Time of the Magicians
Nov, 07/2021 also in: European History | 20th century
By a happy coincidence, I stumbled across this book among the many stored in my kindle shortly after I finished reading 1913: The Year Before the Storm. I deem it a happy coincidence since they resemble each other, and thus, in a sense, they make for a good couple to learn more about the lives of Europeans who contributed to make 20th century Europe what it was, politically and culturally. (One could actually build a trilogy by adding The Man in the Read Coat, which however describes intellectuals who lived across the 19th and 20th centuries.) For this reason, here I discuss both 1913 and Time of the Magicians.
One could say that the protagonist of the first of the two books, by Florian Illies, is in fact a specific historical moment, the year of 1913. By focusing only on events that took place in this specific year, the author is able to bring together a group of people that would otherwise never cross paths, not at least in more conventional narrative styles used to navigate the richness of human history.
For example, having been obsessed with Rilke and his poetry for a good decade by now, I always associated 1913 as one of those years in which Rilke was writing in intervals the Duino Elegies, which are by far the poetic production of 20th century European literature to which I always return to. I never stopped to reflect that this was the same year in which Hitler attempted to launch his painting career in Vienna –a fact I was surely told about in high school. I simply did not know that this was also the year when Stalin arrived in Vienna under the name of Stavros Papadopoulos, his second exile within a few years. During the previous exile, in Krakòw, he was trying to learn to ride a bike, courtesy of Lenin's help. (Stalin apparently was never able to master this skill.)
You get the feeling. This is a light-read. Illies's style is enjoyable, and the organization of the book by months invites to see continuity even if one of the protagonists appears only once. Because indeed, this book is about navigating through the people who shared something in common, sometimes even without realizing it.
Time of the Magicians by Wolfram Eilenberger achieves a similar goal, but with the opposite structure. It follows four philosophers throughout their lives, with an attention on the historical context in which they operated. These four are Martin Heiddeger, Walter Benjamin, Ernst Cassirer, and Ludwig Wittgenstein. As you can imagine from these names, this book is longer and it requires a bit more concentration from its readers, but the effort is well spent. After reading its 432 pages, I finally understood the importance of Heiddeger as a philosophical figure, and what he tried to achieve with his philosophical system. (Spoiler: I am not a fan of Heiddeger and his rumination on "being." A subject for another entry.) My opinion on Wittgenstein softened considerably. I previously saw his as a confused, and confusing, philosopher who benefitted from his rich family. Now I know he was a confused, and confusing, philosopher who struggled with depression, finding his own identity without relying on the family money. I felt even more tenderness for Benjamin, a soul too delicate for his own sake, and a terrible, terrible procrastinator. In fact, had he not been such a procrastinator, perhaps he would have avoided suicide in 1940 on the border between France and Spain, attempting to escape persecution for his Jewish identity.
And while both books illuminate the human side of these important names we often learn about only as names, and not people, reading these books also made me realize how many possibilities they were given, over and over again, because of their being men and of the small circle in which they operated. For example, during a hiatus from philosophy, Wittgenstein briefly acted as architect. His friend Paul Engelmann "hired" him to help build the Stonborough House in which Ludwig's sister Margaret would live in. And so Wittgenstein, a terrible architect and colleague we are told, managed to have a good salary and respectable occupation after years of inactivity, and with no actual skill in any area.
But to scorn the 20th century because of its overwhelming male presence would be to be mistaken twice. First because it retroactively imposes expectations that gained full force only recently, and secondly because there were many women active and making history, such as Hannah Arendt, Natalia Ginzburg, Asja Lācis, and many more. Some of whom are already objects of beautiful studies (such as La Corsara for Ginzburg, or the more famous biography of Arendt by E. Young-Bruhel).
One could say that the protagonist of the first of the two books, by Florian Illies, is in fact a specific historical moment, the year of 1913. By focusing only on events that took place in this specific year, the author is able to bring together a group of people that would otherwise never cross paths, not at least in more conventional narrative styles used to navigate the richness of human history.
For example, having been obsessed with Rilke and his poetry for a good decade by now, I always associated 1913 as one of those years in which Rilke was writing in intervals the Duino Elegies, which are by far the poetic production of 20th century European literature to which I always return to. I never stopped to reflect that this was the same year in which Hitler attempted to launch his painting career in Vienna –a fact I was surely told about in high school. I simply did not know that this was also the year when Stalin arrived in Vienna under the name of Stavros Papadopoulos, his second exile within a few years. During the previous exile, in Krakòw, he was trying to learn to ride a bike, courtesy of Lenin's help. (Stalin apparently was never able to master this skill.)
You get the feeling. This is a light-read. Illies's style is enjoyable, and the organization of the book by months invites to see continuity even if one of the protagonists appears only once. Because indeed, this book is about navigating through the people who shared something in common, sometimes even without realizing it.
Time of the Magicians by Wolfram Eilenberger achieves a similar goal, but with the opposite structure. It follows four philosophers throughout their lives, with an attention on the historical context in which they operated. These four are Martin Heiddeger, Walter Benjamin, Ernst Cassirer, and Ludwig Wittgenstein. As you can imagine from these names, this book is longer and it requires a bit more concentration from its readers, but the effort is well spent. After reading its 432 pages, I finally understood the importance of Heiddeger as a philosophical figure, and what he tried to achieve with his philosophical system. (Spoiler: I am not a fan of Heiddeger and his rumination on "being." A subject for another entry.) My opinion on Wittgenstein softened considerably. I previously saw his as a confused, and confusing, philosopher who benefitted from his rich family. Now I know he was a confused, and confusing, philosopher who struggled with depression, finding his own identity without relying on the family money. I felt even more tenderness for Benjamin, a soul too delicate for his own sake, and a terrible, terrible procrastinator. In fact, had he not been such a procrastinator, perhaps he would have avoided suicide in 1940 on the border between France and Spain, attempting to escape persecution for his Jewish identity.
And while both books illuminate the human side of these important names we often learn about only as names, and not people, reading these books also made me realize how many possibilities they were given, over and over again, because of their being men and of the small circle in which they operated. For example, during a hiatus from philosophy, Wittgenstein briefly acted as architect. His friend Paul Engelmann "hired" him to help build the Stonborough House in which Ludwig's sister Margaret would live in. And so Wittgenstein, a terrible architect and colleague we are told, managed to have a good salary and respectable occupation after years of inactivity, and with no actual skill in any area.
But to scorn the 20th century because of its overwhelming male presence would be to be mistaken twice. First because it retroactively imposes expectations that gained full force only recently, and secondly because there were many women active and making history, such as Hannah Arendt, Natalia Ginzburg, Asja Lācis, and many more. Some of whom are already objects of beautiful studies (such as La Corsara for Ginzburg, or the more famous biography of Arendt by E. Young-Bruhel).