The old philosopher, the ogre at our gates, and the good Europeans

When Emmanuel Macron describes Russia as an “existential threat¹” and Putin as “the ogre at our gates,” he grasps both the strategic threat and its devouring nature. But this belated lucidity simultaneously reveals Europe’s inability to contemplate the implications of this threat. For a truly existential threat cannot be dealt with by the ordinary instruments of diplomacy—it requires a spiritual re-founding of Europe around its values and the will to act according to its founding principles.

The recent coalition of the willing and the NATO summit in Washington perfectly illustrate Europeans’ perception of Russia. Despite apparent progress, they continue to treat an ontological challenge with managerial means, without questioning either the nature of the evil they are fighting or the spiritual foundations they claim to defend.

This blindness is not new. It was diagnosed with disturbing prescience by Edmund Husserl in his May 1935 lecture in Vienna, “The Crisis of European Humanity and Philosophy²”. As Jorge Semprún magnificently recalled in 2002, this “old German philosopher” who had fled his native country “because he was Jewish” had already diagnosed this European inability to grasp its own spiritual essence. Courageously challenging the new order in his dense and complex lecture on the crisis in European science, he delivered a masterful conclusion:

“The crisis of European existence has only two outcomes: either the decline of Europe, becoming alien to its own vital and rational meaning, falling into hostility to the spirit and into barbarism; or the rebirth of Europe from the spirit of philosophy, thanks to a heroism of reason that definitively overcomes naturalism. The greatest danger for Europe is weariness. Let us fight with all our zeal against this danger of dangers, as good Europeans who are not afraid of even an endless struggle, and from the devastating conflagration of unbelief, from the consuming fire of despair in the face of the West’s humanitarian mission, from the ashes of great weariness, the phoenix of a new inner life and spirituality will rise again, a pledge of a great and distant human future: for only the spirit is immortal.”

In the audience was a young Czech student, Jan Patočka, who became one of the organizers of Charter 77³ and, forty years later, died as a result of brutal interrogation by the StB, the communist police—a tragic embodiment of the “heroism of reason” that his teacher demanded in the face of radical evil. This intellectual lineage takes on a prophetic dimension: Husserl continued his Viennese reflections with two lectures in Prague in November 1935, which Patočka had helped to organize. Three years later, this capital city, which for centuries had embodied the meeting of European cultures, would become the very symbol of the weariness and naturalism denounced by the philosopher. For were not the Munich agreements part of this fetishized “stability” and this illusion of “dialogue”? Did Chamberlain and Daladier not succumb to this moral fatigue that preferred to sacrifice Czechoslovakia rather than confront radical evil?

Husserl’s warning went unheard at the time. Let us recall a few incomplete and subjective but significant snippets from the year 1935: the invasion of Ethiopia by fascist Italy and the flight of Negus Haile Selassie; the Saar referendum, in which the Nazis triumphed despite the desperate efforts of Arthur Koestler and Manès Sperber; the Nuremberg Race Laws and the creation of the Luftwaffe. A horrible year, also marked by the opening of the Moscow Metro, a sinister masterpiece of forced labor by the zeks, and in cinema by Leni Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will, a poisonous masterpiece of the black order, two manifestations of the aestheticization of totalitarian power.

What did 1935 offer in response to this onslaught? Heroic but defensive resistance: The nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize of Carl von Ossietzky, a dissident of Nazism who infuriated Hitler and died as a result; Magdeleine Paz, who addressed the writers’ congress in defense of culture at the Palais de la Mutualité⁴ in order to free Victor Serge from Stalin’s clutches, while Anna Akhmatova, wounded in her family, began to write Requiem⁵, and in cinema, Frank Lloyd’s Mutiny on the Bounty with Clark Gable, the film that tells the exotic libertarian story of freedom taking refuge on an island. And finally, the luminous Viennese lecture by Edmund Husserl, already an outcast in Germany, where he was nevertheless preparing to return.

For Husserl, Europe was not primarily a geographical entity but a “spiritual idea” born in ancient Greece with the invention of the philosophical attitude. He identified a tragic alternative: either “the decadence of Europe becoming alien to its own vital and rational meaning,” or “the rebirth of Europe from the spirit of philosophy, thanks to a heroism of reason that definitively overcomes naturalism.” This alternative was not rhetorical but expressed a deep philosophical belief: authentic existential crises know no half measures.

Faced with this dilemma, Husserl exhorts: “Let us fight with all our zeal against this danger of dangers, as good Europeans who are not afraid of even an endless struggle.” This appeal is not addressed to Europeans in the geographical or ethnic sense, but to the heirs of this spiritual mission that transcends national borders and political contingencies.

This demand resonates with disturbing acuity in contemporary Europe in the face of Russian aggression in Ukraine. Today, being a “good European” means upholding this demand for truth and justice that has built our civilization, even when it becomes uncomfortable. It means saying no to the easy solutions that transform crime into “collateral damage” and executioners into “difficult partners.” It means refusing to discuss the “root causes” of a war of aggression when children are being deported. Maintaining that in the face of radical evil, there can be no neutrality.

For this war is not just a matter of classic geopolitics—it explicitly targets the values that underpin the European idea: the rule of law, the self-determination of peoples, critical freedom, and the universality of human rights. Putin has explicitly stated that his war is being waged against the “satanic” West and its ‘decadent’ values⁶. In this context, being a “good European” requires maintaining the absolute moral imperative — refusing any negotiation that does not place the return of deported children at the heart of the discussions —, to take up the “endless struggle” without hope of easy diplomatic arrangements, to go beyond national calculations in favor of genuine European solidarity, and finally to resist the naturalism that dismisses the criminal dimension in favor of geopolitical explanations.

Husserl’s most penetrating diagnosis concerned “weariness,” which he identified as “the greatest danger for Europe.” Not direct violence, but moral exhaustion, the loss of the desire for truth and meaning. This weariness represents a form of passive nihilism that is more destructive than active nihilism, because it undermines the very will to resist and be reborn.

Today, it manifests itself in Europe’s inability to name and confront the radical evil that Russia inflicts and propagates. Yet “evil is the primary philosophical question and the central category of strategic thinking⁷.” In the international sphere, this evil is too often “trivialized, dismissed, and rejected into the depths of silence”—an exemplary manifestation of the spiritual fatigue that Husserl feared. It is not only concealed by those who perpetuate it, but also by those who witness it and lack the will to oppose it.

The systematic deportation of 19,546 Ukrainian children, only a few hundred of whom were able to return home, and the Russification of hundreds of thousands more, are not “collateral damage” or “regrettable excesses.” They reveal the very nature of Putin’s regime and, by contrast, the essence of what Europe claims to defend. These crimes—mass rape, systematic torture, forced Russification—are not epiphenomena of “rational” geopolitics. They are the instruments of a negationist policy that aims to destroy Ukrainian identity itself: to erase its language, rewrite its history, and forcibly incorporate its children into the “Russian nation.” “The massive war crimes committed by Russia do not merely move us. They inform us not only about the politics of this state, but also about its nature. Thus, crimes are consubstantial with the current Russian regime⁸.” Just as one cannot understand Hitler’s policies without the Holocaust, one cannot grasp Putin’s policies without his crimes.

The naturalism denounced by Husserl—the tendency to reduce human beings to mere natural objects subject to mechanical laws—finds its most complete expression today in the sacralization of “realpolitik.” By removing the moral dimension from human relations, naturalism logically paves the way for this reification of international relations. This doctrine, falsely elevated to the status of an iron law of diplomacy, systematically reduces “intellectual rectitude.” It posits that states must act according to “natural” laws—balance of power, spheres of influence, the right of peoples to self-determination—which transcend moral considerations, as if they were physical forces rather than deliberate political choices.

This approach manifests itself in an obsession with abstract “interests,” the fetishization of criminal “stability,” and the naturalistic illusion of automatic “dialogue.” Europe has long prioritized economic interests, sidestepping the issue of the Russian regime. In this realpolitik, manifestations of evil are relegated to the humanitarian sphere, with diplomacy submitting to its totalitarian interlocutors. It is as if the peace of the graveyards were an acceptable political ideal, provided that it spares Europe the heroic demands of its vocation.

Even more insidious is the naturalistic illusion of “dialogue”: the belief that negotiation is an automatic process, regardless of the nature of the interlocutors. By reducing human relations to “natural” mechanisms, this approach dismisses the spiritual and moral dimension that underpins European civilization. As if the simple act of “talking” with a totalitarian regime could, through some alchemy, transform it into a partner for peace. This reduction overlooks the central question: with whom are we negotiating, and on what spiritual basis?

These manifestations of naturalism converge with weariness in the same European abdication. Faced with this reality, Europe reveals the spiritual fatigue that Husserl feared above all else. Hesitations over arms deliveries, reluctance to authorize strikes on Russian territory, and the temptation to dissociate “humanitarian” and “geopolitical” considerations in the issue of deported children are evidence of this moral exhaustion.

The appeal of 160 Ukrainian intellectuals, “Do not choose appeasement in the face of evil,” resonates as a direct echo of Husserl’s exhortation. For appeasement is the logical outcome of the twofold drift denounced by the old philosopher: weariness drives us to seek peace at any price, while naturalism provides the theoretical justifications. Since Russia is acting according to “natural laws,” all we need to do is satisfy its “legitimate needs” to restore balance.

This logic explains European reluctance to meet Ukrainian demands. Confiscating the €200 billion in assets of the Russian Central Bank frozen in Europe, closing the European straits of the Baltic, the English Channel, and Gibraltar to the fleet of “ghost” oil tankers that finance Putin’s war, making any negotiations conditional on the return of deported children—each of these measures strikes a chord with naturalists because it implies recognizing that we are not facing a “rational” adversary, but a regime whose logic defies the usual categories of geopolitical analysis.

When the coalition of so-called willing European states timidly proposes sending European troops on a “military reassurance mission” after a hypothetical ceasefire rather than before, it reveals this double drift. On the one hand, there is weariness: postponing to an uncertain “after” the commitments that the urgency of evil now demands. On the other hand, naturalism: postulating that an automatic process (ceasefire then guarantees) can work independently of the totalitarian nature of the adversary. As researcher Élie Tenenbaum wrote, “the more Europeans show their willingness to deploy forces after a ceasefire, the less Vladimir Putin will be willing to sign it⁹.” Conversely, immediately deploying forces to secure the Belarusian border, as proposed in 2024 by several hundred European personalities¹⁰, would be an act of the heroism of reason that Husserl called for: accepting the present risk rather than taking refuge in the illusion of an ”after” that will never come.

For the coalition of volunteers is falling apart precisely because of this expectation of a more propitious moment which, by definition, will not come until Europe has shown its determination. It is also falling apart because of the semantics chosen: this “military reassurance mission” indicates a characteristic Orwellian drift. Technocratic newspeak is used to avoid naming the effort and risk that the situation demands. By transforming a deployment of combat troops into a “mission of reassurance,” the moral and spiritual dimension of the commitment is removed. Even more revealing: this European coalition, incapable of assuming its own responsibilities, is now calling for additional “American reassurance.” The strategic absurdity is obvious: 500 million Europeans are asking 300 million Americans to guarantee them against 140 million Russians who have failed to defeat 40 million Ukrainians¹¹. This arithmetic of renunciation reveals the extent to which Europe has internalized its own weariness in the face of an adversary that it could contain and repel if it agreed to mobilize its resources. This euphemism goes hand in hand with naturalism: reducing political action to a neutral and technical process, as if Europe could defend its values through missions with nebulous goals and means rather than through decisive action.

This semantic evasion shows how much Europe struggles to name its adversary for what he is. By describing Putin as “an ogre at our gates,” Emmanuel Macron was nevertheless stating a truth that diplomatic sophistication obscures. For the ogre of fairy tales embodies this devouring figure: Putin has devoured his opponents (Nemtsov, Navalny, Politkovskaya), he is literally devouring Ukrainian children through deportation, he wants to swallow Ukraine and then his other neighbors. The ogre is the popular version of what scholarly analysis calls “totalitarianism”—but where some, like the French president, still strive to speak of “autocratic drift,” the image of the ogre immediately captures the irreducibility of Evil.

It points to the yawning gap between naturalistic perspectives and the reality of the adversary. One negotiates with a state, one compromises with an autocrat, but one has never seen—neither in fairy tales nor in history—an ogre sincerely propose a ceasefire. The ogre negotiates only to lull his prey to sleep; he knows only devouring or defeat. This ancestral truth reveals the gulf between the president’s sudden candor and the naturalistic illusions of realpolitik, which continues to treat the ogre as a “difficult partner.”

Yet the future of this coalition of volunteers is not yet decided. It may remain indecisive and content itself with diplomatic posturing, or it may become the nucleus of a true spiritual and political renaissance in Europe. For “good Europeans”, for Husserl, can only be volunteers—but volunteers of a particular kind: those who agree to take European demands beyond institutional calculations and national compromises.

One encouraging sign is worth highlighting: the resurgence of the fate of deported children in international summits and negotiations¹² is a thoroughly positive development. For their Russification represents the very essence of totalitarian evil. But this development is only positive if their return becomes a prerequisite for any negotiations. Otherwise, these children risk being turned into mere “prisoners of war” who can be exchanged according to the cynical logic of realpolitik.

The heroism of reason is the sine qua non of “good Europeans” in the face of anti-European forces. This formula transcends the apparent opposition between vital impetis and critical rigor. It is not blind momentum but the ability to maintain a moral requirement against all forces of dissolution. It requires accepting economic costs and strategic risks in the name of principles that transcend national interests: if the deportation of children constitutes a crime against humanity, this conviction must entirely structure our diplomacy.

Husserl concluded his lecture with a striking image: “…from the devastating conflagration of unbelief, from the fire consuming despair in the face of the West’s humanitarian mission, from the ashes of great weariness, the phoenix of a new inner life and spirituality will rise again.” This metaphor of rebirth through trial takes on particular resonance in the Ukrainian context.

Can Europe transform the existential threat from Russia into an inner awakening and this aggression into a rediscovery of its essence? The Ukrainian ordeal is precisely the “endless struggle” through which Europe can rediscover its “vital and rational meaning.” But only if it agrees to name radical evil and draw all the consequences. The current institutional Europe, like the coalition of volunteers, provides the necessary but insufficient framework for fulfilling the European vision. Faced with Russia, it must choose between degenerating into a mere zone of prosperity, which is in danger of being devoured, or rising to the height of its universal spiritual vocation, including militarily.

Behind every Ukrainian child torn from its family, every woman raped by soldiers, every prisoner tortured, it is European civilization that is at stake. The fight for justice, for the return of children and prisoners, is not only humanitarian: it is political and, even more so, ontological. For “only the spirit is immortal,” but Western Europe must still allow that spirit to rise from the ashes.

1. Emmanuel Macron, news conference at the end of the extraordinary European Council meeting in Brussels on March 6, 2025.
2. Edmund Husserl, The Crisis of European Humanity and Philosophy, Aubier, Paris, 1992.
3. Founding declaration of Charter 77, in Dossier Jan Patočka et la Charte 77, Tumultes magazine, 2009/1 no. 32-33, Éditions Kimé.
4. Magdeleine Paz, Speech at the International Writers’ Congress, June 25, 1935.
5. Anna Akhmatova, Requiem, Éditions de Minuit, Paris, 1966.
6. Wiktor Stoczkowski, Has Putin declared war on the West?, Desk Russie, October 14, 2022.
7. Nicolas Tenzer, Notre guerre. Le crime et l’oubli : pour une pensée stratégique. Éditions de l”Observatoire, Paris, 2024
8. Ibid
9. Faced with Vladimir Putin, we must “turn the time factor to Ukraine’s advantage,” Le Monde, August 22 ,
10. “It’s time for Europe. Betraying Ukraine would spell the death knell for the European project,” Le Monde, December 12, 2024; For Ukraine, for their freedom and ours!
11. Eugene Volokh, Reason Magazine, September 3, 2025
12. War in Ukraine: Ursula von der Leyen calls for the return of “Ukrainian children who have been captured,” RTL, August 18, 2025; First Lady Melania Trump’s “peace letter” to Putin: “It is time,” August 15, 2025