Titus Brandsma

By Fr. Leopold
For people alive today, the memory of Titus Brandsma is commonly associated with freedom of the press, defense of human rights, and the autonomy of the Catholic schools under the oppressive power of Hitler’s empire. His stoic death in the concentration camp at Dachau confirmed his right to be considered a martyr of the Christian pantheon of saints. But what many observers might not see is the quiet process of his ordinary life, which made him a saint long before he first crossed swords with the Nazi regime.
He was born in 1881 to a devout farm family in Frisia, the northernmost province of the Netherlands. He was baptized Anno Sjoerd Brandsma, and grew up in the loving atmosphere of a hard working family. Although his health was never good, he quickly showed his Frisian stubbornness and determination to accept and conquer limitations whenever possible. He was a good student, with a strong work ethic and a love of all forms of knowledge. Since his local parish was served by Franciscan friars, he applied to their seminary, but his poor health prevented him from continuing. He joined the Carmelites instead, drawn especially by their Marian character.
Life with the Carmelites suited him very well, and when he took his first vows in 1899; he chose the religious name of Titus in honor of his father. He was ordained to the priesthood in 1905, and almost immediately designated for further studies. Several years of study in Rome earned him a doctorate in philosophy. He returned to Holland and immediately began teaching clerics in the flourishing formation program of the Dutch province. Happy and enthusiastic about his young students, Titus further involved himself in many other interests and projects which reflected the multiple facets of his personality.
He wrote constantly for religious newspapers and periodicals. He collaborated with fellow Carmelites in the monumental task of translating the works of St. Teresa of Avila into modern Dutch. He was the co-founder of the Catholic Frisian Union, a cultural and historic society. And he promoted missionary outreach to Carmelites working in Brazil, and eventually in Java. Titus had always dreamed of going to the missions himself, but his poor health prevented it. So he contented himself with supporting good education for other young friars, and speaking on many occasions to raise awareness of the missions among lay Catholics.
In 1923, he was named to the faculty of the newly established Catholic University of the Netherlands in Nijmegen. With his characteristic enthusiasm, he threw himself into teaching classes in natural philosophy, natural theology, history of recent philosophy, and the history of Dutch mysticism, a personal favorite of his. It is worth noting that while Titus was a serious and dedicated scholar, each of his classes was always the gateway to his personal care for the students. He never let dry academic recitation to get in the way of his reaching out in a pastoral manner to whatever might promote the faith or spiritual growth of a student. He was frequently late for appointments because he had lost track of time while speaking with a student or a colleague.
The period during which Titus worked in Nijmegen was pleasant for him and highly productive. He was chosen Rector of the University for the academic year 1932-33, a mark of the highest respect. He helped to promote the Apostolate for the Reunion of Eastern Churches, and was elected its vice-president. He organized a national Marian Congress, which was well applauded, as well as a congress on Dutch Medieval Mysticism. It seemed that he was always working on some pilgrimage, commemoration, or lecture tour…anything that might make religious fervor and devotion more accessible to the ordinary person. He was especially mindful of the need to promote Frisian language, culture, and local saints, lest that beloved part of his own upbringing be neglected or lost. Perhaps the crowning event of his academic life was a lecture tour of Ireland, Canada, and the United States (1935) during which he spoke passionately about neglected points of Carmelite scholarship and spirituality. During this intensively active period, his health continued to be a limiting factor. More than once, he had to postpone or cancel activities because his exhausting pace wore down his frail body.
No one in Europe was unaware that German political life took a dramatic turn in January 30, 1933 when Adolf Hitler was named chancellor. The Nazi leadership rapidly took control of all media outlets, including radio, cinema, and the press. The political and racial doctrines of the Nazis were introduced into the German schools and social organizations. Discriminatory laws against “undesirables” were enacted, culminating with the Nuremberg Laws against the Jews in 1935.
This political shift toward the extreme right was part of a larger trend which would infect other parts of Europe. In addition to the now well-established Fascists in Italy, there were other formidable parties in Belgium, France, Hungary, Romania, Austria, and even Britain and Ireland, which advocated a semi-Fascist nationalism. Sometimes these movements were tinged with a chauvinistic form of racism. The Falangist party in Spain would shortly be involved in a ghastly civil war. In the Netherlands, there was a small but vocal party known as the National Socialist Movement (NSB) which considered itself similar to Hitler’s ultra-nationalists.
The NSB was not taken seriously by most Dutch voters, and never counted large numbers of members or seats in parliament. Even so, these Dutch speaking fascists were natural allies of the German Nazis, and were only too willing to make lists of people they considered to be dangerous and potentially hostile to a totalitarian regime. Especially among academic and religious leaders, those who seemed too outspoken in favor of strong democracy and racial harmony could be singled out for observation and possible arrest.
Fortunately, Titus knew that the best counter-force to the neo-paganism of the Nazis was the strength of the Dutch Catholic Church. Although the Netherlands was technically a Protestant country, the Catholics had become the largest single church, and a slight majority of people who actually attended church on a regular basis. The Catholic hierarchy had been restored in 1853, and the 5 Dutch bishops generally supplied good leadership, especially on social issues and matters impacting religious freedom. There were Catholic labor unions and a Catholic political party in parliament, both of which proved to be popular, patriotic and open to cooperation with other groups on issues of common interest. One other example of apostolic outreach was the astonishing number of Dutch missionaries working to spread the gospel in all parts of the world. There were over 5000 missionary priests, sisters, and brothers, and 70 bishops. Mission societies were a popular lay activity, to such a degree that priests and religious who were trying to raise money for a struggling community thousands of miles away were certain of a generous response.
Best of all, the Dutch Catholics had built a network of very fine schools, and a vigorous series of newspapers and periodicals which contributed to the overall intellectual climate of the country. The esprit de corps within the Catholic community was especially strong insofar as they contributed to the excellence of Dutch society, rather than continuing to fight the stale sectarian battles of the Reformation. Both the schools and the press were well appreciated in a country of well educated people, who valued a free exchange of ideas as not only a fundamental right, but as a patriotic and religious duty.
Throughout the 1930’s, Professor Brandsma followed the initiative of the bishops in their criticism of Nazi policies in Germany, as well as the shrill rhetoric of the NSB in the Netherlands. The bishops had issued a caution against the NSB’s propaganda as early as 1934, and excluded members from receiving the sacraments in 1936. Shortly after the promulgation of the Nuremberg Laws and other legislation against German Jews, there was a widespread protest in the Netherlands and other parts of Europe. Titus contributed an essay to a book entitled Dutch Voices on the Treatment of Jews in Germany (December, 1935). His article was called “The Fallacy of Weakness” and connects the policy of discrimination to envy which has evolved into hatred, supported by the narcissistic thinking of Nietzsche and Stirner. He counters the tendency to belittle successful Jews with an alternative of using their accomplishments as a stimulus to a greater effort to compete with them. Someone who calls himself an Übermensch ought to have the courage to prevail by hard work, not bigotry.
That essay provoked ridicule and criticism from several publications in Germany, which portrayed Titus as a bookish protector of Jewish criminals, a communist sympathizer, and a naïve dreamer who did not understand the real world. Several years later, Brandsma used his authority as a professor of philosophy to deliver a series of lectures on the shallow intellectual roots of National Socialism. The basis of the Volk, the People, was proclaimed to be superior to every other value. “Race” was a godlike norm which swept away every other standard before it. Good and evil were redefined in terms of whatever would benefit the Volk. The person of Adolf Hitler became a central superhuman figure who served as prophet of all truth, who protected the unity of the race, and the dignity of “religion,” home, culture, and family. Every other person, by contrast, was useful only insofar as he or she could advance the values of National Socialism, and would otherwise be expendable. Sadly, notes from these lectures have been lost, either because the police seized them when Titus was arrested, or because he destroyed them himself as too compromising after a colleague was arrested.
It became more obvious that he and many others were under close surveillance. Titus told one of his fellow Carmelites that several young men, not students of his, had frequently attended his classes, taking copious notes. On the feast of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel (July 16) of 1939, he delivered a sermon honoring the Frisian patron saints Willabrord and Boniface. He vigorously attacked modern neo-paganism as being more dangerous than the old paganism, since it masqueraded as a highly developed form of modern civilized culture. He lamented the fact that love, mercy, and compassion were condemned as weakness. Only personal power and brute force were respected as effective means to beat down obstacles, even at the expense of other persons. The old Teutonic violence had replaced love and generosity. Brandsma replied that the lessons of history were on the side of Christianity. It is only when the biblical standard “see how they love one another” is implemented that Christians will truly overcome the secular world.
Once again, Nazi inspired publications heaped a storm of criticism and ridicule on him, but Titus never felt that he had to reply to personal attacks. He felt that the truth of his arguments could stand on its own merits, and that people could say anything they wished about him as an individual. Through this entire blizzard of rhetoric, Professor Brandsma remained wonderfully cheerful, and continued to care for his students in the kindest way possible. He felt that he had every reason for hope and optimism, since his Carmelite community was thriving, and the many projects that he contributed to were beginning to come to fruition. But Hitler’s invasion of Poland in September, 1939 changed everything. The Dutch had maintained their neutrality in World War I, and many hoped that the war could again pass them by.
But German forces invaded the Netherlands on May 10, 1940 and crushed the Dutch army in only 5 days. Heroic patriotism was not enough to defend the country, so the task had to fall to intellectuals and mystics. A small, flat country did not easily lend itself to a traditional resistance movement. Hitler’s occupation forces tried to maintain a low profile at first, insisting that the occupation was only temporary and protective. Officials of the NSB were placed in charge of many operations under German supervision. At first, very little seemed to have changed. Most of the efficient Dutch civil servants were left in place, and some people wondered if there was really any cause for alarm. But by early 1941, political operatives began to exert pressure on both the Catholic schools and the Catholic press to come into line with the official Nazi propaganda line. The bishops agreed that this had become a point where no retreat was possible. For Titus Brandsma, it meant a call to respond, since he was both the president of the Union of Catholic School Directors, and since 1935, the bishops’ advisor to the Dutch Catholic Journalists.
The Ministry of Education, Sciences and Cultural Protection had previously demanded lists of Jewish students in Catholic schools. It had also banned the use of several commonly used textbooks. It now announced that Catholic schools seemed to have too many teachers and that henceforth members of religious orders would only receive 60% of their normal teaching salaries. Another decree announced that priests and religious were unfit to be school principals or directors, and that they must hand over their duties to lay principals before the end of the school year. After consulting with Archbishop de Jong, Titus urged the school directors to maintain a united front against these attempts to weaken their leadership. Then he wrote a vigorous letter to the Ministry defending the rights of the teachers and administrators. When there seemed to be little response, he went to the Hague in person and emphasized to the Secretary General that it was both unfair and unjustified to punish teachers who had devoted their lives to teaching children. The only response he received was a request for a written, detailed case to be submitted to higher authorities. In effect, it was the entry into a bureaucratic maze, and nothing of real benefit was ever done.
Later in the year, the Ministry demanded the expulsion of all Jewish students, including those who had converted to Christianity. Again, Titus wrote to the schools urging them to ignore the decree on the grounds that the Church did not make distinctions among families, especially those who wanted a Catholic education for their children. The Ministry seemed to back down, saying that an exception had been made for Jewish children enrolled before the invasion, but then a month later restated the original decree. It seems that the Carmelite schools ignored the edict entirely and continued to teach their Jewish students until the mass deportations began. Although most related documents have disappeared, it seems that Titus may have also been working on a scheme to smuggle Jewish families from Holland to Brazil, using the network of Carmelite missions there as an initial refuge.
In July of 1941, the Dutch bishops issued a common letter condemning the Nazi interference with the Catholic schools, youth organizations, radio, charities, and labor unions. Two months later, they renewed their stinging rebuke against such intrusion. They added that their protests were not motivated by politics, but that they were fighting for the continued existence of Christianity itself. To allow the erosion of the Catholic ministries and institutions would amount to allowing secularism and paganism to re-emerge in the modern world. One reason that the bishops were so effective in making their voice heard was that the Catholic press was surprisingly strong in the Netherlands. In a nominally Protestant country, Catholic newspapers and periodicals had a broad circulation, and a reputation for very high quality journalism. Titus had always insisted that after the churches themselves, the newspapers represented the “first pulpit” to ordinary people, since journalists spoke the truth to their everyday concerns.
Until now, those journalists had resisted all attempts of the NSB to meddle in their publications, especially the articles and advertisements proclaiming the party propaganda. But on December 18, 1941, the ministry sent a telex to all Catholic papers that it was now forbidden to refuse those announcements on grounds of principle. Titus understood that this was a clear attack on decisions based on “faith and morals.” This was the “line in the sand” from which the Church could not retreat, if the Catholic press were to survive. This was the moment when the clergy had to stand together with the editors and publishers, in their heroic stubbornness. Titus met again with Archbishop de Jong, who agreed with his plan for a united front, but insisted that Titus should blame everything on him, who as Archbishop would be harder to arrest than a mere priest-advisor. But Brandsma insisted that he could visit most of the journalists personally and evoke an astonishing loyalty.
So on the last day of 1941, Titus wrote a circular letter to all the Catholic journalists, urging a unanimous resistance to the NSB and its attacks on Christianity. He admitted that there might be dire consequences, but insisted that readers deserved to know that they were genuinely reading a Catholic paper, and not propaganda from a godless regime. He advocated strength in numbers, and reminded the editors that they were being faithful to the Archbishop, and that God will always have the last word. Once the letter had been sent, Titus followed it with personal visits to each paper that he could reach. He spent the first 10 days of 1942 traveling from one end of the country to the other. He visited the other 4 bishops and 14 newspapers, and was pleased to report to the Archbishop that no one was afraid to resist.
This flurry of activity attracted the attention of the fearsome SD (Sicherheits Dienst or Security Service) the internal intelligence branch of the SS. A report to Berlin noted that the Catholic journalists were fighting back, and that Dr. Brandsma was a particular agent of this sabotage. Agents of the SD called at the Carmelite priory in Nijmegen on January 19 and took Titus into custody. He was taken to the police prison in Scheveningen, which had been converted from an old hotel. His interrogation began the following day with an SD officer named Hardegen, who was given exclusive charge of prisoner Brandsma’s case. Titus was cooperative throughout their conversations and quite open about his actions and motives. It almost seemed as though he was more concerned about persuading Hardegen of his arguments than he was about incriminating himself.
He followed Archbishop de Jong’s suggestion and told Hardegen that he had acted as the bishops’ agent, but then quickly added that he had personally agreed with everything they had ordered. His opinions were identical to theirs. He pointed out that the Church is strongest when it relies on sacrifices and martyrs, not when it takes the easy political line. The Dutch Church never attempted to force the conscience of anyone, but merely allowed people to live their lives and make their choices freely. If there is conflict between Church and State in the present situation, it is because the State has encroached into the religious sphere, and not vice-versa.
After their preliminary conversation, Hardegen handed over an ample supply of paper and asked Titus to put in writing the reasons why Dutch Catholics opposed the NSB. Without the benefit of books or any sources beyond his memory, Titus produced a clear and logical essay on the reasons why National Socialism was foreign, antireligious, inhuman, and ultimately doomed to failure. Both the German and Dutch movements ignored the best parts of their culture and heritage. Neo-Hegelian philosophical ideas distort the nature of humanity and neglect the dignity and beauty of the individual, resulting in the elimination of healthy religious influences from society. In short, the NSB does not represent the good elements of either Dutch or German culture, and has exposed itself as an incompetent political fiasco with no support from ordinary citizens. Titus concludes with a short prayer, hoping that God can restore peace and harmony between the two neighboring peoples.
Based on this interchange, Hardegen reported that Titus was a man of strong character and convictions, who felt that he had to “defend” Christianity from National Socialism. He openly admits all the charges against him, and seems to be firmly set against the policy of the regime. Therefore he should be considered a “dangerous man” and kept under confinement until further decisions are made. It seems that Hardegen wanted to continue his conversations with the prisoner, but was drawn away by other duties.
During the nearly 2 months at Scheveningen, Titus found himself isolated from the many concerns and duties of his normal life…a dramatic shift of pace for the busy professor. He happily took advantage of the silence and solitude of the prison cell to transform it into a monastic cell, where he reverted to the spiritual roots of Carmelite life. He used his breviary and holy pictures to set up a small chapel. He composed a regular schedule for his day of prayer, exercise, reflection and writing. Titus actually tried to complete a biography of Teresa of Avila, using blank spaces between the lines of a book after he ran out of paper. It was fortunate that another prisoner at Scheveningen, trusted with cleaning and menial duties, had known Titus in Nijmegen, and was able to look after some of the physical needs of his old friend. This period of quiet monotony served as a sort of “retreat” and spiritual preparation for whatever was to follow.
In March, 1942, Titus was moved to the transit labor camp at Amersfoort, where his solitude gave way to a much more brutal atmosphere. The work routine put him in contact with other prisoners, some of whom were acquaintances and friends, as well as guards who seemed committed to making life for everyone as miserable as possible. Despite his declining health, he remained cheerful and optimistic. Others reported that his primary concern seemed to be reaching out to friend and foe alike, and making God’s love present in such a ghastly place. After nearly 2 months in that camp, he was briefly returned to Scheveningen for a reevaluation by Hardegen. Again, he calmly but steadfastly held to his position that the Church had the right to oppose the state when moral issues were involved. Hardegen signed the release order to have him transferred to a concentration camp.
His next stop was the transit camp at Kleve, where he received medical attention for his growing weakness and deteriorating health. The camp chaplain was so alarmed at his condition that he tried to get him reassigned to a sort of “house arrest” at a German Carmelite house. But events overtook the communication process, and he was sent to Dachau on June 13. This oldest of the concentration camps had developed a balance of backbreaking work with a starvation diet that would ordinarily lead to death within one year. No one was ever expected to leave. Titus was assigned to one of the three barracks blocks reserved for priests and religious, and so he found himself among prisoners committed to religious values. There he met other Carmelites from Poland, as well as Brother Raphael Tijhuis, a fellow Dutchman who tried to protect and care for him as much as possible.
By this time, Titus had no illusions about his chances for survival, but he never gave in to despair or pessimism. From his point of view, he had inherited a new ministry to the other people in the camp, including the guards. His entire life as a religious, as a scholar, as a teacher, and as a preacher of God’s love now culminated in his final chapter as a prisoner. He could acquit himself well or badly. Those who eventually survived the camp reported that even in his weakened state, Titus often appeared to be one of the strongest people in the barracks. There was no opportunity for prayer or kindness which he failed to exploit. Anyone who needed encouragement or support could receive it from the frail Dutch friar. In essence, he continued to proclaim by his actions that there was no place where God could not find faithful children and care for them. He lasted only a few days longer than a month in the hellish environment, despite Raphael’s best efforts.
When he finally reached the point where he could no longer work, or even walk, Raphael reluctantly took him to the camp hospital, from which people rarely returned. Even there, Titus continued to reach out to anyone he encountered. He even gave his rosary to the nurse who gave him the lethal injection which ended his life. She later returned to the practice of her faith, thankful that God had allowed her to encounter a saint. Titus had always been a master of the moment. His keen mind and fine education reinforced the solid belief that God was present in every tiny action and thought. Life itself was a grace to be savored and appreciated in every particular. As a teacher, Titus had delivered many lessons to those who knew him, but none was better than his final testimony. May God make us good learners!