I would certainly be prepared to tackle more Chaucer before moving on. I noticed, for instance, that the Knight’s Tale, adapted from Petrarch (or was it Boccaccio?) is then retold in the Shakespeare collaboration The Two Noble Kinsmen.
In Dr. Prior's previous post, she pointed out that the text of the Tales suggests that the Pardoner and the Summoner are, in modern terms, in a homosexual relationship. In Chaucer's time, there was no notion that a person's sexuality was a feature of the person's personality; what was regarded then as deviant was then a sign of a person's villainy.
The Pardoner is certainly a rascal, but right in the middle of bringing out his merchandise (the pig's bones, etc), he expresses with clarity Christ's offer of salvation:
And lo, sires, thus I preche.
And Jhesu Crist, that is oure soules leche [physician]
So graunte yow his pardoun to receyve,
For that is best; I wol yow nat deceyve.
How true he is . . . here!
The tale ends for me on a fascinating grace note. In response to the Host's extraordinary insult, which calls to mind the insinuation of the Pardoner's deviance, the Pardoner is speechless with fury: This pardoner answerde nat a word; So wrooth he was, no word ne wolde he sweye. The grace note is what the Knight does next as the other pilgrims are laughing at the Pardoner:
"Namoore of this, for it is right ynough!
Sire Pardoner, be glad and myrie of cheere;
And ye, sire Hoost, that been to me so deere,
I prey yow that ye kisse the Pardoner.
And Pardoner, I prey thee, drawe thee neer,
And, as we diden, lat us laughe and pleye."
Anon they kiste, and ryden forth hir weye.
I'd make several observations about this: (1) The Knight's action here, in a very real sense, maintains or restores the community of the pilgrims. The Pardoner had been a rascal and had been furious, but he is neither expelled from the journey, nor does he leave on his own. (2) Clearly same-sex non-sexual intimacy among men was common and socially accepted in Chaucer's time. But to restore the peace with a kiss is to insist on something more than a handshake or an embrace.
Chaucer created one of the great rascals in literature with the Pardoner. He's gonna keep him.
Oh, I love this! These are beautiful observations.
What you say about sexual relations in medieval times reminds me of the way behavior was judged in the ancient world. I knew this but I just happened to read an article reminding me of it recently. The article was about a particular ancient Roman ruler of short reign who engaged in much deviant sexual behavior, but the point of the article was that the categories we have now not only didn't exist, but other categories did (based not on sex or gender but on who was the giver and who was the receiver, to put it as delicately as I can). By the age of the medieval church, standards had changed but, as you way, the categories we know wouldn't develop until the 19th century and later.
But, yes, these are grace notes--within the tale and between the pilgrims. So lovely.
I kept snickering over how the Pardoner was inveighing against drunkenness, having just had a few drinks, "Now keep you from the the white and the red." I found it interesting that he cites so many Scriptural examples - usually out of context, e.g. Adam and Eve's sin wasn't gluttony - but also refers to examples in secular poetry as if they had equal weight.
The three characters in the tale itself made me wonder if they were goliards, medieval clerical students who were noted for their irreverence, and riotous living, and also for their poetry: https://www.britannica.com/art/goliard. It is a brilliant little tale, but the sermon is really a very bad sermon, with its misapplication of Scripture and open hypocrisy of the preacher - his succulent descriptions of savoury food and fine drink alone belie his intent.
As for whether we should separate the message from the messenger, the Bible often does. Solomon is named as the author of three books of the Old Testament, yet he was an idolater. There are multiple stories of divine prophecy being given by men who were totally disobedient, Balaam, for example, and King Saul. I think the question to ask is, are we enabling the messenger's evil life by accepting his message? Solomon and Balaam are long dead, but a contemporary morally corrupt pastor who is invited to keep preaching because everyone likes his message is being enabled to continue in his corruption. I have no idea if Chaucer meant to do this, but the Host threatens the same consequence to the Pardoner that Paul did to the false teachers of his day, "I would they were even cut off which trouble you!" (Galatians 5:12).
By the way, I would like The Second Shepherd's story - it would be interesting to do a medieval play. I am not familiar with Everyman, but I am with Dr. Faustus, whom one constantly stumbles over in classical music - that would provoke some interesting spiritual discussions.
That is an interesting possibility -- that of the rioters being goliards!
The Pardoner clearly does not know Scripture. Reminds me of some of the "pastors" who have made a name for themselves today on social media for their conspiracy theories, roles as political advisors, etc. It's very humbling in terms of thinking we "moderns" have a one-up on the illiterate peasants of the Middle Ages.
I like your re-framing of the question: are we enabling the messenger's evil life by accepting his message?" And I'd add or by supporting his platform?
I think, too, that some messages are belied by the messenger (as with the Pardoner) if the messenger proves his life does not live up to his own message. I think, for example, of recent news of a respected Christian ethics professor recently shown to be a serial sexual harrasser. And I would not take spiritual advice from a spiritual abuser. So I guess discernment is necessary. Some messages are objectively True, while some are subjective "teaching."
Charles Dickens was a jerk--but his novels are great, nevertheless.
Thank you for reminding me of that word from Paul! Perfection.
One aspect of the message vs. the messenger question I haven't fully answered is what if the message is merely artistically pleasing, rather than clearly true, and the messenger was evil or associated with great evil.
The most famous medieval collection of the goliards' poetry is 'Carmina Burana', of which a selection of verses were set into a musical cantanta by the 20th century German composer, Carl Orff. Most of Orff's cantata I find forgettable, but nearly everyone knows the opening 'O Fortuna', as it has made its way into popular culture as a Gothic piece for dramatic moments. What is no longer commonly known is that Carl Orff was the official composer of the Third Reich, receiving a large salary from the Nazis. He was not a member of the Nazi party, but neither did he ever, during or after the war, repudiate the Nazi ideology. It has been suggested that he had personal pressures to comply, but other composers risked their careers and lives rather than capitulate. 'Carmina Burana', composed in 1936, was not written specifically for the Reich, as other compositions by Orff were. We could live without 'O Fortuna' - it is musically clever in its depiction of the great wheel of Fortune, but not deeply profound. But is it morally necessary to consign the work to the dustbin of time?
That is an excellent quote! I am a bit distracted by his use of the pregnant woman as an example, as in common law there is an exception of long historical precedent made for postpartum women for the crime of infanticide, the penalties for which are less severe than those for homicide. Nevertheless, the point stands, that one's art is not an excuse for criminal behaviour, nor must the art of a criminal be respected if it shelters a crime.
So this doesn’t directly answer your question, but the example you used reminded me of this passage from George Orwell that I could never forget once I read it (and used it in classes a lot):
“In an age like our own, when the artist is an altogether exceptional person, he must be allowed a certain amount of irresponsibility, just as a pregnant woman is. Still, no one would say that a pregnant woman should be allowed to commit murder, nor would anyone make such a claim for the artist, however gifted. If Shakespeare returned to the earth to-morrow, and if it were found that his favourite recreation was raping little girls in railway carriages, we should not tell him to go ahead with it on the ground that he might write another King Lear. And, after all, the worst crimes are not always the punishable ones. By encouraging necrophilic reveries one probably does quite as much harm as by, say, picking pockets at the races. One ought to be able to hold in one’s head simultaneously the two facts that Dali is a good draughtsman and a disgusting human being. The one does not invalidate or, in a sense, affect the other. The first thing that we demand of a wall is that it shall stand up. If it stands up, it is a good wall, and the question of what purpose it serves is separable from that. And yet even the best wall in the world deserves to be pulled down if it surrounds a concentration camp. In the same way it should be possible to say, “This is a good book or a good picture, and it ought to be burned by the public hangman.” Unless one can say that, at least in imagination, one is shirking the implications of the fact that an artist is also a citizen and a human being.”
I loved Charles Dickens as a young adult, reading them as avidly as others read Harry Potter or Twilight. It was both and sad and proud day when I finished his last completed novel and I once even drew up a plan and plot of how to finish 'The Mystery of Edwin Drood' (I hadn't heard of fan fiction at the time, this was going to be a serious work). I moved on to other things, but retained my affection for Dickens, recommending him to others, until a relative demanded why they should read the words of a man who was so awful to his wife. That shattered my avid fandom, but it also started me thinking fully through the question of whether to separate the message and the messenger. I still appreciate Dickens's literary genius, and have acquired some hardcover copies of my favourites, but I am now aware of the flaws in his books that speak to the flaws in his character.
"What do we do with a message of truth told by someone so wicked?"
I once attended a presentation given by the current pastors of a church founded by missionaries from my church 200 years ago. During the Q+A, someone was bold enough to ask a question I shared: historically, the political and moral legacy of that initial missionary team was decidedly mixed. What did the current church leadership think about the fact that the gospel they preached had reached them through people like _that_?
The pastor responded something to the effect of "I don't really know why this was God's plan, but I'm glad He didn't wait for a more perfect messenger to tell me He loved me."
"Perfect" is clearly an unattainable and unrealistic standard. And I certainly enjoy much art and literature by far-from-perfect messengers.
I like Holly's reframing of the question above: are we enabling the sin of a messenger by not holding them to account in some way? Obviously, that means we must know about the particular sin or shortcoming--but that is the function of the body. Too much gets overlooked. Somewhere in the middle of overlooking and enabling is virtue! And we are too prone to revering the messengers at times, I think.
I would be up for tackling the second shepherd’s story
The thing I think is so clever is Chaucer takes a well known tale and then has it told by the dodgy pardoner and then has the host who I thought so nice now completely lose his rag when the dodgy pardoner tries to fleece his guests. And then the knight, the moral pinnacle of the group has to calm everything down so there is a soap opera running at the same time as the tales being told
I would certainly be prepared to tackle more Chaucer before moving on. I noticed, for instance, that the Knight’s Tale, adapted from Petrarch (or was it Boccaccio?) is then retold in the Shakespeare collaboration The Two Noble Kinsmen.
Alright. Will take this into consideration!
In Dr. Prior's previous post, she pointed out that the text of the Tales suggests that the Pardoner and the Summoner are, in modern terms, in a homosexual relationship. In Chaucer's time, there was no notion that a person's sexuality was a feature of the person's personality; what was regarded then as deviant was then a sign of a person's villainy.
The Pardoner is certainly a rascal, but right in the middle of bringing out his merchandise (the pig's bones, etc), he expresses with clarity Christ's offer of salvation:
And lo, sires, thus I preche.
And Jhesu Crist, that is oure soules leche [physician]
So graunte yow his pardoun to receyve,
For that is best; I wol yow nat deceyve.
How true he is . . . here!
The tale ends for me on a fascinating grace note. In response to the Host's extraordinary insult, which calls to mind the insinuation of the Pardoner's deviance, the Pardoner is speechless with fury: This pardoner answerde nat a word; So wrooth he was, no word ne wolde he sweye. The grace note is what the Knight does next as the other pilgrims are laughing at the Pardoner:
"Namoore of this, for it is right ynough!
Sire Pardoner, be glad and myrie of cheere;
And ye, sire Hoost, that been to me so deere,
I prey yow that ye kisse the Pardoner.
And Pardoner, I prey thee, drawe thee neer,
And, as we diden, lat us laughe and pleye."
Anon they kiste, and ryden forth hir weye.
I'd make several observations about this: (1) The Knight's action here, in a very real sense, maintains or restores the community of the pilgrims. The Pardoner had been a rascal and had been furious, but he is neither expelled from the journey, nor does he leave on his own. (2) Clearly same-sex non-sexual intimacy among men was common and socially accepted in Chaucer's time. But to restore the peace with a kiss is to insist on something more than a handshake or an embrace.
Chaucer created one of the great rascals in literature with the Pardoner. He's gonna keep him.
Oh, I love this! These are beautiful observations.
What you say about sexual relations in medieval times reminds me of the way behavior was judged in the ancient world. I knew this but I just happened to read an article reminding me of it recently. The article was about a particular ancient Roman ruler of short reign who engaged in much deviant sexual behavior, but the point of the article was that the categories we have now not only didn't exist, but other categories did (based not on sex or gender but on who was the giver and who was the receiver, to put it as delicately as I can). By the age of the medieval church, standards had changed but, as you way, the categories we know wouldn't develop until the 19th century and later.
But, yes, these are grace notes--within the tale and between the pilgrims. So lovely.
I kept snickering over how the Pardoner was inveighing against drunkenness, having just had a few drinks, "Now keep you from the the white and the red." I found it interesting that he cites so many Scriptural examples - usually out of context, e.g. Adam and Eve's sin wasn't gluttony - but also refers to examples in secular poetry as if they had equal weight.
The three characters in the tale itself made me wonder if they were goliards, medieval clerical students who were noted for their irreverence, and riotous living, and also for their poetry: https://www.britannica.com/art/goliard. It is a brilliant little tale, but the sermon is really a very bad sermon, with its misapplication of Scripture and open hypocrisy of the preacher - his succulent descriptions of savoury food and fine drink alone belie his intent.
As for whether we should separate the message from the messenger, the Bible often does. Solomon is named as the author of three books of the Old Testament, yet he was an idolater. There are multiple stories of divine prophecy being given by men who were totally disobedient, Balaam, for example, and King Saul. I think the question to ask is, are we enabling the messenger's evil life by accepting his message? Solomon and Balaam are long dead, but a contemporary morally corrupt pastor who is invited to keep preaching because everyone likes his message is being enabled to continue in his corruption. I have no idea if Chaucer meant to do this, but the Host threatens the same consequence to the Pardoner that Paul did to the false teachers of his day, "I would they were even cut off which trouble you!" (Galatians 5:12).
By the way, I would like The Second Shepherd's story - it would be interesting to do a medieval play. I am not familiar with Everyman, but I am with Dr. Faustus, whom one constantly stumbles over in classical music - that would provoke some interesting spiritual discussions.
Thank you for chiming in!
That is an interesting possibility -- that of the rioters being goliards!
The Pardoner clearly does not know Scripture. Reminds me of some of the "pastors" who have made a name for themselves today on social media for their conspiracy theories, roles as political advisors, etc. It's very humbling in terms of thinking we "moderns" have a one-up on the illiterate peasants of the Middle Ages.
I like your re-framing of the question: are we enabling the messenger's evil life by accepting his message?" And I'd add or by supporting his platform?
I think, too, that some messages are belied by the messenger (as with the Pardoner) if the messenger proves his life does not live up to his own message. I think, for example, of recent news of a respected Christian ethics professor recently shown to be a serial sexual harrasser. And I would not take spiritual advice from a spiritual abuser. So I guess discernment is necessary. Some messages are objectively True, while some are subjective "teaching."
Charles Dickens was a jerk--but his novels are great, nevertheless.
Thank you for reminding me of that word from Paul! Perfection.
One aspect of the message vs. the messenger question I haven't fully answered is what if the message is merely artistically pleasing, rather than clearly true, and the messenger was evil or associated with great evil.
The most famous medieval collection of the goliards' poetry is 'Carmina Burana', of which a selection of verses were set into a musical cantanta by the 20th century German composer, Carl Orff. Most of Orff's cantata I find forgettable, but nearly everyone knows the opening 'O Fortuna', as it has made its way into popular culture as a Gothic piece for dramatic moments. What is no longer commonly known is that Carl Orff was the official composer of the Third Reich, receiving a large salary from the Nazis. He was not a member of the Nazi party, but neither did he ever, during or after the war, repudiate the Nazi ideology. It has been suggested that he had personal pressures to comply, but other composers risked their careers and lives rather than capitulate. 'Carmina Burana', composed in 1936, was not written specifically for the Reich, as other compositions by Orff were. We could live without 'O Fortuna' - it is musically clever in its depiction of the great wheel of Fortune, but not deeply profound. But is it morally necessary to consign the work to the dustbin of time?
That is an excellent quote! I am a bit distracted by his use of the pregnant woman as an example, as in common law there is an exception of long historical precedent made for postpartum women for the crime of infanticide, the penalties for which are less severe than those for homicide. Nevertheless, the point stands, that one's art is not an excuse for criminal behaviour, nor must the art of a criminal be respected if it shelters a crime.
“If it shelters a crime” is an excellent criterion.
So this doesn’t directly answer your question, but the example you used reminded me of this passage from George Orwell that I could never forget once I read it (and used it in classes a lot):
“In an age like our own, when the artist is an altogether exceptional person, he must be allowed a certain amount of irresponsibility, just as a pregnant woman is. Still, no one would say that a pregnant woman should be allowed to commit murder, nor would anyone make such a claim for the artist, however gifted. If Shakespeare returned to the earth to-morrow, and if it were found that his favourite recreation was raping little girls in railway carriages, we should not tell him to go ahead with it on the ground that he might write another King Lear. And, after all, the worst crimes are not always the punishable ones. By encouraging necrophilic reveries one probably does quite as much harm as by, say, picking pockets at the races. One ought to be able to hold in one’s head simultaneously the two facts that Dali is a good draughtsman and a disgusting human being. The one does not invalidate or, in a sense, affect the other. The first thing that we demand of a wall is that it shall stand up. If it stands up, it is a good wall, and the question of what purpose it serves is separable from that. And yet even the best wall in the world deserves to be pulled down if it surrounds a concentration camp. In the same way it should be possible to say, “This is a good book or a good picture, and it ought to be burned by the public hangman.” Unless one can say that, at least in imagination, one is shirking the implications of the fact that an artist is also a citizen and a human being.”
I loved Charles Dickens as a young adult, reading them as avidly as others read Harry Potter or Twilight. It was both and sad and proud day when I finished his last completed novel and I once even drew up a plan and plot of how to finish 'The Mystery of Edwin Drood' (I hadn't heard of fan fiction at the time, this was going to be a serious work). I moved on to other things, but retained my affection for Dickens, recommending him to others, until a relative demanded why they should read the words of a man who was so awful to his wife. That shattered my avid fandom, but it also started me thinking fully through the question of whether to separate the message and the messenger. I still appreciate Dickens's literary genius, and have acquired some hardcover copies of my favourites, but I am now aware of the flaws in his books that speak to the flaws in his character.
"What do we do with a message of truth told by someone so wicked?"
I once attended a presentation given by the current pastors of a church founded by missionaries from my church 200 years ago. During the Q+A, someone was bold enough to ask a question I shared: historically, the political and moral legacy of that initial missionary team was decidedly mixed. What did the current church leadership think about the fact that the gospel they preached had reached them through people like _that_?
The pastor responded something to the effect of "I don't really know why this was God's plan, but I'm glad He didn't wait for a more perfect messenger to tell me He loved me."
That answer has stuck with me.
That is a memorable answer.
"Perfect" is clearly an unattainable and unrealistic standard. And I certainly enjoy much art and literature by far-from-perfect messengers.
I like Holly's reframing of the question above: are we enabling the sin of a messenger by not holding them to account in some way? Obviously, that means we must know about the particular sin or shortcoming--but that is the function of the body. Too much gets overlooked. Somewhere in the middle of overlooking and enabling is virtue! And we are too prone to revering the messengers at times, I think.
And Truth is Truth no matter where it is found.
Thanks for sharing that story!
I would be up for tackling the second shepherd’s story
The thing I think is so clever is Chaucer takes a well known tale and then has it told by the dodgy pardoner and then has the host who I thought so nice now completely lose his rag when the dodgy pardoner tries to fleece his guests. And then the knight, the moral pinnacle of the group has to calm everything down so there is a soap opera running at the same time as the tales being told
Oh shoot! I wanted to mention the noble rescue by the knight at the end but forgot. Too distracted by the Host’s apt response to the Pardoner’s nerve!
It is such a soap opera. Hilarious!