Middle childhood
Another defining moment from my youth occurred when I was eleven. Returning from an afternoon spent in the woods by the creek, playing games with my friends, I barely stepped through the door before Gustav summoned me with a single hand gesture, taking me to his worktable. Before he could utter a word, I pre-empted the inevitable question of his.
"Chess?"
"Chess," was his reply, putting in some finality.
The game was our sanctuary when we were young, a shared pursuit that was above fights or disputes. What ever discord we would build up over a week or a month would be invariably resolved over the chessboard. It was an unspoken agreement, a silent acknowledgement to let the past simply be the past after the game. It would also give us time to simply talk.
Wordlessly, Gustav retrieved the chess set from its shelf, his movements measured, as he arranged the detailed pieces upon the board.
"White or black?" he asked, in a more focused manner.
"Black," I replied without hesitation, I chose by instinct.
Regardless of which side I chose, Gustav would always achieve the final victory, no matter how much I would struggle. Yet, I had discovered something through countless hours of play, that I worked leaps and bounds better on the defensive. I was a much more capable tactician than a strategist in my early years. Doing best when reacting to the board, than planning or executing any complex attack, like the ones he were fond of enacting. These matches were as much a lesson in humility as it was in strategy. As I always had room to improve.
As the game unfolded, Gustav made the game into something more than it was, like he was fond of doing. History lessons basically. He loved to place me metaphorically in the roles of historical figures, or even abstract concepts such as "national spirits," challenging me to act and decide in a concise manner better or worse than they would have without me. A sort of alternate history in a sense. Directed by myself and orated by him.
From the Caesars of Rome, to the Russian Czars of our own era, Gustav wielded history as both a guide and a warning. The purpose of the games was meant to put to light the interplay of cause and effects, revealing the perils or positives lurking behind every decision. No matter how trivial, or massive, a decision, they each had their profound effects, and we loved to explore them together.
He loved to expose my 'errors,' those choices that in hindsight were glaringly wrong if you took them to their inevitable conclusion based upon reflection and thought. The favorite part of our talks, was when either of us got closer towards what he explained as the "Right Choice of History," an obscure concept. One where something is the only correct answer.
"History seldom has any 'right' choices, yet some choices are more right than others."
"Every action has a purpose, it is your duty to not only ask yourself why you act, but the potential consequences it may unleash."
The phrases were repeated multiple times from him, so many that I memorized them. They were among his favorite things to quote towards me. They became to me a form of twisted doxa.
Among the many scenarios we pondered during our matches, a few remain above the rest, their lessons simply more profound to endure over the decades.
"When did the Roman Empire truly die?" he asked somewhat questioning.
It was an extremely vast question. For hours, we discussed the many angles of this question---imperial power, the survival of Latin as a language, the longevity of Roman customs, beliefs, and even the final convictions of the people who clung to the roman identity.
What lingered in my mind most vividly was Gustav's explanation of Rome not merely as a physical empire, but as a transcendent concept. He spoke of individuals born in Frankia, far removed from Constantinople, or any genuine Roman authority, yet living and dying with an unshakable belief in their Roman citizenship, in Rome as a state of being rather than a state of borders. Taking the care to scrawl The Empire upon their graves, instead of the lands of Frankia or Gaul.
The notion of a nation residing within its people, and its people residing within the nation, was a revelation that captured my imagination. For hours, I would sit and ponder: What thoughts came into the minds of those long gone? How did they act? Why??? What propelled those to greatness, and what propelled others to failure? Always, the questions lingered: Why? Why? Why?
When Gustav lent me The Prince of India, its message passed upon the common argument that the Roman empire met its final death in 1453, with the fall of Constantinople to the Ottoman sultanate. Yet, the people within her former borders fully believed themselves to be Roman. The people under ottoman rule would continue to do so, for decades upon centuries until somewhat recently.
Did the Roman Empire truly perish with the rise of the "Hellenes"? Such questions would always beget more informative questions. A limitless cycle of self discovery.
We never arrived at a definitive answer to the scenario Gustav posed, yet we both agreed that every argument had truth to its words. What began as a philosophical exercise on history gradually shaped my future thoughts on national identity and political belonging. From these seeds, the vision of a unified German people---a Pan-National German spirit, a will of being, a Welt-Geist---would later germinate in my late teens. But not finalize until many years afterword.
To be German was not to be just a culture, to have a father, or a mother with specific traits, but something greater, something to shape an individuals life throughout.
A nation not confined by borders, but defined by an idea, a combination of being, and a language---something transcendent, something eternal. Not a mere legal construct handed down through citizenship, but an ideal, ever-evolving and ever-growing, shaped by the dedication and labor of its people.
Of all the lessons Gustav imparted, history was among the most valuable, though it was not alone in its significance. Nearly as influential were his teachings on economics. While I struggled to grasp the complexities and intricacies of what he termed the "invisible hand," one particular insight left a lasting impression: a people could be both relatively rich and profoundly impoverished.
"A nation's true worth lies in the goods it produces,"
"Money, in the end, is of little consequence,"
At the beginning, I could scarcely believe such a claim; as it seemed absurd.
"Gold?" I asked, my tone carrying my definite confusion. As to my past self, the statement was proof enough against his assertion.
Patiently, he elaborated:
"The market is shaped by the value of labor and goods, as well as the advancements brought by automation. High labor costs compel innovation, while a wealthy populace renders labor more expensive. Britain's wealth stemmed from its ability to harness this dichotomy, to achieve immense output with minimal input, leveraging free trade to crush competition in foreign markets with industries such as textiles and tools. Innovation bred innovation---out of necessity, more than anything else."
He paused, then added, "Gold can facilitate trade, but it is ultimately the creators, those who produce, who hold true power. Gold, after all, is finite. Though, I would not argue against having both of course."
"The free market," he continued, "is a weapon like any other. But it is a double-edged sword, capable of wounding its wielder as deeply as it strikes its foe."
Such explanations were among his favorite 'Doxa.' Yet, one concept eluded my full understanding: the advantages of nations specializing in their production and technology.
When I pressed him for examples, he did not answer immediately, as was his custom. Instead he paused, his gaze fixed upon me, ensuring that his words would be clear and with weight.
"Russia and her grain," he finally said.
"Her vast production and export of simple grains rendered many nations dependent on her for processed foodstuffs---a powerful weapon wielded with great effect over time, a mere threat of tariff upon export could force diplomatic concession. Yet this power was not without its own peril. A sort of double edge.
"When vertical integration of processed goods became more efficient during the Industrial revolution, it was Russia that suffered most," he explained. "Her economy, dependent on grain exports as its primary source of revenue, was ill-prepared for the depressed prices that followed. The populace remained impoverished, their standing of living diminished. After all, there is only so much grain one can consume. Russia lacked the pre-industry to capitalize on grain's more advanced industrial applications, even more so due to the extreme price depression."
The Russian Czars, Gustav remarked, made decisions that were prudent for their time. Yet, these choices bore unforseen consequences, trading potential long term prosperity via abolition of serfdom, and a more dangerous liberal economic policy, for a traditional scheme, of dominating grain, for short term power. By the time of our conversation, Russia was already burdened with debt---a condition Gustav confidently predicted would only worsen with time.
Gustav's teaching mirrored, in some ways, the methods employed by my history teacher at school---though vastly superior in execution. He taught history not through rote memorization of dates, or the hollow proclamations of long-dead, inconsequential kings. Instead, he revealed to me the why and the how---the hidden forces that propelled history forward.
If his lessons imparted anything, it was this: everything in history happens for a reason, no matter how grand or seemingly trivial. The people of the past were far from ignorant, as a cursory glance from the unknowing might suggest. To truly comprehend the past, is to wield a sort of power that sets one truly apart from those who remain blind to its lessons.
Thus, it was Gustav's lessons from which that reshaped my understanding of the world with each conversation, much as my history teacher's insights had done, though with far greater depth and clarity than any class could ever offer. His methods possessed a grander purpose so profound, that it defies any attempt of mine to put it in a simple expression of the written word. One must simply bear an experience of this power to understand.