* * *
*1 Matthias Erzberger (1875–1920), German politician and finance minister.
*2 Kurt Eisner (1867–1919), German journalist who led the socialist revolution that brought down the Bavarian monarchy.
*3 Count Anton von Arco auf Valley (1897–1945).
*4 Joseph Wirth (1879–1946), German politician of the Catholic Center Party.
*5 Erich Ludendorff (1865–1937), German general who was then widely viewed as a hero for his victories in World War I.
*6 The unification of all German-speaking peoples in a single German nation.
*7 Eugenio Pacelli (1876–1958) nuncio in Munich (1917) and Berlin (1920–29), Vatican secretary of state in 1930, elected Pope Pius XII (1939–58).
1923
Von Hildebrand’s denunciation of nationalism at the convention in Paris in April 1921 earned him the hatred of the Nazis. “The political situation was taking on an increasingly threatening character,” he writes, while “the Nazi demonstrations were becoming ever more brazen.” Von Hildebrand would have his first real brush with danger two and a half years after Paris, when Hitler attempted to seize power in Bavaria in the famous Beer Hall Putsch of November 8 and 9, 1923. Arriving with six hundred Storm Troopers—the paramilitary of the Nazi Party—Hitler entered the Bürgerbräukeller in Munich where Gustav von Kahr (1862–1934), the state commissioner of Bavaria, was holding a rally with a crowd of several thousand supporters.
As Hitler and his henchmen entered the hall that night, a shot was fired at the ceiling, and Hitler took the floor, yelling, “The national revolution has broken out!” Hitler’s aim was to depose the Bavarian government and then topple the Weimar Republic government with a “March on Berlin,” similar to Mussolini’s “March on Rome” the year before. Hitler had Kahr and his associates detained at gunpoint and ordered them to cooperate. A feverish Hitler returned to the podium to declare, “I can say this to you. Either the German revolution begins tonight or we will all be dead by dawn!”
A cheer then went up as General Erich von Ludendorff (1865–1937), a national hero from World War I, appeared to offer the revolutionaries his support. As the chaotic evening unfolded, the putsch rapidly came apart, as Kahr escaped (or was allowed to flee) and the mutiny was soon put down by the Bavarian police. But none of this was known to von Hildebrand when the news first reached him the next morning.
Thus came November 9, 1923. I attended 7:00 a.m. mass in Bogenhausen. My class was to begin at 9:15 a.m. As I left the church, I met Prince Clemens, the son of Prince Alfons, whose brother was Prince Ludwig Ferdinand.*1 He asked me if I already knew what had happened last night. I said I hadn’t heard anything, and so he told me that, at the Bürgerbräukeller, Ludendorff had been proclaimed President of Germany and Hitler Chancellor. Kahr had acquiesced, while other members of the Bavarian cabinet had been taken captive.
By his account it sounded as if the Nazis in association with Ludendorff were in control, at least in Munich, and as if the army in Bavaria would not offer any resistance. The extent to which this putsch would succeed throughout all of Germany was naturally the question. One could hope that the army would remain faithful to the Reich government.
But I had no time for any of these considerations. I was completely distressed and horrified by this turn of events, about the fact that Bavaria had fallen into the hands of criminals, about the triumph of this horrid ultra-nationalism and this deeply anti-Christian spirit. At the same time, National Socialism and Hitler as its leader represented the epitome of kitsch—a flat, gloomy, and incredibly trivial world, a barren and ignorant mindset. But aside from all these reasons to be distressed, the putsch presented a great and immediate danger for me. I had after all just learned from Marguerite Solbrig*2, my future secretary, who had it from a reliable source, that I was on the Nazi blacklist.
Marguerite told me at the time about an exchange she had with an injured soldier, who had previously been under her care for some time. He was an officer who had lost both his arms and legs. He spoke to her enthusiastically about Hitler, to which she responded that he should discuss this with me as I would clearly show him how false and un-Christian the ideas of Hitler were. He answered, “What, should I speak with Dietrich von Hildebrand, that traitor? He has long been on our blacklist of those we will execute immediately when we come to power.” This information would prove very important for me. The designation “traitor” was naturally due to my critical statement about the German invasion of neutral Belgium at the congress of Marc Sangnier.
I hastened home on my bicycle. I needed to be at the university by 9:00 a.m. for my class. Could I still risk teaching or should I flee without delay? I immediately telephoned Fr. Alois Mager*3 and asked him what I should do. He recommended that I go to my class since the entire city was not yet in the hands of the Nazis. Kahr had retracted his consent, which he had given under duress.*4 The Nazis only controlled the city to the right of the Isar River, and of course the university lay to the left.
Fr. Mager was to come to the university after my class to tell me whether I must flee and to advise me in my next steps. So I got onto my bicycle and road across the Bogenhausen bridge right past the SA*5 checkpoint and into the side of the city to the left of the Isar. There was no barricade for civilians. I passed through without being noticed and so, crossing the English Garden, I arrived at the university on time. There, to a reduced class, I gave my lecture on the idea of being and on the difference between essence and existence. All the while, one could hear the sounds of demonstrations around the university, and the entire situation was filled with great tension.
I no longer remember how much I knew that morning about the actual unfolding of the putsch. How much had Prince Clemens told me, how much did he know himself, how much had Fr. Alois told me by telephone?
Having concluded my lecture, I found Fr. Alois standing at the door of my classroom. He said to me, “I inquired and read a placard announcing the establishment of a popular tribunal, where there is only acquittal or the death penalty. The death sentence must be carried out within an hour of being handed down. Even if the Nazis only maintain power for a few hours, this means that your life is at risk. You must leave until order is reestablished or, at least, until the Nazi putsch is quelled. Obviously you cannot go to your home, where you could quickly be found, especially since your house is in the part of Munich occupied by the SA. Come with me to Beuron College.”*6
Expressing my thanks, I went with him to the College. From there I spoke with my wife Gretcher*7 by telephone. I told her I wanted to flee with her to Württemberg.*8 I asked her to pack the necessities and told her that a student of mine, Balduin Schwarz,*9 would come over to carry the suitcase to the train station. Balduin, who was in my course, had naturally heard of all this and had come with me and Fr. Alois to Beuron College. From there he went to the Maria-Theresia Strasse, probably riding his bicycle through the English Garden.
Fr. Alois advised that I ride the streetcar to Pasing and there board the train to Ulm, since a checkpoint for travelers might already have been set up at the central train station in Munich. He thought that my wife Gretchen and our son Franzi*10 could risk boarding at the central station. Beuron College was close to the Barer Strasse. So I rode with Fr. Alois on the streetcar along the Augustenstrasse to Pasing. This naturally took some time so that we arrived in Pasing around noon.
A friend, Elizabeth Kaufmann, whom—if memory serves—I had met at Beuron College, lent me some money, as I did not have enough with me for the trip. I met Gretchen and Franzi on the train and we rode to Ulm. Already in Augsburg I learned that a battle had broken out between the SA and the army on the Odeonsplatz. Ludendorff stood at the front of the Nazis assuming that his presence would be sufficient to deter the army from shooting. Yet this is not what happened. The army opened fire, several Nazis fell, Ludendorff was taken captive, and Hitler fled.
I no longer recall how many details I already knew in Augsburg. In any case, I was aw
are of the armed confrontation and that Ludendorff had been taken captive, for I still recall getting into a discussion about Ludendorff with another passenger. He was lamenting that this “great man” had been captured, whereas I did not hesitate to say that through his participation in the putsch he had forfeited his life, and that I hoped he would receive the appropriate punishment.
From the rumors I realized that the battle had taken place just as I was riding to Pasing with Fr. Alois. Had we known this, it would no longer have been necessary to flee. Nevertheless, we rode to Ulm where we stayed at a very good hotel well known to us. The next morning, when it was clear that the Nazi putsch had been completely subdued, we rode back to Munich in high spirits. Hitler had been found hiding under Fräulein Hanfstaengl’s bed, and was now under lock and key.*11
Our return to Munich was especially joyful. Not only is it remarkable how much more we appreciated public peace and security, having just been in great danger, but also the pathetic failure of the Nazi putsch had a wonderful cleansing effect on the oppressive milieu which had been building up for years. The uncanny feeling that the Nazi movement was becoming an increasing menace, the fact that growing numbers of people saw it as inevitable, even if they did not explicitly welcome it, had been poisoning the political atmosphere for a long time. The government of Kahr had only served to heighten this concern.
Now this danger had suddenly collapsed. Ludendorff was being tried in court. Hitler had made a laughingstock of himself through his Buffalo Bill entrance, his ignominious flight, and discovery under Fräulein Hanfstaengl’s bed. One had the impression that the Nazi nightmare had been definitively averted. Unfortunately this later turned out to be mistaken, but in November 1923 it seemed that way. It was possible to breathe a sigh of relief, and I more than most was overjoyed.
To my great regret Ludendorff was acquitted.*12 It was unbelievable that one did not dare to punish him because of his status as a World War I hero. The truth is that he should have been punished for his role in the World War, where aside from many war crimes he was also to blame that a truce was not reached in 1917. The Bavarian judges at that time were deeply infected by nationalism. Ludendorff’s participation in the Hitler putsch was clearly a crime. Had a leftist done the same thing, he would undoubtedly have been shot.
Even worse was the fact that Hitler, who lacked even the appearance of a national hero, was condemned to a respectable imprisonment rather than at least being sentenced to life in prison. Even so, it seemed that Hitler was finished once and for all. A year later, Simplicissimus*13 ran a caricature depicting Hitler in a restaurant selling his book Mein Kampf for two marks. Hitler had written this book during his imprisonment, which had become public knowledge even though it had not yet been published.*14
* * *
*1 Members of the House of Wittelsbach, the royal family of Bavaria until 1918.
*2 Marguerite Solbrig (1890–1969), close lifelong friend of von Hildebrand.
*3 Alois Mager, OSB (1885-1946), a prominent Benedictine monk of the Abbey of Beuron and also von Hildebrand’s confessor.
*4 Hitler would take his revenge on Kahr, having him murdered in the so-called “Night of the Long Knives” on June 30, 1934.
*5 Short for “Sturmabteilung,” often called “Brownshirts,” the original paramilitary of the Nazi Party.
*6 A Benedictine residence.
*7 Margarete (née Denck) von Hildebrand (1885–1957) married Dietrich in 1912.
*8 Württemberg was the German state to the east of Bavaria.
*9 Balduin Schwarz (1902–93), leading student and close friend of von Hildebrand, taught in Germany, Switzerland, and New York.
*10 Franz von Hildebrand (1912–77), von Hildebrand’s son and only child, who would have been just eleven in 1923.
*11 In fact, Hitler had been found hiding in a closet in the country home of Ernst (Putzi) Hanfstaengl, who was later head of the Nazi Foreign Press Bureau.
*12 The Hitler-Ludendorff trial took place between February 26 and March 27, 1924. In the verdict of April 1, 1924, Ludendorff was acquitted and Hitler was sentenced to five years’ imprisonment.
*13 A satirical German magazine.
*14 Hitler had worked on the book until October 1924. It appeared in two volumes in 1925 and 1926.
1932
Though sentenced for five years, Hitler was released after just nine months. As he began to rebuild the Nazi Party, von Hildebrand’s concern, only briefly assuaged by the failure of the Beer Hall Putsch, once more began to grow. “I tell you,” he said to one of his students in 1924, “the Nazis are the most vicious animals.” By early 1932, the German political situation was “increasingly poisoned by the growth of the Nazi movement.”
On April 10, Paul von Hindenburg (1847–1934) was reelected president of Germany with over nineteen million votes, but Hitler received over thirteen million. In early May, von Hildebrand gave a talk at the Special Conference on Sociology offered by the Catholic Academic Association, which at the time boasted a membership of over 10,000. It was held at the Abbey of Maria Laach, a Benedictine monastery in western Germany. There he met several theologians advancing “Reichstheologie,” which led them to seek common ground with National Socialism. Franz von Papen (1879–1969), a Catholic and the German chancellor in the latter part of 1932 who would play a role in Hitler’s rise to power, also attended the conference.
Two days later, after the elections, Wilhelm Groener, Minister of Defense and the Interior, banned the private National Socialist militias,*1 which seemed like a very positive development and which I saw as a stroke of very good fortune. As I found out much later (in 1945) from Brüning personally,*2 this was a great a mistake since Hitler was bankrupt and no longer capable of paying his units. Had they not been banned, Hitler would have had to send them packing for financial reasons, which might have been a fatal loss of prestige for him. Thus Hitler was spared a great disgrace and he was able to play the role of the loyal citizen by declaring that if the state forbade his militias, then there was no alternative but to disband them—albeit with a heavy heart. In reality this prohibition was very convenient for him.
No one knew about this at the time, that is, neither I nor surely many others knew it. Opponents of Nazism therefore welcomed the ban which they perceived as an awakening on the part of the government, as a long-awaited intervention to end the intolerable situation of the militias, which of course only the state has a right to maintain (such as an army or a police force).
Yet Groener was soon forced out of office, a very bad omen followed in short order by Brüning’s resignation on May 30. The symposium at Maria Laach probably took place at the end of April or in the first days of May. It thus occurred in the midst of this politically turbulent period, lending a particular timeliness to my lecture on “The Individual and the State.”
I was terribly upset by a talk of the Franciscan priest Soiron,*3 whom Münch*4 greatly esteemed and who so far had made a very good impression. Soiron’s talk was completely infected by the poison of collectivism and showed that, under the intoxicating influence of the Zeitgeist, he was completely blinded. He overemphasized the notion of community at the expense of the individual. His talk was not only philosophically false but also heretical and politically dangerous, particularly at that moment. Several others spoke in the same vein. Landmesser*5 of course was also completely infected by this collectivistic tendency.
My talk naturally had an explosive effect. The excellent pacifist and federalist, Schmidt*6 was so enthusiastic that he proposed that my text should immediately be reproduced and sent to all members of the Reichstag. This of course aroused the vehement protest of Fr. Soiron and many others. It was decided that Schmidt’s proposal could only be pursued if a committee reviewed my talk and made appropriate revisions.
The committee was made up of Fr. Soiron, the young Fr. Damasus Winzen,*7 myself, and two others whose names I have forgotten. But I did not want my talk to be censored by these people, who had not
even understood it and who were infected by collectivism. We would never have been able to come to an agreement and so it was a waste of time. Meeting as a committee in the cell of Fr. Damasus, I quickly saw the futility of the attempt and declared that it seemed better to drop Schmidt’s proposal and to abandon the idea of sending the talk to members of the Reichstag, rather than to spend time in pointless discussion.
My talk was the fruit of all the investigations that formed the subject of my book The Metaphysics of Community, which had been published two years before.1 In the talk I sought to make clear that every attempt to establish a community at the expense of the individual person is not only in itself false but necessarily leads to a misconception of the true nature of community. I pointed out the horror of antipersonalism and totalitarianism, showing their absolute incompatibility with Christian revelation, and I criticized the false thesis of Hegel who held that the state is a higher entity than the individual. Only the individual person is a substance in the full sense, while the state is only a quasi-substance.
At the same time, I stressed the reality and dignity of true community in contrast to every kind of false liberal individualism. All of this was philosophically grounded with great care, yet there was no chance of convincing the other members of the committee, who were not very acute philosophically and who had allowed themselves to be swept away by the Zeitgeist.
There were also heated discussions in the public sessions of the symposium. My position was defended by a Dutch Dominican priest (he was half-Jewish) whom I had already come to know in Fribourg, but the strongest support came from a very intelligent friend of Hedwig Conrad-Martius*8 who worked in a government ministry under Ferdinand Kirnberger, who was then president of the Catholic Academic Association. I remember how well he responded to Fr. Soiron who accused my position of not being Catholic because I was denying that all natural beings are in the image of God, whereas Soiron claimed that as God is a trinity it follows in the natural realm that community must be superior to the individual person. He responded to Fr. Soiron, “Yes, but in the Trinity the three persons form one substance.”
My Battle Against Hitler Page 4
