Radovan
Richta wrote to Professor Diemer: ‘In some parts of the Western press the
matter is presented as though Tomin were a distinguished philosopher persecuted
and silenced for his views etc. But in fact he is worth nothing in philosophy,
he has never published any scientific book, and his output comprises one –
insignificant and unoriginal – article published in No 5 of the Philosophic Journal (1968); one
technical note about atheism in the Slovak journal Questions of Marxist Philosophy (1962); and one manuscript, a tiny
study in the middle of the 1970s, which was not published because it was
condemned by highly competent referees for its absolutely negligible scientific
level. Otherwise he published, but only occasionally, petty journalistic
articles in the press which were outside the realm of philosophy and science.
It is therefore abundantly clear why it was that in the competitions for
scientific positions in which he took part other candidates were always
preferred – and not at all because of his political views which, incidentally,
he did not display very much until recently. But, because in our country the
right to work is assured, he was offered a respectable job as a translator
which corresponds to his qualifications. But, unfortunately, he is an excessively ambitious and mentally unstable person with a
proclivity towards exhibitionism.’
In this
entry I shall respond to Richta’s point, which I have highlighted; it finds an
echo in ‘The Pub Philosopher’, which Nick Cohen opens with the words: ‘The
judgments passed by Oxford dons on Julius Tomin seem outrageously brutal. “I
don’t wish to sound East European,” said one, “but perhaps he does need
psychiatric help … One professor added … But you can disguise paranoia in the
East. There are so many real conspiracies. There aren’t the same excuses when
you come to the West”.’ (The Independent
Magazine November 18, 1989)
It was
echoed again nine years later in Prague at a Press Conference of the Czech
Social Democratic Party, which took place on August 14, 1998. I was about to
leave Oxford – Jan Hus Educational Foundation offered me a grant for a year with
a promise of a permanent job at the Institute of Philosophy – when I learnt
that Jan Kavan was appointed a Foreign Minister. In protest against his
appointment I began a hunger-strike, for he committed a perjury in Britain on
August 19, 1982, in the High Court of Justice, Queen’s Bench Division, at the Divisional
Court. At the Press Conference a freelance journalist Jan Sedlák addressed Libor Rouček, the spokesperson of the Social
Democratic Party, as follows: ‘The Czech TV on all its channels presents Tomin.
You too lived in England and therefore know that he had received psychiatric treatment.
He allegedly suffered from the fixed idea that he was Jan Hus … An unhappy man,
who should have no place on a TV screen. And this is public-owned TV, paid for
by the tax-payer.’ The Press Spokesman replied: ‘Yes, I believe that Mr Tomin
is an unhappy man, and as far as I am acquainted with public-owned TV in other
countries, not a single one would produce such a program. But it is a matter
for Czech TV and its Council.’
Indeed, Czech
TV dealt with the matter; in the spring 1998 a Czech TV crew came to Oxford to make
a film about my stay there. Most of the filming took place on a punt on the
river Cherwell; surrounded by the beauty of Oxford Colleges and University
Parks; I spoke of my challenging Oxford dons at the meetings of the Oxford
Philosophy Society and of the Oxford Aristotelian Reading Circle, and of the
great privilege of having the Bodleian Library at my disposal with all its
treasures. The film was to be produced in the autumn after my arriving to
Prague; but it has never been screened.
In Czech we
have a saying ‘na každém šprochu je pravdy trochu’: ‘there is
no rumour without some truth in it’. What truth is there in the allegation that
I had received psychiatric treatment? I was interned in a psychiatric hospital
for three days. In October 1979 I was invited to talk to a group of young
people in north Bohemia. On a Saturday afternoon a member of the “underground”
arrived to take me there. Out of Prague, we were ambushed by the Secret Police.
The Police took me to the Psychiatric Hospital in Horní Beřkovice. The nurse in charge ordered
me to take off my clothes and dress myself in the hospital outfit. I refused to
do so and was given an injection of chlorprotixen. I remember a dry throat; in
the night I went to the toilet on all fours, like an animal. On Sunday I
received no injection for there was no doctor to prescribe one. On Monday
morning I was taken to the Consultant; she looked out of the window and ordered
the nurse to give me an injection. I asked the Consultant: ‘How can you
prescribe an injection without talking to me or even just looking at me?’ The
Consultant told the nurse: Leave it for now, we shall do it after the round.’
After lunch the patients were assembled in the dining hall; the Consultant with
her assistants went from patient to patient. When the procession came to me, I
looked the Consultant in the eyes and asked her: ‘Can you tell me the reason
for why you are keeping me here?’ The Consultant said: ‘We shall discuss it
after the round.’ She said these words and fainted. She fell into the arms of
the junior doctor who stood behind her and was carried away. On Tuesday morning
I was taken to the Consultant’s office. I asked her to give me any medical
reasons for having me in the hospital. She admitted that she had no such
reasons and discharged me from the hospital. All in all I was in the
psychiatric hospital for approximately sixty hours, less than three full days.
In those
days my philosophy seminar was held in the flat of Ivan Dejmal, one of my
disciples, for in front of our flat were two policemen sitting day and night.
My seminars took place each Wednesday. I had invited Ladislav Hejdánek, a Philosopher and Theologian, to give a talk in my
seminar that coming Wednesday, and so I thought I would stay home, for I was
exhausted after my adventure. But at seven p.m., when the seminar must have
started, I began to regret my missing the lecture. And so I went to the seminar;
it was a walk of five minutes. The room was packed with people, most of whom I
had never seen. I learnt only later that there were people from as far away as
Brno in Moravia; ambitious plans had been prepared for running the seminar in
cooperation with Oxford University – without me. My entry caused a great consternation
among all those in the room. Hejdánek asked: ‘What happened?’ I briefly
narrated my psychiatric hospital adventure, to which he said: ‘Do you think
they discharged you because of what happened in the hospital? That’s nonsense.
They must have changed their directives in Moscow.’ I did not ask what he meant
by ‘they’ and what Moscow had to do with my seminar or with my internment in
the psychiatric hospital. I was unwanted in that gathering and left the room. I
thought it was the end of my seminar; next Wednesday Hejdánek was to have one more lecture, and I did not feel like
going there. But again, as the time of the seminar came, I could not help going
there. When I entered the room in which the seminar was to be held, there was
no Hejdánek, just a few of my most faithful students. They were
deeply worried and asked me, whether I had noticed that there were Secret
Policemen sitting in their cars on both corners of the street. I did not notice
anything, but I agreed to look out of the window. The cars they pointed to me
were just leaving. My seminar resumed as normal.
In 1980
Kathy Wilkes told my wife: ‘Oxford will never forgive Julius his getting out of
the hospital. We were about to launch a great campaign, together with our
French, German, American and Canadian colleagues, to get him out of there. But
he got out before the campaign was even launched.’
In The Guardian of January 6, 1987 Polly
Toinbee wrote in ‘Out of the East’: ‘Both Oxford and Cambridge had written to
Julius in Czechoslovakia when he was in a mental hospital praising his work and
offering jobs any time he wanted.’ The
Guardian published my correction: ‘I have never been offered any jobs by
Oxford or Cambridge and to my knowledge no letter was written to me by Oxford
or Cambridge during the time when I was in mental hospital. The whole affair
lasted 60 hours, 24 of those falling on Sunday. There simply was no time for
Oxford or Cambridge to write any letters.’
In 2011 a
Wikipedia entry concerning me was brought to my attention. In it I read: ‘He had
refused military draft and had been sent to a psychiatric hospital for two years.’
Was it just an oversight? In the early
1960s I worked for two years in a psychiatric hospital as a nurse. (See ‘A
Wikipedia entry’ on my website. My wife contacted the Wikipedia, and the entry
was corrected.)
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