In the 1830s, the home of Immanuel Kant "bathed in the glow of the late Enlightenment." Wilhelm Ebel was a preacher at the Old City Church, and Heinrich Diestel at the Haberberg Church. Three hundred and fifty miles to the west, in Berlin, the Minister of Culture and Religion received an accusation concerning a clique engaged in sexual promiscuity gathered around Ebel. Diestel rallied to his friend's side. Ebel had achieved a modest notoriety by helping Ida von der Groeben overcome her anxieties after losing her husband in the Napoleonic Wars. Ebel's philosophical considerations of religious dogma attracted enemies among the clergy of Königsberg. He believed he had a unique relationship with God and acted as an intermediary. The accusations against Ebel were made by the brother of a woman in Ebel's circle who had offended him by insisting on her share of the family estate.
The Church's brief inquiry, coupled with its bias against Ebel, led it to suspend him and join the civil prosecution. The case lacked evidence and eyewitness testimony and ultimately succumbed to hysteria. Similarly, the press created lurid accounts of widespread sexual improprieties. "The official mind of the Kingdom of Prussia had composed itself against the two beleaguered clergymen." Both men were convicted, permanently suspended, and financially penalized, while Ebel was sentenced to incarceration. An appeal overturned the harshest penalties but only partially restored their reputations.
The author posits that the two men were too liberal for an era marked by the state's consolidation of power and suppression of new ideas. Furthermore, Ebel was different. He had long hair and an effeminate manner. Their prosecutors were relatively liberal and plainly uncomfortable with him. I do not know why an eminent historian took up this story. I believe a reviewer said that he had come across it and had wanted to write about it for decades.
Sir Christopher Clark of Cambridge University is only 66 and presumably has one or two major works still ahead of him. I read this because I thoroughly enjoyed his book 'Sleepwalkers' (August 2013 blog post). Published on the eve of the centenary of the Great War, he posited that the Russians and Serbians were chiefly at fault in 1914. A year later, Sir Max Hastings, in 'Catastrophe,' vehemently argued for the traditional interpretation (January 2014 blog post). I twice saw Hastings speak at the Pritzker Military Museum in Chicago. He tells a story of being brought to the Dover coast as a young boy and having his grandfather point to the continent. He said to young Max, "There is where the Hun will come from for the third time."
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