Britain: The Old School Spy

What with Burgess and Maclean, Gordon Lonsdale and George Blake, Klaus Fuchs and Alan Nunn May, Britain’s postwar years have often seemed to be a nonstop series of spy scandals. None of them ever produced the fascination and national soul-searching, however, that have marked the case of Harold (“Kim”) Philby, the Communist double agent who became chief of British counterespionage operations against Russia. After four months of coverage by the British press, Philby’s remarkable exploits are now the subject of a debate about the nature and value of the British Establishment, the traditional ruling class in which he was born.

The debate was brought to the point of national spychosis last week with the publication of the third book about Philby so far this year: The Spy Who Betrayed a Generation, by three Sunday Times reporters who followed Philby’s tracks for nearly a year, going back to examine his strained relations with his father (an explorer and Arabic scholar) and his record at Westminster public school and Cambridge. Author Cyril Connolly, the Earl of Birkenhead and a host of other critics reviewed the book by launching scathing philippics on Philby, but most scathing of all was the preface to the book itself (which will appear this month as a Book-of-the-Month Club selection in the U.S.). Written by Novelist John le Carré (The Spy Who Came In from the Cold), it takes apart not only Philby but the Secret Intelligence Service (S.I.S.) and the British upper classes.

The “Club.” “Deceit was Philby’s life work, deceit his nature,” writes le Carré, once an agent himself. Still, says le Carré, the Establishment could not bring itself to suspect Philby’s loyalty, even when there was overwhelming evidence against him: “The shaming fact of Philby’s continued employment is that S.I.S. quite clearly identified class with loyalty.” It clung, says le Carré, to the Establishment tenet that “this Club does not elect traitors, therefore Kim is not a traitor.”

The “Club” continued to protect Philby, even when, in 1962, his subversion could no longer be denied. Rather than haul him in to confess, S.I.S. sent a longtime colleague to confront him, informally, with his sins—”a sporting way” to “allow Kim to run for it.” Contends le Carré: “The Establishment is shown to have behaved with grotesque ineptitude. It is arguable that Kim Philby, spiteful, vain and murderous as he was, was the spy and catalyst whom the Establishment deserved.”

Curious Attack. Le Carré’s summation, carried by the Sunday Times, did not go unchallenged. Writing in the Observer, Novelist Graham Greene, ever sympathetic to the sinner, let loose one of the most curious attacks of his unconventional career. Hitting le Carré’s view of Philby as “vulgar and untrue,” Greene called Philby “a remarkable spy” and noted that “moral judgments are singularly out of place in espionage.” Besides, as Greene sees it, espionage is much overrated. Russia would eventually have got the bomb anyway, even without Philby; so what was all the fuss about? “No harm done by Philby, Burgess and Maclean can outweigh the entertainment they have all given us.” He also argues that the S.I.S. should have promoted Philby instead of getting rid of him, since “a spy allowed to continue his work without interference is far less dangerous than the spy who is caught.” Even the Russians might find that theory a bit hard to accept.