established, can be traced back to the influence of German Romanticism.[104] Respect for the cultural distinctiveness of every nation and the preservation of the mother tongue was the hallmark of the German Romantic philosopher Herder. Malan never made any reference to Herder himself, but he admired the work of Fichte, who echoed Herder’s ideas about language. In this context, language was not merely a means of communication but an expression of the national soul. It was seen as the key to human happiness, as it united those who understood it, and enabled the self-definition of both the group and the individual.[105]
To Malan, language became all-important. He fiercely resented British cultural hegemony and the dominance of the English language, which he believed was intended to smother the Afrikaners. In his view, the solution was twofold; it lay in language and education:
If we are going to have any chance at keeping our nationality, then first of all we need to busy ourselves earnestly with the question of education. The English are focusing precisely on that matter in order to deal us the final blow. They will see to it that English is the only medium of instruction in all government schools, and Dutch will only be tolerated as a foreign language. There is no surer way to achieve our anglicisation. If the situation of the past continues in our Colonial government schools, the extinction of our language is as certain as two times two is four. The best we would then be able to be are English Pro-Afrikaners – but that is not what we want. We want Afrikaners. If we can’t have Dutch as the medium of instruction in our Afrikaner government schools, then it is high time that our schools tear themselves away and stand on their own feet. It will be difficult, but our nationality is worth it. Such Afrikaner schools, independent of the state, with Dutch as the medium of instruction, is what the Transvalers want to establish.[106]
In his belief that the nation’s key to survival was education, Malan was echoing Fichte, who had the same conviction. Malan’s focus on language and culture was typical of classical nationalism, since most nationalisms start out as cultural crusades long before they are political in the sense of having the means to form their own governments.[107]
To Malan, the key to Afrikaner identity did not lie in the Dutch language. For the time being, Dutch was far better than English, and the Afrikaners could use it to hold their own, but the true future lay in Afrikaans. Afrikaans belonged to the nation; it evoked its love like no other language could.[108] Malan was adamant that Afrikaans had to be elevated to the position of a national language, even if there were many who did not even regard it as a real language and condescendingly referred to it as ‘Kitchen-Dutch’. In a letter to a Dutch newspaper editor, he wrote:
Give Afrikaans the status it deserves, as mother tongue of the nation, the language that can express like no other that which is in the heart of the nation, the language which mirrors the national character. Teach the nation its language, not to despise its own language, not to regard it as a kitchen language, not to be ashamed to write her, to speak her in the kitchen and in parliament, in the stable or in the drawing room, to appreciate her and to love her as an all-important part of its national possessions.[109]
In the same letter, Malan also stipulated how the relationship between the English and the Afrikaners ought to be:
One can point to the fact that there exists a broad basis – love of South Africa as fatherland and the maintenance of her interests above those of all other countries – on which English speakers and Afrikaners can work together … What I mean is this: that the government has to acknowledge that S.A. is a country inhabited by two white nationalities who stand independently alongside each other, and that both are free and do not reign over one another … together, Afrikaner and English South Africans form a South African nation on the broad basis of ‘South Africa my fatherland’. The nation thus consists of two sections or, rather, two different nations, who do not stand opposite one another but independently next to each other. You would have noticed that I distinguish between Afrikaners and South Africans.[110]
The last statement, that there was a difference between Afrikaners and South Africans, is of great significance. Malan used the term in an exclusivist sense – only Afrikaans speakers could be called Afrikaners. The concept ‘South African’ was a broader one, and it was here that Afrikaans and English speakers could meet. This was in contrast to the ideas expressed by General J.B.M. Hertzog, the man who was to establish the National Party. Hertzog often caused confusion, as he never made it clear what precisely the term ‘Afrikaner’ entailed. At times he used it in such a manner that it included English speakers who were loyal to South Africa, rather than to Britain.[111] While Hertzog was vague and ambiguous in his use of the term, Malan’s meaning was plain.
Malan had yet to meet Hertzog – the man under whom he would serve a large portion of his political career – but they were already bound together by a mutual friendship: that of the former president of the Orange Free State, M.T. Steyn. In the aftermath of the war, Steyn’s ailing health forced him to seek treatment in Europe. Accompanied by his family, he spent the summer of 1903 at Reichenhall in Germany. By that time, Malan, desperate to make some progress with his thesis, decided to find a quiet place to work.[112] He chose to return to Reichenhall, where he knew he would meet the Steyns. They, in turn, promptly incorporated him into their large and extended family.[113] He gushed about his first encounter in a letter to Nettie:
I visited President Steyn and his family and was received very warmly … Their house is just like any other Afrikaans home. With family members and friends, the family numbers about fifteen. The Pres. said that I should just walk in and out of his house, in true Afrikaner fashion, so that I won’t have any shortage of company … He is cheerful and full of jokes.[114]
A few days later, he wrote to his father with delight:
Pres. Steyn is looking very well. He and his family are very friendly. I visit their house quite often. I ate there today. He is in every respect a great man. Tomorrow (God willing) I will go on an outing in the neighbourhood with some of his companions. Mrs Steyn is a very friendly and modest Afrikaans woman and the President himself is exactly like one of our typical Afrikaner farmers. There is as little formality with him as with the most humble Afrikaner. It is so wonderful to see an Afrikaner family again. I believe it is the first time since I left Africa.[115]
Compared to the strict Dutch social etiquette, the informality of the Steyn family was not only a breath of fresh air, but also like a breeze from home. Malan, true to form, would have talked politics with the elder statesman. Steyn was one of the Bittereinders, a leader who had urged his generals to stay in the field as long as possible and exhorted them to the very last not to sacrifice the Republics’ independence.[116] The friendship that was formed during the summer of 1903 would last for the rest of their lifetimes, and the Steyns would remain a source of encouragement to Malan throughout his political career.
As the summer drew to a close, Malan returned to Utrecht to evacuate his room. He had decided to spend the next few months working in Edinburgh and he could not expect Professor Valeton to keep it for him during his extended absence. By the end of September Malan arrived in Edinburgh,[117] where he buried himself in his work. It was not without its frustrations. By January 1904, he lamented to Nettie that he still did not have a single word on paper.[118] By March, however, having settled back into Utrecht – this time in new lodgings – his writing was well under way.[119] He found most of the work intensely boring – ‘as dry as a piece of cork’[120] – but there were at least moments when it lightened up and became interesting.[121]
Malan’s study dealt with the philosophy of the Irish bishop George Berkeley. Berkeley’s idealism – or immaterialism, as it is otherwise known – was very abstract and difficult to grasp. His most controversial and notorious assertion was that matter did not exist – which prompted the illustrious Samuel Johnson to kick a stone with all his might, thundering: ‘I refute it thus.’[122] According to Berkeley, one perceived an object only through one’s senses and since one’s senses were rooted in one’s mind, it was impossible to perceive – or ascertain
