Einstein on Peace

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EINSTEIN ON PEACE

EDITED BY

OTTO NATHAN AND HEINZ NORDEN

PREFACE BY BERTRAND RUSSELL

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 4

INTRODUCTION 5

PREFACE 11

CHAPTER ONE—THE REALITY OF WAR 1914-1918 13

CHAPTER TWO—REVOLUTION IN GERMANY: HOPE AND DISILLUSIONMENT — 1919-1923 32

CHAPTER THREE—INTERNATIONAL CO-OPERATION AND THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS — 1922-1927 55

CHAPTER FOUR—WAR RESISTANCE I —1928-1931 78

CHAPTER FIVE—WAR RESISTANCE II — 1931-1932 106

CHAPTER SIX—THE EVE OF FASCISM IN GERMANY — 1932-1933 134

CHAPTER SEVEN—ADVENT OF NAZISM AND ADVOCACY OF MILITARY PREPAREDNESS. DEPARTURE FROM EUROPE — 1933 167

CHAPTER EIGHT—ARRIVAL IN AMERICA, REARMAMENT AND COLLECTIVE SECURITY — 1933-1939 188

CHAPTER NINE—BIRTH OF THE ATOMIC AGE — 1939-1940 217

CHAPTER TEN—THE SECOND WORLD WAR — 1939-1945 236

CHAPTER ELEVEN—THE THREAT OF ATOMIC WEAPONS —1945 254

CHAPTER TWELVE—MILITANCY — 1946 278

CHAPTER THIRTEEN—THE NEED FOR A SUPRANATIONAL ORGANIZATION — 1947 300

CHAPTER FOURTEEN—THE STRUGGLE FOR MANKIND’S SURVIVAL — 1948 339

I 348

II 348

III 349

IV 350

CHAPTER FIFTEEN—TOTAL DISARMAMENT OR NONE — 1949-1950 376

CHAPTER SIXTEEN—THE FIGHT FOR INTELLECTUAL FREEDOM — 1951-1952 399

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN—TWILIGHT — 1953-1954 425

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN—THE THREAT OF UNIVERSAL ANNIHILATION — 1955 454

EDITORS’ NOTE 476

NOTES 479

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 480

INTRODUCTION

DURING my last conversation with Einstein, only a few hours before his death, he talked about the embattled civil liberties in the United States since the end of the war and the rearmament of Germany, which he considered most unwise and a severe obstacle to the establishment of real peace in the world. A few days before, he had affixed the last signature of his life to a statement of nine scientists, in which the world was warned it would run the risk of universal annihilation unless the institution of war was abolished in the near future.

I was in London a few months later when that statement was released to the world. I discussed with Bertrand Russell the unique role Einstein had played in the fight against war, a fight which was now more crucial and urgent than ever before. It was then that I conceived of the project which is realized in this volume. Since Einstein himself could no longer speak to the world and was no longer able to struggle personally for peace on earth, I felt that the printed record of his ceaseless efforts against militarism and war might help in the fight for a saner world.

It seemed appropriate that the first collection of Einstein’s writings to be published after his death should be a volume devoted to his activities in the cause of peace. Einstein’s thirst for knowledge about the universe overshadowed everything else in his life. His curiosity about the laws of nature was first stimulated when, as a child, he was fascinated by a compass; and his interest in science was to dominate his thoughts until the end. Nothing else mattered as much as his scientific work; but I know from the experience gained in the many years during which I enjoyed his friendship and confidence that, except for his devotion to science, no cause was more important or closer to his heart than the determination that the institution of war be forever abolished. What were the roots of that determination? What were the forces that inspired him?

Einstein fought for the abolition of war not merely because he hated brutality and considered it unconscionable to seek solutions to international conflicts through killing of human beings; he was convinced that, as long as war existed as an accepted institution, the intellectual freedom of the individual—which he considered to be the foundation of human society—could not be realized. The existence of military institutions, the training of youth to serve as unthinking tools for the most flagrantly asocial purposes, the demoralizing effect of war preparations upon civilian life—Einstein considered all this incompatible with the dignity of free men.

Einstein was a socialist. He believed in socialism because, as a convinced equalitarian, he was opposed to the class division in capitalism and to the exploitation of man by man which he felt this system facilitated more ingeniously than any previous economic organization. He was a socialist because he was certain that a capitalist economy could not adequately perform for the welfare of all people and that the economic anarchy of capitalism was the source of many evils in contemporary society. And, finally, he was a socialist because he was convinced that, under socialism, there was a greater possibility of attaining the maximum degree of individual freedom compatible with the public welfare than under any other system known to man.

Einstein’s socialism was a deeply felt human reaction to the inequities of the world in which he lived; it was not the result of methodical study, nor was it confined within the limits of an ideological creed. His free and unfettered mind, hostile to regimentation, would not have tolerated any restriction on his thoughts, acts or expressions. His mind having been trained in systematic reasoning, he believed in the necessity of a centrally planned economy which would provide orderliness of production and distribution and utilize the labor power of man in the interest of society as a whole. But he well realized the problems that may arise in a fully planned economy, which might, in fact, be accompanied by the complete enslavement of the individual. Einstein was always apprehensive of concentration of power, regardless of the economic system under which such concentration would occur. His insistence on the development of real political democracy did not merely reflect his innermost feelings of equality and brotherhood toward his fellow man; he considered true democracy an indispensable antidote for the misuse of economic power, which appeared to him a constant threat to the welfare of society. It was this fear of concentrated power and the ambitions and drives to which such power might give rise that made it impossible for Einstein to hope that socialism would be a guarantee against war. He did not share the belief of other socialists that socialist countries would not go to war against one another; he was afraid that the power drives among them might become as forceful and disastrous as they had been among capitalist countries. Hence, the abolition of weapons and the institution of war was to Einstein, even in a world of socialist countries, an indispensable prerequisite to peace.

I have often felt that this rational analysis does not adequately explain Einstein’s anxiety for a world in which man would live in total peace. It is difficult, if not impossible, to lay bare the inner motivations of an individual which, often unknown to the individual himself, cause him to act as he does or not to act as he might be expected to. Conscious of these difficulties, I should nonetheless like to record certain reflections which occurred to me when I tried to understand the phenomenon that was Einstein. He himself once said that his pacifism was not derived from any intellectual theory but was based on his deepest antipathy to every kind of cruelty and hatred. How did this deep antipathy originate which made him for over four decades a most passionate fighter against war—a fight to which he devoted much of the time and effort otherwise jealously guarded for his scientific work? Is it possible that this antipathy came to exist or grew more powerful because of his labors as a scientist? So far as could be established, he publicly expressed pacifist beliefs for the first time after the outbreak of war in 1914. Einstein had then already gained an outstanding reputation among the scientists of the world; his position in the history of science had been established. He was a deeply religious man—a religious unbeliever, as he once called himself—a man who revered nature with profound humility, who looked again and again in awe at the trees in front of his study, reflecting upon the richness and beauty of their branches and leaves and upon the minuscule understanding which man had acquired of the laws of nature in thousands of years of research and observation. When, in the summer of 1914, he rebelled against the war as something unbelievable, when he lamented his belonging to the rotten species of man, I believe he must have felt that man’s actions in war violated the sublime laws of the universe, that the wilful killing of millions interfered with nature’s course for which he, the scientist, had the deepest reverence. It appears that this was the real source of his antipathy to brutality, the motive power behind his passionate, devoted efforts to help abolish the very institution of war. It would seem that precisely because, as a scientist, he was engaged in the most abstract work of attempting to increase man’s understanding of nature, he felt the compelling need to convince man not to flout nature’s will, and decided to devote himself to the most concrete, even if at times visionary, objective of fighting for man’s survival and creative fulfillment.

Those who challenged Einstein as naïve in political affairs, and too generous in lending his name to unorthodox causes, probably did not realize that he never supported a cause which might have violated the principles that guided him. While his basic political philosophy did not change throughout his life, he was far from being dogmatic or doctrinaire in his beliefs or their application to the practical problems as they occurred in his day. In the early years of Nazism in Germany, he announced that he was no longer able to advocate the policy of war resistance which he had so passionately promoted in the preceding years. He then came under particularly severe attack by the pacifist movement; but he himself never felt that he had forsaken the cause of pacifism, and continued to consider himself a convinced and devoted pacifist, one who was unable to adhere to a rigid policy in the face of changing circumstances. Pacifism meant to Einstein the realization of world institutions which would abolish war and safeguard international peace without resorting to arms and violence. But pacifism did not mean that countries should remain defenseless in the face of a nation such as Nazi Germany, which was then openly preparing for war and aggression. In fact, Einstein believed he served the cause of pacifism, as he understood it, when he called for the rearmament of the West against the menace of Nazism; he felt there was a better chance of avoiding war if Germany knew that the Western countries were militarily prepared in the event of conflict.

Einstein acted from similar premises when, in the fateful letter written in the summer of 1939, he advised President Roosevelt that the production of atomic bombs had become a distinct possibility, and when he recommended that the United States Government take an interest in supporting and accelerating the experimental work, then in progress, in regard to the production of atomic energy. Einstein made this suggestion to President Roosevelt not because he would have wanted the United States to use this monstrous weapon to spread death; rather, he hoped that the possession of atomic bombs by the United States might make the Germans more reluctant to explode such bombs, which Einstein feared they would succeed in producing before long. Both in 1933 and 1939, in the case of war resistance and atomic energy, Einstein acted from what he believed was a realistic appraisal of the forces which were marshaled for evil and destruction. He did not feel that the nakedness and peacefulness of unarmed nations would deter Fascist aggression; further, he knew that Fascist countries would never enter into, or abide by, international agreements for the protection of peace.

Einstein was by nature an internationalist; he disliked, to the extreme, nationalism and chauvinism, the excesses of which he held responsible for many evils in the world. He deplored the existence of political frontiers and their insidious and divisive impact upon mankind. As a scientist he was engaged in work which, more than anything else, is necessarily international despite the many efforts—sharply criticized by Einstein—toward scientific secrecy in the last two decades. Einstein hoped for intensification of cultural and scientific relations among the countries of the world when he advocated in 1914 a United Europe and when he welcomed in 1919 the establishment of the League of Nations and, in 1945, the United Nations. But his belief in the desirability of a world organization had been inspired even more by another consideration: Einstein had long since realized that the maintenance of international peace required the partial relinquishment of national sovereignty in favor of an international organization which would possess the administrative and judicial institutions necessary for the peaceful settlement of international conflicts and which alone would be entitled to maintain a military force; he hoped that the Covenant of the League of Nations and, later, the Charter of the United Nations would, in time, be so modified that an organization capable of maintaining world peace would emerge. Einstein’s insistence on the need for an appropriate world organization gained momentum with the increase in the striking power of modern weapons. The production of the atomic bomb and its use over Japanese cities in 1945 made Einstein less tolerant than ever of token gestures toward peace. He had never believed that disarmament by small stages was a practicable policy against war, a policy which would ever lead to total disarmament and peace; he was convinced that a nation could not arm and disarm at the same time. He felt this even more strongly when, after 1945, the possibility of nuclear war threatened the annihilation of the human race. It was during those years of the post-war period that he became actively engaged in the movements for world government. He did not conceive of world government as an institution supplanting the primary functions of existing national governments; rather, he thought of an organization which would have circumscribed authority only in matters directly relating to the preservation of peace: any infringement upon the sovereign power of member nations would be limited by the world organization’s obligations in the cause of international security. Einstein would have been the last to advocate the establishment of a huge power complex in excess of specific and immediate needs. He supported the establishment of a centralized, supranational body for the sole purpose of guaranteeing international security; otherwise, he was a strong advocate of decentralization.

The many documents assembled in this volume will reveal Einstein as a man with an almost obsessive drive to help in what he himself once called the greatest of all causes—good will among men and peace on earth. This volume deals intentionally with only one aspect of Einstein’s unusually rich and creative life—but his personality emerges as it would no matter which segment of his scientific or non-scientific interests might have been described. Einstein, as possibly no other man of his generation, enjoyed a singular reputation throughout the world: he was respected, admired, revered and loved. His name had an undefinable meaning for the mighty and the humble, partly because it had become a symbol of a scientific discovery of momentous significance, but possibly even more because of Einstein’s innate humanity, which communicated itself to the world in a strange way. The world must have sensed what only personal contact with him would sufficiently reveal: the warmth and charm of his personality, the disarming informality with which he would greet friend and stranger alike, the utter lack of any air of superiority, so often characteristic of the mighty and famous, the absence of sentimentality, the candor of his conversation. The manner of his speech, clothing and food, the furniture in his study—all reflected the complete simplicity which characterized him and which is difficult of adequate description. He had no use for anything that was not necessary or essential to human existence; he had organized his own life with great economy in matter and time, avoiding the superfluous and concentrating on what seemed important, enriching or enjoyable. Simplicity characterized even his emotional life, as far as he allowed it to become known. Except for rare occasions there was, despite his warmth, an almost unbridgeable distance between him and the world outside. Although he eagerly sought and enjoyed the company of a few friends, Einstein was a lonely man who suffered from this loneliness and whose often sad eyes seemed to have a forlorn, far-away look, as if they wanted to pierce the mysteries of the universe. He was very conscious of the fact that, in an ironical way, the world had made his life lonely also in a physical sense. His unique reputation and universally known countenance had made him a virtual prisoner in his own house and its immediate surroundings; inconvenienced by the attention that was paid him everywhere, he could not live an everyday life as lived by millions, go where he might have liked to go, do what might have pleased him or mingle with whoever might have appeared congenial or interesting. It was touching to experience his bewilderment and joy when, on exceptional occasions, he would sit at the counter of a drugstore or indulge in some similar activity which forms the regular, inconspicuous routine of people everywhere.

Einstein knew of the reverence in which he was held. He could not explain it to himself and thought it was undeserved. However embarrassed he felt about it, he nonetheless recognized that his unique position in the community and the world offered him exceptional opportunities for action in behalf of individuals and society as a whole. He felt a deep responsibility to lend his efforts and influence whenever he hoped they might prove effective. He was ready, at any hour, to interrupt his scientific work, which mentally absorbed him even while he was otherwise occupied, to devote time and energy to individuals or public causes. He would receive visitors, study documents, prepare public pronouncements or render whatever service might be indicated. It was irrelevant whether he had been approached by a personality of great scholarly or public acclaim or by someone completely unknown to him and the world. He would act without delay, always sensitive to the feelings of anyone who communicated with him, however lowly his position in life might be.

The causes to which he lent support could not suffer any delay; they were all urgent: civil liberties, democracy, socialism, the Jewish problem, social and economic justice, and general education for a more productive and rewarding life. But as the years wore on, nothing became more compelling to Einstein than the struggle to abolish war. It was tragic that the great scientific discoveries, in which he had so prominent a part, were in his time primarily used not for the improvement of man’s working and living conditions but for magnifying the means of terror and destruction. During the last few years of Einstein’s life, military preparations multiplied and the preservation of world peace seemed more and more precarious. In the United States, the fight against war became increasingly difficult as advocates of peace became suspect of unpatriotic activities and were exposed to political persecution. As their numbers dwindled, Einstein deeply felt his increased isolation. He deplored the inaction of the academic community as well as the ignorance of many others who had fallen prey to nationalistic propaganda. He grew impatient at the lack of opposition to war preparations and the dominance of sheer insanity with regard to atomic weapons; yet, he never really despaired. I believe he did not despair because he never lost faith in the power of reason. He often suggested that a group of men, of indisputable achievement and distinction, appeal to the conscience of the world; he felt that the voices of men known to be reasonable could not remain unheard. That is why he was ready without hesitation to join Bertrand Russell and a small group of scientists in a challenging call to humanity to recognize and appreciate the magnitude of the disaster which threatened. This was in April 1955. As has been mentioned, it was Einstein’s last act.

When I decided to prepare this volume, I hoped that the cumulative effect of Einstein’s writings on peace would constitute still another appeal to reason. This is what I said in describing the project in the fall of 1955: The world has now entered upon a period when it becomes increasingly clear that the struggle for peace must concentrate on the abolition of national armies, and of war itself; developments in the last few years have brought about not merely a quantitative but also a qualitative change in the international security problem. Disarmament negotiations of the traditional type no longer suffice if we are to cope with the momentous problem which faces mankind. The vision and steadfastness of Einstein, over four decades, evident in his writings, may serve to inspire men to engage in the kind of negotiations which have now become urgent and indispensable—negotiations to abolish war.

This, it seems to me, is as true now as it was when I wrote it almost five years ago. The real negotiations for a warless world have actually not yet begun. But mankind is spiritually better prepared and riper for such negotiations than at the time of Einstein’s death. The forces of history, in a subtle way, make an impact upon men’s reason; and the forces of history are moving in the direction of Einstein’s vision: a world without war.

OTTO NATHAN

New York, August 1960

PREFACE

IT IS A VERY GOOD THING that Einstein’s letters and writings on other than scientific subjects are being collected and printed. Einstein was not only the ablest man of science of his generation, he was also a wise man, which is something different. If statesmen had listened to him, the course of human events would have been less disastrous than it has been. It is the custom among those who are called practical men to condemn any man capable of a wide survey as a visionary: no man is thought worthy of a voice in politics unless he ignores or does not know nine tenths of the most important relevant facts. On this ground, no one listened to Einstein. In Germany, during Hitler’s reign, the theory of relativity was condemned as a Jewish trick of which the sole purpose was to bewilder Aryans. It seems that Hitler and Himmler could not understand it and rashly inferred that no Aryan could. In the United States, where he lived after Germany had rejected him, he received, as a scientist, all that great measure of honor which was his due; but, when he allowed himself to say anything about political matters, what he said was, by most people, considered highly undesirable.

I was among those who almost always agreed with him. He and I both opposed the First World War but considered the Second unavoidable. He and I were equally perturbed by the awful prospect of H-bomb warfare. We agreed to make a joint pronouncement on this subject in conjunction with many eminent men of science who were willing to co-operate. I drew up a statement and sent it to Einstein. Before getting an answer from him, while traveling by air from Rome to Paris, I learned of his death. On arrival in Paris, I found his letter agreeing to sign. This must have been one of the last acts of his life.

We met from time to time, but I did not see much of him except while I was living in Princeton in 1943. At that time I used to go to his house once a week to discuss various matters in the philosophy of science with him and Pauli and Gödel. Pauli and Gödel are both very eminent in their respective fields, but Einstein was, of course, outstanding even among the most eminent. I found these informal discussions very illuminating and exceedingly valuable.

Einstein’s attitude as regards the acceptance or rejection of a scientific theory was very different from that recommended by Francis Bacon. One must, of course, know the facts. But a theory, if it is to have any value, must not emerge from careful collection and collation of individual observations. It must emerge, rather, as sudden imaginative insight, like that of a poet or composer. When Eddington undertook to verify Einstein’s predictions by observations of the eclipse of 1919, Einstein was much less interested in the result than Eddington was. I was reminded of the story about a female admirer of Whistler who told him that she had seen Battersea Bridge looking just as it did in one of his pictures, to which Whistler replied, Ah, Nature’s coming on! One felt that Einstein thought the solar system was coming on when it decided to confirm his predictions. It is difficult to turn Einstein’s method into a set of textbook maxims for the guidance of students. The recipe would have read as follows: First acquire a transcendent genius and an all-embracing imagination, then learn your subject, and then wait for illumination. It is the first part of this recipe that offers difficulties.

Einstein was an extraordinarily satisfactory human being. In spite of his genius and his fame, he always behaved with complete simplicity and never seemed to be claiming any superiority. His work and his violin brought him, I believe, a considerable measure of happiness, but his wide sympathies and his concern with the destiny of mankind prevented him from acquiring an undue measure of serenity. I never saw in him any trace, however faint, of vanity or envy, which are vices to which even the greatest men, such as Newton and Leibnitz, are prone.

Einstein, throughout his life, cared for the individual and for individual liberty. He showed, himself, all the courage that his circumstances demanded and called upon others, often without success, to show equal courage. He had seen individual freedom lost in Germany with the advent of the Nazis, and he was quickly perceptive of any danger of a like disaster in other countries. He had small respect for the Big Battalions, and his attitude to governments was very like that of the Hebrew prophets. He was not only a great scientist but a great man, a man whom it is good to have known and consoling to contemplate.

BERTRAND RUSSELL

CHAPTER ONE—THE REALITY OF WAR 1914-1918

IN THE SPRING of 1914, Albert Einstein left Switzerland and, not without misgivings, settled in Berlin, the capital of Germany. He was then thirty-five years of age and had already achieved renown as a mathematical physicist throughout the scientific world. His Berlin appointment was in itself a signal honor. Famous scholars had come to Zürich to woo him away from the Institute of Technology, where he was then teaching. In his new position he was to be director of the newly created Institute of Physics in the Kaiser Wilhelm Society for the Development of the Sciences (Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gesellschaft zur Förderung der Wissenschaften), one of the top research organizations in Europe. He had also been elected a member of the famous Royal Prussian Academy of Sciences, a coveted distinction many savants twice his age failed to receive, and was appointed professor at the University of Berlin with all professorial privileges but without any teaching or administrative obligations. Adding the liberal salary he was to earn, this was indeed a unique opportunity for a man who even then closely fitted the popular notion of the unworldly scientist.

By both his temperament and the boldness of his scientific imagination, Einstein was a man set apart. Given to easy laughter, devoid of vanity or pretense, gentle and kind, he was, nevertheless, in his own words, an Einspänner, a man who goes by himself, drawing strength from solitude. Even as a boy, he had been deeply repelled by all evidence of authoritarianism, militarism, nationalism and bigotry. Writing of Einstein’s early years, his lifelong friend Maurice Solovine, a fellow student and scientist, said that what struck Einstein most forcibly and aroused his deep condemnation were the prejudices, injustices and reactionary ideas of those days.{1} But although Einstein was a pacifist before his arrival in Berlin, he had never, so far as is known, translated these sentiments into any form of organized protest. He had taken no stand on public issues, nor had he been engaged in civic affairs or political action.

The outbreak of the First World War, in August 1914, had a large impact not only on the belligerent countries, their people and the lives of their people but far beyond the confines of the conflict itself. The war not only created wholesale death and destruction, misery and pain, hunger and privation in the countries at war but caused a profound upheaval in human, political, cultural and scientific relationships throughout the world. Einstein was among those who were deeply shocked by the mere realization of what war actually was, that war was not only still possible but could, in fact, be waged on a huge scale. The experience of war was to change his life; not that his scientific work did not remain the very center of his existence, but in the sense that it was to make him a conscious citizen of the world, who henceforth was to consider the fight against war, the horrors of which were brought home to him every day, his most deeply felt concern until the hour of his death. Two letters, one written in the very first weeks of the war, the other a few months later, illustrate Einstein’s thoughts and feelings in those days. Both letters were addressed to Paul Ehrenfest, a physicist teaching at the University of Leiden in Holland, one of Einstein’s closest and dearest friends.{2} In his letter of August 19, 1914, Einstein said:

Europe, in her insanity, has started something unbelievable. In such times one realizes to what a sad species of animal one belongs. I quietly pursue my peaceful studies and contemplations and feel only pity and disgust. My dear astronomer Freundlich [Professor Erwin F. Freundlich of the Royal Observatory at Potsdam, Germany] will become a prisoner of war in Russia instead of being able there to observe the eclipse of the sun. I am worried about him.

Einstein’s second letter to Ehrenfest was written early in December 1914 and included these remarks:

The international catastrophe has imposed a heavy burden upon me as an internationalist. In living through this great epoch, it is difficult to reconcile oneself to the fact that one belongs to that idiotic, rotten species which boasts of its freedom of will. How I wish that somewhere there existed an island for those who are wise and of good will! In such a place even I should be an ardent patriot.

Germany’s initial military success was facilitated by her violation of Belgium’s neutrality, a violation so sharply in conflict with German cultural pretensions that it created a shock and uproar throughout the world. Even the Imperial German Government felt that some action was necessary. The result was a public declaration by intellectuals in a Manifesto to the Civilized World. The Manifesto, issued early in October 1914, has long since become notorious.{3} The German word used in the title of the declaration was Kulturwelt, and this document, given wide publicity in the countries then at war against the Central Powers, went far toward lending the word Kultur the derogatory connotation that clung to it for many years.

The Manifesto made six negative points, all of them beginning with It is not true that... It disclaimed German war guilt. It denied charges of wanton violation of Belgium’s neutrality, asserting that the Germans had merely anticipated the war plans of the Allies and that it would have been suicide to do otherwise. It denied that the Germans had committed atrocities in Belgium and specifically denied the alleged pillage of the Belgian city of Louvain. It denied that German methods of warfare defied the provisions of international law, citing instead the alleged Allied use of dum-dum (soft-nosed) bullets and the shameful spectacle...of Russian hordes...allied with Mongols and Negroes...unleashed against the white race.

The final point was clothed in a negative formulation apparently to preserve the symmetry of the Manifesto but was in truth a defiant declaration to the world: "It is not true that opposition to our so-called militarism does not constitute opposition to our Kultur, despite the hypocritical allegations of our enemies. If this meant anything, it was that anyone who opposed German militarism necessarily opposed German culture" as well. The thought is expressed in the concluding paragraphs:

Were it not for German militarism, German culture would have been wiped off the face of the earth. That culture, for its own protection, led to militarism since Germany, like no other country, was ravaged by invasion for centuries. The German army and the German people today stand shoulder to shoulder, without regard to education, social position or partisan allegiance.

We cannot wrest from our enemies’ hand the venomous weapon of the lie. We can only cry out to the whole world that they bear false witness against us. To you who know us, who have hitherto stood with us in safeguarding mankind’s most precious heritage—to you we cry out: Have faith in us! Have faith in us when we say that we shall wage this fight to the very end as a civilized nation, a nation that holds the legacy of Goethe, Beethoven and Kant no less sacred than hearth and home.

In token whereof we pledge our names and our honor!

There were ninety-three signers to the Manifesto: artists, scientists, clergymen, poets, jurists, physicians, historians, philosophers and musicians, most of them prominent individually and some of international renown. Many had been identified with German nationalism, but there were others not usually so regarded—Ernst Häckel, the famous evolutionist; Wilhelm Röntgen, the discoverer of X rays; Paul Ehrlich, the great biochemist; Engelbert Humperdinck, the composer of Hänsel und Gretel; and even Max Reinhardt, the pioneer of the modern theater. Despite later half-hearted disavowals, the Manifesto undoubtedly expressed the dominant mood, not only among German intellectuals but among the German people at large.

Yet, within days after publication of the Manifesto, a noted German pacifist, Georg Friedrich Nicolai, composed a ringing challenge to it, a Manifesto to Europeans. He circulated it among the faculty of the University of Berlin, where he held a chair in physiology. Nicolai was a distinguished physician, a cardiologist who already enjoyed a reputation for unorthodoxy. In the charged atmosphere then pervading Germany, so well illustrated by the Manifesto of the ninety-three, Nicolai’s enterprise was hazardous indeed. Only three men joined him. One of them was Einstein. Here is the text of what may be assumed to be the first political document which Einstein signed:

Never before has any war so completely disrupted cultural co-operation. It has done so at the very time when progress in technology and communications clearly suggest that we recognize the need for international relations which will necessarily move in the direction of a universal, worldwide civilization. Perhaps we are all the more keenly and painfully aware of the rupture precisely because so many international bonds existed before.

We can scarcely be surprised. Anyone who cares in the least for a common world culture is now doubly committed to fight for the maintenance of the principles on which it must stand. Yet, those from whom such sentiments might have been expected—primarily scientists and artists—have so far responded, almost to a man, as though they had relinquished any further desire for the continuance of international relations. They have spoken in a hostile spirit, and they have failed to speak out for peace.

Nationalist passions cannot excuse this attitude which is unworthy of what the world has heretofore called culture. It would be a grave misfortune were this spirit to gain general currency among the intellectuals. It would, we are convinced, not only threaten culture as such; it would endanger the very existence of the nations for the protection of which this barbarous war was unleashed.

Technology has shrunk the world. Indeed, today the nations of the great European peninsula seem to jostle one another much as once did the city-states that were crowded into those smaller peninsulas jutting out into the Mediterranean. Travel is so widespread, international supply and demand are so interwoven, that Europe—one could almost say the whole world—is even now a single unit.

Surely, it is the duty of Europeans of education and good will at least to try to prevent Europe from succumbing, because of lack of international organization, to the fate that once engulfed ancient Greece! Or will Europe also suffer slow exhaustion and death by fratricidal war?

The struggle raging today can scarcely yield a victor; all nations that participate in it will, in all likelihood, pay an exceedingly high price. Hence it appears not only wise but imperative for men of education in all countries to exert their influence for the kind of peace treaty that will not carry the seeds of future wars, whatever the outcome of the present conflict may be. The unstable and fluid situation in Europe, created by the war, must be utilized to weld the Continent into an organic whole. Technically and intellectually, conditions are ripe for such a development.

This is not the place to discuss how this new order in Europe may be brought about. Our sole purpose is to affirm our profound conviction that the time has come when Europe must unite to guard its soil, its people, and its culture. We are stating publicly our faith in European unity, a faith which we believe is shared by many; we hope that this public affirmation of our faith may contribute to the growth of a powerful movement toward such unity.

The first step in this direction would be for all those who truly cherish the culture of Europe to join forces—all those whom Goethe once prophetically called good Europeans. We must not abandon hope that their voice speaking in unison may even today rise above the clash of arms, particularly if they are joined by those who already enjoy renown and authority.

The first step, we repeat, is for Europeans to join forces. If, as we devoutly hope, enough Europeans are to be found in Europe—people to whom Europe is a vital cause rather than a geographical term—we shall endeavor to organize a League of Europeans. This league may then raise its voice and take action.

We ourselves seek but to make the first move, to issue the challenge. If you are of one mind with us, if you too are determined to create a widespread movement for European unity, we bid you pledge yourself by signing your name.

Carefully worded as it was, this declaration might have affected the course of events had it received wide and representative support. One of the two men who, besides Nicolai and Einstein, were willing to sign was Wilhelm Förster, then already past eighty, the long-time head of the Berlin Observatory and a rueful signer of the Manifesto of the ninety-three intellectuals as well.{4} The other, Otto Buek, had come from Heidelberg to complete his studies in Berlin. This small group of heretics was not able to challenge successfully the so-called elite of German Kultur; the Manifesto to Europeans did not attract the signatures it would have needed to be effective and was not made public until several years later. This is how Nicolai described the experience with the Manifesto:

In circulating the Manifesto privately, we encountered much friendly approbation; but even those who approved were reluctant to sign. One objected to the passage about Greece as historically inaccurate; another said that the whole Manifesto was too late; still another said it came too early. One critic was against scientists’ meddling in worldly affairs. Of those who saw the document, most were too cowardly, or they basically disagreed with its views. In those days even the best Germans were unwilling to be good Europeans, or dared not display their true feelings. Since the Manifesto could have value only if it were supported by the authority of recognized names, we dropped the plan.

Some forty years later Buek recalled that

the draft was discussed and approved in one of the university lecture halls and copies circulated among a large number of professors. Alas, we had overestimated the courage and integrity of German professors. The results of our efforts were pitiful. No more than three or four were prepared to sign...

In the years to come—indeed, to the week of his death—Einstein was to sign a great number of public declarations drawn up by himself and by others. Since the Manifesto to Europeans foreshadows many of the ideals to which Einstein was to give lifelong devotion, it is important to know that he participated in its composition, as testified by Nicolai in a letter addressed to Einstein from East Prussia before the end of the war. It was written on May 18, 1918, only five weeks before Nicolai staged a dramatic escape by airplane from Germany to Denmark:

You slight yourself when you say that you do not deserve mention in this connection; for you did speak up, and the Manifesto to Europeans of which you are the co-author is nowhere forgotten. Indeed, without your participation, it might never have seen the light of day. At least I am inclined to believe, difficult as it is to determine such contingencies, that I should never have done anything alone.

There is another matter in which I think you do yourself an injustice. You are in no way to be reproached because you sit in Berlin and work. If anyone has the right, as a latter-day Archimedes, to cry out to the mercenaries of war, "Noli tangere circulos meos" [do not interfere with my work], it is surely you!

Finally, there is a third point on which you are not quite correct—at least, in my opinion. That is when you cite your Swiss citizenship. Citizenship is a second consideration here. You are German; indeed, you represent a portion of German culture all by yourself; and then you are European, a matter for particular emphasis today. I at least am today much more firmly convinced than I was at the time we wrote the Manifesto to Europeans that the impending cultural collapse can be avoided only if the idea of Europe, pure and simple, prevails...

The world will not recover just because a few theoreticians stand up for such ideas. Mass support is necessary. And precisely because the danger is so great at the moment, I believe man’s healthy common sense will grasp it instinctively and not tolerate that our fair earth be so shamefully violated. What we, a few isolated individuals, stand for today will, I believe, be the common property of all tomorrow...

It is for the time to come, for the Europe to come, that we should do something. Perhaps you will consider whether, in an effort to rally and gain a hearing for all those hiding presently in lonely corners, you should not someday speak as a European to Europeans.

Even today we would meet with greater success than four years ago—even in Germany!

For Einstein, the war years count among the most creative periods of his life.{5} In 1915 he was able to announce his General Theory of Relativity, and all in all he published some thirty scientific papers from 1915 to 1918. His opposition to the war was no more diminished by the failure of the Manifesto than was Nicolai’s. Nicolai himself, who originally had been a volunteer army physician with officer’s rank, was degraded to private and made a hospital orderly.{6} While performing the menial tasks to which he was assigned, he found the leisure to write a remarkable book, The Biology of War, which analyzed the phenomenon of war on evolutionary grounds. Through this book, the Manifesto to Europeans, which was included in its introduction, with full credit to Einstein, did achieve a limited impact. However, plans to publish the book in Germany were defeated when the sheets, printed by a prominent German publishing house, were seized before publication. An earlier version, however, had been smuggled into Switzerland, where it was published as early as 1916. About 100 copies were smuggled back into Germany and clandestinely circulated. Before the end of the war, translations were published in French, Swedish, Danish, Finnish and English (both in England and the United States). According to Julio Álvarez del Vayo, later Foreign Minister of the Spanish Republic during the Civil War and an eyewitness to the outbreak of the First World War in Germany, the book became a fundamental work in the clandestine literature of the time.{7}

Since the German pacifist organization and the Social Democratic party, the largest party in pre-war Germany and the only political party with an outspoken antiwar position, were almost paralyzed by the outbreak of war, the need for a new and active peace movement made itself felt only a few weeks after the outbreak of hostilities. Discussions among a few imaginative personalities, who had been engaged for years in the fight against war and the movement for European co-operation, led, on November 16, 1914, to the formation of a new group, the Bund Neues Vaterland (New Fatherland League).{8} The purpose of the Bund was not only to fight for the prompt achievement of a just peace without annexations—a daring proposition in the chauvinist atmosphere of Germany in the early months of the war—but also for the establishment of a supranational organization after the war which it was hoped would make future wars impossible. The first pamphlet, which was published in October 1914, even before the actual formation of the group, was entitled The Creation of the United States of Europe.

The Bund included members of the aristocracy, retired diplomats and bankers, as well as journalists, constitutional lawyers and liberals. One of its early members was Ernst Reuter, who was to become mayor of West Berlin after the Second World War. Listed as a founder and active in support of the movement from the outset was Einstein. The Bund at once decided to publish a series of popular pamphlets to discuss its program and problems related to the war. Its frequent meetings were attended by Reichstag deputies. In a report on one of these meetings, held on March 21, 1915, Walther Schücking, Professor of International Law, observed:

Also among those present was Professor Einstein, whose name I heard mentioned for the first time. His discovery of a law on the unity of time is said to be a scientific achievement of the first rank, and it is the reason why the Ministry of Education signed him for a Berlin position where he can devote himself to research without any teaching obligations.

Evidence that Einstein occasionally took the floor at these meetings also appears in the account of a Swiss woman student who had attended Einstein’s first lecture at the Institute of Technology in Zürich:{9}

At the outbreak of the First World War I happened to be in Berlin, where a committee had been organized to aid foreigners in need. There was a great deal to be done, and I soon became a kind of maid of all work. Einstein’s name was a very familiar one, for his eldest stepdaughter frequently came to the office with requests from him. He helped whomever he could, to the limit of his ability. Some of his requests caused me a good deal of trouble and called for considerable ingenuity, such as the procurement of forbidden pacifist literature for his like-minded friend, the biologist Professor Nicolai...Einstein seemed to make an almost gleeful game of circumventing the authorities. He chortled every time he learned that we had succeeded in smuggling letters or books into a prison. But I was not always amused at his demands, which could be fulfilled only at the expense of great vigilance and dissimulation. He ignored these difficulties. He seemed to feel there could be no insurmountable obstacles if the will to help was strong enough. At the time, frankly, I thought this rather inconsiderate, for the risks were considerable and I myself had to answer repeatedly to a court-martial and was in danger of imprisonment. It was only much later that I was able to accept Einstein’s view that no sacrifice is too great for those in need.

I met him personally at this time in a private socio-political club [probably the Bund Neues Vaterland], where many pacifist writers, scholars and politicians gathered every Monday night...I was permitted to sit in a corner and listen. Einstein occasionally attended. When he spoke, it was always with great pessimism about the future of human relations. It was interesting to see how the celebrities crowded about him, while he always had an eye for the common man. I managed to get to him on one occasion, when I was depressed by the news of one German victory after another and the resultant intolerable arrogance and gloating of the people of Berlin. What will happen, Herr Professor? I asked anxiously. Einstein looked at me, raised his right fist, and replied; "This will govern!"

The most important action taken by the Bund during this early period was participation in an international meeting at The Hague in April 1915, arranged by the Dutch Anti-War Council in an effort to organize an international association to promote enduring peace. Four Germans, three of them members of the Bund Neues Vaterland, and one Austrian went to Holland with the unofficial blessing of the German Foreign Office, to explore possibilities of mediation with the Allies. Three members of the Bund’s British counterpart, the Union of Democratic Control, also attended the meetings. It was planned that a high Dutch Government official should go to Berlin for preliminary official discussions. When news of the meeting leaked into the German press, it was denounced in German nationalist circles, and the German Foreign Office rejected the plan.

About the time of The Hague meeting in 1915, Einstein apparently offered a proposal for international action to his friend and mentor, the famous Dutch physicist and Nobel Prize winner H. A. Lorentz. The precise nature of the proposal is not known, but it was probably aimed at enlisting scientists from neutral countries in the cause of peace and may have been connected with The Hague endeavor, with which Lorentz was undoubtedly acquainted. On August 2, 1915, Einstein wrote to Lorentz:{10}

Your refusal of my proposal was not unexpected, since I already had indications of the sentiment among colleagues abroad. The situation in Berlin is strange. Professionally speaking, the scientists and mathematicians are strictly internationalist in outlook and go to great lengths to prevent any unfriendly step from being taken against colleagues in enemy countries. The historians and philologists, however, are for the most part chauvinist hotheads. The notorious Manifesto to the Civilized World is deplored by all persons of judgment here. Signatures were given carelessly, sometimes without the text having been read. Such, for example, was the case with [Max] Planck [physicist] and [Emil] Fischer [chemist], who have stood up forthrightly for the maintenance of international ties. I shall mention your suggestion to Planck, but I do not think these people can be persuaded to retract.

I must confess that I am bitterly disappointed at the narrow nationalist bias to be found even among men of great stature. I must also say that my once great respect for the politically advanced countries has much declined; I have realized that they all are in the grip of oligarchies which own the press, wield the power, and are able to do as they please. Some malicious wit has modified a fine old saying as follows: Vox populi, vox idiocy. If, in addition, one recognizes that those who are well informed and possess the power to act lack human compassion, it becomes apparent how sad is the thing which is worshiped as the fatherland. Frontiers make little difference; it is much the same everywhere. Should relations, because of such an unreal concept of the State, really disintegrate among men who have come to esteem one another through personal and professional contact? I cannot possibly accept it; it would seem that men always need some idiotic fiction in the name of which they can hate one another. Once it was religion. Now it is the State.

To his friend, Paul Ehrenfest in Leiden, Einstein wrote on August 23, 1915: