Beowulf
One of the respondents to a recent Hard Right asked Why I waste time on the election or on celebrity stories. The simple answer is that these subjects allow me to smuggle in a set of subversive arguments that no one would read if I put up a discussion of Augustin Cochin or Orestes Brownson. In this connection, we will be having a brief discussion of Cochin, a translation of whose work on the French Revolution is now available from Chronicles Press. To give you all time to buy the book, I am going to offer an opportunity to talk for two weeks about Beowulf--not the movie, please--as a means of discussing Anglo-Saxon society, its politics and its moral framework.
I've been lecturing on the Anglo-Saxons for three weeks and although a rank amateur in this field, I think I know enough to lead a brief discussion of this wonderful epic. There are dozens of translations and I don't know which one I shall use. If I can find Tim Murphy's recent version, I'll use that because it reads well as poetry and I know Tim worked hard grappling with the text. If anyone is looking for background on the Anglo-Saxons, Sir Frank Stenton's Anglo-Saxon England is still indispensable and very readable.
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Beowulf I
I want to begin with a few bits of basic information, subject to correction from the superior authorities on whom I am counting. Beowulf is generally regarded, Tolkien notwithstanding, as an epic poem written down in its current state mostly in the Wessex dialect of Anglo-Saxon. Traces of East Anglian, apparently, have been detected We can discuss later, if anyone likes, what is meant by “epic” poem and whether or not the length and composition of Beowulf may have been influenced by reading or at least knowledge of the Aeneid
Although the manuscript of Beowulf is generally dated to approximately 1000 AD, the ms. may well be a copy of a work composed much earlier, even before 800. Both internal evidence, apparently, and analogies with other epic poems would suggest that it is the most recent version of a traditional story, polished by generations of perhaps illiterate revisers, before reaching its present form. If there are, indeed, traces of other dialects, the analogy with Homer is useful. The Iliad and Odyssey are written in what is often called the “epic dialect” a literary hodge-podge that is primarily Ionic Greek but with traces of Arcado-Cypriot (reflecting earlier Mycenaean) and perhaps Aeolic.
The story of Beowulf concerns Germanic peoples, primarily Geats, Danes, and Frisians. There is an undoubted historic core: Hygelac is referred to not only in the Liber Monstrorum, and his raid on the Frisians, dated to about 515, is noted by Bishop Gregory of Tours in his history of the Franks. I borrow the rest of this brief and inadequate introduction from a lecture I gave two weeks ago:
“Most students of history inevitably look at the past from a southern perspective, observing the torch of civilization as it passes from Egypt and the Middle East first to Greeks and Romans and then to the French and then, belatedly, to the English. Norman Conquest gives us opportunity to study microcosm of interaction between Germanic barbarians and Roman culture, though not quite so simple: AS’s had been strongly influenced by Latin Christianity and later by Norman culture, while Normans themselves were a Germanic-Nordic people who had only recently adopted French language, Roman Church, and what was left of Gallo-Roman culture. In other words our gaze is fixed between latitudes 30 N to 40 N and then a bit beyond 50 N.
For this discussion we want to turn our perspective upside down or rather upside up and look down from north, shedding feeble polar light of 60 degrees + North upon history. While Greeks were creating and Romans extending civilization in the sunny Mediterranean, their distant IE cousins were eking out a savage and marginal existence in the frozen wastes of Scandinavia, where civilization is known, even today, only as a tall tale told by heroic sea-rovers or Swedish mass-tourists stuffed with cheap pizza, raw wine and burned garlic. (No offense meant to Steve Berg et al.)
Swedes, Geats, Jutes, Lombards, Burgundians, Goths were the northern brethren of the Germanic peoples who lived to the South. They had been living in Scandinavia since roughly 2000 BC during a mild period for Northern Europe, and as the first age of global warming came to an end (complete perhaps by 500 BC), many of the tribes began moving South and eventually took part in the great Germanic folk-migrations that overthrew the Roman Empire. An early hint of what was to come from Scandinavia was the migration of the Teutones and Cimbri, who left their homes and raided their way across Europe and into Italy, where they were stopped by Roman general Marius in 101 BC.
The Jutes and Angles and Saxons who began attacking Britain in the IV C came, roughly from Denmark, Schleswig-Holstein, and northern Saxony. Hrolfe the Walker, the pirate and free-booter also known as Rollo, when Charles the Simple granted him the land to be called Normandy in 911, launched his raids from the territory of the Angles. William the Conqueror was the direct descendant, 6 generations later, of Rollo the Viking. Thus the three contestants for the throne of England in 1066 were all cousins: Anglo-Saxons (whose ancestors included Jutes from Jutland), Normans, and Norwegians (commanded by the most remarkable man of the age, Harald Hardrada). Obviously, there are serious differences among the 3 nations. By 1066 both Normans and Anglo-Saxons had gone a long way from their ancestral roots: They had accepted Christianity, were part of Catholic Europe, had developed more sophisticated agriculture, technology, and trade. Even 11th century Norway had developed the institutions of a national-state. Much of Norway was already Christianized even before Harald’s brother Olaf came to the throne and unwisely attempted to finish the job. Still, it is hard to find a streak of Christian humility or kindness in Harald.
Nonetheless, despite the dangers inherent in extrapolation from later Vikings back to the Angles and Saxons, it is helpful to try to understand a little of primitive Scandinavia, from the time of the Anglo-Saxon raids down to the Viking period. First thing to take note of: very very cold. Climate change for worse had accomplished several things. The tall, blond, rugged Scandinavian type, though not universal, was probably the result in part of adaptation to climate. Conditions varied, of course, and there was good arable land in some parts of southern Scandinavia, but generally at a disadvantage. Fishing, herding played larger role than elsewhere. Thin population—often bled away by migrations—and rough conditions did not encourage large-scale political units.
We have next-to no knowledge of Anglo-Saxon society on even of invasions, but we know a little more about Vikings several hundred years later. At the top of the social order were kings, members of royal kindreds, though power did not pass automatically to eldest son or, failing sons, a daughter, either in Scandinavia or in AS England. The king was primarily warchief and thus a tough and resolute warrior was needed to protect the people. King much more loosely applied than among Goths and other tribes to the South—often claimed by members of royal clan. Under the king were jarls/earls, who enjoyed power and prestige over community or communities, and in Scandinavia were commissioned by the king to represent his government, much like the comites in Carolingian Francia. These nobles, powerful as they might be, lacked the divine sanction of kings who claimed descent from Woden.
“The basic unity in society…was no king or earl but a bondir, a free farmer, roughly equivalent to the Anglo-Saxon ceorl…” [H.R. Lloyn, The Vikings in Britain] The bondir was no little man in our sense of the word. He was at his most typical the head of a household, a man of some property in land and especially in stock. He was a slave-owner. His symbols of rank were his axe and his spear. The mark of the freeman was the right to bear arms. He was oath-worthy and law-worthy… Sturdy and at times savage, independence was a characteristic of this breed, but…his very litigious and squabblesome nature found its outlet in what was essentially communal institutional life, in the folk-court, the local thing held at some traditional spot…”
Anglo-Saxon society developed under Frankish and Christian influence, but it started from roughly the same place and was never fully detached from its foundations. The freemen and Earls were fiercely individualistic, self-assertive, quick to anger; also intensely familial and devoted to kin. Marriage far more egalitarian than among more developed peoples. Free contract between man and woman, dissolvable by either party. Scandinavia and AS societies were not the Playboy Club that Iceland has become, but they were freer and less restricted in their sexual mores and attitude toward women than, say, Mediterranean cultures. This is one more indication of how primitive they were and are.
In Beowulf, the most important social and legal fact to notice is the code of the Germanic warrior. A free man, by definition, was a man who could fight to defend himself, his kin, and his king. Blood revenge and what would later be called dueling were social and moral norms.
In modern times, English law has gone farthest in restricting the individual's recourse to violence. Our Anglo-Saxon ancestors, if they were freemen, did not so much take the law into their own hands as exercise the law on their own authority. In avenging a death in the family, they were less interested in the motives and circumstances than in the fact. Blood once spilled cannot be recalled, as the furies say in Aeschylus' Eumenides. Even in a case of accidental homicide, where no negligence is involved, a man is still dead, and--as the legal maxim held--"Legis enim est qui inscienter peccet, scienter emendet", that is a man should knowingly fix the harm he had done in ignorance." In tort law, this principle endured into the 19th century.
For the Saxons, murder as well as accidental homicide were settled by payment of blood-money to the kindred. "Homicide appears in the Anglo-Saxon dooms as a matter for composition in the ordinary case of slaying in an open quarrel. There are additional public penalties in aggravated cases, as where a man is slain in the king's presence or otherwise in breach of the king's peace." [Maitland and Pollock I.52]
Wergeld, as our Saxon ancestors called it, is a custom of many nations, although none, perhaps, has elaborated it into a social system so successfully as the Germanic peoples. The monster Grendel, whom Beowulf kills, is an outlaw not so much because he kills the Danish king's retainers as because his refusal to pay compensation puts him outside society.
“Although it may be assumed that the primitive Germans recognized only the fact of bloodshed, motivation and circumstance did come to play an important part. Of course the slayer's kin could stick to the letter of the law of blood, but "one may almost say that the leading motive in heroic literature is precisely this difference of opinion between the people who hold that under any circumstance it is shameful to come to an agreement with the bana (slayer) of one's lord or friend or kinsman, and the people who are willing under certain circumstances to come to such an agreement." [Beowulf: An Introduction to the Study of the Poem with a Discussion of the Stories of Offa and Finn by R.W. Chambers with supplement by C. L. Wrenn, IIIrd Ed., Cambridge UP, 1963, 276-77.] Liability also extended to one who loaned weapons or was present in a fray.
Much of what underlies the principle of blood-revenge is summed up in the phrase “collective responsibility.” In other words, an individual who killed or maimed or robbed someone was not the only person responsible. If a town rose up against the king, it was not just the guilty parties who suffered. In Medieval Tuscany, Florence in particular, wide networks of kinfolks were held collectively responsible for paying the fines of an offending member, and this gave the Florentine business classes the ability to expel entire noble kindreds. One of King Alfred’s successors made local communities responsible for paying the fines for unpunished criminals—which must have served as a powerful incentive to punish the guilty parties.
This is a very inadequate and amateurish introduction, which can be fleshed out in many directions, but I wanted to begin to show that in the heroic world of Beowulf, we shall not find many things to confirm our modern liberal prejudices in favor of equality, individualism, and universal moral rules.
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Þeódcyning means "national king," a high king.
Theodoric was an apt name for an emperor, as it means "national ruler." Theod often has an almost mystical sense of honour attached and was a popular part of names, as in the name Thiodolf, "wolf (defender) of the race."
By the way, for lovers of old words, modern English has "thede," and for the crowd dwelling throughout the land, there is "lede;" the good king was true to and took care of his land and lede.
(Sorry for three posts in a row, I am having trouble getting my posts through and I think including a URL was the problem.)
PcH @ 50
A rabbit let us for a moment chase! The Germanic "theoda" means "people" or "folk." It appears in Old High German as "theodisk" and "diutisk." In Gothic it is "thiudisko." In the modern vernaculars it is "Dutch" and "Deutsch."
The rabbit has entered the brier patch. So back to Beowulf.
Above, I'm not trying to reconstruct Anglo-Saxon woman into Saint Veronica. There's just something so off-putting about the lack of what I guess a socio-biologist might call sexual-dimorphism in modern people. The prototype woman now seems to be body-sculpted, trouser-wearing, loud-mouthed, androgenous,etc. I get the general sense that the women surrounding the real Beowulf were at least pagan-feminine. Are we regressing to paganism or are we progressing towards something even more wretched? Dr. Fleming says that most people don't have the guts to be atheists, so maybe they are pagans of a sort.
Real Paganism--Greek, Roman, Germanic--may not take guts but it is not a cult for namby-pambies. Sexual dimorphism tends to increase with civilization, as societies invent customs and rules that emphasize the distinctions. Some of them involve hair and dress; others are behavioral. These cultural developments are the social equivalent of hypertrophy--the tendency for species to develop sexually relevant traits beyond any apparent utility--the antlers of the Irish elk are always cited. Highly developed sex roles have many functions, including the protection of women and their children, and they are almost always an indication of a high level of development. REversion to the egalitarianism of pygmies and bushmen is a sign of collapse. No known Indo-European society was egalitarian, but customs are always more rough-and-ready on a frontier society that demands a high level of physical strength and exertion from women.
I suggest at this point we return to the story itself. Let us have a brief discussion of what happens from the very beginning until Beowulf and his men bed down for the night. I assume that it is not necessary to repeat the story? I'll post something later today or wait for someone more learned to kick things off.
Just a quick interruption to say that both Peters and Fleming are right.
RMP- you are right that that means people; I could not get a link to go through to the definitive dictionary of Old English to support that besides meaning people, it also means some things more specific. I wrongly assumed it was obvious that "nation" means "people." Thus you are right and it was my aim to add more details to support your statements. My intent was to make you look good (a compliment you more than merit). Sorry if I did that ineptly.
TJF - Your posts here are further indication of the indebtedness all we readers here have to your brilliant professionalism as a world-class scholar, classicist, historian, thinker, writer, and editor of America's most needed magazine. I hope it is clear I was merely adding details to your superb statements. I hope it is clear that everything I say supports your first-rate summaries and conclusions on Beowulf -- made by a professional.
PcH @ 54
Your post, I assure you, was taken as naught else as carrying on where I had left off. However, there have been no few times that I have erred, spoken in ignorance of my ignorance or been simply befuddled. Do not hestitate to correct or critcize anything I write when you have facts and evidence to the contrary. All that I ask is that you never, ever, call me "Bob!" I loathe, dispise, hate, abhor, abominate and extremely dislike that diminutive - applied to me.
My rabbit was just that. I took the trail with your "thede." I failed to mention that modern German has "Leute" or "people" which historically corresponds to your "lede."
I first encountered the discussion about the pre-migration kings and the post-migration kings in reference ot Theodoric while sitting in a very cold room at the University of Vienna in a seminar on the Early Middle Ages with Dr. H. Wolfram. Later that semester, I spent quite a bit of time in Kaffe Haag near the Schottentor writing a paper on it, while drinking Kaffee mit Schlag and keeping an eyes on the girls who came in. Theodoric was kind to me, kinder to me than he was to Boetheus and Odavacar.
I am sometimes hypersensitive to others' feelings. I try to make a virtue of it, but it is too often a vice. It is residue of being brought up in a household of women and mistakenly thinking I was responsible for their emotional stability. Had I been born in a more civilized culture, such as the classical Mediterranean, I would know that that was an impossible job.
Yes you are right about the other uses for theod. And you probably know that the nearest Old English equivalent for German seems to be theodisc (= Deutsch), which suggests that they still thought of the continent as the "nation," the people of the mother countries. Yes Leute = lede. But I think the Germans used to say "Blut und Boden" instead of "Land und Leute" because the former sounded more organic and romantic.
I envy your language training and stories.
The rabbit has sure had a lot of carrots lately.
In two hours, I am off to the library for Beowulf...
Scyld Scefing, the mythical progenitor of the Danes, is another one of those babies who comes to a land as a castaway on a boat, in his case a boat loaded with treasure. His great grand-son Hrothgar comes out of the mist of myth and into legend and history. This invites some comparison with other such instances.
As as sidebar, I note that the "ing" in the name "Scefing" is genitive in many Germanic dialects and has an "offishness" to it as in "of the."
I felt invited to compare the funeral of Scefing at the beginning of the poem with that of Beowulf at the end. Scefing has what we have come to view as a traditional Viking funeral. Beowulf, in contrast is cremated and buried on a cliff for all to see. This may be a mere difference between Scyldings and Geats, or the poet may be trying to tell us something more. Perhaps much has already been written about it.
As I said in a previous post, I had not in earlier readings paid much attention to the use of " þeodcyning" as applied to Scyld. Perhaps as we see Beowulf mature from a warrior king to a wise people or priestly king in the course of the poem, we see him earning for himself this title as if the poem in part were a Bildungsroman or an Entwicklungsroman.
Gentlemen,
This forum is itself a gathering place, a sort of cyber mead hall. I must leave the hall for several days, until Sunday; for I have a civilian obligation with the Louisiana National Guard.
I do note that the mead hall is a place of refuge, a sanctuary, in which warriors weary of battle can find refuge and comfort. A pagan form of the church? Grendel breaks the peace and attacks the sanctuary. This is perhaps a point of discussion since the poet has linked Grendel to Cain.
I also note that Hrothgar had the hall, this place of sanctuary, built. The text gives us a sense of a major project which mobilizes the people to a common task, which demonstrates Hrothgar's importance and wealth, and which becomes a focal point of community. It reminds one of other such projects by leaders. I would not assert that the poet had Soloman's Temple in mind when he wrote the mead hall into the poem, probably not; but it did come to my mind.
Be it the Lord's will, I shall check in sometime Sunday.
I once read Herwig Wolfram's 'History of the Goths', probably the best work on the subject. Concerning the different types of kings which Mr Peters and PCH have discussed, I remember that Wolfram wrote that when the Ostrogoths were attacked by the Huns, the Visigoths sent an army to assist their kinsmen, but the king didn't lead it because he was forbidden to leave the kingdom. He led the army to the border of the Vesi kingdon, then another leader led it on from there into Greutungia. Perhaps this is a Gothic equivalent of what has been discussed here.
Anyway, I have read to the part where everyone goes back to Heorot to feast after the death of Grendel. There begins a sub-poem about someone called Hildeburh. It will be interesting to see how these 'sub-poems' (for lack of a better name for them) fits into the larger story. The main story itself is so interesting that I almost cant wait for TJF and the others to 'kick it off'.
Mr. Wilson @ 59
Obviously, I have not yet left for Carville where I am to teach for the LA Guard. The reason: my car broke down. I will not be leaving until I get another car late this afternoon.
To the point, however, of your post at 59. If you reference my post @ 55, you will note that I speak of a cold classroom in Vienna. The professor of that class, a seminar in the Early Middle Ages, was none other than Dr. Herwig Wolfram who wrote the book which you mention. It is exactly from him that I learned of the pre-migration "priestly" or "peoples" kings and the migration and post-migration "warrior kings" and that Theodoric was the synthesis of both. I was unaware that he had published the book. Now, it will have to go on my Christmas list!
I have Wolfram's book on the shelf and have used it several times in an effort to understand the Goths. The book is excellent and Wolfram can be quite brilliant, but, I would add, sometimes a bit too brilliant and theoretical to be entirely safe for the uninstructed. Thomas Burns' History of the Ostrogoths is more limited in scope and more plodding but, perhaps, should be read in conjunction with Wolfram. In general, I have to say, barbarian historiography invites the kind of sweeping hypotheses and bold conjectures that makes the classicist disciplined by written evidence a bit skeptical. Since the bulk of written sources are in Latin and Greek, I feel on stronger ground when making an evaluation.
I still have not left for Carville, because my transportation, my wife's car, has not arrived yet.
Dr. Wolfram made me use the Latin which I had learned as an undergraduate when I wrote a paper on Otto the Great. I am used to his theoretical forays, so I must have the book.
Mr Peters, I was indeed referencing your post @55. I didn't respond to it directly because I didn't think you would be around. Have a safe trip.
I agree with TJF about Wolfram's book. It was sometimes a really big bite to chew for someone 19 years old and with only a high school education. I could decipher most of the minutely detailed or theoretical parts, but when I couldn't, or when I could only come up with an idea of what I thought he meant, I would just take those passages for what they were and move on, realising that I had taken a dive into something really deep, and so I had better not draw my own conclusions.
The book did, however, instill in me a love for scholarly writing that abides still, which eventually caused me to veer off into Egyptology and Biblical Archaeology, partly out of attraction to them, and partly because there wasn't much else out there concerning northern Europe, or else I couldn't find it.
I haven't gotten far (I've 4 children under 7, a wife who volunteers at church a lot and a nasty cold). But here's some thoughts that might move the ball (or not).
What jumps out at me is how the poet has no problem reconciling Germanic warrior values (wergild, etc.) with Christianity while shunning that which clearly isn't Christian (the Danes regression to paganism when they pray to the devils (Aesir/Vanir) for help. Of course, this doesn't save them. Only the Christian God's servant Beowulf can.
Also, Cain's seed is unrepetant/unremorseful.
I have no idea if scholars have concluded that the Christian colouring was given by the monk who wrote down the original or if he inherited it that way. It rather reminds me of the Heliand which was written down right after the necessarily brutal conversion of the continental Old Saxons around 800 except that the Heliand focuses on the Gospel whereas the few references in Beowulf so far are either Old Testament or very broad and general.
Maybe the heavyweights can do something with this?
Alan Sullivan and Tim Murphy's translation of Beowulf is by far my favourite. They have tried as far as possible to use vocabulary of Germanic rather than Latinate or Hellenic origin, and this, as well as the fact that both translators are accomplished poets in their own right, gives the translation an authenticity of sound and rugged image that I haven't met elsewhere. Here's a sample from the section dealing with Beowulf's death:
That deed was the king’s crowning conquest;
Beowulf’s work in the world was done.
He soon felt his wound swelling and stinging
where fell fangs had fastened upon him,
and evil venom enveloped his heart.
Wisely he sought a seat by the stone-wall,
and his gaze dwelled on the dark doorway
delved in the dolmen, the straight stiles
and sturdy archway sculpted by giants...
You'll find more of this section translated, and an essay on the translation, here:
http://www.the-chimaera.com/January2008/Trans/SullivanandMurphy.html
At the foot of that page is a link to the Amazon listing of the book.
Bruce @ 64
The Praefatio of the Heliand indicates that Louis the Pius had commissioned so that his people of the Saxon race could have the Gospel in their own tongue.
The Heliand has, in addition to the Gospel, a Genesis portion which includes Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel and Sodom, as well as other Old Testament references.
Bruce @ 64
Your words:
"What jumps out at me is how the poet has no problem reconciling Germanic warrior values (wergild, etc.) with Christianity while shunning that which clearly isn’t Christian (the Danes regression to paganism when they pray to the devils (Aesir/Vanir) for help. Of course, this doesn’t save them. Only the Christian God’s servant Beowulf can."
We assume that the poet, the original author, wrote the oldest extant version of "Beowulf" which is available to us; or that the oldest extant version was faithfully and with fidelity rendered by a competent scribe.
In dealing with such works, the questions is am I dealing with the orginal author's version, an editor's version - an editor eager to infuse his worldview, perhaps from a very different age into the work, or a "mere" scribes version - a scribe who might from time to time embellish the work.
We then get to motive. Is it the motive of the writer to assert one worldview over the other, Christian over pagan or perhaps even a nostalgic longing for the old pagan over the Christian; or does the writer simply want to render to us things as they were or things as he thought them to be?
That the pagan and the Christian might be co-existing in the same work, yea, in the same character, I do not find to be at all surprising; for, assuming that we are followers of the Christ, we are in a process of putting of the old man (the pagan?) and putting on the new man (Chirst). Rejecting the flesh and embracing the Spirit is for most of us a life-time process. For an entire culture, this process can span many lifetimes. Although "Beowulf" reflects a non-Saxon, albeit Germanic story, it is a Saxon telling and rendering; and the Saxons were relatively new comers to the Christian experience as compared to the Franks or most of the East Germanic tribes.
To put your question as stated in the quote which I have rendered supra in our own context, I would ask the following: Why are so many who call themselves Christians in the nascent 21st century genuflecting to the god of war, Mars, rather than to the Prince of Peace, Christ? Were I to write an epic poem of this century and insert into it the character "Huckabee," for instance, I would be compelled, if I were at all true to the historical context, to render the same dichotomy in that character as the writer of "Beowulf" has placed in his.
As to "Wergeld" or "man money," I do no see that to be at odds with Christianity. Sin is against God. Crimes are against the state. Trespass is against a person. Not all sins are crimes, and one could argue that not all crimes are sins. "Wergeld" dealt with a tresspass against a person, a breach of the "higher law" against a person. There is no indication that pagan Germanics had any notion of sinning against God or the gods. Pagan Germanics also had no notion, at least not in the modern sense, of crimes since the state did not exist. The "higher law" through which they came to understand a trespass against another was written in their hearts. An excellent example of this comes out of the Nibelungenlied. Kriemhild has had two trespasses committed against her by Hagan: he killed her husband Siegfried and her small son by Attila. At the end of the battle in Attila's court, Hagen, the sole survivor from among the Nibelungen/Burgundians is brought bound before Attlila and Kriemhild. Kriemhild slays him, bound and unarmed, whereupon, Hildebrand, the old Goth, who appears in so many Germanic legends, and a vassal of Attila, kills Kriemhild because she has broken the higher law: killed an unarmed and bound free man. This is not an act of revenge on Hildebrand's part. Hagen had killed his lord's son. Hagan had killed his lady's late husband and son. In the battle which had just ended, Hildebrand would have killed Hagen as an opposing combatant. Hildebrand had no love or loyalty to Hagen. Thus, in killing Kriemhild, Hildebrand was merely the agent of the higher law. Had Attila been the one who killed Hagen, Hildebrand would have killed him. I have almost forgotten "Wergeld" in my rambling. For many crimes against the state, it would be far better, in my opinion, if we had "wergeld" rather than the costly and debasing imprisonment, even for certain kinds of homicide. As far as I am concerned, those who kill for bloodlust as serial killers, for profit as those who kill the spouse for insurance, or a to cover up a crime as those who leave no witnesses, should and can be executed; however, the tired and frustrated spouse who kills the other with a frying pan in a moment of passion could pay some determined amount of wergeld as far as I am concerned. Such as person has indeed committed a sin against God, but sending a such a person to jail does not do one thing for the sin problem.
The only response I have to recent comments, apart from my thanks, is that 1) I would be quoting from Sullivan and Murphy (I should have mentioned Sullivan originally) if I had not, apparently, loaned my copy to someone—always a mistake, especially to students and, worse, divinity students and preachers. Never lend a book you ever wish to see again. I am therefore quoting from Chickering’s useful dual–language edition, which is quite readable and done by an allegedly competent AS scholar. 2) I prefer not to deal with the very real problems of authorship and transmission. I am simply not competent to judge them and for the sake of discussion I am going to pretend to assume that the final version or redaction reflects someone’s approach and that someone I am going to treat as the author. Herewith a few belated observations on the opening of Beowulf.
The opening—roughly the first 99 lines--is adequate but not brilliant. Unlike ancient epic writers who managed to compress the theme of the work into a few phrases (the wrath of Achilles, the much-turned man, arms and the man) and then plunge in medias res, our author gives us the historical background. While not especially effective literarily, the opening lines do introduce us to a world-view that is quite different both from our own world and also, though to a lesser extent, from the Iliad. Openings are always important, as Mickey Spillane knew (Spillane once said he wrote the beginnings and endings first and then filled in the rest.) This opening tells us that an important part of the matter is the people or tribe of the Scyldings. Scyld is the Moses or Sargon or Romulus of the Danes: a wonderful child who arrived mysteriously in a boat. Scyld is an important character in himself but more important as an ancestor.
Now, Homeric heroes are also proud of their ancestors, who are sometimes treated as the fathers or founders of the tribe, but the emphasis here and throughout the poem is very strongly on the tribe itself and not just on the hero. It is significant here as in Homer that Beowulf the Geat’s father was a friend of Hrothgar. I think we are dealing with a relationship rather parallel to what the Greeks call Xenia, translated as “guest-friendship,” which involves hospitality, protection, gift-giving. Remember the meeting of Glaucus and Diomedes in the Iliad, who, when they realize they are descended from xenoi, exchange gifts and agree not to attack each other in battle. In AS/Viking society, too, kinship and friendship often trump loyalty to king, though the Vikings, in constructing Jomsburg—what a glorious story, by the way—swore oaths to put loyalty to the community and to the Danish king above kinship and personal ties. This is what made men like Thorkell the Tall so dangerous—and so hated, when he defected (with good reason) from the Danish to the AS side. This is one theme we can and should be tracking throughout the work.
I think I’ll stop with this, though I would like to proceed, before the end of the day to a discussion of Grendel.
"In AS/Viking society, too, kinship and friendship often trump loyalty to king, though the Vikings, in constructing Jomsburg—what a glorious story, by the way—swore oaths to put loyalty to the community and to the Danish king above kinship and personal ties."
The precondition for oaths is always obvious and obscure to modern thinkers. "Well sure back in those days a man's word meant something ." There were consequences in both keeping and breaking ones word. Once this honorable conduct is no longer a determinate factor in a culture, what replaces it ? In the ancient beginnings of civilization there is always this tremendous and terrible awareness of charity and duty towards ones own--- even (and perhaps especialy) unto death. In Beowulf we see it at the beginning of the poem with a younger man seeking honor and we will see it agin towards the end of the poem of an older man still upholding it. . This awareness of honor and duty never leaves Beowulf and like Achilles, is both glorious and in the end, his cause of greatness and death.
The importance of wergild and oaths was that this was a libertarian society organized in families and weak confederations. The freedom is enviable, but the frequent war-making and chaos are not.
I see that the Beowulf's author is intrigued with a romantic nostalgia for the olden ways, for boundless freedom; but he is also happy to live in a time under the peace of Christ.
Historically, we know that before Rome arrived in the wild forests of the north, Germanic society was settled, and though rural, could be described as a "civilisation." Little is known of that time. Once Rome appeared, whole tribes and nations plunged into turmoil and picked up their bags and moved back and forth over thousands of miles; confined since the Beaker Folk of the Stone Age to southern Scandinavia and along the seacoasts from the mouths of the Rhine to the Vistula, they spread along Rome's northern borders to the Black Sea.
This period of chaos did not end until Christianity came and by the time Beowulf's tale was set down, the minimum social bindings of the migration era, wergild and oaths, still remained as more than memory.
I think that it is in this wise that the Prologue is written. It is looking to the near past with an eye envious of the courage that was required amidst the fearful disorder. It establishes the sea as the agent of chaos, a theme that unifies the work. Our forefathers of the North Sea well knew the bounty in fish and trade it provided and the unpredictable harm it likewise wreaked. The attention to the sea as the source of our historical origins fits neatly with the Ingvaeonic theory to which Robert M. Peters alluded above. Even in the modern history of the wide-flung English peoples, the sea plays a central rôle.
The Prologue also exemplifies that our Western civilization was strangely fascinated with history from its beginnings. Spengler posited history as the West's essential character, along with the urge to stretch out everything -- history, time, or any idea -- into infinity. This sense of history, born perhaps in the millennia of the migration to foster a sense of continuity amid the rootlessness, is applied without apology in the Prologue to Beowulf.
To a man of the classical world's perfection, this way of attending to history is foreign, but I think by placing it at the top of the epic, the author is saying, this is why we are here this night: to here the story of who we are.
And that history was born in the sea, for good and ill. As comes anon, Beowulf dares the sea by performing a great feat as a youth during a horrific tempest. This will prove prophetic of what is to come, as the sea is home to monsters — and to Grendel who will ravage its coasts like an antediluvian devil-giant of the Book of Enoch.
To fight it takes courage while drowning in the sea's chaos. To fight it takes the courage and purpose of a saviour, a microcosm of men's needs ghostly.
Grendel must needs be a supernatural evil, for it is such that is man's fight ever.
There is indeed, throughout Germanic myth, legend and literature, this longing for things as they once were, a time that was before, perhaps some "golden age," a time before the sunderings through the migrations through which men, once kin, returned to one another as strangers and foes, speaking tongues almost familiar but yet now other.
At the heart of these Germanic peoples, at least as it is protrayed in their literature, is a primeval faith, touched on by PcH supra, that is couched and made manifest in courage, courage in the midst of chaos and seeming meaninglessness. Grendel, the descendant of Cain, does not have that faith, and hence, lacks that courage, and rather than with this courage battle the chaos, he has given in to it and despite his power, has become a coward, capable of horrible acts but of no heroic acts; strong men he cannot attack by light of day but only in the night when they are in repose. I have not read about all that Tolkien might have taken from "Beowulf" for the Lord of the Rings; I would, however, suppose that Grendel might have been the model for his Golum. Nietzsche's superman is essentially, when one distills him down, he who fully realizes and copes with the utter meaninglessness of existence in chaos. Yet, these Germanics, at least as we meet them in the literature - perhaps because the light of Christianity was already upon them or perhaps that the original light of God as St. Paul speaks of in Romans Chapter 1 had not completely gone out - were not at all Nietzche's supermen but men with a faith ever so small that produced a daunting courage in a frightening world with a hope of something other and better beyond.
I, of course, do not claim gnostic knowledge to read between the lines of the poem and assertain the poets deeper meaning pursuant to Grendel. It is sufficient that Grendel is evil and plagues good men and his ultimately killed by a hero. Yet, Grendel is who all men would be if they gave into the meaningless and terror of the world around: they would become the very terror which they feared.
As Danes encouter this evil, it should not suprise us that they default to the old order, the pagan rituals, that which is closer to the very evil which they would fight. I have a friend who is a new Christian, coming out of a life of drugs; yet, when he is under stress, he will too often default to that which he knows, namely the "safety" of drugs rather than the freeing power of Christ.
There is a very faint echo - again I do not know the poet's intent - of David in Beowulf's encounter with Grendel: Beowulf refuses to use his armor and his sword and chooses to meet the monster barehanded.
I thank Pch for his valuable and insightful comments. Re the prologue. It is not so much that a classicist will find the approach to history foreign or, even if he does, that he would find it troubling. Although I don't have much use for Spengler--or any other modern with weltgeschichtlich theories--Western writers have certainly taken an interest in the past, though in what ways this is different from authors of the Gilgamesh poems, it is not so easy to say. The ancients, pace my late friend Robert Nisbet, did not have much of a progressive view of history. On the other hand, their typically cyclic view may be more the reflection of literary traditions than a deeply embedded understanding. In the Homeric poems, life is viewed as even more fleeting than it is in Beowulf, and rare is the hero who can go back more than three generations. Hence the sadness of the famous lines comparing the generations of men to leaves in the wind. When we have been gone for 60 years or so, it is as if we have never lived. Our children see us as sources of profit or pain and only accidentally get a glimpse of who we are, and to our great-great grandchildren, we are at best a few second-hand anecdotes we drag out occasionally to give us a falsely reassuring sense that we belong to something.
The problem with the prologue is not its intention or view of history but that any competent writer could probably figure out a better way to begin the tale. Its great interest for the modern reader lies in what it tells us about the mentality of the world in which the author lives. As much as I admire the craftsmanship and beauty of the poem, it is bereft of many of those qualities of characterization and construction that are typical of Homeric epic. It cannot at all stand comparison with the Iliad or Odyssey or even with the best Homeric hymns, such as the hymn to Aphrodite. Nonetheless, I entirely agree that Beowulf belongs to us naturally in a way that the Iliad can only belong to us by study and tradition. We are all still barbarians at heart.
Before their contact with the Romans and Greeks, Germanic peoples lived under such primitive conditions--technology, agriculture, the arts, comforts, etc.--that the population was unable to increase. It was only when they learned advanced agricultural techniques that they became a menace to the civilized South (note, note more civilized South) and, to make matters worse, they also learned advanced military techniques.
Whatever their moral and social framework, neither early Germanic peoples nor the Vikings had anything in common with libertarianism. Indeed, no known human society--if we exempt a Vegas casino--has anything much in common with libertarianism, a theory that rests on a Renaissance conception of the individual, with an Enlightenment view of natural rights and the Enlightenment's hatred of Christianity. Self-assertion and a readiness to kill in one's defense or interest are not especially libertarian virtues. How many gun-totin, rootin-tootin Misesian street-fighters have we met? Labels like conservative and libertarian have a way of deflecting us from observation.
Since PcH has introduced the topic, let us consider the character of Grendel. Let me begin with a question: To what extent is he explicable as human, albeit a very distorted human, and to what extent nonhuman monster? A second question is this: Why are monsters the villains in the poem? Is it because our ancestors had a childish taste in the marvelous? (By the way the Odyssey and the very civilized Argonautica include monsters and fairytale creatures. How are these different--and they are different.) And, even it that is true, can this obsession also involve a look back at pre-Christian legends? Is it a deeper commentary on the anti-social nature of evil? Does Beowulf function in a serious way something like the way film monsters--Dracula, Godzilla, Freddy--function at a more trivial level? To remiind us of our own bestiality and the horrors that lie just beneath the surface of social and conscious life? I am asking not telling.
Dr. Fleming,
Your words @ 72
"To remiind us of our own bestiality and the horrors that lie just beneath the surface of social and conscious life?"
My words @ 71
"Yet, Grendel is who all men would be if they gave into the meaningless and terror of the world around: they would become the very terror which they feared."
Again, I do not know it it was the intent of the poet to invite such understanding of Grendel, but Grendel evokes in the modern reader such interpretation and thus understanding, namely that our own bestiality and horrors lie just beneath the surface. This, I would assert, is why we are both intrigued and repulsed by serial killers, the leitmotif of many of our current TV programs: we could be them, and we do not want to be them. In film, we can "walk with them vicariously." I do not suggest that my Germanic ancestors wanted to vicariously walk with monsters through their literature. They were much too close to the K-line and the terror thereof.
Mr. Peters and Pch ,
I am reading a translation of the poem and one of the constant descriptions of Grendel is a man without joy," who knew no joy,' "a pittiless, joyless creature." Would one or both of you mind to give me a little etymology lesson on the old english or germanic root for the word joy ?Thanks rr
http://www.csis.pace.edu/grendel/projs4a/sutton.htm
For those of you who might be interested in some visual aids concerning approx size of Beowulf's ship, the look of his weaponry and battle gear , the rings and jewelry of that period etc., the Sutton Hoo exhibit site posted above provides some interesting photographs of the craftsmanship and the times.
Mr. Reavis @ 74
I am not sure what translation you are working from. Most of the words which I have found that might translate as "joy" in modern English derive, ultimately, from the Old Saxon to Germanic "freogan" which is "to love." From what we think to know of proto-Germanic, the German word "Friede" which means "peace," the modern English "friend" and modern German "Freund," and our English word "frolic" which comes to us via Dutch "frolijk" from Middle Dutch "vro" and German "froh" all derive, ultimately, from the proto-Germanic root reflected in the Old Saxon verb "freogan" meaning "to love."
If your translation has a line marker, I might be able to do a better job with the exact word.
"from the Old Saxon to Germanic “freogan” which is “to love.” From what we think to know of proto-Germanic, the German word “Friede” which means “peace,”
No, this works quite well for me. You are a gentleman and a scholar. Thanks very much and read on !! rr
I am guessing that one of the joyless lines in question is 721 draemun bedealed (deprived of/having no share in mirths, joys etc) . I have no idea if it is any good but there is an online dictionary at
http://home.comcast.net/~modean52/oeme_dictionaries.htm.
A rather obvious point to make is that Grendel, being outside of society, has none of the pleasures and joys experienced--we are told pointedly-- by the Danes and Geats. The creatures of Hell, naturally, do not have spiritual joys but, existing only for evil, they are also deprived of even the simplest earthly pleasures. This is a rather Chestertonian point--the jollity of the Church and the gloominess of its enemies. On an unrelated piece of history, I have been reading Suger's life of Louis the Fat and his struggles with robber barons like Thomas of Marle, a man who apparently said that he learned to enjoy killing for killing's sake while on Crusade, a 12th century Grendel who, when a peasant couldn't do his bidding fast enough because his feet hurt, cut the poor fellow's feet off and watched him bleed to death.
In reference to Mr Peter's comparison of Beowulf to David @71, I have been wondering if there is any significance to the fact that Beowulf chose unarmed combat. Everyone had tried to kill Grendel with weapons, but he couldn't be pierced by weapons. Beowulf went in unarmed even though he apparently didn't know this. Of course Beowulf was stronger than any other man, but still, could there be some deeper meaning?
Isn't it true that Grendel cannot be killed by weapons--a sort of fairytale motif, perhaps also related somehow to the feeling that iron nails were not to be used in construction of Eastern churches? Beowulf is forced to rely only on his own strength and not on any external aid like a sword.
"To the house the warrior walked apace,
parted from peace; the portal opended,
though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had struck it,
and baleful he burst in his blatant rage,
the house's mouth."
Dr. Fleming above is another translation that describes him as "parted from peace" which makes perfectly good sense with your comments : " Grendel, being outside of society, has none of the pleasures and joys experienced–we are told pointedly– by the Danes and Geats. The creatures of Hell, naturally, do not have spiritual joys but, existing only for evil, they are also deprived of even the simplest earthly pleasures."
Mr Peters gave me the background of the german origin :"from the Old Saxon to Germanic “freogan” which is “to love.” From what we think to know of proto-Germanic, the German word “Friede” which means “peace,” the modern English “friend”
In other words Grendel is a joyless, friendless, unpeaceful creature without love. An isolated spiritual animal who Aristotle described as either " a beast or a god."Or as Lucinda Williams sings in one of her new songs, " He wasn't brought up right, he never got enough love;" Or as B.B. King once described the Grendel of his world,
"Nobody loved him but his Momma, and she was just jiving him too. "
I tend to think of Grendel as something horrific left over from when the world was young. Isn't this similar to the monsters from the Odyssey and Argonautica? I eagerly await Dr Fleming's answer to how Grendel is different from the fantastic creatures from the classical myths.
It's interesting that Beowulf uses the giant's sword against the (already dead) Grendel and it works.
Dr. Fleming and Mr. Reavis @ 78 and 81
This phrase, "dreamum bedaeled," is indeed, as I reflect, very important to the poem.
The word "dream," meaning "joy and music," as I now note in most translations given as "peace," has an interesting place in the pre-Christian Germanic world and then in the Christian Germanic world. Its modern German counterpart is "Traum."
Pre-Christian, it was associated as the circumstance or condition of being included, being among the kin, being in the fellowship. That which was not "dream" was that which was outside, alien or outlaw. In the nascent and dawning Christina era of the Germanic world, it came to describe heaven or to be a synonym for heaven. Modern German has a word which is very difficult to translate into English. It is "Geborgenheit" or "the warm, secure and cozy feeling which one might have after having been rescued from that which is cold and frightening." "Geborgenheit" is likely close to that old meaning of "dream" which both English and German have lost.
As I re-read the passage in Old English which contains the phrase which we are now discussing, Munin flapped his wings and brought to my mind, something which I had long forgotten, namely the Grettis Saga in Old Norse in which Grettir, Beowulf's counterpart, fights Glamr, Grendel's counterpart. At sometime in the misty past I read excerpts from it, and I believe that we compared it to Beowulf. My own mind is not googling very well, so at sometime tonight I will go to the real Google and see what I can find.
I also note another word for joy, some form of which I think to have read in this poem. That is "bliþe." It means "joyous or kind." Among East Germanic dialects and North Germanic dialects it was an outward expression of kindness, joy, mercy or friendship. Within West Germanic dialects, at least by the time something was written in them, it had come to be more closely associated with a state of mind. I think to have seen "bliþe" or a variation of it in the text. But I have not been able to find it by scanning.
I, however, believe that the "dream" passage is a good one to pursue if there is interest.
I recall reading somewhere that east Gothic survived in the Crimean peninsula until something like the 1500-1600's.
Of course in English, we too have a dream. What does it mean, when joy and music turn out to be only a dream? Nothing, I suppose.
To Bruce, yes there are parallels between, say, Grendel and the man-eating Cyclopes, but Polyphemus is a charmer compared with Grendel. He is a giant, it is true, but the cyclopes are an image of a pre-historic social life when men gave the laws to their wives and children, a line cited by both Plato and Aristotle as evidence for early human society. Scylla and Charybdis, the Harpies, etc. are all frightful, but to me they seem like strawmen--or straw monsters--put in the hero's way as a challenge to be overcome. They lack the terrifying qualities of Grendel and, it must be said, most of the Greek literary monsters do not come looking for men but need to be sought out. There are stories, however, where this is not true--as in the monsters that Theseus subdues on his way to Athens or triple-bodied Geryon in the Herakles story, or--perhaps most disturbing--the gorgons that rob men of life simply by being looked at.
I would say that while, on the whole, the Greeks and their imitators are better story-tellers and better portrait painters and far greater craftsmen, their very sense of restraint and order (which they cultivated to tame a far wilder character) limit the horror they are willing to inflict. Our AS writer, then, has two advantages over the classics: first, a terrifying vividness, and secon, a Christian awareness of evil. There are only a few places in Greek literature that make my hair stand on end, and even there it is the idea more than any vivid depiction. The messenger's line to Clytaemnestra in the Choephoroe, when she asks what is going on: "I say the dead is killing the living," or, again from Aeschylus, Eteocles' realization that he is going to have to fight and kill his twin brother--beautifully arranged in a series of contrasting portraits of antagonists---or Oedipus' horrified realization of who he is... There is nothing like these recognitions--the heart of Greek tragedy--in Germanic literature, but, then Greek literature has nothing like, for example, Gunnar's song from the grave in Njal's Saga:
Hogni's generous father
Rich in daring exploits,
Who so lavishly gave battle Distributing wounds gladly,
Claims that his helmet,
Towering like an oak-tree
In the forest of battle,
He would rather die than yield,
Much rather die than yield.
"Scylla and Charybdis, the Harpies, etc. are all frightful, but to me they seem like strawmen–or straw monsters–put in the hero’s way as a challenge to be overcome."
Dr. Fleming,
Would you mind before the thread is closed and or the time and interest run out, to describe the epic qualities of the poem. Certainly not refined to the degree of other epic poems but still an epic. Why and how is this so ? Thank you. rr
Very briefly: There is a problem with terms like epic, satire, lyric, etc. On the one hand, from an historical and philological point of view they refer to literary genres and traditions that are quite distinct; but, on the other, they are used in a general way to categorize works in unrelated literary traditions. The result can be confusion and ambiguity, as, for example, when we speak of the ancient Greek novel or of Romantic lyric poetry.
Epic in the strict sense is an ancient form, developed by the Greeks and imitated by the Romans fairly carefully and more loosely in the Renaissance. The term derives from a Greek word meaning "word" but also used to refer to the typical lines of epic verse, the heroic/dactylic hexameter. In one sense, the poetry of Hesiod is "epic" in that it is written in the same meter, but let us set meter aside. For the Greeks, epic poetry was historical poetry, preserving ancient tales of the Bronze Age Mycenaean period, before the so-called Dorian invasions and the collapse of the Mycenaean citadels almost everywhere but Athens. We only have the Iliad and the Odyssey, but we know there were poems covering the whole story of the Trojan War as well as shorter epic poems, which we do have, in the form of hymns to specific gods in which narrative predominates.
There are certain obvious features that characterize ancient epic, in addition to the meter and historical themes. They are not about the little people but about great heroic kings and aristocrats; they are not about peaceful everyday things but about war and heroic journeys. There is also the germ of what can be called the tragic point of view, the brevity of life, the importance of courage in the face of overwhelming odds, the significance of character in human events. The language is not everyday, either, but in a high style, and although Homer is capable of wonderfully detailed descriptions, the emphasis is more on the big picture and the general than on the color of someone's cloak. Finally, dialogue plays a more important part than is usually supposed. Sometimes it seems as if Homeric heroes do nothing but talk and wrange. Look at the beginning of the Iliad: a few lines of thematic introduction and we are plunged, first, into the mission of Chryses to ransom his daughter and then, after a brilliant description of the plague that breaks out as a result of Chryses prayer to Apollo for revenge, into an angry confrontation between Achilles and Agamemon.
One might also note the tendency of epics, both early and late, to celebrate ancestral and national heroes. Aristocrats of Homer's time traced their descent from his heroes, and Vergil works very hard to make his Aeneid into the story of Rome.
One can find parallels for ancient epic in cultures that had little or no knowledge of the classics, but, frankly, most are fantastic, poorly organized, and episodic. The Iliad is a highly complex work, integrating many stories into an overall plan based on the wrath of Achilles and the plan of Zeus. I have never detected such an order in the Mahabarata or in Beowulf. It does not mean that Beowulf is not artistically crafted or that the sections of the poem are not linked, but, rather, that the construction is highly primitive in comparison with Homer, Apollonius, or Vergil.
I would guess--in agreement with some scholars--that the author of Beowulf had at least heard about epic poetry, whether he had reach or heard much of it is quite another story. It seems fair to describe it as an epic, though not fair to fault the poet for not producing an AS Iliad. I'm happy to answer any more questions on this topic. Tomorrow, perhaps, I'll try to start another line of discussion.
Dr. Fleming @ 85
Your words:
"There is nothing like these recognitions–the heart of Greek tragedy–in Germanic literature, but, ..."
In the number of and the quality of recognitions, when comparing Greek and Germanic literature, there is, as you say, no comparison; and I am deferring to your expertise and scholarship in Greek literature and history; for I can claim neither.
However, there is one good example of a recognition in Germanic literature. It is found in the Old High German Hildebrandslied in which Hildebrand meets his son Hadubrand in mortal combat. It is a fragment and we do not know the ultimate outcome. Initially, neither knows who the other is; however, when Hildebrand challenges Hadubrand to give his lineage, the words of Hadubrand reveal that Hildebrand is Hadubrand's father. One does know, because it is a fragment, the outcome; but one can intuit it. This is the "same" Hildebrand who appears in the Nibelungenlied.
Introduction of the poem:
Ik gihorta ðat seggen
ðat sih urhettun ænon muotin
Hiltibrant enti Haðubrant untar heriun tuem
sunufatarungo iro saro rihtun
garutun se iro guðhamun gurtun sih iro suert ana
helidos ubar hringa do sie to dero hiltiu ritun
There is a much later version, written by another poet in Old High German in which the battle is completed, Hildebrand wins but does not kill his son.
I have heard that another characteristic of epic is that the hero is guided/motivated/counseled by a female spirit. If so is that true of all epic or just certain epic types. Grendel does not seem to take direction from any spirit but his mother does come out for revenge.
TJF @87
Not bad for a cranky old man with only 19 minutes between the
sophmore's question and a splendid answer. Thanks and high praise for being what you are. Its been enjoyable to watch you work. And to all the rest who have contributed. Thank you. I will be out of pocket for a few days and look forward to reading more when I return.
I did not intend to imply that other literatures did not have important recognition scenes, only that they were central to much of Greek literature., e.g. the revelation of who Odyssseus is at the end of the Odyssey, and all the variants on the Electra's recognition of her brother in tragedy, or, to cite an imitation, Aeneas stepping forward in Carthage to declare his identity. My knowledge of GErmanic and Celtic literature is so slight that I can only refer, off the top of my head, to familiar tales--Siegmund and Sieglinde, for example in Wagner or the recognition of Wotan in the one-eyed wanderer. I am sure Mr. Peters and PcH, if they put their minds to it, can think of many more. In Greek literature, though, such scenes are central, as Aristotle acknowledged in the Poetics, and this is partly because of the deliberately intellectual aspect--not, by any means, the only or even most important aspect--of Greek literature.
As for female influence, I think that is what philosophers would call an accident rather than part of the substance or definition of epic. Naturally, most men want food and sex and the power to get food and sex, and thus we are programmed to fight over women. The backstory of the Iliad is erotic, and there are strong erotic elements--though they are not central--to the Aeneid and the Argonautica, but in other poems women are sometimes even less important. Odysseus' love for his wife is one of the most moving things in ancient literature, but he is more overtly concerned with his son and his father (as is Aeneid, by the way, who loses track of his poor wife as they leave burning Troy.)
To broaden the question a bit, there are two ways of defining a literary genre or any art form, cultural tradition or institution. One is by drawing up a list of common elements--as in battles, women, etc.--the other is by looking at origins and evolution. It goes without saying that I prefer the latter, one of the many reasons I find the myth of evolution so appealing.
My internet service is temporarily out, so I have missed much over the last few days. Here are some scattered thoughts made on the fly to extend the above mention of evolution of story-telling.
I think Beowulf demonstrates an evolution of "epic" forms born in the wilds of the misty northern forests.
I don't think anyone doubts that the society of the Heroic Era was primitive, and indeed the allure of it is its very primitiveness. Even so, there is a surprising sophistication if one removes expectations; primitiveness has a way of breaking things down to basics and starting over. To oversimplify what I mean here, this basic primitiveness helps explain why the modern West, albeit heavily indebted to the classical world, is nonetheless distinctive.
For example, beginning a poem in the "Germanic epic" style with a history may well reflect poor literary standards. But if the audience was part of a society where history was of first importance and of great interest to everyone, it should not surprise us that a traditional "regional epic" style should develop where opening a poem with a history was suitable for engaging the hearer's interest. Moreover, if it is true that the author of Beowulf was familiar with the proper epic tradition of the classical world, I must ask myself why he would use apparently less satisfying forms when better examples were at hand.
I think the answer is what met the audience's expectations and the unusual weight given to history. My personal explanation for that weight is the period of migrations when history remembered in story-telling became a remedy for society's rootlessness. In other words, the Germanic peoples had been so long migratory and thus rootless, a tradition developed in their epic forms to artifice roots by way of history.
On the other hand, it is well to respect the independence of separate traditions. Were one in haste to expect that a unique culture should follow the precise forms of another, one might fail to see the worthiness that that society's art-forms do have. Take for example traditional Chinese opera. By Western standards, it is not only primitive, it is horrible, full of dysphony and wanting in structure. But if one takes it in its own context, there are many admirable forms. Although we all know this, I like to remind myself of such basics.
That said, I really like the opening to Beowulf; I find it immensely satisfying. But I must humbly admit that that is no doubt a reflection of my preparation in history. Even so the tale does not match the eminent sophistication found throughout Homer's great memorial to war dead, nor does the author seek to.
--
On magic and monsters:
One might ask if Tolkien were a grown up child to spend his life writing on magic and monsters. Or is my question really: "Is imagination exclusive to children?"
Any difficulty that one may or may not have with a tale for adults of magic and monsters could be illustrative of the contrast between variant approaches to life. This contrast may be analogous to that between the cerebral theology of old Dutch Calvinism and the more imaginative-like approach of old Anglicanism (take CS Lewis) and the Roman Church (Tolkien).
Or maybe not. I think the partiality to magic and monsters in Beowulf can be also explained more simply. If a man with sophisticated gifts, such as any one here, found himself reared in a wild frontier with little technology and little formal learning, what would become of him? How might he fill his time?
He might turn to poetry and singing but without the sophistication of disciplined scholarship.
And how would he fill his intellectual needs?
We know that to keep their cultural life going, the Germanic peoples bore an oral tradition; to retain their religious mythology, for example, they had to memorize long collections of poetry and long lists of facts and names.
Now, I should like to add to that a wild, outlandish proposal.
I posit that the society as a whole actually took the notion of the other world, including its monsters, seriously. Briefly, here are two examples why. The first is the story of Thorhall the Hunter in the Vinland sagas who drank some "wine," fell into a trance, and when awakened, claim to the disgust of his Christian friends that he had been "walking with Thor." The other example to consider is the "sybill" of the Voluspa (an eschatological poem): her name was "Gold-drink" and she was thrice roasted before appearing to the audience who consulted her. This is too much like stories of psychedelic use, particularly of mushrooms, to dismiss.
That's my wild theory, at least. But it's not so wild if one consider that Germanic society was wild (for which I used loosely and metaophorically "libertarian" as other authors have done); indeed there is respected research that the Norse Berserk elite fighting forces used mushrooms or some other mind-altering substances before battle.
Not to belabor the point, but I think our wild ancestors believed in monsters, not only as a matter of religion, but as a real part of the world, or indeed worlds. The descriptions of water monsters, such as the nicor Grendel are remarkably consistent, from the Norse myths taken down in the 12th c to folktales of the 18th. Then there is the effort (which Peters mentions above) to trace Grendel to Cain. Some scholars have found this and other indications of influence from the Book of Enoch, which Tertullian and Justin Martyr insist was originally fully canon. The use of this book for understanding the origins of Grendel is that demon-giant hybrids (and Grendel is called a demon-giant in the word "eoten"), who lived underwater would have survived the flood. Thus to explain Grendel as a son of Cain was an effort to explain him scientifically, that he be taken seriously, although semi-supernatural.
Thus this is doubtless a sign of our ancestors' primitiveness but with an allure to any man with a love of imagination. It is from these primitive roots that our society, coupled with the perfection of the classical, has evolved.
First, let me repeat, from above, my admiration for our barbarian ancestors' accomplishments: "while, on the whole, the Greeks and their imitators are better story-tellers and better portrait painters and far greater craftsmen, their very sense of restraint and order (which they cultivated to tame a far wilder character) limit the horror they are willing to inflict. Our AS writer, then, has two advantages over the classics: first, a terrifying vividness, and second, a Christian awareness of evil.
If it is important--as indeed it is--to take a literary tradition on its own terms--it is equally important to maintain the highest possible standards and not to allow ourselves through sympathy to sink back into admiration for the primitive qua primitive. I think I made it pretty clear that an infatuation with the miraculous or strange is not necessarily a drawback, though in the highest literature it is often matched by a more reasonable attention to the world as we find it, as opposed to, say, the world we would like to live in or the world we fear in our hearts. I don't wish to belabor the point, indeed would like to drop it, but I did not intend, in recommendingn this magnificent work to your attention, to suspend all critical and aesthetic judgment.
As for Tolkien's love of the supernatural, in fact I do think that it may be excessive, but my affection for his books is such that I would rather not think in those terms. As wonderful as the Lord of the Rings is, however, we must not confuse it with the much higher epic literature that has been written. I would trade the whole thing for a single book of the Aeneid. Prose fiction, especially of hte fantastic type, can only go so far, and, if it comes to that, Walter Scott is an almost infinitely greater writer of fiction than Tolkien. The two share many virtues, but Scott was more deeply imbedded in his own traditions and displays a depth of human understanding in his characterizations that make Tolkien's figures--wonderful though they are--a bit too much like cartoon characters. Making up a new world, it seems to me, is far easier than dealing with the one we have--one can write the rules as in a video game. What gives Tolkien's world so much strength is his great depth of knowledge that enables him to borrow from Roman, Celtic, and Germanic traditions.
BACK TO THE STORY. I would like to discuss with you, a little, the tale of Beowulf's prowess in fighting sea-monsters. It is quite artfully done. First we get the negative version, issued as a challenge and insullt; then Beowulf's own presumably true version, concluding with a terrible taunt against his challeger who has killed his own brothers. By our standards--though not by Homer's--our hero is a bit of a braggart, but the tale sets us up in many ways for the duel with Grendel. Beowulf fights and kills seamonsters, but not only is Grendel also a monster but one that is aquainted with the realm of seamonsters. The seafight takes place at night, just as the fight with Grendel takes place at night. These are all obvious things to say, but perhaps they will elicit more profound observations.
What a pleasure to read Beowulf again—and I have enjoyed this discussion as well.
My eldest daughter (who is nine) has heard every story from the Iliad and Odyssey without turning a hair, but she cannot bear to hear me retell the story of Beowulf and Grendel. I think Tom is right that there is a frightening vividness to this story that the Greek myths stand one artistic remove from.
But I want to return to Tom's question about Grendel (human or monster?). I read through this poem once long ago in Old English, but have forgotten what little I knew. So I may well stand corrected or be making points made long ago by others. I am however struck by the impression that among many other things this poem seems to be a long effort to proselytize. The poet seems more Christian than the world he is describing—and he is interpreting that world in a Christian fashion for his hearers, in an effort to enable them to see it differently.
The obvious example of this is the poet's scornful description of the warriors' sacrifice to false gods, but throughout the poem, the most Christian elements are often the poet's descriptions and explanations, not always the words of the king or even Beowulf. “Wyrd is determined!” Beowulf says at one point in my translation, though he softens the necessity of wyrd in a later line (see 572 or thereabouts).
Grendel may perhaps have been a monster to Hrothgar and his followers, but to the poet he is a fallen human, a descendant of Cain, and with a “heathen soul” in my translation, hence damnable in the way presumably an animal-monster is not. The poet takes the view that Grendel's attributes are not just evil but sinful. His suffering, too, as described by the poet, is human—envy, ostracism, life in the dark.
He is a foil for what is by period standards a selfless champion of a people who are not his own. And I think the fight between Beowulf and Grendel is fought without weapons to underscore that it is a moral battle, one of will against will. Beowulf refuses to use a weapon so as to meet Grendel on his own terms--a fair duel. But that rightness of his moral choice (right even though made with a boast), his willingness to give the devil his due, means Beowulf can in fact defeat Grendel, which he could not have done had he fought less fairly (ie with a sword). In any case I would argue that what is described here is the potential for human good fighting the potential for human evil—and that victory requires, in addition to courage and enormous strength, a willingness to risk seeming advantage in order to fight justly.