduard Pant (1887–1938), teacher, politician, and publisher of the weekly journal Der Deutsche in Polen (The German in Poland).
*3 Johann Carl Maier-Hultschin (1901–58), editor of the largest German Catholic daily newspaper in Poland (Der oberschlesische Kurier) before taking over editorship of Pant’s journal.
*4 Angela Raubal (1883–1949), Hitler’s half-sister, enjoyed Hitler’s trust over the years and served as his housekeeper from 1928 to 1935.
*5 Angela (Geli) Raubal (1908–31), daughter of Angela and Leo Raubal, lived in Hitler’s apartment in Munich beginning in 1928. Hitler’s role in her death is a matter of historical dispute.
*6 Franz Gürtner (1881–1941).
*7 Jozef Tiso (1887–1947), Slovak priest, politician, prime minister, and later president of Slovakia. His collaboration with the Nazis led to his execution for treason.
*8 Emil Fey (1886–1938), Austrian commander and conservative politician who was vice chancellor during the episode described by von Hildebrand.
My Battle Against Hitler Page 19