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Authors: Ernst Junger

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Darwin did not go that far; in this context, one is better off with Cuvier's theory of catastrophes.

20

So much for tactics; those are mental games. The same holds for "Morale," which was taught as the second major subject. In this respect, I was fortunate in having studied social theories from early on. I had been inspired to do so by the fate of my family. As I grew up and tried to form an opinion, Socialism was not merely an academic subject for me; I read its major works — often until late at night. Incidentally, I also memorized. poetry, which was quite out of fashion.

It behooves instructors to define and categorize exploitation. An indispensable tool in this regard is a knowledge of history, which most theoreticians are weak in, nay, often lack. They are trapped in the present; this leads to adulteration, even falsification.

Exploitation is inevitable; without it, no state, no society, indeed, no mosquito can exist. It is endured and tolerated for centuries, often barely noticed. It can become anonymous; one is exploited no longer by princes, but by ideas; slaves and masters exchange faces.

I do not wish to get into that. The important thing in teaching is to assign evil to the past, to the unenlightened times, and, in the present, to the enemy. The exploiter is not the enemy; rather, the enemy is the exploiter.

The instruction examination took place on a Saturday. I was quizzed only once; I had the instruction company in front of me and the faculty of the military academy behind me. The topic was the American War between the States. I stuck to the assigned readings, but, almost imperceptibly, went a little beyond them. This is a good spice, but one to be used sparingly.

21

"What good does it do the sugar-cane slave if he is put to work on the assembly line? He remains a Negro; he has been pulled out of nature — and now he is controlled by Taylor's system. We must regard every war as progress — that is to say, as progress only within the capitalist sys
tem. The exploitation remains; it is more refined. From our point of view, progress is the attainment of a new level of consciousness. "

So much for my self-quotation. I had said: "The exploitation remains," but not, "It remains under all circumstances." Nevertheless, it could stimulate in this respect. The objective analysis of the enemy includes a great deal of self-criticism. Incidentally, I had ventured into this diversion not with a pedagogical goal, but for my own pleasure.

My speech was applauded, and the things I had left out also brought me success. After the commander had praised me, one of the officers came up to me: "I liked what you said about the Yankees; I'd like to pursue it personally with you." He invited me over that evening.

22

This officer, a Pole, was a young captain; he had served in the Foreign Armies division and had then been assigned the post of instructor at the military academy. He was a native of Stettin (Szczecin), and his last name was Muller; his parents had made sure to give him a good first name.

At the outset, we addressed each other respectively as "Captain" and "Cadet Sergeant" (which I had become in the meantime), then as Jagello and Friedrich. Jagello had
a typical horseman's build: broad shoulders and hips, narrow waist, elegant movements. Ever since the cavalry dismounted, switching partly to the air force and partly to the tanks, the old categories are no longer recognizable. Nevertheless, they can be guessed at, somewhat like the signs of the zodiac. Your choice of regiment was not mere chance: it depended on whether you preferred riding light or heavy horses, fighting with the sword, the epee, the lance, or, like the dragoons, with the rifle. This was contingent on both physique and character. Dragoons had made a name for themselves in Oldenburg, cuirassiers in Mecklenburg, hussars in Hungary, and uhlans in Poland.

In these terms, Jagello was an uhlans Some armies assigned the uhlans to the light cavalry, and others to the heavy cavalry; they are not as lighthearted as the hussars, or as solid as the cuirassiers, whom the prince preferred as his bodyguards.

A Pole is inconceivable without a horse; his love for horses exceeds even the Hungarian's. To his detriment, he persisted in this love too long. Military history contains the account of a final attack, in which Polish lancers rode out against tanks.

23

This passion may explain why superiors ignored minor irregularities in Jagello's uniform. It was gray like all the others, but somewhat daring in its cut and cloth. While riding, even when on duty, he wore boots with a silver trimming. He took part in horse races, even abroad; this was encouraged and liked. A railroad car for carrying the horses to Nice presented no difficulties.

Jagello's features were regular and nicely chiseled the kind of face that used to be called aristocratic. It would have been pale had his duties not taken him outdoors so frequently. Although a night worker, he had already exercised two horses by reveille: one in the manège and one in the countryside.

He said: "Riding is indispensable if you want to be in command. For the sake of our reflexes, we also ought to include tennis in the duty roster. If I were a writer, I would start the day with books and pictures — I reserve my nights for them."

He was, indeed, well read, not just for an officer. It was a mystery to me where he got the time. He was especially familiar with Russian literature; here, he had a preference for Western European motifs, say, Turgeniev's nihilistic Bazarov or Chekhov's stories. Once, at his prompting, the students of the military academy staged Gogol's
Inspector General.

He was almost professionally obliged to have a thorough knowledge of history, it was part of his stock-intrade. Here too, he knew how to combine business with pleasure, namely, by reading journals and memoirs; he said they brought the fine structure into the skeleton. When we met, he was reading Helbig's
Russian Minions.

24

Encountering a man with a literary and historical background was a godsend in those surroundings. One timidly touches a key and hears something that one scarcely hoped to hear: the sound. This is followed by an — almost imperceptible — smile of collusion. That was how it began, and it evolved into almost perfect harmony. We played through problems — such as: "Was Raskolnikov right when he thought of himself as Napoleon?" And: "To what degree does Napoleon exist in each of us?"

I have Jagello to thank for straightening me out in regard to some ofmy doubts. For example, I was plagued by the question of why we were serving — indeed zealously a system that we both found repulsive, and why we enthusiastically supported the development of weapons that would eventually blow us up too — that was the peak of schizophrenia. Jagello said:

"Schizophrenia is a trademark of subalterns, hence it is universal. They stay on the plain, they cannot change their spots. Raskolnikov was schizophrenic; he was both Napoleon and a starving student. Had he kept his knowledge to himself, he would have gone very far. Instead, he murdered the usurer. He was already wearing inside himself the chain in which he was sent to Siberia."

In contrast, Dostoevsky had performed and solved the experiment on a higher stratum. The usurer was killed here too, but the action remained in a spiritual space.

This stratum was the crucial one. You could descend to the plain, you could leave it to its own devices, you could enjoy it as a spectacle or interfere.

I could not quite go along with that; for after all, sooner or later, you have to take sides and you become vulnerable, as the gods themselves do in Homer. However, conversing with Jagello was fruitful for me, even if we did not reach an agreement — or perhaps precisely at those times.

Jagello used to protect himself with quotations; for this topic, he removed a well-thumbed book from the shelf. I thought it was the Iliad — it was
The Birth of Tragedy.
He read: "The problem of science cannot be perceived on the ground of science.... Science has to be seen with the eyes of the artist." In this regard, we were of the same opinion —just as both of us believed that we would be redeemed either by the poet or by fire.

25

Usually, we were still talking when it grew dark. The room was smoky; the samovar steamed on the table. Jagello loved strong tea. He loved cigarettes with long tips; often, he would take only a few puffs — he never inhaled. He would say: "There are vices that cancel one another out. When I smoke heavily, it affects my stomach. I prevent this by drinking a lot of tea."

While people may become very intimate, even among brothers, there are still taboos. We avoided them after recognizing them. One day, when there had been another rumpus in the Sejm, I found Jagello absorbed in his newspaper. He said: "It's so ridiculous that they can't overcome their fiasco."

I replied: "And yet with Pomerania, they have one of the richest soils, where prosperity was at home."

I had tried to express myself neutrally, but Jagello was obviously disgruntled. This was a wound for him — and for me too. The difference was that for him Poland, and for me Pomerania, were not yet lost. Our friendship was put to a test, which it survived.

When we travel today, not only in Europe, but also in faraway countries, we feel that a brother lies under the ground. He calls to us, and we have to restrain ourselves like the sons of Korah in Psalm 88: "Prayer in great tribulation and imminent mortal danger."

26

Spring had come. Our nights grew longer and longer; sometimes, when we separated, day was already dawning toward us. Our work did not suffer — on the contrary: we became as alert as if we had been trained in abstracting. I was allowed to accompany him on his early-morning rides.

Jagello's friendship also brought a change in my career. At the end of the military-school year, I became a lieutenant; Jagello was also promoted — he was now the youngest staff officer, and he was posted as attaché to the Berlin embassy. From there, he requested me as his assistant. This presented no difficulty; the Foreign Service offices were generously staffed. There were no qualms about my reliability or my qualifications; no one objected.

We continued our dialogues in our new relationship. But now we had to exercise greater caution, for these embassies are touchy places; the walls have ears, all dealings are monitored. The word "friendship" strikes a sour note. As in the old religious seminaries, the officials prefer the comrades to go in threes during breaks rather than in twos.

27

Here too, there was a great deal to learn. Jagello showed me several files that were not meant for my eyes, even though he knew that I got together with old friends and relatives. My life was pleasant, and I could take my time.

One morning, when we were riding in the Tiergarten, I casually said: "Jagello — I'm going to defect."

He showed little surprise: "I've sensed it for a long time — in fact, I knew it from the very start. You're expecting a great deal from me — it would have been better if you had said nothing."

"I wouldn't and couldn't do otherwise. I suggest that in the next situation report you write that you have developed doubts about my reliability. I'll be gone before my recall order comes from Liegnitz."

Once again, my friend proved that he could think. He said: "The response won't come from Liegnitz, because the report goes to the central office — and besides, I should have notified the ambassador the instant I had any doubts. And above all: if you were to vanish right after that, they would certainly conclude that I had put on the brakes — that we had conspired together. You did study Oppenheimer's trial, after all."

Oppenheimer was a nuclear physicist — and one of the schizophrenics — whose superior had been accused of this kind of complicity in a similar situation. Jagello was right: he would have to be as flabbergasted by my disappearance as anyone else.

So I put my papers in order, took along my documents, and asked for political asylum in the West. All I had to do was cross the street.

28

All things considered, this was no easy step for me — and not only because ofJagello. After all, I was breaking off a good career. I won't go along with phrases like "more freedom." I am no liberal — at least not in the sense that people have to get together and vote on the matter. One carries freedom inside oneself; a man with
a good mind will realize his potential in any regime. Once his good mind is recognized, he will advance anywhere, cross any line. He does not pass through the regimes, they pass through him, barely leaving a trace. He can do without them, but they cannot do without him. If they are strict, it hones his intelligence. Besides, the regimes are visibly growing alike; good cheer is vanishing everywhere, even the
sourire
is vanishing in Paris.

29

So much for my background. I would like to conclude with an anecdote I heard from one of my ancestors; he had witnessed the event. Steinmetz, the Prussian marshal, the victor at Nachod and Skalitz, became intransigent, indeed almost peculiar in his old age, like many generals who have served honorably. At times, Blucher thought the old man had an elephant in his head. In 187o, when Steinmetz was put in charge of the First Army, Waldersee said that the old man was already three-quarters crazy. And in fact, he ordered some bizarre maneuvers and was then put second-in-command to Prince Friedrich Karl. Naturally, Steinmetz was deeply offended.

When the marshal was holding a conference after Gravelotte, the prince and his retinue rode by at a certain distance. Steinmetz took no notice. Friedrich Karl sent an aide-de-camp to the marshal, asking him to report. The obstinate old man refused. With a heavy heart, the king then relieved him of his command and appointed him governor of Silesia.

BOOK: Aladdin's Problem
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