My Battle Against Hitler

by Dietrich von Hildebrand,John Henry Crosby

  A strong hostility had arisen against the journal and against me, even in circles that were not ill-disposed to me. I do not mean any of those who completely shared my views, such as Mataja, Bam, Simon, Allers, or close friends, like Prince Schönburg, or any of the aristocrats who came to my evening gatherings. Thank God, none of these people had changed their position in the slightest.

  Still, there were others who, while having no sympathy for the Nazis and while initially being well-disposed to the journal, now called me an alien presence in Austria—an “emigrant”—and accused me of adopting a tone that was too harsh and thus unbearable. Even Count Thun, whom I had known already in Munich and whose mother had been the great friend of Rilke,*22 now opposed me. When I once visited him, he declared that my way of polemicizing against the Third Reich was no longer bearable, that it had no place in Austria, and so on and so forth.

  On top of this, the financial situation of the Ständestaat was becoming increasingly grave. The journal had not achieved the distribution we had expected during the first year. The endorsements from the Patriotic Front and from official government channels had ended, while the sum of money initially promised had only been paid in half by the government because Schuschnigg lacked any interest in the journal.

  Weber had completely withdrawn from me. I was forced to the sad realization that he after all had a bureaucratic soul. The warm relationship that had developed between us while Dollfuss was alive vanished shortly after his death. Once it became clear that Schuschnigg harbored less than friendly feelings toward me, Weber’s attitude toward me became one of definite reserve, indeed, of fear that any connection to me could be compromising. The lack of money meant that we were irregular in paying the stipends of our writers and sometimes even the salaries of our employees or the bill from the printer.

  In mid-October von Hildebrand went to Fribourg for the symposium he had attended the year before. A friend, Fr. Konstantin Noppel, SJ (1883–1945), took part for the first time.

  My joy in Fr. Noppel’s presence was soon destroyed when, to my horror, I noticed that he had become heavily infected by Nazism. We clashed during the discussions and our earlier friendly relationship went completely to pieces. During the discussions, he sought to present a completely false image of National Socialism to the others and unfortunately made a certain impression on them. This was in part because he spoke as a Jesuit, a Jesuit who had previously been known as a pacifist and who for a time had been the rector of the Germanicum in Rome. Second, thanks to a touching kindness, they were very open to being taught and to learning about aspects they had perhaps overlooked.

  Another factor was that Fr. Delos lived in Germany, where from conversations with many people he had formed the impression that race after all might be more important than assumed in Catholic circles until then, i.e., that perhaps there was something in the notion of race that had been overlooked. Naturally I very strongly objected to the hypothesis proposed by Fr. Delos—he had only mentioned it as a possibility—but also, and much more pointedly, to the rosy picture painted by Fr. Konstantin Noppel. I think I succeeded in convincing all the participants, including Fr. Delos. He was simply too intelligent to reject the validity of the arguments I offered against racism, and not to see the biological materialism buried in the notion of racism.

  I even succeeded in showing Fr. Delos that anti-Semitism on top of everything is a particularly stupid form of racism, given that in many cases one does not even know whether a person is Jewish. There are Italians who look very much like Jews, and Jews whose Jewish ancestry is invisible. Anti-Semitism was clearly not just anti-Christian and immoral but also quite foolish. Fr. Noppel, however, was furious about my remarks and clung fast to his position.

  When I returned to Vienna, I found out to my great joy that Kern*23 had decided to settle there permanently. He had a deep sense for all that is great and beautiful in art as well as in the realm of truth. He was profoundly reverent and possessed a deeply value-responding attitude. At the same time, he was full of humor and had all the charm of an Austrian. I soon came to feel not just close to him but also free to be myself in his company. His presence would be an important factor in the significant period now beginning in my Vienna years.

  I was now thrust into a time of extraordinary intensity in various different respects. I began waging a battle on two fronts. The one targeted the circles I just mentioned, namely those who attacked me for being an “emigrant” and an “alien presence in Austria.” These political attacks led me to take the bull by the horns and to write an article titled “The Emigrant.”1

  I pointed out how contradictory it was for Austrians to denounce as “emigrants” people who came from other countries and became Austrian patriots. For as I already mentioned, many of the great Austrians of the past were “emigrants” precisely in this sense, from Prince Eugene, Metternich, Schlegel all the way to Pastor. Thus, I publicly challenged those who found my position offensive and refuted their arguments. I also wrote various articles along similar lines, including one called “The True Germany,”2 through which I openly confronted these attacks (which in fact tended to take the form of grumbling).

  It must have been sometime in the fall that I made the acquaintance of Dr. Kunwald,*24 to whom I frequently went to seek counsel about the financial woes of the Ständestaat. I had already heard a great deal about Dr. Kunwald, who of course was a famous man and a great authority on questions of economics. He had for years been the advisor to Seipel. One of Kunwald’s students was Kienböck,*25 who had brilliantly stabilized the Austrian currency and who in 1935 was still the Austrian Minister of Finance. Kunwald had counseled him about the stabilization of the currency, though now he no longer agreed with Kienböck’s policies. Kunwald was also on very good terms with Mataja.

  Kunwald could not walk: his legs were either crippled or too weak to carry his fairly substantial girth. He had to be carried to the car when he wanted to go out. Upon entering the room, one would find him sitting at his desk on a chair with wheels. He had long white hair and a long white beard. He looked like a rabbi. He had a shapely head with intelligent blue eyes. The expression on his face was kindly and patriarchal, yet more than anything else he made the impression of being a person of importance. One felt that he not only possessed great intelligence but also that he was a very powerful personality.

  It was always a joy for me to visit him, and a very warm relationship soon arose between us. He treated me in a fatherly way that was moving. He would not accept any payment for advising me, for which, since he was a famous expert, others paid a great deal. He said to me, “You are a child of the light. One must help you.” Naturally, Kunwald welcomed my journal and my struggle against anti-Semitism, and thus appreciated me even before becoming personally acquainted with me. Yet thanks to our personal interactions, we were able to develop a relation of genuine friendship.

  My evening political discussions had developed very nicely, attracting about a hundred twenty people. Allers and his wife were regular guests, Allers playing a major role in the discussions. Dr. Missong also came regularly. A particularly active participant was a very devout Protestant from Hermannstadt. He was a contributor to the Ständestaat, and I was always very pleased at the high level of his remarks. Klaus was of course one of the leading figures at these evenings.

  Among the attendees were many aristocrats, as well as numerous respected personalities and senior officials, such as von Herrnritt, who was also a contributor with our journal. There were also various medical doctors, such as Dr. Liebl, a urologist, and also our family doctor, Dr. Pollaczek.

  Another regular attendee was Reich, the music critic and friend of Alban Berg. He was particularly attached to me and expressed his desire to become Catholic. I no longer recall when he mentioned this for the first time. In any case, I recommended he see Fr. Alois Mager for catechesis. His reception into the Church did not take place until 1937.

  Oesterreicher was a regular attendee, while Simon came
frequently. Unfortunately, I no longer remember the numerous other participants by name.

  * * *

  *1 Dietrich von Kralik (1884–1959), son of von Hildebrand’s friend Richard von Kralik and dean of the humanities faculty.

  *2 Hans Pertner (1887–1951), official at the Austrian ministry of education who rose to become minister of education.

  *3 Karl von Stein, chief of security for the Austrian Student’s Union.

  *4 Berliner continued to support the Ständestaat until his death in 1936.

  *5 Cesare Orsenigo (1873–1946), the apostolic nuncio in Berlin.

  *6 Alfred Rosenberg (1893–1946), the Nazis’ major theoretician, notably through his 1930 book, The Myth of the Twentieth Century.

  *7 Ludwig Weiser (1887–1944).

  *8 Ernst Krenek (1900–91).

  *9 Egon Wellesz (1885–1974).

  *10 Alma Mahler-Werfel (1879–1964), wife of composer Gustav Mahler (1860–1911). Following his death she married, first, the architect Walter Gropius, and later the writer and poet Franz Werfel (1890–1969).

  *11 The girl’s name was Manon and she died soon after. Alban Berg dedicated his 1935 violin concerto to her (“to the memory of an angel”).

  *12 Attila von Thewrewk-Pallaghy (1901–89), historian, contributed several articles to the Ständestaat in the first half of 1935.

  *13 Ernst Hefel (1888–1974).

  *14 Bishop Ottokár Prohászka (1858–1927), theologian and Catholic bishop of the Hungarian diocese of Székesfehérvár.

  *15 Katona and Count Georg Széchenyi, editor and publisher, respectively, of the journal Korunk Szava. Both wrote several essays for Der christliche Ständestaat.

  *16 Moritz Schlick (1882–1936), leader of the Vienna Circle of logical positivists.

  *17 Hans Kestranek, sculptor and close friend of writer Theodor Haecker.

  *18 Theodor Haecker (1879–1945), German Catholic writer, translator of Kierkegaard and Newman, and friend of von Hildebrand.

  *19 A Benedictine abbey in Vienna.

  *20 Herman Peichl, OSB (1887–1966).

  *21 Richard Beron, OSB (1903–89), leading member of the Catholic Academic Association.

  *22 Rainer Maria Rilke (1875–1926), poet.

  *23 Theodor Kern (1900–69), an Austrian painter.

  *24 Gottfried Kunwald (1869–1938), lawyer, banker, one of the most influential figures in Austria until his death in 1938.

  *25 Viktor Kienböck (1873–1956), Austrian politician who served as finance minister.

  1936

  During the winter I had an audience with Chancellor Schuschnigg. He took this occasion to complain about Friedrich Wilhelm Foerster, from whom he had received a letter urging him to dismiss all of his ministers and to replace them with people suggested by Foerster. “Much as I value Foerster as a pedagogue,” Schuschnigg said, “his suggestions are completely unrealistic and impossible. I am completely informed about his sources concerning the situation in Austria, as the entire correspondence of Görgen is being monitored.”*1

  I could sense his irritation over Görgen, which I understood only too well, even though I myself was also very unhappy with Schuschnigg’s politics. Görgen was excessive in his polemics and had a strong tendency to exaggerate. But this was also embarrassing for me because I did not know the extent to which Görgen invoked me in his letters. In fact, I had to assume that he mentioned me, and that Schuschnigg spoke in this way to admonish me. Schuschnigg would have had no reason to say anything had he not assumed I was somehow connected with Görgen and Foerster. Perhaps Foerster, who was a very good friend of mine, had made some mention of me in one of his letters.

  All this was quite uncomfortable for me and greatly strained my relationship with Schuschnigg, which admittedly had already deteriorated. He knew that I remained a strict adherent of the Dollfuss policy toward Germany and that I did not agree with his pan-German sympathies. I could sense that there had been a great deal of agitation against me with Schuschnigg. I had attacked many unreliable figures in Austria, including some in the very circles in which Schuschnigg moved. But as he remained blind to the dangers posed by these people, he increasingly saw in me the embittered emigrant who has become suspicious of everyone.

  Two decisions in particular signaled Schuschnigg’s withdrawal from me. The university was to host a series of lectures on fundamental issues of philosophy, with a certain emphasis on politics. It would have been quite natural to assign these lectures to me. This was entirely in keeping with Dollfuss’ intentions and would have fulfilled his expectations of me when we discussed my appointment at the university. Now that people at the university had gotten used to my teaching position, there would have been no risk, no reason to worry about another scandal like at my inaugural lecture. And it would have been in Schuschnigg’s best interests.

  Instead, the lectures were entrusted to Knoll*2 who was neither a professor nor in any way suited to the task. Knoll completely changed his opinions in order to win this new appointment. He had been an enthusiastic legitimist and an admirer of Karl Ernst Winter. Now he completely abandoned his former legitimist position, instead adopting a stance of appeasement toward National Socialism.

  The second decision was the appointment of Dempf*3 as full professor of philosophy. Dollfuss had promised me the full professorship. I had been told that for tactical reasons one could only give me the associate professorship for the time being and that at the first opportunity I was to be made full professor. When I visited Schuschnigg in January 1935 to thank him for my appointment as assistant professor, he said to me, “This is just the beginning,” by which he made clear that the appointment to full professor would soon follow.

  With Dempf’s appointment, I would now be confined to the assistant professorship for the long term. Of course I was happy that it was Dempf, who was a pious Catholic and in no way a Nazi. Still, it was a great snub to me and also a heavy financial blow. I no longer recall when Dempf’s appointment took effect, but probably it was not until the summer semester of 1936.

  My friendship with Kern developed more and more and we saw one another frequently. Wherever I would give a lecture, he would accompany me for protection. I spoke often during this time, principally at legitimist gatherings and with particular frequency at Jewish gatherings thanks to extensive Jewish circles that adhered to a strict legitimism.

  Two Jews I still remember especially. The one was a small, gentle human being, unusually attractive and very religious. His disposition to the Church was very reverent, indeed, very open, and I could have deep conversations on religious subjects with him. He came to see me frequently and was an avid reader and enthusiastic supporter of our journal. Regrettably, I no longer recall his name. I very much fear that he was later murdered by the Nazis. The other was a general by the name of Viktor Krones. He was a very pious orthodox Jew and an ardent supporter of the Habsburg monarchy. He was a truly reverent figure, the embodiment of the thoroughly upright Jew, of the “righteous” one in the Old Testament sense.

  There was also Dr. Robert John, whom I already knew from Salzburg. Not only did he attend my evenings through the years, he also became a real friend of mine. He was half-Jew and looked quite Jewish. He was chaplain in the parish where Franz Domanig was the pastor. The parish was in Wieden, not far from the Ringstrasse, quite near the Palais Schwarzenberg.

  Dr. John was an ardent legitimist and a great devotee of Dante. He was working on a major work on Dante. I must say that, based on what he told me, it seemed quite unsatisfactory, for he claimed that Beatrice was merely a symbol of moral theology. But what was most striking about Dr. John was his exceptional kindness, his deep piety, and his humility. He was one of those in Vienna on whose friendship I could absolutely depend.

  Around this time, I wrote a letter to Fr. Richard Beron, OSB, who had spoken about me and my struggle against National Socialism in the most derogatory fashion to acquaintances of mine. He thought it was completely outrageous that I did not want to
accept God’s will. National Socialism was now here in full swing: “Vox temporis, vox Dei,” “The voice of the times is the voice of God.” Like it or not, I had to accept that it was only a matter of time before National Socialism would come to Austria. To resist this was both wrong and futile. Thereupon I wrote to Fr. Richard, suggesting a discussion, yet he thought it superfluous to speak with me.

  So I wrote him a letter in which I briefly explained that God calls us to fight the Antichrist regardless of whether we triumph, which ultimately is up to God. If God permits evils such as Bolshevism and National Socialism, then of course, as St. Paul says, it is to test us; it is precisely our struggle against evil that God wills, even when we suffer external defeat. I sent my letter on the feast of St. Peter Damian, February 23, making reference to this great saint, who was so uncompromising that he even opposed the Pope who sought to lead an army (despite the fact that it was a completely just war).

  I have neglected to describe how Oesterreicher had established a journal called Die Erfüllung (Fulfillment). He had written various very beautiful essays in it, profoundly religious in their style, and at a very high level. But the essays by the other contributors were also very good. The entire journal was on an unusually high level. Oesterreicher had also asked me for an article, which I probably wrote during the spring of this year.

  He had founded an institute for the conversion of the Jews which he called Pauluswerk [Work of St. Paul]. Founding the journal had been the first step down this path. Conceived as a particular service to the Jews, the mission of the Pauluswerk was to present Christian teaching and also the Church in her authentic form and in all her splendor. This was also the purpose of the journal Fulfillment. In addition, the Pauluswerk was to care for the catechetical formation of Jewish converts and, following their baptism, to organize scriptural and liturgical evenings for them on an ongoing basis.