The Hidden God of Nature

An Exploration of Faith and the Christian marriage tradition in Chaucer’s The Man of Law’s Tale

In the Christian tradition, marriage is often referred to as a blessed union, a linking of two individuals in holy matrimony. While some may excuse the terminology as an overstatement, it serves as a signification of the close bond between the divine and earthly, the immortal and the mortal. Through a close reading of Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Man of Law’s Tale, I will explore the Christian tradition of marriage and its roots in faith as it is no mere coincidence that the standard Christian marriage is held in a place of worship. Throughout the tale, Custance faces potential exile, death and other harrowing ordeals but survives and ultimately triumphs because of her unwavering faith and trust in God.

Close reading sections

• Lines 421-441 – Custance escapes death at the hands of the Sultan’s mother and flees
• Lines 519-538 – Custance is shipwrecked, she is rescued by a constable and immediately praises God
• Lines 1030-1055 – Alla fears that Custance died at sea
• Lines 1128-1148 – Impact of Custance as a wife to Alla

Preliminary source materials

• The Canterbury Tales
• Medieval Philosophy
• Chaucer: A European Life by Marion Turner (may choose a different Chaucer biography when I peruse the selection at the Susquehanna library tomorrow)
• “Discourse Strategies in the Marriage Dialogue of Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales” by Mari Pakkala-Weckstrom, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen, Vol. 105, No. 2
• “Religious Elements in Chaucer’s Man of Law’s Tale” by John A. Yunck, ELH, Dec. 1960, Vol 27, No. 4
• “Miracles in “The Man of Law’s Tale” by William C. Johnson, Jr., The Bulletin of the Rocky Mountain Modern Language Association, June 1974, Vol 28, No. 2

In an incredible display of arrogance, Titaness Mutabilitie explores the theme of divine right in the Mutabilitie Cantos of Sir Edmund Spenser’s The Fairie Queene. First explored through Saul in scripture (1 Samuel 16), Titaness Mutabilitie views herself as an equal to the Gods. Rather than simply stopping at the threshold of divine right and taking her position to be appointed by God, Mutabilitie seeks to be crowned as divine herself. As if placing Earth under Mutabilitiean hegemony wasn’t a sufficient sin to give her a permanent place in the inverse of Heaven, asking the Gods to relinquish their thrones through force would certainly give her a one-way ticket to Hell. Therefore, the Gods re-establish a clear divine between immortal and mortal and follow scriptural doctrine in doing so.

Had Mutabilitie studied a certain anthology, perhaps her views would have changed. As Symeon the New Theologian offers, “When the saint saw me and considered the labor I had endured with him he realized why I had undergone these things…Moved with great compassion, he spoke to me and commanded me, ‘Eat, my child, and drink, and from henceforth be not sad. Had not God willed to have mercy on you, it would not have pleased Him that you should come to us.” God would almost certainly not have similar mercy for Mutabilitie given her interest in worshipping a false God, herself, through her desire to conquer the Heavens. Had Mutabilitie stopped at conquering Earth and not looked to extend her reign to the Heavens, the question of forgiveness may have been a possibility but Mutabilitie shows no remorse whatsoever. It is only appropriate that Mutabilitie would receive pushback from the Gods when she attempts to strong-arm them into submission…”But wote this, thy hardy Titanesse, That not the worth of any living wight May challenge in Heavens interesse, Much less the title of old Titans Right.” (Canto 6, Stanza 33)

Despite Mutabilitie’s clear power over Earth, she is rendered nearly powerless when faced with divine beings, able to disrupt the order of the Heavens enough to force her exile but not enough to reach her goal. While misguided at best, perhaps it speaks to our human nature to explore the ineffable aspects of life, that Mutabilitie continues to seek to disrupt the Heavens. It’s enough for Jove to wonder when it might stop…”Will never mortal thoughts ceasse to aspire, in this bold sort, to Heaven claime to make, and touch celestiall seats with Earthly mire?” (Canto 6, Stanza 29). While Jove cites numerous punishments as a result of attempts to understand that which mortals cannot, he perhaps rightly surmises that efforts to stop inquisitive minds once and for all would be fruitless.

It is intriguing, however, that in following a theme perhaps all-too-common in tales of the period, love forces its way into the climax of the tale and brings an abrupt end to Mutabilitie’s punishment with a tangential reference to the destruction of Arlo Hill. The reader is left to wonder about Mutabilitie’s punishment but perhaps the real question is whether it matters.

In reading Edmund Spenser’s The Fairie Queene, I was immediately struck by the metaphor of Redcrosse’s shield. Elaborating on the physical presence of a shield as a last line of defense when a knight’s physical prowess is rendered useless, Spenser wisely creates the image of God as the true last bastion of righteousness through a red cross placed on the appropriately-named Redcrosse’s shield. Therefore, can the metaphor of faith in God serve as the true hero of the epic?

In the words of Medieval Philosophy, no love is held in higher regard than that of God’s love (181). It is wholeheartedly impossible to truly receive and understand love until one rectifies a belief and further devotion to God. And this idea is repeated in the Bible. Psalm 23 places devotion to God as the pinnacle of human safety, a figurative force-field against the perils of evil. Countless other verses offer the idea of giving all glory to God, allowing all human action to be a reflection of divine will. Redcrosse shows that he a devoted servant of God in the immediate lines before commencing his duel with the Dragon, offering “That I this man of God his godly armes may blaze” (Line 2921). Had Spenser taken a secular approach and offered a line such as “I shall raise my sword against this mighty demon”, the story likely would not have changed. Spenser still would have offered a lengthy and vivid description of the Dragon, elaborating on the enormity of the Dragon, both in physical stature and reputation as a diabolical beast before Redcrosse sauntered in, slaying the Dragon, winning the girl and living happily ever after.

But in giving a religious bent to Redcrosse, Spenser allows for a greater impact in the story, creating a dual savior through his shield. In offering a shield simile to describe the Dragon’s eyes, Spenser explains the difference between a shield wrought with God’s protection and one inherently used for nefarious purposes as the Dragon’s ‘shields’, ‘burne with wrath, and sparked liuing fyre;’ (Lines 2957-2958). While Spenser frames the Dragon’s shields as something of a protectorate, it is used to prevent challenges to its empire and frighten any comers rather than allow the beholder to fight for honor. Redcrosse’s faith in God elevates his shield to something that truly protects him from all danger, against Error early in the epic and against the Dragon later in the story.

A striking scene in Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia is the image of the Queen Gynecia’s neck on the literal chopping block. Left distraught at the presumed loss of Basilius and willing to take the fall – and subsequent grisly tumble and roll as a punishment – Gynecia is willing to lay down her life. Imploring readers to view Gynecia’s martyrdom as a positive, Sidney phrases the act as “duty to their good king, honour to themselves and favour to her.” (732) However, because Basilius ultimately survives the assassination attempt, intended or not, Gynecia’s willingness to die can be viewed as self-serving.

While it may seem short-sighted to view a noble act as self-serving, consider Gynecia’s immediate reaction following the shepherds’ refusal to kill her. Gynecia appears to lose all sense of honor in a martyred death by exclaiming that she will “excel in misery”, turning the act as one that fulfills her wishes alone rather than the wishes of the people or even the shepherds in the room. Loyal to their queen yet incensed by the thought of her death potentially clearing her name in a legal sense, Dametas immediately chastises his queen, explaining that the reprieve of death at that moment is only temporary. In a display of karmic retribution, Dametas states that “You shall not long be cumbered with being guided by so evil a soul.” (736) If Gynecia is unwilling to face her presumed actions – and the shepherds are unwilling to force death upon her – she will see it soon enough.

Gynecia’s response to loyalty is in stark contrast to that of the Third Eclogues, in which Dicus delivers a song praising the loyalty of newly-found matrimony in a sea of floral metaphors. Faced not with death but with the joining of Thyrsis and Kala, Dicus sings of loyalty in its purest sense, as if their union saw “mother earth deck in flowers” (692). Allowing for the imagery of weaponry to pervade the song, Sidney replaces a sword in death with the vanquishing of Cupid’s arrows – unity rather than division. For a novel in which many of the most vivid scenes of relationships are those in which the negative side shines from the poisoning of a king to Musidorus’ momentary suicide attempt that opens the novel, Sidney pivots to show loyalty in a positive light. Sidney even goes as far as to use the continual refrain of “O Hymen, long their coupled joys remain,” as a show of loyalty to Hymenaeus, the Greek God of marriage, adding repeated displays of the mutual respect of marriage, one that would not end with a queen begging for her death. Perhaps Gynecia could have looked to the relative peasants for guidance.

If one were to discuss their own humble nature, does that defeat the very intent of humility? Can skirting the line of self-deprecation and confidence lead to unintended, negative consequences? In brief, Argalus in the Sir Phillip Sidney’s The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia is left to contemplate that very question. The fate of the characters clearly laid in Sidney’s mind, however, the development of Argalus as a character may have been markedly different because of an unwillingness to see his true worth to Parthenia.

From a Biblical sense, the answer is clear as demonstrated in verses such as Luke 14:11 – “For whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.” The Bible rewards humility in the face of the Lord as Man is waging a perpetual war against original sin to seek redemption in the eyes of God. To boil it down to a bumper-sticker motif – “I am second”. If someone is willing to see God as the image of perfection and Jesus Christ as the purest example of the human form, they will be lifted. St. Gregory of Sinai posits that true humility comes through action rather than words. “…true humility does not say humble words, nor does it assume humble looks, it does force one either to think humbly of oneself, or to abuse oneself in self-belittlement.” (Philokalia, 62) St. Gregory examines the positive traits of a humble demeanor, in giving oneself fully to God’s words but meanwhile forcing oneself to wallow in self-pity and possess an inward view of contempt – a direct contradiction to not allowing oneself to be lost in self-belittlement. For St. Gregory to see humility as an admission that man has sunk below his nature would suggest that there could be a worse act in the eyes of God that original sin. Perhaps therein lies the negative consequence of humility. If one believes themselves to be in worse standing in God’s eyes than Adam and Eye, there is a continual struggle to repent and little space for confidence to grow.

Argalus confronts this buzz-saw in his pursuit of Parthenia in Sidney’s The Countess of Penbroke’s Arcadia, with a singular focus on loyalty to his hopeful paramour leading to at best, a deadly duel, and at worst, despair, rage and general weariness of his quest (92). Argalus plays the archetypal chivalrous and subservient knight well but that trait leads to him nearly failing altogether. Argalus does not view himself as worthy of another after the presumed death of Parthenia, only breaking his humble nature when, in a miraculous scene, Parthenia appears before him and convinces him to marry.

How to Win an Argument – Arrangement

Classical English Rhetoric – Using Rhetorical Questions

The Book of Genesis begins with the line “In the beginning, God created the Heaven and the Earth.” In doing so, in the Biblical tradition, a moral code of sorts was also established in that faith in God would be rewarded while transgressions would be punished. Following Biblical teachings, Hermengild is murdered in the Law of Man’s Tale but is rewarded by her murderer’s death because of the unwavering faith of Custance.

Chaucer explores the inherent good present in devotion throughout the Man of Law’s Tale by forcing Custance into a series of tribulations from exile at sea to being the victim of a shipwreck off of the Northumberland coast. In her waylaid forced travels, Custance could have easily denounced her faith but quickly devotes herself to Christianity immediately following her rescue – “She kneleth doun and thanketh Goddes sonde; But what she was, she wolde no man seye, For foul ne fair, thogh that she sholde deye.” (185, lines 523-525). A modern reader may balk at the notion of unwavering faith in the face of near-certain injury and death given the seeming shift away from Christianity in recent years among millennials but given the central location of religion in the minds of Chaucer’s initial audience, it is fitting that Custance would pledge her faith, regardless of the outcome. In doing so, Custance recognizes the efforts of the Northumbrian constable, as akin to a literal God-send, placing her fate in the hands of Christ in the immediate aftermath of her shipwreck. Custance’s ordeal speaks to the very meaning of faith. Left to her own diminished devices and banished to foreign seas, she had no discernable choice but to leave her fate in divine hands.

But from where do this sense of faith – in Custance and in other religious believers – emerge? It may seem rudimentary but in the simplest terms, for every birth, there is a death. If we consider religion to be a journey of the soul, the Biblical moral code strengthens a believer’s sense of faith, attempting to reach Heaven rather than Hell. In Medieval Philosophy, Bruce Foltz posits that sin defiles the soul (122) and in the case of Custance, it could be thought that her immediate desire to pray following a traumatic experience of a shipwreck was an absolution of sin, or at least an attempt at absolution. Custance views her banishment to sea and subsequent shipwreck as an instance of wavering faith and immediately seeks to regain her spiritual center.

*In writing this post, I used, or at least attempted to use, the “Asking Questions and Answering Them” approach from Farnsworth’s Classical English Rhetoric as well “Discovering the Sources of Proof” from May through textual citations to support my claims.

Through a tale of valor and forbidden love, Chaucer creates a dual prison system for Arcite and Palamon to overcome. On the surface is the physical imprisonment of the two knights following an unsuccessful battle with Creon, the responsibility for which Arcita deflects, “But I must lie in gaol, because Saturn, and Juno too, both envious and mad, Have spilled out well-nigh all the blood we had…” (47) While the Knight continues to tell of the chains and exile that the two will endure, a glimpse into the mental prison of the two warriors is established by a question of worse fate. By weaving an element of love into a sibling rivalry, Chaucer posits that the physical building and exile the two knights is the lesser of two evils in comparison to their inescapable mental torment. Chaucer drives the point home by directly asking readers which of the two is left in deeper anguish, a free man unable to see his heart fulfilled or an imprisoned man able to briefly see his heart content daily. Plato touches on the subject briefly in The Republic, in explaining the relation between the soul and the sun, one the center of human existence, the other the center of the universe. “…When it focuses on something that truth and being illuminates, it intelligizes, knows, and apparently possesses intelligence.” (Medieval Philosophy, 25). In the Knight’s Tale, through immediate affection, Emily becomes intricately linked to the souls of Arcite and Palamon, influencing their every move in a quest to realize love. While the two knights are keenly aware of the punishment that pursuing Emily could cause – given the closing sequence in which Arcite relinquishes his interest with his dying breath – both are willing to fight to the death if the situation arises. The sense of mental imprisonment leads Arcite and Palamon to submit to a destitute life rather than live free.

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