Christianity Today
 
 
C.S. Lewis Was a Secret Government Agent
A recent  discovery unveils an unknown chapter in the life the famous 
Oxford  Don.
Harry Lee  Poe/ December 10,  2015


 
 
As I browsed eBay not long ago, I came across a 78 rpm recording of a  
lecture by C. S. Lewis. I assumed that it was a mistake or that the seller was  
trying to defraud an unwitting public. I knew Lewis well enough to know that 
he  had never made a 78 rpm recording for general distribution, much less 
one  produced by something called the Joint Broadcasting Committee. I also 
knew that  Lewis never delivered a lecture on the subject “The Norse Spirit in 
English  Literature.” At least, I knew we had no evidence of such a 
lecture. Fortunately,  curiosity got the better of me, and I bought the record 
from 
the dealer in  Iceland.  
Over the years, I have assembled a significant collection of items  related 
to C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, and their literary friends. I  regularly 
mount exhibitions for universities and major municipal libraries to  spur 
interest in the Inklings, especially when the secular market is all abuzz  
when a new Lewis or Tolkien movie is released. At one time, collecting letters, 
 manuscripts, first editions, and other artifacts and ephemera was a slow 
process  that depended upon visiting faraway places with strange sounding 
names. But all  of that changed with e-commerce, which led to this unusual 
recording being in my  possession. 
And what an unusual find it turned out to be. I discovered some  things 
about a secret episode in Lewis’s life that few, if any, people knew  about. 
In His Majesty’s Secret Service
How Lewis came to be recruited and by whom remains a secret. The  records 
of the Secret Intelligence Service, known popularly as MI6, remain  closed. 
Perhaps one of his former pupils at Oxford recommended him for his  mission. 
It was an unusual mission for which few people were suited. J. R. R.  
Tolkien had the knowledge base for the job, even beyond that of Lewis, but  
Tolkien lacked other skills that Lewis possessed. Perhaps someone had heard  
Lewis 
lecture on his favorite subject in one of the two great lecture halls in  
the Examination Schools building of Oxford University. At a time when Oxford  
fellows were notorious for the poor quality of their public lectures, Lewis 
 packed the hall with an audience of students who were not required to 
attend  lectures. In the 1930s, Lewis was the best show in town. Somehow Lewis 
had  developed the skill to speak to an audience and hold them in rapt 
attention, in  spite of his academic training rather than because of it. 
The first thing I discovered was that the Joint Broadcasting  Committee was 
an arm of British secret intelligence that served a propaganda  purpose by 
broadcasting to people in occupied enemy territory during World War  II. 
Until now, the general public and the world of scholarship had no idea that  C. 
S. Lewis began his wartime service by undertaking a mission for MI6. Long  
before James Bond, Lewis rendered service to this clandestine branch of 
British  Intelligence, which was so secret for so long that few people knew of 
its  existence, and few of those knew its actual name. Alternatively known as 
 Military Intelligence, the Secret Service, and MI6, its actual name may be 
the  Secret Intelligence Service. Ian Fleming gave the head of this spy 
network the  code name of M, but in real life he is simply known as the Chief. 
When Lewis  came on board at the beginning of World War II, it was still a 
fledgling group  of amateurs desperately working to save their island home 
from disaster. 
However Lewis came to the attention of MI6, it needed Lewis in the  wake of 
the German invasion of Norway and Denmark on April 9, 1940. Though the  
British sent troops to Norway to counter the German invasion, it was too late 
to  intervene in Denmark, whose subjugation was accomplished in only one day. 
One  month later on May 10, 1940, German forces invaded the Netherlands, 
Belgium, and  France, and by June 22 the French government had capitulated, 
leaving Britain to  fight on alone. 
On that same morning in May, however, the British did the next  best thing 
they could do to help Denmark and the rest of Europe: They launched a  
surprise invasion of Iceland, which was part of the Kingdom of Denmark.  
Iceland’
s strategic significance in the North Atlantic had been known since the  
Viking voyages a thousand years earlier. Iceland sits along the arc of islands  
that include Britain, Ireland, Iceland, Greenland, and Newfoundland. Each 
island  became a staging ground for pushing farther westward. In the Battle 
of the  Atlantic, Iceland could have provided Germany with a strategic naval 
and air  base. Instead, thanks to the British invasion, Iceland provided the 
ideal base  for seaplanes to search for the German naval vessels that 
prowled the Atlantic  sinking the merchant fleet with its crucial supplies. 
Though British control of Iceland was critical, Britain could not  afford 
to deploy its troops to hold the island when greater battles loomed  
elsewhere, beginning with the struggle for North Africa. Holding Iceland  
depended 
upon the goodwill of the people of Iceland who never had asked to be  invaded 
by the British. If Britain retained Icelandic goodwill, then Churchill  
could occupy the island with reserve troops rather than his best fighting  
forces. 
This was the strategic situation in which C. S. Lewis was  recruited. And 
his mission was simple: To help win the hearts of the Icelandic  people. 
The Work of a Literary Secret Agent
The Joint Broadcasting Committee recruited C. S. Lewis to record a  message 
to the people of Iceland to be broadcast by radio within Iceland. Lewis  
made no record of his assignment, nor does he appear to have mentioned it to  
anyone. Without disclosing his involvement with military intelligence, 
however,  Lewis did make an indiscreet disclosure to his friend Arthur Greeves 
in 
a letter  dated May 25, 1941. Lewis remarked that three weeks earlier he 
had made a  gramophone record which he heard played afterwards. He wrote that 
it had been a  shock to hear his own voice for the first time. It did not 
sound at all the way  his voice sounded to himself, and he realized that 
people who imitated him had  actually gotten it right! 
Until now, Lewis scholars have assumed that this gramophone  recording by 
Lewis in early May 1941, which they had only read about in this  letter, must 
have been a recorded voice test for his BBC broadcasts. It was the  only 
logical explanation. The famous broadcast talks, however, did not come  until 
August, and they were not recorded. Lewis was already famous for his  voice, 
which would not have required a recording to test. 
Furthermore, Lewis delivered his broadcasts live, so why would the  BBC 
have bothered to record a voice test? In all likelihood, the recording of  
early May was his radio talk to Iceland. 
And what did an Oxford don have to say that might help turn the  tide of 
war in Britain’s darkest hour? He spoke on the subject “The Norse Spirit  in 
English Literature.” Lewis provided a touchstone between the Norse people 
and  the English, which Lewis made clear in his first recorded statement. He 
said  that he did not know why he had been asked to address the people of 
Iceland, but  that he agreed to do it in order to repay a great debt. He 
explained that his  imaginative life had been awakened by Norse mythology when 
he 
was 14. He went on  to explain how his love of Norse mythology only deepened 
when he began to learn  the Icelandic language at Oxford. 
This beginning may surprise people familiar with Lewis, because  Lewis was 
not prone to publicly share information about his personal life. His  
introduction anticipates his spiritual autobiography Surprised by Joy  by 
almost 
15 years. He first fell in love with Norse mythology when he came  across 
some of Arthur Rackham’s illustrations for Wagner’s Ring  published in 1911. 
He began to learn Old Icelandic in 1926 when J. R. R. Tolkien  started a 
small group called the Coalbiters to read the old sagas together in  the 
original tongue. 
After this introduction, Lewis proceeded to praise the Icelandic  tongue as 
one of the most poetic on earth. Rather than a private view of his  own, 
Lewis argued that successive generations of English writers have felt this  
affinity with the old Norse tales and that this influence has found its way 
into  the greatest of English literature. He cited Sir William Temple, William 
Morris,  Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, Fielding, and Thomas Grey as 
examples of what he  meant. The literature of England, inspired by the Norse, 
views 
self-important  office holders as knaves and fools. By implication, the 
English had come to  Iceland to repay a great debt and help fend off the knave 
and fool who ran  Germany. 
Behind the literature itself, Lewis focused on a prevailing spirit  found 
in those Norse explorers who refused to be part of a mere medieval  kingdom. 
Instead, Lewis argued that the English and the Norse share a spirit of  
independence which finds its origins in the Norse settlers of Iceland and  
animates English literature. 
Lewis claimed that this common spirit is different from what one  finds in 
Europe. He did not want to identify it as democracy, because this  spirit 
rejects the interference of democracy as much as dictatorship. Nor does  he 
regard it as a revolutionary spirit or individualism. This spirit is often  
marked by great loyalty that individualism does not possess. This loyalty,  
however, is based on choice rooted in worthy values—a chief who deserves  
loyalty. Just when it seems that Lewis had succeeded in avoiding jargon  
altogether, he names this spirit personal realism! Fortunately, he  explained 
that 
personal realism involves loyalty between two people that is not  based on 
abstractions, but on what those two people really are. 
Sadly, Lewis’s first radio talk breaks off at that point. 
The original radio talk involved four parts on two records. The  first 
record contains part one and part three. The second record contained part  two 
and part four. The records were probably meant to be stacked on the  
turntable and then flipped together. The second record with parts two and four  
is 
missing. Perhaps it will turn up in a flea market someday. Stranger things  
have happened. After all, this record turned up on eBay. 
For now, however, several questions remain. If Lewis felt so  strongly 
about the Norse influence on the development of English literature, why  did he 
never write on the subject later? We know that he felt strongly about the  
subject in his personal development, but why the great silence in his major  
critical works? Was the address only propaganda? Once the fragment is 
available  to the public, scholars will begin to explore such questions. 
In the meantime, I plan to have the first public playing of  Lewis’s 
Icelandic address in July 2016 at the Inklings Week in Oxford. Future  exhibits 
will be announced through the website of the _Inklings  Fellowship_ 
(http://www.inklingsfellowship.org/) . 
Hal Poe is the Charles Colson Professor of Faith and Culture at  Union 
University in Tennessee. He is the author of a number of books, including  The 
Inklings of Oxford: C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, and  Their Friends 
(Zondervan).

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