‘purity’ of German blood. His own line went back to the beginning of the thirteenth century, so he was able to dispute Hitler’s personal claim that ‘German blood spoke from him’ with some authority.
But it took the discovery of Nazi atrocities on his doorstep — in his own diocese — to spur him into his most famous action. Then, he earned his nickname of ‘The Lion of Münster’.
On 14 and 21 July, and 3 August 1941, he delivered three powerful sermons — the third is the most important — attacking the Nazi euthanasia programme. Killing-centres disguised as sanatoria had been set up for the disposal — usually at this period by lethal injection, though gas chambers were in the experimental stage — of all those whom the Reich deemed useless to society: the mentally disabled and ill, epileptics, cripples, children with Down’s Syndrome, the senile, and others similarly afflicted. The Evangelical Bishop Theophil Wurm had already protested vigorously about them, but Galen used his condemnation of this appalling policy to draw wider conclusions about the nature of the Nazi state. He also attacked the Gestapo habit of seizing Church buildings and converting them to their own uses — which included cinemas and even brothels. The sermons were illegally printed and distributed throughout Germany and also abroad for years after he had preached them.
So blistering was the assault that Hitler considered Galen’s removal, but Goebbels dissuaded him, telling him that if he arrested the Bishop, he could write off the loyalty of all of Westphalia. Yet remarkably, after this tremendous warning, the Lion did not roar again. He had not stopped the euthanasia programme, though he did succeed in halting it in its tracks. Later it continued in conditions of greater secrecy. It is possible that Galen considered that he had done enough; yet in view of his outrage it seems extraordinary that within a month of his sermons he stated publicly that ‘We Christians do not make revolution’. Perhaps again we are dealing with someone who was too much the prisoner of his traditions and his upbringing. Even Ludwig Beck, as late as 1938, observed that ‘Mutiny and revolution are words not to be found in a German officer’s vocabulary’. In 1938 Beck was fifty-eight. In 1941 Galen was sixty-three. It is hard to break the habits of a lifetime.
Men like Preysing and Galen, however courageous, were protected from Nazi retaliation by their position. Bernhard Lichtenberg, priest at St Hedwig’s cathedral in Berlin, was a confidant of Bishop Preysing, but that was not enough to save him in the end. His story must serve for many brave individuals.
Lichtenberg came to St Hedwig’s in 1932, and was well-enough known to the Gestapo to have his flat searched as early as 1933. He ran the aid unit of the diocesan authority for Preysing — an organisation which clandestinely gave help and advice to those persecuted by the regime — and from 1938 conducted public prayers of intercession for the Jews, ‘the poor inmates of the concentration camps, and my fellow priests there’. He preached consistently against official Party propaganda, and wrote a courageous letter to the State Medical Director, Dr Conti, on 28 August 1941, endorsing the sentiments of Galen’s sermons, pointing out the precise laws under the Constitution in which euthanasia was unequivocally defined as an act of murder. By that action he finally pushed the authorities too far. He was arrested and tried by a special court which sentenced him to two years’ penal servitude. When these were completed he was rearrested by the Gestapo (a not uncommon occurrence) and sent to Dachau. Already ill, he died on the way there, at Hof, in November 1943, aged sixty-eight.
‘Ein’ feste Burg ist unser Gott , ’ wrote Luther: a fortress strong is God our Lord. Despite the great bravery of such individuals as Lichtenberg, Niemöller, Galen, Preysing and Bonhoeffer, the Church in
But it took the discovery of Nazi atrocities on his doorstep — in his own diocese — to spur him into his most famous action. Then, he earned his nickname of ‘The Lion of Münster’.
On 14 and 21 July, and 3 August 1941, he delivered three powerful sermons — the third is the most important — attacking the Nazi euthanasia programme. Killing-centres disguised as sanatoria had been set up for the disposal — usually at this period by lethal injection, though gas chambers were in the experimental stage — of all those whom the Reich deemed useless to society: the mentally disabled and ill, epileptics, cripples, children with Down’s Syndrome, the senile, and others similarly afflicted. The Evangelical Bishop Theophil Wurm had already protested vigorously about them, but Galen used his condemnation of this appalling policy to draw wider conclusions about the nature of the Nazi state. He also attacked the Gestapo habit of seizing Church buildings and converting them to their own uses — which included cinemas and even brothels. The sermons were illegally printed and distributed throughout Germany and also abroad for years after he had preached them.
So blistering was the assault that Hitler considered Galen’s removal, but Goebbels dissuaded him, telling him that if he arrested the Bishop, he could write off the loyalty of all of Westphalia. Yet remarkably, after this tremendous warning, the Lion did not roar again. He had not stopped the euthanasia programme, though he did succeed in halting it in its tracks. Later it continued in conditions of greater secrecy. It is possible that Galen considered that he had done enough; yet in view of his outrage it seems extraordinary that within a month of his sermons he stated publicly that ‘We Christians do not make revolution’. Perhaps again we are dealing with someone who was too much the prisoner of his traditions and his upbringing. Even Ludwig Beck, as late as 1938, observed that ‘Mutiny and revolution are words not to be found in a German officer’s vocabulary’. In 1938 Beck was fifty-eight. In 1941 Galen was sixty-three. It is hard to break the habits of a lifetime.
Men like Preysing and Galen, however courageous, were protected from Nazi retaliation by their position. Bernhard Lichtenberg, priest at St Hedwig’s cathedral in Berlin, was a confidant of Bishop Preysing, but that was not enough to save him in the end. His story must serve for many brave individuals.
Lichtenberg came to St Hedwig’s in 1932, and was well-enough known to the Gestapo to have his flat searched as early as 1933. He ran the aid unit of the diocesan authority for Preysing — an organisation which clandestinely gave help and advice to those persecuted by the regime — and from 1938 conducted public prayers of intercession for the Jews, ‘the poor inmates of the concentration camps, and my fellow priests there’. He preached consistently against official Party propaganda, and wrote a courageous letter to the State Medical Director, Dr Conti, on 28 August 1941, endorsing the sentiments of Galen’s sermons, pointing out the precise laws under the Constitution in which euthanasia was unequivocally defined as an act of murder. By that action he finally pushed the authorities too far. He was arrested and tried by a special court which sentenced him to two years’ penal servitude. When these were completed he was rearrested by the Gestapo (a not uncommon occurrence) and sent to Dachau. Already ill, he died on the way there, at Hof, in November 1943, aged sixty-eight.
‘Ein’ feste Burg ist unser Gott , ’ wrote Luther: a fortress strong is God our Lord. Despite the great bravery of such individuals as Lichtenberg, Niemöller, Galen, Preysing and Bonhoeffer, the Church in
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