The year 1340 generally serves as the agreed-upon year of Chaucer's birth, though it may have been two or three years later. The family background is the wine trade and serving in the king's household. As a boy, Chaucer would have been schooled in Latin and Latin authors. In 1357, an entry in the household accounts of Lionel, Duke of Ulster, indicates that Chaucer is a page there. Youngsters in such an environment learned grammar, reading and writing, languages (the royal family was as much French as English), matters of diplomacy, and how to serve their betters. With an eye to the future, these young men would be instructed in music, dancing, singing and conversing in Latin and French. Adolescent Chaucer and his fellow pages were well prepared.
The family name, Chaucer, has been said to be a form of the French chaucier, which means shoemaker. The final r, however, would not be pronounced! I take the poet's name, instead, to be a form of chasseur, meaning hunter. That will be a fun factor after a bit.
Young Geoffrey spent Christmastide of 1357 with Lionel's family. John of Gaunt, the Duke's younger brother, nearly Chaucer's age, joined them. (John would become a political power and the poet's patron in years to come.)
In 1359, Chaucer served in the army of King Edward III as Edward renewed his effort to rule both England and France. Geoffrey's probable rank would be a man-at-arms; his primary weapon a simple spear wielded from horseback or on foot.
Edward planned to cross the English Channel to Calais, an English possession on the coast of the County of Flanders, and march into France with his army--only fighting if attacked. (Remember Flanders!) The campaign, however, did not develop as planned. Instead of landing in the spring--the beginning of good weather--they actually arrived in Calais October 28! Edward's army faced steady rain followed by bitter cold.
Weeks went by; the English army waited and endured. Knowing how spirit and discipline decline in a do-nothing army, Edward allowed (or ordered) raiding parties to keep up his army's morale. French forces slew, or captured stragglers and foragers from these small groups. Chaucer was among those captured. He was held prisoner until March 1360, when King Edward ransomed his valued servant.
Shortly after Chaucer's release, the still hopeful king-to-be turned to a policy of devastation. The countryside was ravaged at will. The brutal onslaught proved effective. During peace negotiations a few months later, Chaucer received his first recorded assignment as an envoy of the English crown, carrying official letters from England to Calais.
Several years follow where there is no record of Chaucer's whereabouts, but in 1363 a Philippa Chaucer became servant to the queen. When or where Philippa and Geoffrey were married is not recorded, but we know that our poet had taken a wife. He would soon become a man of the world.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Now to look at Chaucer himself
Here I am, back on the job. Took a brief hiatus for cataract surgery. What a wonder the result is! It's time, now, to begin our next topic--Geoffrey Chaucer, the man and also the character who is on pilgrimage in the Canterbury Tales. So let's return to expanding our point of view regarding Chaucer and his words.
Most fourteenth-century commoners, as Chaucer was, lived and died without a recorded trace. Fortunately, diligent researchers have gathered together an assortment of entries from which we know, or can make solid assumptions, about Chaucer's fortunes and how he spent his days.
We'll consider ideas in the Tales that provide personal information about Chaucer-the-man by way of remarks about his pilgrim image. But first we'll look at the factual entries.
During work being done at Westminster Abbey in the late 1800s, Chaucer's bones (which rest in the Poet's Corner in the Abbey) were exposed, and we learned that he was about five-foot-six.
At nineteen he joined the army during what we now call the Hundred Years War. As a young soldier, Chaucer was captured, and held prisoner in Flanders, but eventually ransomed by his king.
In the subsequent peace negotiations in the summer of 1360, Chaucer received his first recorded assignment as an envoy of the English crown, carrying official letters from England to Calais. From that small beginning as messenger just across the channel, he went on to serve in positions of increasing trust. Diplomatic missions--some of them secret--took him to Spain, Italy, Flanders, and other areas of France.
At thirty-four he became Controller of Customs, and later Controller of Petty Customs, as well. His duties entailed collecting taxes on wool, hides, and other commodities.
No life is all roses. When he was forty, a charge of "raptus" was brought against the poet, a charge often optimistically explained as "abduction." It seems almost impossible for Chaucer-lovers to admit that this poet, with his head among the stars, could have had moments when his feet were in the mire. Raptus also means rape, plain and simple. A helpful and dedicated twentieth-century lawyer gave us an accurate analysis of the intent of fourteenth-century legal terms and procedures. We'll get into that after a bit.
John Lydgate, the poet's contemporary, says Chaucer "made many a fresh ditty" that "excelled all other in our English tongue." Before you get too eager to read them, sad to say, they have not been preserved.
We know that Chaucer's last residence was on the grounds of Westminster Abbey. It has been provokingly speculated that Chaucer's motive for living on the grounds of the Abbey could have been to gain the protection of sanctuary. And there is the "mystery" of his original manuscripts . . . Ah, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Most fourteenth-century commoners, as Chaucer was, lived and died without a recorded trace. Fortunately, diligent researchers have gathered together an assortment of entries from which we know, or can make solid assumptions, about Chaucer's fortunes and how he spent his days.
We'll consider ideas in the Tales that provide personal information about Chaucer-the-man by way of remarks about his pilgrim image. But first we'll look at the factual entries.
During work being done at Westminster Abbey in the late 1800s, Chaucer's bones (which rest in the Poet's Corner in the Abbey) were exposed, and we learned that he was about five-foot-six.
At nineteen he joined the army during what we now call the Hundred Years War. As a young soldier, Chaucer was captured, and held prisoner in Flanders, but eventually ransomed by his king.
In the subsequent peace negotiations in the summer of 1360, Chaucer received his first recorded assignment as an envoy of the English crown, carrying official letters from England to Calais. From that small beginning as messenger just across the channel, he went on to serve in positions of increasing trust. Diplomatic missions--some of them secret--took him to Spain, Italy, Flanders, and other areas of France.
At thirty-four he became Controller of Customs, and later Controller of Petty Customs, as well. His duties entailed collecting taxes on wool, hides, and other commodities.
No life is all roses. When he was forty, a charge of "raptus" was brought against the poet, a charge often optimistically explained as "abduction." It seems almost impossible for Chaucer-lovers to admit that this poet, with his head among the stars, could have had moments when his feet were in the mire. Raptus also means rape, plain and simple. A helpful and dedicated twentieth-century lawyer gave us an accurate analysis of the intent of fourteenth-century legal terms and procedures. We'll get into that after a bit.
John Lydgate, the poet's contemporary, says Chaucer "made many a fresh ditty" that "excelled all other in our English tongue." Before you get too eager to read them, sad to say, they have not been preserved.
We know that Chaucer's last residence was on the grounds of Westminster Abbey. It has been provokingly speculated that Chaucer's motive for living on the grounds of the Abbey could have been to gain the protection of sanctuary. And there is the "mystery" of his original manuscripts . . . Ah, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Why risk it?
Chaucer had traveled the Continent--eyes and ears open. We've read the startling message concealed in the Canterbury Tales. The Host's wife (The Church) is cruel, demanding, quarrelsome, as was the widespread action of the Inquisition. Today's scholars describing the Host's wife, could be characterizing the medieval Church: easily angered, absolutely reckless, awe-inspiring, powerful arms, fearing no one.
In the early 1300s, Inquisitors asked to apply torture without limitations to heretics, and thus "the Church grew harder and crueller and more unchristian," states H. C. Lea, an historian of the Inquisition.
How would Chaucer view life after all he'd seen? He advises, "Here is not home, here is nothing but wilderness." Christians were often called suddenly to Judgment from disease, politics, or random violence.
To publicly--or privately--raise objection to the ruling system, you'd be in jeopardy. Those in authority were seen as chosen by God, so to differ with God's chosen ones amounted to high treason.
Allegory thrives in a rigid authoritarian environment. Fourteenth-century Europe would have been fertile ground for hidden protests.
The poet's well-being and the survival of his messages, depended upon maintaining his good relationship with the royal court. Disaster struck many near him. Friends were executed with varying degrees of cruelty. Nevertheless, Chaucer and his works, remained unscathed.
On the Continent, Inquisitors were nowhere yet everywhere, like secret police. When the Inquisition reached England, religious dissenters met increasing severity. Consequently, a few month after the poet's death, the first English heretic to be "found guilty" (William Sawtre) was burned at the stake.
Why would Chaucer persist while knowing the result could be fearful death? The answer--it was a matter of conscience. One who had important information had a moral responsibility to share it. He sinned "who shutteth knowledge in his mouth."
Pilgrim Chaucer speaks of messages discreet and wise. Allegory could discreetly prove his obedience to God, and ease his conscience, as well.
When the poet moved to Westminster Abbey in June, 1400, England was once again in political upheaval. Several courtiers who were his friends had been cruelly executed. Thomas Usk, for example, was both hanged and beheaded. It is speculated that his motive for moving to the Abbey could have been for the protection of sanctuary.
The inspired "paper pilgrimage" led to Thomas á Becket. Who better to supplicate when in need of courage and perseverance? I believe Chaucer sought courage to persevere no matter what the cost, and to face death (if need be) as Thomas á Becket had.
The poet's closing prayer pleads, "Christ have mercy on me and forgive me my offenses." He concluded with the hope "that I may be one of them, at the day of judgment, that shall be saved." I believe Geoffrey Chaucer saw this world's hazards, however great, as temporary; but the hereafter, unending. As a man of conscience, he took the risk.
In the early 1300s, Inquisitors asked to apply torture without limitations to heretics, and thus "the Church grew harder and crueller and more unchristian," states H. C. Lea, an historian of the Inquisition.
How would Chaucer view life after all he'd seen? He advises, "Here is not home, here is nothing but wilderness." Christians were often called suddenly to Judgment from disease, politics, or random violence.
To publicly--or privately--raise objection to the ruling system, you'd be in jeopardy. Those in authority were seen as chosen by God, so to differ with God's chosen ones amounted to high treason.
Allegory thrives in a rigid authoritarian environment. Fourteenth-century Europe would have been fertile ground for hidden protests.
The poet's well-being and the survival of his messages, depended upon maintaining his good relationship with the royal court. Disaster struck many near him. Friends were executed with varying degrees of cruelty. Nevertheless, Chaucer and his works, remained unscathed.
On the Continent, Inquisitors were nowhere yet everywhere, like secret police. When the Inquisition reached England, religious dissenters met increasing severity. Consequently, a few month after the poet's death, the first English heretic to be "found guilty" (William Sawtre) was burned at the stake.
Why would Chaucer persist while knowing the result could be fearful death? The answer--it was a matter of conscience. One who had important information had a moral responsibility to share it. He sinned "who shutteth knowledge in his mouth."
Pilgrim Chaucer speaks of messages discreet and wise. Allegory could discreetly prove his obedience to God, and ease his conscience, as well.
When the poet moved to Westminster Abbey in June, 1400, England was once again in political upheaval. Several courtiers who were his friends had been cruelly executed. Thomas Usk, for example, was both hanged and beheaded. It is speculated that his motive for moving to the Abbey could have been for the protection of sanctuary.
The inspired "paper pilgrimage" led to Thomas á Becket. Who better to supplicate when in need of courage and perseverance? I believe Chaucer sought courage to persevere no matter what the cost, and to face death (if need be) as Thomas á Becket had.
The poet's closing prayer pleads, "Christ have mercy on me and forgive me my offenses." He concluded with the hope "that I may be one of them, at the day of judgment, that shall be saved." I believe Geoffrey Chaucer saw this world's hazards, however great, as temporary; but the hereafter, unending. As a man of conscience, he took the risk.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
The unanticipated revelation
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.
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.
Friday, March 8, 2013
A matter of substance
This entry, our penultimate clue, will focus on a matter of genuine substance.
The Host interrupts himself while speaking to the Pilgrim Monk. In a brief aside, he advises that if no one is listening, there is no point in telling a story. Then, he repeats the advice but gives it a clerical, a religious emphasis.
For certainly, as these clerics say,
Whereas a man may have no audience,
It helps nothing to tell his sentence.
And well I know the substance is in me,
If anything shall well-reported be.
Sentence, in Chaucer's day, referred to meaning or doctrine. The Host seems to ramble. That gets our attention. What does lack of an audience have to do with a report?
For the surface story, "I know the substance is in me" is taken to mean "I have the capacity to understand," but that idea is not clear, nor particularly significant. "Substance," however, has great depth for medieval clerics, theologians. Fear not. Only two terms of theology will be dealt with, and their definitions are easily understood.
"Substance" is a fundamental aspect of faith. Notably in the primary definition of substance, the OED says: "Essential nature, essence; esp. Theol., with regard to the being of God. the divine nature or essence." The Athanasian Creed (1325) says of Christ, "He is God, of the substance of the Father." In addition, and again in the first entry, the MED says substance is "used of the incarnate Christ."
To declare substance being within the Host (the Eucharist) also confirms Transubstantiation. You could understand the term tran-substantia-tion as a changing of substance. A reading in the Divine Office states: "In [this sacrament] bread and wine are changed substantially into the body and blood of Christ." The Eucharistic Host, in the vocabulary of Scholastic Theology, uses two terms that, as I said earlier, are easily understood: accidents and substance.
Accidents, in this special designation, refers to qualities (of bread) that can be seen, while the substance (the essence) mystically becomes the body of Christ. One need not accept the doctrine. You just have to understand that THAT was, and is, the Dogma of the Church.
Chaucer wrote at a time of growing celebration of the presence of Christ within the Eucharist (the Real Presence). As a parallel, Chaucer's imaginative allegory describes the accidents, the attributes of the Canterbury Host that can be seen. These overt qualities conceal the substance, Christ's divine nature. Chaucer's Host indicates this covert identity here, and wants the fact "well reported."
We've seen a series of clues inscribe Christ within the Canterbury Host. Why? Are we only to see the basic confirmation that Christ leads Pilgrims on their life journey? No. There is more. Our final "clue" penetrates a humorous overlay. When the hidden significance came clear to me--I shuddered.
The Host interrupts himself while speaking to the Pilgrim Monk. In a brief aside, he advises that if no one is listening, there is no point in telling a story. Then, he repeats the advice but gives it a clerical, a religious emphasis.
For certainly, as these clerics say,
Whereas a man may have no audience,
It helps nothing to tell his sentence.
And well I know the substance is in me,
If anything shall well-reported be.
Sentence, in Chaucer's day, referred to meaning or doctrine. The Host seems to ramble. That gets our attention. What does lack of an audience have to do with a report?
For the surface story, "I know the substance is in me" is taken to mean "I have the capacity to understand," but that idea is not clear, nor particularly significant. "Substance," however, has great depth for medieval clerics, theologians. Fear not. Only two terms of theology will be dealt with, and their definitions are easily understood.
"Substance" is a fundamental aspect of faith. Notably in the primary definition of substance, the OED says: "Essential nature, essence; esp. Theol., with regard to the being of God. the divine nature or essence." The Athanasian Creed (1325) says of Christ, "He is God, of the substance of the Father." In addition, and again in the first entry, the MED says substance is "used of the incarnate Christ."
To declare substance being within the Host (the Eucharist) also confirms Transubstantiation. You could understand the term tran-substantia-tion as a changing of substance. A reading in the Divine Office states: "In [this sacrament] bread and wine are changed substantially into the body and blood of Christ." The Eucharistic Host, in the vocabulary of Scholastic Theology, uses two terms that, as I said earlier, are easily understood: accidents and substance.
Accidents, in this special designation, refers to qualities (of bread) that can be seen, while the substance (the essence) mystically becomes the body of Christ. One need not accept the doctrine. You just have to understand that THAT was, and is, the Dogma of the Church.
Chaucer wrote at a time of growing celebration of the presence of Christ within the Eucharist (the Real Presence). As a parallel, Chaucer's imaginative allegory describes the accidents, the attributes of the Canterbury Host that can be seen. These overt qualities conceal the substance, Christ's divine nature. Chaucer's Host indicates this covert identity here, and wants the fact "well reported."
We've seen a series of clues inscribe Christ within the Canterbury Host. Why? Are we only to see the basic confirmation that Christ leads Pilgrims on their life journey? No. There is more. Our final "clue" penetrates a humorous overlay. When the hidden significance came clear to me--I shuddered.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
The loathsome Pardoner clue
The Host's confrontation by the loathsome, contemptible Pilgrim Pardoner is a short but lively scene, ordinarily viewed with emphasis on humor.
He is a minor churchman, and a fraud, who peddles absolution. His targets--the unsuspecting and the impoverished faithful. What we learn about him from the narrator repels us, but when the Pardoner speaks for himself, he becomes even more hateful. For example, he tells us he has a collection of "relics," which he declares are authentic. He promises they will cure diseases in animals and humans and relieve suspicions of jealous husbands. He tells false stories and ruins reputations with his venom while claiming to edify. Greed is his only motive; he cares nothing about counseling sinners. But, so powerful and persuasive are his words that even the poorest give him money, wool and cheese, though their children are starving.
As he finishes promoting his cause to his companions, he offers to absolve each of them of his or her sins. Then he says, "I advise that Our Host here shall begin / For he is most enveloped in sin." The Host is invited to come forward and kiss each of the Pardoner's relics! At this, the Host lashes out at the Pardoner's boastfully confessed hypocrisy.
As we go to our task of finding the image of Christ within this action, the Host's anger is fitting. Recall Christ lashing out at the money changers in the temple.
One word, however, is the key to the scene--enveloped. Chaucer's Pardoner uses the word to describe the Host as most enveloped in sin. The Pardoner is not addressing a sinful man, that is, a sin-filled man. Sin surrounds, enfolds the Host. This image has long been a tradition with Christ. In the Harrowing of Hell, mentioned in our previous entry, Christ says to Satan, "Sin found thou never / In me as in other men."
And as Chaucer's humble Parson tells us, "Jesus Christ took upon Himself the pain of all our wickednesses," but "in Him is no imperfection." Sin is closely associated with Christ, but it is external to His being. The poet, in providing additional evidence of Christ, indicates the same of Our Host.
The tradition continues today. Christ is often described as taking all our sins upon Himself. Sinfulness is external to Christ; it envelops Him. That statement is a parallel to Chaucer's portrait of Our Host. Here again, we find a comic surface that needs to be penetrated in order to discover the portrait of Christ within. It takes only careful reading with an open mind to see the image Chaucer has concealed.
Next time, we will look at our penultimate clue, a matter of genuine substance.
He is a minor churchman, and a fraud, who peddles absolution. His targets--the unsuspecting and the impoverished faithful. What we learn about him from the narrator repels us, but when the Pardoner speaks for himself, he becomes even more hateful. For example, he tells us he has a collection of "relics," which he declares are authentic. He promises they will cure diseases in animals and humans and relieve suspicions of jealous husbands. He tells false stories and ruins reputations with his venom while claiming to edify. Greed is his only motive; he cares nothing about counseling sinners. But, so powerful and persuasive are his words that even the poorest give him money, wool and cheese, though their children are starving.
As he finishes promoting his cause to his companions, he offers to absolve each of them of his or her sins. Then he says, "I advise that Our Host here shall begin / For he is most enveloped in sin." The Host is invited to come forward and kiss each of the Pardoner's relics! At this, the Host lashes out at the Pardoner's boastfully confessed hypocrisy.
As we go to our task of finding the image of Christ within this action, the Host's anger is fitting. Recall Christ lashing out at the money changers in the temple.
One word, however, is the key to the scene--enveloped. Chaucer's Pardoner uses the word to describe the Host as most enveloped in sin. The Pardoner is not addressing a sinful man, that is, a sin-filled man. Sin surrounds, enfolds the Host. This image has long been a tradition with Christ. In the Harrowing of Hell, mentioned in our previous entry, Christ says to Satan, "Sin found thou never / In me as in other men."
And as Chaucer's humble Parson tells us, "Jesus Christ took upon Himself the pain of all our wickednesses," but "in Him is no imperfection." Sin is closely associated with Christ, but it is external to His being. The poet, in providing additional evidence of Christ, indicates the same of Our Host.
The tradition continues today. Christ is often described as taking all our sins upon Himself. Sinfulness is external to Christ; it envelops Him. That statement is a parallel to Chaucer's portrait of Our Host. Here again, we find a comic surface that needs to be penetrated in order to discover the portrait of Christ within. It takes only careful reading with an open mind to see the image Chaucer has concealed.
Next time, we will look at our penultimate clue, a matter of genuine substance.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
The Host's "offensive" language
In the links between the Tales, Chaucer continues to give us clues to prompt us to see Christ concealed within the Host. A prominent objection to his identity as Christ is his offensive language--but wait. The innkeeper speaking profanely of things sacred is not our object; we are pursuing a hidden message, not surface comedy.
First, let's establish what the Middle Ages understood to be offensive, that is, sinful language. To use God's name or refer to elements of Christ's passion and death as part of everyday conversation, was trivializing the sacred. For example: Christ's Holy Name, Christ's cross, By God's curse. Such phrases were believed to offend God. They were sinful and to be avoided. Today's values, to a great extent, appear to have changed.
Now to the Tales. Chaucer, in the General Prologue just before we meet the Host, says that "Christ himself spoke very broadly (freely) in holy writ / And you well know it is no villainy." This guides our view of the Host's words as simple and direct, assuming his expressions to be neither comedy, nor blasphemy.
His supposedly objectionable language is scattered among the Tales. His ventings, rather than "offensive to God," are direct references to Christ's passion and death. These are personal recollections:
God's worshipful passion
By the cross
By blood and bones
But the most meaningful of the Host's outbursts is "Harrow, by nails and by blood."
Chaucer and his contemporaries knew that Christ had been born to die. A medieval recounting of Christ's death says, "the godhead went into hell, / And harrowed it." This tells us that Christ's first action, after he died, was to harrow hell.
Harrowing is the release of souls of the worthy, who had been waiting through time for their Savior. His coming freed them to enter paradise. This consummation of God's plan was described in a poem of the Middle Ages called The Harrowing of Hell.
It is also commemorated in the ancient tradition of the Apostles' Creed: Christ "Suffered under Pontius Pilate; was crucified, died and was buried: He descended into hell: The third day he rose again from the dead."
Then the Host's precise recollection--"Harrow, by nails and by blood"--recalls His harrowing of hell, as a consequence of being crucified.
To state the obvious, for those who would insist on the Host's words as blasphemy, we need only realize that God Himself could not use God's name in vain, nor could He blaspheme.
Next time, we will consider the Host's confrontation by the loathsome, contemptible Pilgrim Pardoner.
First, let's establish what the Middle Ages understood to be offensive, that is, sinful language. To use God's name or refer to elements of Christ's passion and death as part of everyday conversation, was trivializing the sacred. For example: Christ's Holy Name, Christ's cross, By God's curse. Such phrases were believed to offend God. They were sinful and to be avoided. Today's values, to a great extent, appear to have changed.
Now to the Tales. Chaucer, in the General Prologue just before we meet the Host, says that "Christ himself spoke very broadly (freely) in holy writ / And you well know it is no villainy." This guides our view of the Host's words as simple and direct, assuming his expressions to be neither comedy, nor blasphemy.
His supposedly objectionable language is scattered among the Tales. His ventings, rather than "offensive to God," are direct references to Christ's passion and death. These are personal recollections:
God's worshipful passion
By the cross
By blood and bones
But the most meaningful of the Host's outbursts is "Harrow, by nails and by blood."
Chaucer and his contemporaries knew that Christ had been born to die. A medieval recounting of Christ's death says, "the godhead went into hell, / And harrowed it." This tells us that Christ's first action, after he died, was to harrow hell.
Harrowing is the release of souls of the worthy, who had been waiting through time for their Savior. His coming freed them to enter paradise. This consummation of God's plan was described in a poem of the Middle Ages called The Harrowing of Hell.
It is also commemorated in the ancient tradition of the Apostles' Creed: Christ "Suffered under Pontius Pilate; was crucified, died and was buried: He descended into hell: The third day he rose again from the dead."
Then the Host's precise recollection--"Harrow, by nails and by blood"--recalls His harrowing of hell, as a consequence of being crucified.
To state the obvious, for those who would insist on the Host's words as blasphemy, we need only realize that God Himself could not use God's name in vain, nor could He blaspheme.
Next time, we will consider the Host's confrontation by the loathsome, contemptible Pilgrim Pardoner.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)