Meet Dietrich & Jack
Today we know that World War II began not in 1939 or 1941 but in the 1920’s and 1930’s when those who should have known better persuaded themselves that they were not their brother’s keeper.
- Hubert Humphrey, 38th Vice President of the United States
It was a sunny September afternoon when Jack packed up his belongings and bid his Oxford colleagues farewell. His pace was briefly stalled by a question from across the courtyard. “I’m heading North for a bit, near Belfast,” he shouted back. “By this time tomorrow, I’ll be enjoying a pint with an old friend by the countryside,” he said with a smile. With this motivating thought, he continued on.
The Courtyard, Magdalen College
Arthur Greeves, the man he was visiting, was indeed an old friend of Jack’s. Their companionship stemmed back to shared childhood and neighborhood — a time set in their own imagined worlds, where playful survival was the only serious matter at hand. Jack looked back happily on those times. It was here where he would seek inspiration for many of his works as he grew older.
But even he acknowledged that a physical return home was long past due.
Jack’s homecoming came on the heels of a recent conversion to Christianity. His story is best understood as a journey down a long, windy path filled with detours, dead ends, and decrepit travelers. It is a tale of internal struggle, skepticism, and ultimately, transformation and triumph. And it was during this trip to Arthur’s home that he documented, in a literary fashion, the first 32 years of his life.
Clive Staples Lewis, or Jack as he was known to his friends and family, titled this autobiographical piece, The Pilgrim’s Regress. Upon first glance however, his title also serves as an accurate description for humankind at the time. There was, what felt like to many, a halt in human progress in 1933.
(Nearly) All Hope is Lost
In the United States, The Great Depression was well underway. In fact, 1933 marked the worst year for Americans, with the unemployment rate reaching nearly 25%. Bank failures and a scrambling Federal Reserve System led President Roosevelt to institute a “Bank Holiday” this very week 83 years ago. For seven days, no one had access to a bank. Panic and paranoia led to bank run after bank run.
Life across the pond wasn’t much better. The Great Depression eventually sent a financial ripple worldwide. Times were tough everywhere, and by 1933, many people were actually immigrating from European countries to the United States. Even in such trying times, the U.S. was still the land of opportunity. It also promised safety to those seeking refuge from danger. The latter was true for Albert Einstein, a German refugee who immigrated later that year.
Leadership in the United States offered a sliver of hope at least. Newly elected President Roosevelt launched The New Deal, which promised to revive the American economy by providing jobs to the quarter of Americans out of work. Just six months earlier in his Inaugural Address, he also emphatically encouraged his fellow Americans that there was “Nothing to fear but fear itself.” As we know, these words echoed on and served as a rally cry for a generation tasked with fighting off evil forces in power.
There was, however, much to rationally fear in 1933. Japan had withdrawn from the League of Nations in February. Germany would do the same in September under the guidance of their new Chancellor, Adolf Hitler. He had just been elected to office in January.
Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer
Hitler’s rise to power was quick and subtle. Four weeks after his election, the Reichstag Building was burned to crisp. A few communist leaders, who served as the only true road block to the Nazi’s growth in power, were arrested (and some later suggested, framed) for the crime. This convenient incident gave Hitler the opportunity and justification he needed to disarm his main opponent and take control.
The Reichstag Building Burning Down
Soon after the Reichstag Fire came the Reichstag Fire Decree. Under the veil of ‘defense against Communist state-endangering acts of violence,’ this decree took away freedom of expression, freedom of the press, freedom to organize and assemble, and all privacy of postal, telegraphic, and telecommunications. Warrants for house searches and confiscations were also made permissible, ‘beyond the legal limit.”
Later that year, the Enabling Act would pass as an amendment to the Weimar Constitution. This act shifted law-making power from the Reichstag to the German cabinet. The Republic was broken. In less than one year, Hitler stripped Germany of every personal liberty and freedom it had ever held close.
When Hitler and the Nazi party weren’t passing laws, they were constructing concentration camps. Two camps, Oranienburg and Dachau, went up in 1933. They made sure to boycott Jewish stores and burn books that were “unGerman.” As author Eric Mataxes points out in his biography Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Spy, the words of Heinrich Heine, a German poet and essayist from less than a century earlier, suddenly seemed more relevant than ever before:
Where they have burned books, they will end in burning human beings.
Where was the Concern?
Hindsight reveals that 1933 marked the beginning of a very dark period for humanity. The rise of the Third Reich had yet to capture worldwide attention. In the United Kingdom, Winston Churchill attempted to warn others against the german rearmament taking place. But even his voice, which we now associate with words like ‘vigor’ and ‘wartime courage,’ fell on deaf ears. In 1933, he was only a statesman.
Inside the Eagle and Child, St Giles' Street, Oxford, England
C.S. Lewis would return from his vacation with The Pilgrim’s Regress manuscript in hand. This work of fiction would, presumably, be the topic of discussion the following Tuesday at the pub he and his oxford friends affectionately knew as, “The Bird and The Baby.”
1933 actually marked the first year of such weekly meetings for this esteemed, relatively underground literary group, eventually known as, “The Inklings.” It was here where some of the greatest literary minds of the time — Tolkien, Lewis, Barfield, and Charles Williams, to name a few — regularly discussed their works and ideas with one another in the presence of pints and pipes.
The lack of concern can be disheartening to us as we look back on this year. Of course, we have the luxury of knowing what atrocities the next decade will bring. For many, this knowledge did not come to the surface until WWII was well underway, or even over.
What about those living at the source? What about the German people? Herein lies a fundamental question we’ll continue to ask as time goes on. At the risk of oversimplifying, I’ll offer one simple hypothesis for now: Socialism, and the allure of a strong German leader, offered another kind of hope to the German population — one that, in spite of a recent world war, they were desperately ready to believe in.
Consider a couple of our popular presidential candidates today. Does it really seem so far-fetched?
A Voice Calling Out
History tells us that there was at least one German who noticed something peculiar going on. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a 26-year old theologian, recognized a shift in public opinion on the topic of leadership. With a strong message titled, “The Fuhrer Principle,” he took to the airwaves to point out problems that he believed Germany would face if they continued to encourage and allow this new wave of uncompromising, dominant leadership.
Bonhoeffer as a Young Man
Looking back, we can’t help but note the prophetic nature of this speech. Delivered just two days after Hitler was elected Chancellor, it’s no surprise that it was "mysteriously" cut off the air before the Bonhoeffer could finish.
But even Bonhoeffer didn’t know the true scope of what Germany and the world would soon face. Even as the Third Reich reared its ugly head, Bonhoeffer would pick his battle in the realm of theology, not politics. The distinction here is quite important, and it will come into play often throughout the 30s and 40s.
Nevertheless, one thing was evident in 1933: Bonhoeffer believed The Church had an obligation to stand with the Jews. In time, that would mean standing against Hitler.
