Fall Reading List VII

Description:

In the turbulent period following the First World War the young Count Richard Coudenhove-Kalergi founded the Pan-European Union, offering a vision of peaceful, democratic unity for Europe, with no borders, a common currency, and a single passport. His political congresses in Vienna, Berlin, and Basel attracted thousands from the intelligentsia and the cultural elite, including Albert Einstein, Thomas Mann, and Sigmund Freud, who wanted a United States of Europe brought together by consent. The Count’s commitment to this cooperative ideal infuriated Adolf Hitler, who referred to him as a “cosmopolitan bastard” in Mein Kampf.

Communists and nationalists, xenophobes and populists alike hated the Count and his political mission. When the Nazis annexed Austria, the Count and his wife, the famous actress Ida Roland, narrowly escaped the Gestapo. He fled to the United States, where he helped shape American policy for postwar Europe. Coudenhove-Kalergi’s profile was such that he served as the basis for the fictional resistance hero Victor Laszlo in the film Casablanca.

An excerpt:

The condition of the Western Empire was somewhat different. Not quite a century after the conversion of Constantine, the Imperial city was captured by Alalric, and a long series of barbarian invasions at last dissolved the whole framework of Roman society, while the barbarians themselves, having adopted the Christian faith and submitted absolutely to the Christian priests, the Church, which remained the guardian of all the treasures of antiquity, was left with a virgin soil to realise her ideal of human excellence. Nor did she fall short of what might have been expected. She exercised for many centuries an almost absolute empire over the thoughts and actions of mankind, and created a civilisation which was permeated in every part with ecclesiastical influence. And the dark ages, as the period of Catholic ascendancy is justly called, do undoubtedly display many features of great and genuine excellence. In active benevolence, in the spirit of reverence, in loyalty, in co-operative habits, they far transcend the noblest ages of Pagan antiquity, while in that humanity which shrinks from the infliction of suffering, they were superior to Roman, and in their respect for chastity, to Greek civilisation. On the other hand, they rank immeasurably below the best Pagan civilisations in civic and patriotic virtues, in the love of liberty, in the number and splendour of the great characters they produced, in the dignity and beauty of the type of character they formed. They had their full share of tumult, anarchy, injustice, and war and they should probably be placed, in all intellectual virtues, lower than, any other period in the history of mankind. A boundless intolerance of all divergence of opinion was united with an equally boundless toleration of all falsehood and deliberate fraud that could favour received opinions. Credulity being taught as a virtue, and all conclusions dictated by authority, a deadly torpor sank upon the human mind, which for many centuries almost suspended its action, and was only effectually broken by the scrutinising, innovating, and free-thinking habits that accompanied the rise of the industrial republics in Italy. Few men who are not either priests or monks would not have preferred to live in the best days of the Athenian or of the Roman republics, in the age of Augustus or in the age of the Antonines, rather than in any period that elapsed between the triumph of Christianity and the fourteenth century.

It is, indeed, difficult to conceive any clearer proof than was furnished by the history of the twelve hundred years after the conversion of Constantine, that while theology has undoubtedly introduced into the world certain elements and principles of good, scarcely if at all known to antiquity, while its value as a tincture or modifying influence in society can hardly be overrated, it is by no means for the advantage of mankind that, in the form which the Greek and Catholic Churches present, it should become a controlling arbiter of civilisation. It is often said that the Roman world before Constantine was in a period of rapid decay; that the traditions and vitality of half-suppressed Paganism account for many of the aberrations of later times; that the influence of the Church was often rather nominal and superficial than supreme; and that, in judging the ignorance of the dark ages, we must make large allowance for the dislocations of society by the barbarians. In all this there is much truth; but when we remember that in the Byzantine Empire the renovating power of theology was tried in a new capital free from Pagan traditions, and for more than one thousand years unsubdued by barbarians, and that in the West the Church, for at least seven hundred years after the shocks of the invasions had subsided, exercised a control more absolute than any other moral or intellectual agency has ever attained, it will appear, I think, that the experiment was very sufficiently tried. It is easy to make a catalogue of the glaring vices of antiquity, and to contrast them with the pure morality of Christian writings; but, if we desire to form a just estimate of the realised improvement, we must compare the classical and ecclesiastical civilisations as wholes, and must observe in each case not only the vices that were repressed, but also the degree and variety of positive excellence attained. In the first two centuries of the Christian Church the moral elevation was extremely high, and was continually appealed to as a proof of the divinity of the creed. In the century before the conversion of Constantine, a marked depression was already manifest. The two ceaturies after Constantine are uniformly represented by the Fathers as a period of general and scandalous vice. The ecclesiastical civilisation that followed, though not without its distinctive merits, assuredly supplies no justification of the common boast about the regeneration of society by the Church. That the civilisation of the last three centuries has risen in most respects to a higher level than any that had preceded it, I at least firmly beliave, but theological ethics, though very important, form but one of the many and complex elements of its excellence. Mechanical inventions, the habits of industrial life, the discoveries of physical science, the improvements of government, the expansion of literature, the traditions of Pagan antiquity, have all a distinguished place, while, the more fully its history is investigated, the more clearly two capital truths are disclosed. The first is that the influence of theology having for centuries numbed and paralysed the whole intellect of Christian Europe, the revival, which forms the starting-point of our modern civilisation, was mainly due to the fact that two spheres of intellect still remained uncontrolled by the sceptre of Catholicism. The Pagan literature of antiquity, and the Mahommedan schools of science, were the chief agencies in resuscitating the dormant energies of Christendom. The second fact, which I have elsewhere endeavoured to establish in detail, is that during more than three centuries the decadence of theological influence has been one of the most invariable signs and measures of our progress. In medicine, physical science, commercial interests, politics, and even ethics, the reformer has been confronted with theological affirmations which barred his way, which were all defended as of vital importance, and were all in turn compelled to yield before the secularising influence of civilisation.

We have here, then, a problem of deep interest and importance, which I propose to investigate in the present chapter. We have to enquire why it was that a religion which was not more remarkable for the beauty of its moral teaching than for the power with which it acted upon mankind, and which during the last few centuries has been the source of countless blessings to the world, should have proved itself for so long a period, and under such a variety of conditions, altogether unable to regenerate Europe. The question is not one of languid or imperfect action, but of conflicting agencies. In the vast and complex organism of Catholicity there were some parts which acted with admirable force in improving and elevating mankind. There were others which had a directly opposite effect.

Russian painter, explorer, and mystic Nicholas Roerich (1874–1947) ranks as one of the twentieth century’s great enigmas. Despite mystery and scandal, he left a deep, if understudied, cultural imprint on Russia, Europe, India, and America. As a painter and set designer Roerich was a key figure in Russian art. He became a major player in Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, and with Igor Stravinsky he cocreated The Rite of Spring, a landmark work in the emergence of artistic modernity. His art, his adventures, and his peace activism earned the friendship and admiration of such diverse luminaries as Albert Einstein, Eleanor Roosevelt, H. G. Wells, Jawaharlal Nehru, Raisa Gorbacheva, and H. P. Lovecraft.

But the artist also had a darker side. Stravinsky once said of Roerich that “he ought to have been a mystic or a spy.” He was certainly the former and close enough to the latter to blur any distinction. His travels to Asia, supposedly motivated by artistic interests and archaeological research, were in fact covert attempts to create a pan-Buddhist state encompassing Siberia, Mongolia, and Tibet. His activities in America touched Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s cabinet with scandal and, behind the scenes, affected the course of three US presidential elections.

In his lifetime, Roerich baffled foreign affairs ministries and intelligence services in half a dozen countries. He persuaded thousands that he was a humanitarian and divinely inspired thinker—but convinced just as many that he was a fraud or a madman. His story reads like an epic work of fiction and is all the more remarkable for being true. John McCannon’s engaging and scrupulously researched narrative moves beyond traditional perceptions of Roerich as a saint or a villain to show that he was, in many ways, both in equal measure.

“The Complete War Memoirs of Charles de Gaulle” by Charles de Gaulle (Carroll & Graf Publishers, 1998).

During the entire day of November 13, under ceaselessly falling snow, Mr. Churchill saw the renascent French Army, its major units in position, its services functioning, its general staffs-at their work, its generals confident; all were prepared for the offensive which was, in fact, to be launched the next day. Churchill appeared deeply impressed, and declared that he felt more justified than ever in placing his confidence in France.

Churchill’s confidence, however, was insufficient for him to adopt, in our regard, that policy of frank solidarity which might have re-established Europe and maintained Western prestige in the Middle East, in Asia and in Africa. The visit he paid us was perhaps the last possible occasion to bring him to a change of heart. I took every opportunity to do so during the conversations we had together.

I repeated to Churchill: “You see that France is making a recovery. But whatever my faith in her, I know that she will not re- gain her former power all at once. You English, of course, will emerge from this war covered with glory. Yet to what a degree- unfair though it may be–your relative situation risks being diminished, given your losses and expenditures, by the centrifugal forces at work within the Commonwealth, and, particularly, the rise of America and Russia, not to mention China! Confronting a new world, then, our two old nations find themselves simultane- ously weakened. If they remain divided as well, how much in- fluence will either of them wield? On the other hand, should England and France act in accord on tomorrow’s peace settlements, they will weigh heavily enough in the world’s scales so that nothing will be done which they themselves have not consented to or determined. It is this mutual resolve which should be the basis of the alliance you offer us. Otherwise what is the good of signing a document which would be, at best, ambiguous?

“The equilibrium of Europe,” I added, “the guarantee of peace along the Rhine, the independence of the Vistula. Danube and Balkan states, the creation of some form of association with the peoples all over the world to whom we have opened the doors of Western civilization, an organization of nations which will be something more than an arena for disputes between America and Russia, and lastly the primacy accorded in world politics to a certain conception of man despite the progressive mechanization of society-these, surely, are our great interests in tomorrow’s world. Let us come to an agreement in order to uphold these in- terests together. If you are willing to do so, I am ready. Our two nations will follow us. America and Russia, hobbled by their rivalry, will not be able to raise any objection. Moreover, we shall have the support of many states and of world-wide public opinion, which instinctively shies away from giants. Thus England and France will together create peace, as twice in thirty years they have together confronted war.”

Winston Churchill answered: “Certainly I do not foresee a Franco-British schism. You are the witness and the proof of what I have done to prevent such a thing when it was most likely. Even today, I offer you an alliance in principle. But in politics as in strategy, it is better to persuade the stronger than to pit yourself against him. That is what I am trying to do. The Americans have immense resources. They do not always use them to the best ad- vantage. I am trying to enlighten them, without forgetting, of course, to benefit my country. I have formed a close personal tie with Roosevelt. With him, I proceed by suggestion in order to in- fluence matters in the right direction. At present, Russia is a great beast which has been starved for a long time. It is not possible to keep her from eating, especially since she now lies in the middle of the herd of her victims. The question is whether she can be kept from devouring all of them. I am trying to restrain Stalin, who, if he has an enormous appetite, also has a great deal of good sense. And after the meal comes the digestion period. When it is time to digest, the surfeited Russians will have their difficult moments. Then, perhaps, Saint Nicholas can bring back to life the poor children the ogre has put in the salting tub. Meanwhile, I attend every meeting, yield nothing for nothing, and manage to secure a few dividends.

“As for France,” Churchill repeated, “thanks to you, she is re-appearing in the eyes of the world. Don’t be impatient! Already, the doors are ajar. Soon they will be open to you. It will be only natural for you to sit at the table of the Administration Council. Nothing, then, will keep us from working together, Until then, leave matters in my hands!”

The Prime Minister took his departure on November 14 to in- spect the British sector of the front. Eden had already returned to London. From the statements both had made, it was apparent that England favored France’s political reappearance, that she would continue to do so for reasons of equilibrium, tradition and secu- rity, that she desired a formal alliance with us, but would not con- sent to link her strategy with ours, believing herself in a position to function independently between Moscow and Washington, to limit their demands, but also to take advantage of them. The peace we French hoped to build in accord with what we re- garded as logic and justice, the British found it expedient to ap- proach with formulas of empiricism and compromise. Furthermore, they were pursuing certain precise goals which, in areas where the positions of states and the balance of power were not yet deter- mined, offered British ambitions numerous possibilities of manipulation and aggrandizement.

This was especially the case in regard to the Mediterranean. Athens, Belgrade, Beirut, Damascus and Tripoli, under London’s various labels, would tomorrow supplement a British preponder- ance previously dependent on Gibraltar, Malta, Cyprus, Cairo, Amman and Baghdad, Thus the concessions which Great Britain had not been able to avoid making to Russian voracity and Ameri- can capitalist ideology found their counterpart. No ordeal changes the nature of man; no crisis that of states.

In short, we found occupying the comfortable chairs in the club of the great powers as many hallowed egotisms as there were charter members. On my visit to Washington, Roosevelt ad dis- closed the American ambitions, draped in idealism but actually quite practical. The London leaders had just demonstrated that they aimed at achieving specifically British goals. And now, the masters of the Kremlin were to show us that they served the interests of Soviet Russia alone.

Indeed M. Bogomolov, immediately after Mr. Churchill’s and Mr. Eden’s visit to France, took every occasion to urge me to visit Moscow. Since France was once again free and able to take an active part in the conflict, and since her government was once again established in Paris, it was my intention to make direct contact with Stalin and his ministers. I therefore accepted their invitation, as well as the schedule drawn up by M. Molotov and our ambassador, Roger Garreau. It was agreed that I, accompanied by Georges Bidault, would spend a week in the Soviet capital, In this way we and the Russians could learn how each of us con- ccived the future peace settlement. Perhaps it would be possible to renew the old Franco-Russian solidarity which, though repeatedly betrayed and repudiated, remained no less a part of the natural order of things, as much in relation to the German menace as to the endeavors of Anglo-American hegemony. I even envisaged a pact by virtue of which France and Russia would commit them- selves to act in common if Germany should ever become a threat again. This dangerous hypothesis would probably not be realized, at least not in the foreseeable future, But the signing of a Franco- Russian treaty could help us to participate at once in the elabora- tion of the European settlements.