In my first encounter with the Canterbury Tales, when Chaucer associated the word Host with the best food and wine, my Catholic background brought echoes of poetic references to the Eucharist. Many more clues identify Christ concealed within the Canterbury Host.
His bookkeeping transactions are identical to terms portraying Judgment, as if each soul clutches a personal balance sheet when approaching Death's door.
When the Host requires immediate acceptance of his travel plan for the pilgrims, it can be seen as daily life. Man accepts God's will for each day, without knowing what lies ahead.
A fleeting image of Christ as traditional shepherd comes to our mind's eye, when the Host gathers the pilgrims "all in a flock."
Examples of "offensive language," (trivializing the sacred) in the surface storyline become personal covert references to Christ's passion and death. The most meaningful--"Harrow, by nails and by blood"--recalls Christ's harrowing hell. As a consequence of Christ's crucifixion, worthy souls attained their long-awaited release and entrance into heaven.
To indicate the Host as the "most enveloped in sin,"again points to a traditional image of Christ, who takes all our sins upon Himself. Sinfulness envelops Christ; it envelops the Canterbury Host, as well.
For the surface story, the Host's declaration, "I know the substance is in me," is arbitrarily accepted as "I have the capacity to understand." Substance, however, makes a direct theological connection "with regard to the being of God, the divine nature or essence." And substance is "used of the incarnate Christ." The substance is also in the Canterbury Host.
Is this complex sequence of identifiers only meant to confirm that Christ leads pilgrims on their life journey? No. There is more. We have not mentioned the Host's wife before. She is not in the pilgrim company. She is never seen but merely commented upon by the Host. He laments that his wife is cruel, demanding, quarrelsome, unfeeling--then breaks off, hesitant to say too much. The elaborate plan disguises Chaucer's concern. He dare not become obvious.
Who do we recognize as the Host's wife? In other words, who is the traditional Bride of Christ? The Church. Chaucer dare not have his dissent regarding the Church become obvious.
Here is the comparative test: If his lament is that of an innkeeper, we see a dreadful married relationship. But, with the potential of allegory, read the words again, as if uttered by Christ accusing the Church: She is cruel, demanding, quarrelsome, unfeeling. This aptly describes the medieval Church's power and widespread action of the Inquisition on the Continent during the 1300s.
The comic image of an apparently henpecked husband provides a distracting surface characterization. Once Christ's identity is established, however, the poet's dissension is recognized in the covert interpretation. When the hidden intention leapt out at me--I shuddered.
Next time, a look at what inspired Chaucer's risk-taking.
Showing posts with label Eucharist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eucharist. Show all posts
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Sunday, February 3, 2013
The Host wears many hats
Chaucer's Host tells his guests that they will "stand at his judgment" and he will "tell them what to do." Does his plan please the pilgrims? Apparently it does. When he directs them--without more talk--to raise their hands as a sign of acceptance, they respond immediately and ask him to do even more. He tells them he will be their guide, and they ask him, in addition, to be their governor and reporter.
So, how do we accomplish the task we've set for ourselves in this blog? How do we recognize Christ in these roles? Perhaps we don't , but in the 14th century each specified role was based on a traditional image of Christ.
For example, Chaucer himself, in his translation of Boethius says, "God governs all things in the world . . . ; and all things will obey [are obliged to ] Him." And Cursor Mundi, which we've drawn from before, refers to Christ as "our Lord and God / And evermore our governor." John Lydgate, addressing the Eucharistic Christ, beseeches Him to "govern and guide us."
Chaucer, in several works, shares this point of view as he calls upon God as guide of mankind, and indicates that it is God who leads men. Here, in the General Prologue, the Host freely offers himself as guide for the pilgrimage.
And what about being a reporter? Christ, in the Chester Play of the Last Judgment, is addressed as "informer of all things," and the Grail Legend portrays a sinner asking Christ to have pity and mercy "my sins to report."
Who receives the report? That's clarified in Cynewolf's Last Judgment. Men will come before "God's Son" and "the Father . . . will learn / how . . . [men] have guarded their souls" while on earth. And, in Wyclif's Gospel of John, Jesus asks if men expect him to accuse them before God the Father. Today, we are probably more comfortable when the Bible calls Christ our "advocate" with the Father.
The Host will hand down verdicts, his guests swear oaths to abide by his directives. We are aware that the Host's proposal and pilgrims' agreement are overlaid with terms too serious, decisions to automatic. This could be interpreted as comedy on the surface. But, in an underlying interpretation, the scene portrays the resignation of profound inevitability--man's inescapable submission to God's plan. The weightiness of oaths and verdicts informs us that these are more that mere friendly interactions.
The activity described is universal; it is daily life--man bound to accept each day, though he knows not what lies ahead. The circumstance dramatizes God's prerogative. As Chaucer's Parson counsels: "Always a man shall put his will subject to the will of God."
With the Host's position assured and agreements reached, it is time for sleep. We will pick up the story next week as the pilgrims prepare to depart on their journey.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Meet the Canterbury pilgrims and the Host
What I knew about Chaucer, when I signed up for the required course, would not have filled a thimble. I'd heard his name, knew the title Canterbury Tales. That's all. Wasn't sure when he lived, except it was before Shakespeare. But my introduction to the Tales was the start of a stimulating intellectual adventure.
The beginning, called the General Prologue, describes the extensive cast of pilgrims. Each character is outstandingly unique. Learning about their physical attributes and life-styles brings them to life. You not only see the individual, you know how he or she gets along in the world. Chaucer, strangely enough, scatters some preposterous details through the portraits. For example: a virile knight in his 50s has a military career that spans 45 years; a woman wears a kerchief that weighs 10 pounds; a burly fellow is inclined to knock doors off their hinges by running into them with his head!
Somehow the oddities make the pilgrims more than the surface of the words describing them. An alternate image of each seemed to hover just out of focus. I figured it must be connected to the technique called "allegory," telling a story on two (or more) levels at the same time. Bringing a second storyline into focus was an entertaining challenge to readers of the Middle Ages. Fascinating!
Numerous specific details hold true for everyone until we meet the Host. He provides a night's lodging for the entire group, in anticipation of setting out on their pilgrimage. Chaucer uses a different tactic with him. Of his appearance, we are told only "a large man he was with eyen stepe." His eyes are "stepe"--they are high or wide-open. Again, I felt there was more to understand than merely the words.
The pilgrim introductions take 710 lines before the Host comes on the scene. Ralph Baldwin (in The Unity of the Canterbury Tales) hands us a surprising fact: of all the activities attributed and the travels recorded, we have seen only a "pretense of actions," spoken of, not performed.
It is the Host who performs the first action. After a warm welcome, he provides sustenance for these travelers in the form of the best food and strong wine. No particulars of the meal are given: no specific foods served, nothing of the manner of serving.
Again, I felt I was to understand more than the words were saying. My Catholic background brought automatic echoes for this Host. To associate the word Host with the best food and wine is the poetic equivalent of referring to the Eucharist. There are many medieval examples. A question posed in the Church's designated prayers for the Feast of Corpus Christi (Body of Christ) written by Thomas Aquinas, refers to the Sacrament of the Altar with: Can anything be more excellent than this repast? And a religious poem of the 14th century states: A better food may no man find.
We'll go on with this next week. Meanwhile Celebrate Chaucer!
The beginning, called the General Prologue, describes the extensive cast of pilgrims. Each character is outstandingly unique. Learning about their physical attributes and life-styles brings them to life. You not only see the individual, you know how he or she gets along in the world. Chaucer, strangely enough, scatters some preposterous details through the portraits. For example: a virile knight in his 50s has a military career that spans 45 years; a woman wears a kerchief that weighs 10 pounds; a burly fellow is inclined to knock doors off their hinges by running into them with his head!
Somehow the oddities make the pilgrims more than the surface of the words describing them. An alternate image of each seemed to hover just out of focus. I figured it must be connected to the technique called "allegory," telling a story on two (or more) levels at the same time. Bringing a second storyline into focus was an entertaining challenge to readers of the Middle Ages. Fascinating!
Numerous specific details hold true for everyone until we meet the Host. He provides a night's lodging for the entire group, in anticipation of setting out on their pilgrimage. Chaucer uses a different tactic with him. Of his appearance, we are told only "a large man he was with eyen stepe." His eyes are "stepe"--they are high or wide-open. Again, I felt there was more to understand than merely the words.
The pilgrim introductions take 710 lines before the Host comes on the scene. Ralph Baldwin (in The Unity of the Canterbury Tales) hands us a surprising fact: of all the activities attributed and the travels recorded, we have seen only a "pretense of actions," spoken of, not performed.
It is the Host who performs the first action. After a warm welcome, he provides sustenance for these travelers in the form of the best food and strong wine. No particulars of the meal are given: no specific foods served, nothing of the manner of serving.
Again, I felt I was to understand more than the words were saying. My Catholic background brought automatic echoes for this Host. To associate the word Host with the best food and wine is the poetic equivalent of referring to the Eucharist. There are many medieval examples. A question posed in the Church's designated prayers for the Feast of Corpus Christi (Body of Christ) written by Thomas Aquinas, refers to the Sacrament of the Altar with: Can anything be more excellent than this repast? And a religious poem of the 14th century states: A better food may no man find.
We'll go on with this next week. Meanwhile Celebrate Chaucer!
Monday, February 27, 2012
The Grand Procession
Now let's return to considerations of the importance of the Host as the Eucharist. While Chaucer lived, more and more splendid features were incorporated into the feast celebrating the gift of the Eucharist. Specially composed liturgies, elaborate processions and dramatized presentations were added.
Entire communities became involved in these activities (at Chester, York, etc.). Each year, E. K. Chambers (The Mediaeval Stage) tells us, "the leading ceremony was a great procession in which the host (the consecrated bread of the Mass), escorted by local dignitaries, religious bodies and guilds, was borne through the streets and displayed successively at out-of-door stations." The feast "provided new contexts of meaning for the [E]ucharist in the feast's evolving iconography."
In the early morning of the feast day the Eucharist (the Host), reverently displayed, was raise up for all to see. (The priest's elevating of the Host during the Mass became identified with the Consecration, the moment when the bread became Christ.) The procession then formed as they left the church to travel through the streets of the city. (This tradition still lives today in many places.) Worshipers--traditionally dignitaries, clergy, religious, guildsmen and others--followed in procession. These fourteenth-century attendees would naturally move at a walking pace.
Miri Rubin, in her comprehensive study of the history of the Eucharist in the medieval world, tells of a mid-fourteenth-century sermon that holds an interesting relationship to the scene we are reviewing. The sermon was composed for Corpus Christi and contains "vibrant references to tale and allegory." It depicts Christ on His journey to heaven.
Christ is portrayed as an honored man who mounts a horse; this is understood as the action of the priest at Consecration when he "raises[s] Christ aloft in his hands." The equestrian ride which follows is then compared to the exposition of the Eucharistic Host as it is carried through the streets. As we have noted before, the underlying images of Christ to be seen in Chaucer's words are often the expression of a medieval thought pattern; they are not the poet's individual creativity for the Canterbury Tales, but adaptations of imagery from his day-to-day world.
Picture the poet as one of the spectators at this grand display; see his fertile imagination scanning the scene before him as he transposes it into his final masterpiece--the Canterbury Tales.
What we are told as Chaucer's pilgrims prepare to set out hardly reflects real preparations for a trip. This is, in fact, one of the first indications that the poet is constructing a fantasy. And his fantasy parallels the elements of a Corpus Christi procession.
Here is Chaucer's description of the Canterbury pilgrims setting forth. First, notice what is not said. We hear (see) nothing of preparations--no breakfast, no transport of possessions, no saddling of horses, no sounds or movements, no mention of weather, nor attitudes of the pilgrims. Who was the first one ready? Who caused a delay? Instead, here is the entire departure sequence. At the break of day up rose the Host and gathered us together in a flock and forth we rode. That's all. And the journey has begun.
We are given no pertinent information as they proceed through the city. Do they ride two by two, or single file, or as a close group through the streets?
There is another similarity between the flock of pilgrims that accompanies the Canterbury Host and worshipers who make up a Corpus Christi procession. In both cases the group includes dignitaries, religious and guild members.
And finally, although we assume they are on horses, they move slowly--so slowly that Chaucer says they go at little more than a walking pace! As was pointed out earlier, that's the expected pace of the Corpus Christi procession.
Chaucer has set us up. We're about to be taken for a ride--and we're hardly aware of it.
Entire communities became involved in these activities (at Chester, York, etc.). Each year, E. K. Chambers (The Mediaeval Stage) tells us, "the leading ceremony was a great procession in which the host (the consecrated bread of the Mass), escorted by local dignitaries, religious bodies and guilds, was borne through the streets and displayed successively at out-of-door stations." The feast "provided new contexts of meaning for the [E]ucharist in the feast's evolving iconography."
In the early morning of the feast day the Eucharist (the Host), reverently displayed, was raise up for all to see. (The priest's elevating of the Host during the Mass became identified with the Consecration, the moment when the bread became Christ.) The procession then formed as they left the church to travel through the streets of the city. (This tradition still lives today in many places.) Worshipers--traditionally dignitaries, clergy, religious, guildsmen and others--followed in procession. These fourteenth-century attendees would naturally move at a walking pace.
Miri Rubin, in her comprehensive study of the history of the Eucharist in the medieval world, tells of a mid-fourteenth-century sermon that holds an interesting relationship to the scene we are reviewing. The sermon was composed for Corpus Christi and contains "vibrant references to tale and allegory." It depicts Christ on His journey to heaven.
Christ is portrayed as an honored man who mounts a horse; this is understood as the action of the priest at Consecration when he "raises[s] Christ aloft in his hands." The equestrian ride which follows is then compared to the exposition of the Eucharistic Host as it is carried through the streets. As we have noted before, the underlying images of Christ to be seen in Chaucer's words are often the expression of a medieval thought pattern; they are not the poet's individual creativity for the Canterbury Tales, but adaptations of imagery from his day-to-day world.
Picture the poet as one of the spectators at this grand display; see his fertile imagination scanning the scene before him as he transposes it into his final masterpiece--the Canterbury Tales.
What we are told as Chaucer's pilgrims prepare to set out hardly reflects real preparations for a trip. This is, in fact, one of the first indications that the poet is constructing a fantasy. And his fantasy parallels the elements of a Corpus Christi procession.
Here is Chaucer's description of the Canterbury pilgrims setting forth. First, notice what is not said. We hear (see) nothing of preparations--no breakfast, no transport of possessions, no saddling of horses, no sounds or movements, no mention of weather, nor attitudes of the pilgrims. Who was the first one ready? Who caused a delay? Instead, here is the entire departure sequence. At the break of day up rose the Host and gathered us together in a flock and forth we rode. That's all. And the journey has begun.
We are given no pertinent information as they proceed through the city. Do they ride two by two, or single file, or as a close group through the streets?
There is another similarity between the flock of pilgrims that accompanies the Canterbury Host and worshipers who make up a Corpus Christi procession. In both cases the group includes dignitaries, religious and guild members.
And finally, although we assume they are on horses, they move slowly--so slowly that Chaucer says they go at little more than a walking pace! As was pointed out earlier, that's the expected pace of the Corpus Christi procession.
Chaucer has set us up. We're about to be taken for a ride--and we're hardly aware of it.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Getting back to business--finally
Well, that "maybe even tomorrow" was certainly wishful thinking. We last spoke about the Canterbury Tales on September 26. Good grief! That's four months that I've left you anticipating the cause that made me "shudder." With all that's gone on in my life and yours, it's best that we refresh the ideas we were considering and work up to the shudder.
You may recall that the first time I read the description of the Host at the end of the General Prologue, what took shape in my mind's eye was the figure of Christ. His image became clearer with one detail after another.
The name "Host" opens the mind to the possibilities. His first action--after a warm welcome to the pilgrims--is to serve them the best food and strong wine. Such words were, and still are, often used poetically to describe the Eucharistic Host (the Bread of the Catholic Mass). Chaucer's Host offers to guide the pilgrims at his own cost. He declares that the group must accept his terms without discussion. He promises a banquet at the end of their journey. His repetition of "the way," in speaking of the journey, echoes the biblical declaration of Christ as "the way," (truth and life, John 14:6). And, as the travelers prepare to depart in the morning, Chaucer says the Host gathered them in a flock. Did you see a shepherd image momentarily--the Good Shepherd? Each attribute plays a part in creating the portrait.
The Pilgrim Cook mentions the Host's actual name--Herry Bailly--but it is never used. I bypassed the significance hidden in the name Herry Bailly in an earlier entry. But now let's see what Chaucer's imagination has hidden in these two words. Both the first and last name have another life as ordinary fourteenth-century Middle English words. Though herry is not a word in our modern vocabulary, it speaks of giving praise to God. Chaucer uses the word elsewhere. For example, "God they thank and herie (praise)" and "[He] herieth (praises) Christ, who is King of Heaven." As the Host's name, its ambiguity covertly praises God.
And, bailly, the second name, is defined as a figure of authority, an administrator. Together the words identify the Host as a praiseworthy leader. It is another link in a chain of clues.
Non-use of this given name demonstrates that the repetition of Host (sixty-six times) was the poet's aim, making its significance hard to ignore or dismiss. If the Host had been referred to as Herry, even now and then, Eucharistic possibilities--the Christic identity--would not exist.
The word/name directs our attention to the most renowned Host in the fourteenth century--the Eucharist. The presence of Christ within the Eucharistic Host had been proclaimed as dogma in 1215. The annual Feast of Corpus Christi (Body of Christ) was instituted and became mandatory in the Roman Church Calendar in 1312. Popularity of this feast grew as time went on. In Chaucer's lifetime, the celebration surpassed both Christmas and Easter in its resplendence. A grand procession became the traditional central element of the festivities. [We will speak of the procession another time.]
Returning to Chaucer's clues, the following lines have been difficult to decipher. The Host states:
And well I know the substance is in me,
If anything shall well-reported be.
Substance, here, has been interpreted as being able to understand, but that sense is not readily apparent. Instead, let's pursue substance in association with theology.
The primary definition of substance in the Oxford English Dictionary says: "Essential nature, essence; esp. Theol., with regard to the being of God, the divine nature or essence." That entry quotes the Athanasian Creed (1325) regarding Christ: "He is God of the substance of the Father." In addition, the first entry in the Middle English Dictionary says substance is "used of the incarnate Christ."
When the poet declares substance to be "in" the Host, this echoes Transubstantiation. Scholastic Theology, in describing transubstantiation, says the "accidents" (the attributes or qualities) of bread can be seen, while the "substance" (or essence) mystically becomes the body of Christ.
And what of the "oaths" (curses) the Host utters? In the General Prologue the poet inserted a disclaimer about Christ's words; though they may be strong, they are not meant to offend. When this character says, "for God's worshipful passion," and, "by the cross," if he is an ordinary man, we would take such phrases as blasphemy. But if spoken by Christ, rather than curses, they are allusions to his personal experience--to crucifixion!
One such oath--"Harrow!" said he, "by nails and by blood!"--we have already dealt with. Its significance could not be more powerful.
Our last consideration will be the Host/Pardoner confrontation which is ordinarily read with emphasis on humor. In a moment of apparent comedy, the Pilgrim Pardoner seems to reveal embarrassing information about the Host. Offering to absolve (pardon) each pilgrim of his or her sins, the Pardoner says first of the Host:
I advise that our Host here shall begin
For he is most enveloped in sin.
"Enveloped" is hand-picked by Chaucer; sins are external to the Host; sin surrounds, envelops him. Christ is often said to take all our sins upon Himself. Thus, sinfulness closely associated with Christ is external to His being; it envelops Him--as it does our Host. Here again, we find a comic surface that, when penetrated, reveals the presence of Christ. It takes only careful reading with an open mind to see the image.
Once we acknowledge that the figure of the Host contains both an innkeeper and Christ Himself, the question is: Why did the poet devise this covert plan? Why such an elaborate effort to disguise Christ? In the Canterbury Tales Chaucer creatively sets forth an affirmation and a dissension.
First is the affirming of Christ within the Host. Numerous depictions confirm His presence. With this identity established, recognition of the dissension is simple.
Recall that in England, the poet had lived through the violent end of The Peasant Revolt and the loss of many friends to sudden cruel ends. And, regarding the Church, he was well aware of the terror of the Inquisition and the anguish of the Great Schism.
Figures of authority, who ruled kingdoms or the Church, at that time, were believed to be chosen by God. Therefore, to oppose pronouncement of royalty or the hierarchy equaled high treason or heresy.
Chaucer's plan to record what he knew, to be guided by his conscience, in spite of possible dire consequences, is remarkable and courageous. With Christ's presence accepted, we are about to learn the dreadful situation that Virginia Adair recognized as concealed in the Host's personal disclosures.
You may recall that the first time I read the description of the Host at the end of the General Prologue, what took shape in my mind's eye was the figure of Christ. His image became clearer with one detail after another.
The name "Host" opens the mind to the possibilities. His first action--after a warm welcome to the pilgrims--is to serve them the best food and strong wine. Such words were, and still are, often used poetically to describe the Eucharistic Host (the Bread of the Catholic Mass). Chaucer's Host offers to guide the pilgrims at his own cost. He declares that the group must accept his terms without discussion. He promises a banquet at the end of their journey. His repetition of "the way," in speaking of the journey, echoes the biblical declaration of Christ as "the way," (truth and life, John 14:6). And, as the travelers prepare to depart in the morning, Chaucer says the Host gathered them in a flock. Did you see a shepherd image momentarily--the Good Shepherd? Each attribute plays a part in creating the portrait.
The Pilgrim Cook mentions the Host's actual name--Herry Bailly--but it is never used. I bypassed the significance hidden in the name Herry Bailly in an earlier entry. But now let's see what Chaucer's imagination has hidden in these two words. Both the first and last name have another life as ordinary fourteenth-century Middle English words. Though herry is not a word in our modern vocabulary, it speaks of giving praise to God. Chaucer uses the word elsewhere. For example, "God they thank and herie (praise)" and "[He] herieth (praises) Christ, who is King of Heaven." As the Host's name, its ambiguity covertly praises God.
And, bailly, the second name, is defined as a figure of authority, an administrator. Together the words identify the Host as a praiseworthy leader. It is another link in a chain of clues.
Non-use of this given name demonstrates that the repetition of Host (sixty-six times) was the poet's aim, making its significance hard to ignore or dismiss. If the Host had been referred to as Herry, even now and then, Eucharistic possibilities--the Christic identity--would not exist.
The word/name directs our attention to the most renowned Host in the fourteenth century--the Eucharist. The presence of Christ within the Eucharistic Host had been proclaimed as dogma in 1215. The annual Feast of Corpus Christi (Body of Christ) was instituted and became mandatory in the Roman Church Calendar in 1312. Popularity of this feast grew as time went on. In Chaucer's lifetime, the celebration surpassed both Christmas and Easter in its resplendence. A grand procession became the traditional central element of the festivities. [We will speak of the procession another time.]
Returning to Chaucer's clues, the following lines have been difficult to decipher. The Host states:
And well I know the substance is in me,
If anything shall well-reported be.
Substance, here, has been interpreted as being able to understand, but that sense is not readily apparent. Instead, let's pursue substance in association with theology.
The primary definition of substance in the Oxford English Dictionary says: "Essential nature, essence; esp. Theol., with regard to the being of God, the divine nature or essence." That entry quotes the Athanasian Creed (1325) regarding Christ: "He is God of the substance of the Father." In addition, the first entry in the Middle English Dictionary says substance is "used of the incarnate Christ."
When the poet declares substance to be "in" the Host, this echoes Transubstantiation. Scholastic Theology, in describing transubstantiation, says the "accidents" (the attributes or qualities) of bread can be seen, while the "substance" (or essence) mystically becomes the body of Christ.
And what of the "oaths" (curses) the Host utters? In the General Prologue the poet inserted a disclaimer about Christ's words; though they may be strong, they are not meant to offend. When this character says, "for God's worshipful passion," and, "by the cross," if he is an ordinary man, we would take such phrases as blasphemy. But if spoken by Christ, rather than curses, they are allusions to his personal experience--to crucifixion!
One such oath--"Harrow!" said he, "by nails and by blood!"--we have already dealt with. Its significance could not be more powerful.
Our last consideration will be the Host/Pardoner confrontation which is ordinarily read with emphasis on humor. In a moment of apparent comedy, the Pilgrim Pardoner seems to reveal embarrassing information about the Host. Offering to absolve (pardon) each pilgrim of his or her sins, the Pardoner says first of the Host:
I advise that our Host here shall begin
For he is most enveloped in sin.
"Enveloped" is hand-picked by Chaucer; sins are external to the Host; sin surrounds, envelops him. Christ is often said to take all our sins upon Himself. Thus, sinfulness closely associated with Christ is external to His being; it envelops Him--as it does our Host. Here again, we find a comic surface that, when penetrated, reveals the presence of Christ. It takes only careful reading with an open mind to see the image.
Once we acknowledge that the figure of the Host contains both an innkeeper and Christ Himself, the question is: Why did the poet devise this covert plan? Why such an elaborate effort to disguise Christ? In the Canterbury Tales Chaucer creatively sets forth an affirmation and a dissension.
First is the affirming of Christ within the Host. Numerous depictions confirm His presence. With this identity established, recognition of the dissension is simple.
Recall that in England, the poet had lived through the violent end of The Peasant Revolt and the loss of many friends to sudden cruel ends. And, regarding the Church, he was well aware of the terror of the Inquisition and the anguish of the Great Schism.
Figures of authority, who ruled kingdoms or the Church, at that time, were believed to be chosen by God. Therefore, to oppose pronouncement of royalty or the hierarchy equaled high treason or heresy.
Chaucer's plan to record what he knew, to be guided by his conscience, in spite of possible dire consequences, is remarkable and courageous. With Christ's presence accepted, we are about to learn the dreadful situation that Virginia Adair recognized as concealed in the Host's personal disclosures.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Reasonable, even self-evident
I don't understand the trouble you've had in getting your ideas about Chaucer accepted. Your thoughts seem reasonable and even self-evident. That's what my friend Rose said when my first book was published.
And what did she see as "self-evident"? My demonstrating the concealed identity of the Canterbury Host. Many others have also recognized it as self-evident.
As I read the description of the Host at the end of the General Prologue, what took shape in my mind's eye was the figure of Christ. His image became clearer with one detail after another.
The name "Host" opens the mind to the possibilities. His first action--after a warm welcome to the pilgrims--is to serve them best food and strong wine. Such words were, and still are, often used poetically to describe the Eucharistic Host. He offers to guide the pilgrims at his own cost. The group must accept his terms without discussion. He promises a banquet at the end of their journey. His repetition of "the way" in speaking of the journey echoes the biblical declaration of Christ as "the way," (truth and life). And, as the travelers prepare to depart in the morning, he gathers them in a flock. Did you see a momentary shepherd image--the Good Shepherd? Each detail plays a part in creating the portrait.
The Pilgrim Cook mentions the Host's actual name--Herry Bailly--but it is never used. If the pilgrims had addressed him as Herry, the image of Christ within the figure would not exist. Instead, the ongoing use of "Host" reinforces the Eucharistic potential.
Critics have a habit of referring to the Host as "Herry." It's more comfortable, I'm sure, but it distorts Chaucer's intention; the guide of the pilgrim journey becomes just a guy named Herry. No wonder the "self-evident" identity of Christ has been overlooked.
If a religious underpinning to Chaucer's masterpiece surprises, it shouldn't. The poet's chosen frame for the collection is "pilgrimage."
And what did she see as "self-evident"? My demonstrating the concealed identity of the Canterbury Host. Many others have also recognized it as self-evident.
As I read the description of the Host at the end of the General Prologue, what took shape in my mind's eye was the figure of Christ. His image became clearer with one detail after another.
The name "Host" opens the mind to the possibilities. His first action--after a warm welcome to the pilgrims--is to serve them best food and strong wine. Such words were, and still are, often used poetically to describe the Eucharistic Host. He offers to guide the pilgrims at his own cost. The group must accept his terms without discussion. He promises a banquet at the end of their journey. His repetition of "the way" in speaking of the journey echoes the biblical declaration of Christ as "the way," (truth and life). And, as the travelers prepare to depart in the morning, he gathers them in a flock. Did you see a momentary shepherd image--the Good Shepherd? Each detail plays a part in creating the portrait.
The Pilgrim Cook mentions the Host's actual name--Herry Bailly--but it is never used. If the pilgrims had addressed him as Herry, the image of Christ within the figure would not exist. Instead, the ongoing use of "Host" reinforces the Eucharistic potential.
Critics have a habit of referring to the Host as "Herry." It's more comfortable, I'm sure, but it distorts Chaucer's intention; the guide of the pilgrim journey becomes just a guy named Herry. No wonder the "self-evident" identity of Christ has been overlooked.
If a religious underpinning to Chaucer's masterpiece surprises, it shouldn't. The poet's chosen frame for the collection is "pilgrimage."
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