Wittgenstein and Hitler

Part one from a forthcoming book called Fifteen Characters: Volume Two. 

The Realschule in Linz harboured some capable students, alongside some rather mediocre ones. Nonetheless, it was a place in which young adults hoped to advance their respective aspirations. Alas, when one is aged sixteen, seventeen or eighteen one might not harbour any aspirations at all but, nonetheless, these young adults were shunted to Realshule in Linz despite their adolescent apathy.

            The canteen had been completely deserted for everyone, expect for two students. Seven long tables occupied the entire room, with seven long chairs placed directly beneath them. The walls were drab and grey. All the other students had already eaten except for two.

Ludwig Witgenstein had rather timorously moved his tray to the corner of the room. He ate his beef, cabbages and other assorted vegetables. He had had better meals than this with his wealthy family. but he would have to make ado with what the Realshcule offered. Witgenstein had piercing eyes, a jutting jaw and a long nose. He devoured his meal, but he was interrupted by the presence of another student who had taken his seat directly in front of him.

He looked up. This student had black eyes, short black hair and an arrogant countenance. He stirred his beef with his fork. ‘Are you a Jew?’ he asked.

Wittgenstein was taken aback by this question. Yes, had endured anti-semitic taunting multiple times in the past, but it was nonetheless annoying to be reminded of it once more. ‘Yes…’ he replied, as he looked at the table, nervously gripping his fork and knife.

‘And you are wealthy?’

‘Yes…’ he cautiously replied. His father owned a monopoly on Austrian steel. They owned thirteen mansions in Vienna alone.

‘Why do the other boys make fun of you?’

‘Because…’ Wittgenstein prevaricated. ‘Because I have been put forward a year… Because I am very clever… I am interested in philosophy, music, history, politics… Because I am not like them… Also, because….’

‘Because you are Jewish?’ asked the young Hitler.

‘Yes… But that is neither here nor there… That is just one aspect of what who I am… I am interested in ideas and art… Look, I am reading this book right now… I hope to write something like this one day…’

Wittgenstein took the book out of his bag. It was a copy of The World as Will and Representation by Arthur Schopenhauer. ‘I have read it multiple times and I have annotated it endlessly… I am fascinated by his arguments… How reality is appearance… How the world is made up of irrational energy… How art is a temporary release from this world… How painting is a representation of reality as appearance… How the ascetic rejects the suffering of the world by taking control of his own volition.’ Wittgenstein started stammering and shaking as he said this.

‘Are you getting nervous?’ Hitler asked.

‘Yes,’ Wittgenstein as he put down his fork and knife and continued to shake.

‘Well, are you keen on philosophy?’ Hitler asked.

‘Yes,’ Wittgenstein replied, as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

‘Are you keen on music?’ Hitler asked.

‘Yes…’

‘Well, I like Wagner… Perhaps we could go together to see a performance of Tristan and Isolde.’

‘Yes, that would be good,’ Wittgenstein said. ‘Are you a year below me?’

‘No, you are wrong… We are both the same age… You have been put forward a year whilst I have been held back a year… We are the same age.’

Wittgenstein continued to feel nervous and shook. ‘Oh…’ he mumbled.

‘Yes, I like Wagner,’ Hitler continued. ‘I like art because I think that it is an assertion of the national German spirit…’

‘The German spirit?’ Wittgenstein asked.

‘Oh yes… I cannot stand the Habsburg monarchy… It is a degenerate, debased, crumbling institution… I would rather that it all came crumbling down… So as to assert a common Germanic spirit.’ As he said this, his eyes lit up and his arms waved around.

‘Well… The Habsurg empire has been in decline for a long time, but… will it rise up again?’ Wittgenstein tentatively said.

‘No… But I do not care… It will burn to the ground for all I care… I want Germany to expand… to… to assert itself… Bismarck did not go far enough. The whole of the Haburg empire should have been swallowed up a united Germany,’ Hitler asserted.

‘That is a naïve view… The Habsurg monarchy had been more powerful than Prussia for a long time,’ Wittgenstein said.

‘I do not care… I have developed my views… of… of German nationalism… I have read Fichte… Anyway, politics is tangential… I want to be a painter…’ Hitler asserted, banging the table with his fists.

‘Are you good?’ Wittgenstein shyly asked.

‘You bet, but my father does not think so… That is why he sent me to this academy… He wants me to be a bureaucrat, but I want to be a great artist… My father died recently… My grades have deteriorated… But I do not care… I will be a great artist.’ He said, looking directly at Wittgenstein.  

‘So you have been held back a year?’ Wittgenstein asked.

‘Yes, I failed my maths exam multiple times… Otherwise, we would be in the same year,’ Hitler asserted.

‘Fancy that…’

‘Listen, Ludwig,’ Hitler continued. ‘You are a clever chap, you are Jewish, you come from an exceedingly talented background… Yet…’ Hitler said, raising his arms and looking directly at him.

‘Yet?’ Wittgenstein replied, nervously darting his eyes around the room.

‘You will come to see Wagner with me on Saturday…’ Hitler said.

‘Well…’ Wittgenstein once more prevaricated. ‘Well… I have to study formal logic that day… I am working with my tutor… I also want to brush up on calculus… And finish reading Kant’s Critique of Practical Reason…’

‘Well, sod off then you filthy Jew,’ Hilter exclaimed, as he took his food tray with him.

Wittgenstein finished his meat off. His empty plate stood in front of him. The large canteen was also completely empty. He sat alone for a further five minutes, ruminating on the strange exchange which just occurred. He took his empty food tray and left the canteen.