Aquinas College Writers’ Night Symposium Proceedings

April 25th, 2014

Cover image: Conversation Piece (G.K. Chesterton; Maurice Baring; Hilaire Belloc) by Sir

Herbert James Gunn, oil on canvas, 1932. The idea for the portrait came to Gunn during a

dinner celebration Belloc's 60th birthday. The completed work was shown at the Royal Academy

in 1932. It currently resides at the National Portrait Gallery, St. Martin's Place, London.

The Writers’ Night Symposium is the culmination of the Writer’s Night Essay Contest, a

campus wide event sponsored by the Write Reason Plan.

The Write Reason Plan at Aquinas College aims to strengthen writing and logical thinking habits

among the student population. Write Reason is the effective expression of clear, organized, and

accurate ideas that are stated convincingly according to the objective standards of truth and

reality, as established in the Trivium of grammar, logic, and rhetoric, which is the foundation of a

liberal arts education.

Habits of mind (logic) and habits of expression through language (grammar and rhetoric) are the

foundation of a college level education. Through these habits we come to know the truth and

express ourselves responsibly according to what we know of reality. The Write Reason Plan aims

not only at improving writing and critical thinking skills, it considers the whole person as an

individual, a member of society, a citizen, a future professional, and made in the image of God.

To think according to the standards of logic and objective truth and to express ourselves clearly

is the end of all education and the vocation of every human person.

The Write Reason Plan at Aquinas College presents the fourth annual

Writers’ Night Symposium

Friday April 25, 2014

6:00 – 8:00pm

Introductory Remarks

Dr. Aaron Urbanczyk, Write Reason Director

2014 Writers’ Night Contest Winners

“The People You Never Heard About: A review of Matthew Restall's Seven Myths of the

Spanish Conquest”

– Jonathan Allen

“Virtue Through Trial as Discovered in The Dream of the Rood” – Mary Horne

“From God and Woman” – Joseph Grossheim

“Henry V: King of Rhetoric” – John Paul Pagan

“Meaning Beyond Matter: Natural and Supernatural Elements of The Dream of the Rood”

– Sr. Marie Genevieve Robertson, O.P.

2014 Writers’ Night Nominees

Cindy Buss Sr. Susanna Edmunds, O.P.

Lily Fisher

Stephen Lanham

Kelsey Nipper

Sr. Josemaria Pence, O.P.

2014 Writers’ Night Judges

Sister Mary Dominic Pitts O.P., Professor of English

Aaron Urbanczyk, Write Reason Plan Director

and Dean of the School of Arts & Sciences

Table of Contents

"The People You Never Heard About" by Jonathan Allen 1

"Virtue Through Trial as Discovered in The Dream of the Rood" by Mary Horne 5

"From God and Woman" by Joseph Grossheim 15

"Henry V: King of Rhetoric" John Paul Pagan 23

"Meaning Beyond Matter: Natural and Supernatural Elements 30

of The Dream of the Rood" by Sr. Marie Genevieve Robertson, O.P.

1

"The People You Never Heard About"

Jonathan Allen

IDS 110: College Learning in the Dominican Tradition

Instructor: Dr. Vince Ryan

The Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest by Matthew Restall looks at some of the most

curious myths of the Spanish Conquest. This paper will look into the myth of the invisible

warriors. Restall sets about in his book to debunk several myths, and in chapter 3 he debunks the

myth that the conquistadors conquered New Spain with little to no help. Restall discusses the

Conquistadors’ use of Indians and Africans. One African conquistador that will be discussed is

Juan Valiente, who made a great mark in the Spanish Conquest. Restall also looks at various

Indian tribes, like the Tlaxcalans who were allies with the Conquistadors. The myths that plague

the history of the Spanish Conquest are many, but Restall sheds light on the truth in his book the

Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest.

The myth of the invisible warriors is the myth that the Spanish Conquistadors almost

single-handedly conquered New Spain. Restall, however, points out various tribes and people

that helped the Conquistadors rise victorious. In the history of the Spanish Conquistadors it is

often said that they were outnumbered by their native enemies (Restall 45). However, what is

often ignored or overlooked is that they were also outnumbered by their native allies. In a letter

to Cortes, Alvarado talks about how his force was “comprised of 250 Spaniards and five to six

thousand friendly Indians” (45). One of the major groups of Indians that helped the

Conquistadors were the Tlaxclans; this group was able to maintain independence despite the

growing Mexica Empire (46). Although at first, the Tlaxclans were hostile to Cortes and his men

but after several encounters with the Spanish, the Tlaxclans realized that with the assistance of

the Spaniards, they would be able to destroy the Mexica Empire (46). Cortes often had at the

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least 6,000 such native allies at his command (47). At his final siege of the Mexica capital, he

had 200,000 native allies fighting alongside him (47). However, the Tlaxcalans “went virtually

unacknowledged and certainly unrewarded” (47). On top of that, Cortes claimed that the role

played by the Tlaxcalan was a result of a “strategy of his own devising” (48). This is another

example of the Conquistadors not giving the proper recognition to the Indians.

The Conquistadors not only had help from the Indians but also Africans especially

African slaves. Restall discusses one African in particular by the name of Juan Valiente, who

was the slave of Alonso Valiente. Juan Valiente was born, most likely, in West Africa around

1505 (53). In 1533, he was able to convince his owner to let him pursue being a conquistador for

four years, “providing that he kept an account of [his earnings] and bring it all back to me [his

owner]” (53). When he arrived in Guatemala, he was able to join Pedro de Alvarado’s expedition

to Peru (53). Juan, later, joined Almagro where he was fighting down in Chile (53). The

mortality rate was very high but the few who survived saw an increase of wealth (53). In 1540,

Juan was back in Chile as a captain, horseman, and vested partner in Juan de Valdivia’s company

(53). His ongoing campaigns led to many more rewards, such as an estate outside Santiago (53).

In 1550, Juan Valiente tried to buy his freedom but was unsuccessful (54). Juan was a unique

slave who was successful in his assistance in the Spanish conquest but like the Indians, he was

given no credit. Juan’s life is proof that the myth that the Spaniards were solely responsible for

the conquest of New Spain is false.

An excerpt from The Conquest of New Spain by Bernal Diaz undermines Restall’s

debunking of the myth. Bernal Diaz constantly makes several references to the Tlaxcalans, or

Tlascalans as spelled in this excerpt. Diaz comments on the aid the Tlascalans give Cortes and

his men. For example, Diaz talks about how the Tlascalans helped clear a path in a forest for

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Cortes and his men allowing them to advance (Diaz 312). Another example that Diaz provides is

that the Tlascalans carried off fowl and anything they could steal (313). The hostile natives

begged Cortes to not let his men or the Tlascalans harm their country (314). Later, Diaz refers to

a battle in which he says, “our Tlascalans allies, charged them like mad dogs” (317). The

excerpt, The Conquest of New Spain, reinforces the important role of the Tlaxcalans as

previously mentioned. Here it is clear that the Tlaxcalans were vital to Cortes and his men.

Without the Tlaxcalans, Cortes would not have been able to advance and fully conquer New

Spain. This is why one could argue the Tlaxcalans played the most important role in the Spanish

Conquest.

The Spanish Conquest is a blurred time in history. Matthew Restall, however, in his book

Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest strives to shed light on the truth of this valuable part of

history. Because of the greed of the Spaniards, modern day society does not realize how

important Indians and Africans were to the Spanish Conquest. Here one sees that the natives of

New Spain, like the Tlaxcalans, were responsible for the conquest because they provided the

necessary manpower for the conquistadors. As well as Africans, such as Juan Valiente, who

fought bravely for their Spanish masters. Reading this chapter, one will gain a new appreciation

for the tribes of Indians who through history have been portrayed as savages. However, the

excerpt from Bernal Diaz’s The Conquest of New Spain shows a brief and rare example of the

Spanish Conquistadors giving a little credit to their Indian allies. This shows that, even though

most credit was taken by the Spaniards, the role of the Tlaxcalans was so great that they had to

mention their native allies. The Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest serves as a modern day

acknowledgement to the Indians and Africans who played an undeniable role in the Spanish

Conquest.

4

Works Cited

Diaz, Bernal. The Conquest of New Spain., Trans. J. M. Cochen. Longdon: Penguin, 1963.

Restall, Matthew. Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest. Oxford: Oxford U P, 2003

5

"Virtue through Trial: As Discovered in The Dream of the Rood"

Mary Horne

ENG 213: Composition I

Instructor: Dr. Katherine Haynes

The Dream of the Rood tells the story of Christ’s passion from the viewpoint of the

Cross, or rood. The rood relates this story to the Dreamer, or visionary of this dream, who in turn

expresses his admiration for the rood and longing for heaven. Although the author is unknown,

The Dream of the Rood was most likely written before the ninth-century by an Anglo-Saxon

Christian, and exemplifies a blending of Christian values with Anglo-Saxon culture (Thieme

108-109). Consequently, the depiction of Christ and his relationship with those around him,

particularly the rood, are such that the Anglo-Saxon audience would likely have easily identified

with them (Thieme 111). Much of the poem is told from the standpoint of the rood, so it

naturally plays a prominent role throughout the story, and the poet may have used the rood as an

example of both a person possessing fortitude, an important virtue for the Anglo-Saxon people,

as well as perhaps even a representation of the virtue itself.

When the Christian evangelists wanted to present an image of Christianity to the native

Anglo-Saxon people, they wished to do it in such a way that it would appeal to the Anglo-

Saxons’ culture (Boenig 7). These fierce and hardy people would hardly have been swayed to

practice a religion that only emphasized peace and meekness, so the Christian missionaries to

Britain developed a way to present Christianity that would appeal to the Anglo-Saxon society

(Boenig 7). This method consisted in emphasizing the parts of Christianity that the Germanic

people would recognize and appreciate, such as the more “heroic” virtues (i.e. courage and

fortitude) (Thieme 111). Their method largely worked, as the Anglo-Saxons accepted

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Christianity relatively easily (Boenig 30), and the religion became fairly popular in Britain

(Lamdin and Lamdin 1).

Besides making Christianity popular, one result of the missionaries’ method of

evangelization was that “[the Anglo-Saxons] saw their religion through the lens of their heroic

past, depicting apostles and saints as thanes of their leader, Christ” (Boenig xi). The Dream of

the Rood poem exemplifies of this depiction of the Christian faith through an Anglo-Saxon

“lens”. As Thieme states, Christ and the rood are portrayed in the poem in a way that likely

appealed to the people living in Britain at the time:

Christ is not the merciful, loving, meek man of affliction whose victory over sin and

death seem to be a defeat rather than a triumph. Instead, he is cast in the role of a bold,

strong, courageous king whose salvific act seems to be a deed of heroic prowess. The

cross itself is portrayed as his lord’s retainer whose most outstanding characteristic is that

of unwavering loyalty. (108)

Elsewhere, Thieme explains that the author of the Dream of the Rood portrayed the characters in

the poem in this way “in order to accentuate that the values with which his people were familiar

in a pre-Christian, secular world are basically identical with those in a Christian setting” (109).

So the poet depicted Christ and the rood as persons with whom the Anglo-Saxon people

would readily identify. To do this, the poet deliberately described the rood as an ordinary tree

(Irvine 437) that shows honor and submission to Christ, who is described as “a mighty king”

(“Dream of the Rood” line 44) and “[a] famous lord” (70). Concerning the relationship depicted

between Christ and the rood, Ó Carragáin says that the allegiance that the thane owed his lord

was “to defend and protect [his] lord even at the cost of [his] life” (2). This explains the rood’s

staunch resolve to obey Christ, when it says that it “did not dare || act against the Lord’s word”

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(35). More tellingly though, it shows how the rood’s position of not only having to watch its lord

be killed, but also participate in that death, would have been nearly insufferable for it, as Raw

relates (241). This agony endured by the rood would likely have been readily identified with by

the Anglo-Saxon people who would have been very familiar with the expectations of conduct of

a retainer to his lord.

The poem puts heavy emphasis on courage, strength, and loyalty—all likely highly

important virtues in Anglo-Saxon culture around the time that the poem was written (Thieme

111). Considering the Anglo-Saxons’ love of strength, the virtue of fortitude, which lies in

bearing great troubles with courage, would likely have also had a great draw for them, and this

virtue can be seen in both Christ and the rood in The Dream of the Rood. Christ shows fortitude

in the endurance of his sufferings during his Passion. He runs to the cross, the instrument which

will kill him, and endures the pain and scorn that comes from his execution at the hands of the

soldiers, “suffer[ing] agony || for the sins of men” (146). As a result, the poet of The Dream of

the Rood describes Christ as “brave in the sight of many || as he set out to redeem mankind” (41).

Christ is truly a strong and courageous lord in this poem, willingly to die for his people in order

to save them. As Thieme relates, this portrayal of Christ as brave and resilient likely identified

him as a great leader, truly worthy of great honor and respect to the Anglo-Saxon people, much

more so than the portrayal of him as a passive, meek, victim would have (109).

The rood also portrays the virtues important to the Anglo-Saxons, most particularly

fortitude. In the poem, the rood says that even though it “trembled when the man embraced [it]; ||

[it] stood in place” (42). The rood does not flinch when the soldiers pierced it with nails and

arrows, even though as it relates to the dreamer in the poem, “the dints of those wounds can still

be seen” (6). The rood wishes to bow to Christ, but it must remain erect out of obedience (45).

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This not only shows the rood’s loyalty to its lord, but also its ability to remain strong in the face

of adversity. All of these sufferings of shame and hurt, while no doubt difficult, would have

likely been the type of thing that an Anglo-Saxon retainer would have been prepared to face,

unlike what Ó Carragáin says is the rood’s most agonizing torture: watching and participating in

its lord’s death (2). As Raw relates, the rood must face the terrible torture of seeing its lord be

killed and be unable to defend him, something that would have been almost unbearable to an

Anglo-Saxon thane (241). The poem tells of this torture when the rood says that it “was badly

burdened with grief || yet bowed to [the soldiers] hands, / submissive with most resolve” (59-60).

Even after Christ has died, the rood must stand covered in its lord’s blood (61-62). Not only has

it been forced to participate in its lord’s death, now the rood must stand covered with that lord’s

blood as a sign of this shameful act. All these sufferings, however, do not go unrewarded.

Through its endurance of these great trials, the rood is rewarded for its fidelity and its

ability to stand strong even in the face of unthinkable tortures. Through these trials, the rood is

transformed (Ó Carragáin 309). As Ó Carragáin shows throughout his book, Ritual and the

Rood, the theme of transformation is present throughout the poem, particularly concerning the

rood. It goes from being made an instrument of torture to becoming the great symbol of salvation

and the way to redemption (Thieme 115). The rood is described by the poet of The Dream of the

Rood as being richly adorned with jewels and “garnished with grandeur, || gleaming in bliss, / all

plated with gold” (15-16). The Dreamer reacts with awe at the rood, calling it “the most splendid

tree” (4), and exclaims that “[c]learly this was no criminal’s gallows” (10). This description of

the rood differs greatly from the rood’s own description of itself at Christ’s crucifixion. It says

that it was “badly burdened with grief” (59) and “standing, blood all over [it], pierced

everywhere with arrows” (62). The rood’s great transformation comes about only through its

9

endurance of its trials. The rood itself says that it “[has] gone through || grievous sufferings, /

terrible sorrows” (79-80). Had there been no suffering, there would have been no glory.

The rood could also represent something evil being turned into something good. When

the rood is made a tool of execution for Christ, who is innocent, it is made something very evil.

The rood itself says that “I became || the most cruel punishment, / most hated by men” (86-87). It

was made an accessory to a terrible act. This act was so horrible that “the earth tremble[d]” (37)

and “[a]ll creation wept” (55) while it took place. What the rood represents is not just the killing

of an innocent person, but of a great lord. As a result, the rood is hated by all at the time of

Christ’s passion, but when Christians later find the rood after Christ has risen, the rood

transforms. Not only does the rood lose the shame associated with what it once was in this

transformation, it is “adorned…with gold and silver” (77), and even made the symbol of

salvation, in great contrast to what it had previously symbolized (Thieme 115). By its resolution

and fidelity, the rood is changed, and as Ó Carragáin says, “the Cross, once an instrument of the

doers of evil…is now honoured and prayed to” (309). Through its endurance of evil, the rood

transforms into something very good: a means to eternal life.

In this transfiguration of something evil into the means to salvation, the rood not only

possesses the virtue of fortitude in The Dream of the Rood poem, but it also acts much like the

virtue itself. Besides showing fortitude in its endurance of the pains and mortification associated

with its participation in Christ’s passion, the rood also resembles the way that the virtue of

fortitude develops in a person, and its effects on the person who possesses it. Admittedly, in its

representation of a means to heaven, the rood could possibly symbolize all of the virtues. For

essentially, the virtues are a way to perfect one so that one may be able to enjoy eternal life.

They are a means to heaven, which is just what the rood says it is in the poem. Yet the rood

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appears to represent fortitude more so than the other virtues. Of Christianity’s four cardinal

virtues, fortitude is the only one that is attained through the endurance of great evil. One can

have temperance without having to suffer torture, obtain prudence without agony, or possess

justice without having gone through torment, but by its very definition, one can only acquire

fortitude through the endurance of some great trial. This trial can be truly horrible, like being

made an unwilling instrument to kill an innocent person, like the rood, and truly shake one to the

core, much like the rood shook in witnessing and participating in its lord’s death. In surviving

this trial though, what was evil can turn into something good, even perhaps like the rood, a

means to heaven.

The reason that the rood particularly mirrors fortitude may be that this particular virtue

held such importance for the Anglo-Saxon people. It is the virtue that they would have most

likely identified as worthy of such a great reward as eternal life, just as it was probably the

heroism of Christ, and not his temperance, that convinced the Anglo-Saxons to worship him

(Thieme 109). Through Christ’s demonstration of strength and courage in the face of adversity,

the Anglo-Saxons would likely have associated him with their own brave heroes, and therefore

found the Christian religion more convincing (Boenig 41-42). In the same way, the rood had to

express the same virtues that the Anglo-Saxon people admired, for as Baird says the rood was

meant to show the way to live in order to attain heaven (qtd. in Thieme 113-114). So the author

of The Dream of the Rood portrays a Cross that instead of acting primarily prudent or temperate,

stood strong in the face of suffering—a resilient rood. So important is this virtue of fortitude, that

the rood not only possesses it, but even acts like it. In this way, the rood appears to play a bit of a

double role in the poem, for it not only acts as an image to emulate, but also as a symbol of what

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each soul must do before it can attain heaven. What the poem says will be primarily required of

souls is also something that the Anglo-Saxons would have understood well.

What each soul is expected to do is seen most clearly in the question the rood says that

each soul will be asked at the Last Judgment. It is not the question one might expect in this day

and age, but is one that the Anglo-Saxon people of Britain would have understood well. Today,

one might think that the question would be something along the lines of how that soul had

treated other people. Instead, the rood says that Christ will ask whether that soul “in the Savior’s

name/ would suffer the death || He suffered on that tree” (113-114). This question of whether the

soul would be willing to die the death that Christ died in the name of its lord very much hearkens

back to theme of the Anglo-Saxon lord and his retainers, who were expected to be willing to die

for their leader (Thieme 113). Again, this shows that according to the poem, fortitude, the ability

to face such a great trial as death, is what the soul needs primarily in order to reach heaven.

The theme of the need for fortitude in order to gain salvation also appears in the rood’s

advice for the Dreamer. Being the recipient of this great vision, it should be taken for granted

that the Dreamer acts as the main character that the audience should identify with. The rood’s

story and appearance is obviously directed to Dreamer, the one meant to attain the virtue

exemplified by Christ and the rood so that he may attain heaven. The rood was transformed by

Christ, and now the rood will in turn transform the Dreamer (Raw 241), and anyone else who

“seek[s] His kingdom || through that cross” (121). As Ó Carragáin relates, “[t]he Cross

challenges the Dreamer to identify himself with the Cross and so with Christ” (329). What Christ

and the rood have done, so must the Dreamer, and as a result all mankind, do also (Raw 241). Of

course what Christ and the rood have both done is suffer, and they both suffered greatly. They

also both stood strong in their trials, as Christ suffered heroically for his people, and the rood

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suffered out of fidelity to its lord. So must the Dreamer do, says the rood, when it tells him that

“each soul that longs/ to exist with its savior || forevermore/ must seek His kingdom || through

that Cross” (119-121). “That Cross” means going the way that leads through trials and affliction,

which must be born with fortitude.

Interestingly enough, this command of the rood that the Dreamer must suffer before he

can reach heaven does not add to the Dreamer’s sorrows, but rather replaces his burdens with a

great sense of longing:

Then compelled by joy, I prayed to that tree

With ardent zeal, where I was alone

With few followers. Then my heart felt

An urge to set forth; I have suffered

Much longing since. Now I live in hope,

Venturing after that victory-tree, (123-128)

The Dreamer feels hope and joy at this vision, and wishes for heaven—feelings that the intended

audience could hardly have helped also feeling, for through The Dream of the Rood poem, the

Anglo-Saxon people were shown the very virtues that they had for so long treasured in their

pagan religions could also have a place in this new religion of Christianity (Thieme 109). The

poem exhibited that fidelity to one’s lord and fortitude through trials could be aids to eternal life.

These people could see through the depiction of a great lord dying willingly for his people and

an ordinary follower remaining obedient to its leader to the point in which it would even

participate in his death, that the religion of Christianity could apply to them as a people, and truly

be “for the mighty, [and] not the meek” (Emmerson xv).

13

Through The Dream of the Rood, the people living in Britain in the ninth century could

relate to Christianity and understand how this religion was not simply part of another culture

trying to impose itself upon their society (Thieme 109). Rather, through this poem, and the others

like it, the Anglo-Saxons could see that principles of Christianity applied to them as much as any

other people, and that they would not have to sacrifice the love of the virtues, such as courage

and fortitude, which they had previously held so dear in order to belong to the Christian Church.

If anything, The Dream of the Rood elevates those same virtues to a higher plane than even the

Anglo-Saxon people had previously held them. For in this poem, the characters not only possess

the virtue of fortitude, but this virtue also is even shown to be way to eternal life.

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Works Cited

Boenig, Robert, trans and intro. Anglo-Saxon Spirituality: Selected Writings. Preface. Richard K.

Emmerson. New York: Paulist Press, 2000. Print.

Godden, Malcolm, and Michael Lapidge, eds. The Cambridge Companion to Old English

Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Print.

Greenblatt, Stephen, ed. “The Dream of the Rood.” The Norton Anthology of English Literature.

Vol. 8. 9th

ed. New York: Norton & Company, 2012. Print.

Irvine, Susan. “Adam or Christ? A Pronominal Pun in The Dream of the Rood.”

The Review of English Studies, New Series, 48.192 (1997):433-447. JSTOR. Web. 22

Nov. 2013.

Lambdin, Laura Cooner, and Robert Thomas Lambdin, eds. A Companion to Old and Middle

English Literature. London: Greenwood Press, 2002. Print.

Ó Carragáin, Éamonn. Ritual and the Rood: Liturgical Images and the Old English Poems of the

Dream of the Rood Tradition. London: The British Library, 2005. Print.

Thieme, Adelheid L. J. “Gift Giving as a Vital Element of Salvation in ‘The Dream of the

Rood.’” South Atlantic Review, 63.2 (1998): 108-123. JSTOR. Web. 22 Nov. 2013.

"From God and Woman"

15

Joseph Grossheim

THE 431: Writings of John

Instructor: Dr. Richard H. Bulzacchelli

What appears to many as a straight contradiction, biblical Mariology is an authentic study

of Scripture that draws out many of the Marian doctrines taught by the Catholic Church. But to

engage in this study requires going beyond the simple propositions contained in the text to the

deeper level of biblical typology—the manner in which the bible, and indeed, the Hebrew

language itself, is intended to be read.1

A typology in Scripture refers to an image, character, or theme that is returned to and

developed within the bible. A type itself refers to a sort of impression2 that is left from what we

1 Linguists note certain phonetic, grammatical, and morphological threads and commonalities within Hebrew and

other languages [For a sample study of a linguistic study in Hebrew typology, see: Shelomo Morag. “Qumran

Hebrew: Some Typological Observations.” Vetus Testamentum. Vol. 38, Fasc. 2 (Apr., 1988), pp. 148-164.] While

this typological study is qualitatively different than biblical typology, there seems to be some semblance in that

biblical typologies admit of a similar “thread” that, when followed through Scripture, offers a clearer vision than

what could be had by taking on a particular part of the typology and considering it in exclusion to the rest of the

thread. While we are no position to make any assertions to this effect, we state conditionally that if the Hebrew

people were engaged in a sort of “typological” thinking in the very act of using their language, then the fact that

Biblical Hebrew extensively employs such typologies in its narratives would be very consistent. Our argument in

favor of a typological reading of Scripture in no way depends on this, however, as Paul explicitly provides a

typological reading of Adam as a type of Christ (Romans 5:14) and the exodus as a type of baptism (1 Corinthians

10:1-11, where the Greek word τύπος [tupos] appears in verses six and eleven). Peter affirms the same, labeling

baptism as the ἀντίτυπον [antitupos] of Noah’s flood (1 Peter 1:31), and finally the author of Hebrews places heaven

as the ἀντίτυπον of the Hebrew temple (Hebrews 9:24). 2 As it appears in Scripture, τύπος literally means “a blow” and derives from τύπτω which means to “strike

repeatedly” (see James Strong. The New Strong’s Expanded Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible. Greek No. 5179

and 5180). It is rendered in the Revised Standard translation of the Bible as print (John 20:25), figure (Acts 7:43),

pattern (Acts7:44, Hebrews 8:5), to this effect (Acts 23:25), type (Romans 5:14) standard (Romans 6:17), warning

(1 Corinthians 10:6; 10:11), example (Philippians 3:17; 1 Thessalonians 1:7; 2 Thessalonians 3:9; 1 Timothy 4:12; 1

Peter 5:3), and model (Titus 2:7).

Of particular interest are the two passages Acts 7:23 and Hebrews 8:5, as they offer New Testament Greek

quotations of Old Testament texts, allowing us to segue into a discussion about the use of this idea in the Hebrew

language. Acts 7:23, quoting from Amos 5, translates the Hebrew word into Greek as τύπος , but in this

manner it seems to refer more to an “image” such as a statue takes after that from which it was modeled, and the

Hebrew term is used in similar contexts throughout the rest of the Hebrew scriptures (See Strong. Hebrew No.

6754.) The book of Hebrews appears to have more to say, however, as it renders as τύπος the Hebrew word

in its quotation of Exodus 25:39. The root of (see Strong. Hebrew No. 8403) appears in the directives given

to Moses in constructing the temple after the divine pattern which God provides him, and is used likewise

throughout the Hebrew Scriptures. The significance here is the clear indication of both the model itself and that after

which the model is modeled after. This is biblical typology, wherein the antitypes of the New Testament provide,

kairologically, the model by which the Old Testament types are fashioned.

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call an antitype. A proper example would be a type-writer pressing “types” upon the page, which

are the images of the antitypes activated by the pressing of keys. We could likewise consider a

signet ring that a medieval regent might wear. This ring impresses its image upon a wax seal—

the ring is the antitype, while the impression in the wax that resembles the ring is the type.

In biblical theology, a type expresses an image of its respective antitype, such that one

heavily resembles the other. But the meaning is significant, for Scriptural typologies always

point forward to their respective antitypes, offer a significant foreshadowing of the antitype, and

most importantly offer a different context in which the antitype may be and should be

considered, allowing new conclusions to be drawn. Following biblical typology, Augustine

writes, “The New Testament is hidden in the Old, and the Old Testament is unveiled in the

New.”3 New Testament antitypes can be studied in and of themselves in the pages of the New

Testament, but this limited study excludes much of what can be learned of the antitypes via their

respective types in the Old Testament. Indeed, it is evident upon considering typologies that the

New Testament authors intend to refer readers back into the Old Testament, both to shed a richer

light on their current work in the New Testament, but also to “unveil” the hidden meanings

within the Old.

We will now begin to unpack the typology behind the figure of Sarah in Genesis.

Abraham and Sarah were a barren couple, having no possibility of children on their own.

However, it was this couple that God choose to call out of a pagan world to make of them a

“great nation,” and in so doing reveal to man who Yahweh really is. God chose this couple for

which it was impossible to bear children to bring into being a multitude of people—and

3 Augustine. Quaetionum in Heptateuchum Libri Septem. 2, 73. “Multum et solide significatur, ad Vetus

Testamentum timorem potius pertinere, sicut ad Novum dilectionem: quamquam et in Vetere Novum lateat, et in

Novo Vetus pateat.”

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simultaneously to show that Yahweh is not bound by limitations of the temporal world—that a

sterile couple was no obstacle for him.4

In chapter eighteen of Genesis, Abraham, we are told, is ninety-nine years old—far

beyond natural childbearing years in addition to their state of sterility. But there is an interesting

movement in this chapter that finally brings about Sarah’s conception. Three mysterious

travelers are passing through. We note that they are specifically referred to as the “Lord,”

possess knowledge of Abraham and Sarah without asking for it, and are traveling at noon—

which is not only the hottest time of the day where travelers would rarely be abroad, but it is the

time at which shadows disappear, and the very hour when Christ’s crucifixion would begin,

which would itself bring about the complete closure of the gap between God and man. We will

find that Abraham welcoming these visitors into his home is typologically significant.

God, as represented in the three visitors, is stopped by Abraham who insists that he come

into his home to refresh himself. The word for Abraham’s home is ohel and is the same root

word used of God’s tabernacle or dwelling that he takes up among men5—which is significant as

Abraham is inviting God into his own tent. Further, when the Old Testament was translated from

Hebrew into Greek, the word for tent was rendered as skené, which is also used by John in the

4 John Chrysostom. “Homily 40.” The Fathers of the Church. Vol. 74. Ed. Thomas P. Halton et. al. Trans. Robert C.

Hill. Washington D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1990 [Henceforth FC]. Paragraph 6.“So what

was the response of the Lord? Since he had sufficiently tested the Godliness of the just man’s attitude through the

passage of time, and Sarrah’s faith as well, and saw that both had no expectations, the one on account of old age and

the other on account of sterility and advanced years, he said, ‘Now this seems to you to be quite impossible. In fact,

my reason for being responsible for such a long delay was to show you that the gift given by me is beyond the

possibilities of human nature, and for you and everyone else to learn through the events themselves that I am the

Lord of nature, that it responds to my wishes and yields to my commands. After all, if I created it from being

nothing, much more, now that it exists, can I correct its impediments.”

An interesting point in the course of Abraham’s story is that he is promised a child no less than five times before

Sarah finally conceives. Over the course of many years, one is left to wonder what God could possibly be waiting

for, and even if He can really make good on His promise after all. We will go on later to consider precisely why God

delayed. 5 Strong. Hebrew No. 168. This Hebrew word is taken up in Exodus 33:7 to describe God’s tabernacle.

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first chapter of his Gospel to describe the incarnation of Christ.6 The tent image is thus

representative of a personal dwelling, but not limited to a home; it also includes the act of living

which God takes up inside his people, in the tabernacle of their hearts. Abraham opens the doors

of his heart to the three travelers in an act of selfless hospitality, and this act is far reaching in its

effects, for it is upon this act of openness toward God that Sarah finally conceives a son.7 God

required a conversion of Abraham’s heart, namely, a full disposition of openness, trust, and

passivity to the divine will, before the fulfillment of the promise would be given. Chrysostom

affirms the same, stating that Abraham, in his hospitality to his guests, would have exclaimed, “I

have forgotten my age.”8 In other words, his mind is no longer beset with limitation. His life is

no longer dictated by the boundaries which nature would set—as his God is Yahweh, the master

of all, and subjected to no authority.9 Abraham now looks to God, not to himself.

10

6 John 1:14 may be rendered as “And the Word became flesh and tented within us, full of grace and truth; we have

beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father” (emphasis added). 7 Chrysostom. FC. 22. “Through everything that happened, [Abraham] revealed his enthusiasm of spirit. After he

had with liberality and great cheerfulness sown the seed of hospitality, at once with generous hand he reaped the

sheaves. You see, after he had one all that lay within him and, far from leaving anything undone, had brought the

process of hospitality to completion, and thus the just man’s virtue was made manifest, then it was that, with a view

to the just man’s knowing the extent of his good fortune and the number of good things of which his hospitality had

proved the cause for him, the visitor revealed his identity and gradually made manifest to the just man the greatness

of his power.”

See also: Caesarius of Arles. Sermon 83.4. Quoted in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture. [Hencforth

ACCS]. Old Testament, Vol. 2. Edited by Thomas C. Oden and Mark Sheridan. Translated by Joel Scandrett et. all.

P. 64, 66. “Behold, while blessed Abraham welcomed those men warmly, he merited to receive God in

consideration of his hospitality. Christ further confirmed this in the Gospel when he said, ‘I was a stranger, and you

took me in.’…Behold, angels enter a hospitable home, but houses that are closed to strangers are burned with flames

of sulphur.” We note that Caesarius refers to the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, which chronologically follows the

present narrative. 8 Chrysostom. FC. 20. “The old man found new life and vigor: I have the treasure in my hands, he said, I have won

riches, I have forgotten my age. See him quite heartened by the affair: as if jumping for joy and holding countless

good things in his hands, he was so happy.” We see Christ making a similar exhortation to faith in John’s Gospel,

following the bread of life discourse, as he tells the people, “It is the spirit that gives life, the flesh is of no avail”

(John 6:63). 9 Paul points to this particular action of Abraham to be that which was “credited to him as righteousness” (Romans

4:22). 10

This is set in clear contrast with the story immediately preceding the Abrahamic narrative, which details the

Tower of Babel and the scattering of those people due to their ambition to “make ourselves a great people,” rather

than waiting upon the Lord. (Genesis 11:4. This is noted by Victor P. Hamilton. Handbook on the Pentateuch. 2nd

ed. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005. p. 82.) This is further seen in the story of Hagar, the maidservant. As we

will come to see, insofar as the posture of man is open, receptive, and conforming to the will of God man is disposed

19

Upon Abraham’s open invitation into his home, God reveals that by next Spring Sarah

will have a son. But the original languages have more to tell: the two Hebrew words here

rendered as “next Spring” are kah-yet hay-yah, and together translate as “the time of revival” or

“the time of renewal.”11

Thus, the promise of Isaac will be fulfilled at the time for renewal. Also

important is the Old Testament Greek rendering of the word time as kairos, rather than the other

Greek word for time kronos.12

Kronos has a specific meaning that we use today in the words

chronology and chronological, by which we mean a successive order of events subject to words

like “before” and “after.” Kairos is different, however, and refers to a manner of time not subject

to temporal succession. In other words, it is an eternal moment and does not admit of words such

as “before” and “after.” As God speaks to Abraham here, he tells him that at the kairos of

revival, Isaac, the promise of a multitude of nations and descendants, will be actualized.13

The

kairos which is typologically referred to here is none other than Mary’s conception of the

Incarnate Christ.

If the typology remains unclear, there is one further point of major significance. Sarah

responds to the promise with laughter, perhaps finding the possibility of a child too good to be

true.14

This is similar to the uncertainty with which Mary greeted the angel Gabriel in Luke’s

toward blessing. To the contrary, insofar as man reaches out to take from God or seeks to preserve himself through

his own devices does he fail and fall into destruction. 11

Brown-Driver-Briggs. Hebrew and English Lexicon, Unabridged, Electronic Database. Biblesoft, Inc., 2002. See

, I.C.3. Available at: <http://biblesuite.com/hebrew/2416.htm>. 12

Paul R. McReynolds. Word Study Greek-English New Testament. Wheaton: Tyndale House Publishers, 1999.

Text is from Greek New Testament, Third Corrected Edition. The United Bible Societies, 1983. 13

Genesis 18:10. We reference the Greek text issued by: Sir Lancelot C.L. Brenton. The Septuagint with Apocrypha:

Greek and English. London: Hendrickson Publishers, 2011. 14

Yahweh does not operate on the same level as man, but, driving and shaping history toward himself, he holds no

regard for natural limitations and expectations; though in some way that we do not expect and truly cannot anticipate

(Acts 1:7-8; 1 Corinthians 2:9), he nonetheless fulfills our expectations. As man perennially faces the question,

“Who is God?” Abraham and Sarah are no exception. Their story began with an unexpected but personal call from

God to “go” telling them, “I will bless thee, and make thy name renowned…” Abraham, then called Abram, leaves

the land of his fathers per the bidding of Yahweh, whom he will come to discover is altogether different than what

he knows about divinity (Isaiah 55:8-9).

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Gospel. The angel responds to Sarah, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?”15

which is taken up by

Luke practically verbatim in the dialogue between Mary and Gabriel.16

Further, Luke clearly

follows the trajectory of Genesis eighteen, with a visitor from God announcing the conception of

a child who will fulfill God’s promise to His people. It is thus evident that Luke intends to point

his reader back to the Old Testament type, Sarah.

What is the significance? Unavailable to us in a purely propositional reading of Luke’s

Gospel is the disposition of absolute openness to God which Mary embodies. However, when

Mary is considered typologically in the context of Genesis to which Luke is pointing, it is

unmistakable that it is precisely Mary’s radical openness to God’s movement that allows her to

conceive the true “child of the promise” after the manner of Abraham and Sarah, whose

openness allowed for the conception of Isaac. Mary’s openness to allow God to dwell within her

is actualized as God truly takes flesh in her own womb.

But there are further parallels—a clear example being the miraculous manner in which

both Sarah and Mary conceive their respective children. Mary in spite of virginity, Sarah in spite

of sterility and old age. But a question demands our attention, namely, in what respect is Mary’s

virginity truly an obstacle, even to a natural power, let alone a divine power? We might be left at

a loss, for in her virginity taken alone, Mary offers no necessary obstruction to conception

compared to Sarah—we are never told that Mary is infertile, and while she is a virgin presently,

her betrothal and imminent marriage provide an obvious manner in which the conception of her

child would take place. However, like Sarah, Mary is perplexed at the angel’s greeting. Why is

15

Genesis 18:14. Holy Bible. Revised Standard Version. 16

Genesis 18:14 reads, “ἀδυνατεῖ παρὰ τῷ θεῷ ῥῆμα” (see Brenton), while Luke 1:37 reads, “ἀδυνατήσει παρὰ τοῦ

Θεοῦ πᾶν ῥῆμα” (See McReynolds), the difference being only the adjective πᾶν, meaning “every/the-totality-of”

(See Strong. Greek No. 3956.), which only adds emphasis, and other simple variances due to cases changes—but the

root words and their order remain identical. Luke could not have written this phrase for Gabriel without recalling the

words of God also spoken to Sarah, and as such his typological intention is unmistakable.

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that? Why does Mary not only assume, through due intercourse with her new husband, that she

would conceive a child through ordinary means? Luke points to Sarah in Genesis to underscore

another important Mariological doctrine—that there was indeed a definitive obstacle to the

conception of a child, namely, that Mary had intended, if not already made some manner of

vows, to remain a perpetual virgin.17

Without this explanation, we are left with an incomplete

typology. For God specifically called upon Sarah, a sterile woman, to conceive the child of the

promise in order to show forth his power and that he was not subject to the limitations of nature.

God calls on Mary, a fertile woman, but through deliberate choice a perpetual virgin, to also

conceive the “child of the promise” in order to again show forth his power, that he is not subject

to the limitations of nature.

The figure Sarah is deeply embedded in the Hebrew people, right into their very name.

The title of the people, Israel, is a Hebrew word that brings together the two words, Sarah, and

El, which means God.18

The people Israel, thus, derive from the two: Sarah and God. In the New

Testament, the Christian people refer to themselves not as Israel, but as the Body of Christ,

which derives, not only etymologically but really and truly, from Mary and God—as Mary,

through the generous hospitality typologically seen in Abraham and Sarah, allows God to

tabernacle within her very self. Her absolute openness allows the conception of Christ in her

womb, and her very flesh supplies the material by which the Body of Christ takes form—that

17

Pope John Paul II goes so far as to say that the entire similitude between Mary and Abraham is lost without this

specific affirmation. See Redmptoris Mater. 14. “Mary's faith can also be compared to that of Abraham, whom St.

Paul calls ‘our father in faith’ (cf. Rom. 4:12). In the salvific economy of God's revelation, Abraham's faith

constitutes the beginning of the Old Covenant; Mary's faith at the Annunciation inaugurates the New Covenant. Just

as Abraham ‘in hope believed against hope, that he should become the father of many nations’ (cf. Rom. 4:18), so

Mary, at the Annunciation, having professed her virginity (‘How shall this be, since I have no husband?’) believed

that through the power of the Most High, by the power of the Holy Spirit, she would become the Mother of God's

Son in accordance with the angel's revelation: ‘The child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God’ (Lk. 1:35).”

Available at <http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_paul_ii/encyclicals/documents/hf_jp-

ii_enc_25031987_redemptoris-mater_en.html> 18

Strong. Hebrew No. 3478.

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same flesh which will be sacrificed for the redemption of man. The Christian people then, insofar

as they are a part of the Body of Christ, derive themselves from Mary after the same manner that

Christ himself did, namely, as a mother begets a child, so the Church and we its people derive

from Mary’s womb, and she is our mother.

Scripture is intended to be read as a whole, and part of this holistic approach to Scripture

is to engage the text typologically. Many struggles faced by modern exegetes are due to a

reading of Scripture that is far too narrow and exclusive—indeed, excluding even the

hermeneutical keys explicitly endorsed by the New Testament authors, such as Peter and Paul, as

we have demonstrated above. Catholic doctrine is illegitimately critiqued as “unscriptural” on

this basis. But as we have seen, even the most controversial of doctrines, such as the Marian

dogmas, are affirmed in Scriptural typology.

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Henry V: King of Rhetoric

John Paul Pagan

ENG 112: Composition II

Instructor: Dr. Katherine Haynes

Shakespeare’s Henry V is a history play recounting the eponymous hero’s campaign to

conquer France which succeeded through his startling victory at the Battle of Agincourt. Henry

encounters numerous obstacles over the course of the play, from the task of inspiring a

discouraged military force, to wooing the conquered princess Katherine. To surmount these

challenges within the confines of a stage, Shakespeare employs Henry’s rhetorical skills. Henry’s

lines, which often take the form of long speeches, are always eloquent and compelling. Yet

underneath his charm, a perceptive audience might notice a more sinister side to Henry’s

rhetoric. Put bluntly, Henry’s language can be manipulative, designed to trick other characters

into doing or seeing things the way Henry desires. At the same time, Shakespeare repeatedly

imbues King Harry’s words with selfless courage, and genuine consideration for his men. Henry

is one of Shakespeare’s most complex characters, at once a noble hero and a plotting

mastermind. Via Henry’s oratory, Shakespeare incarnates King Henry V as at once a flawed man

and a courageous ruler whose rhetoric is both darkly manipulative and heroically inspiring.

An early example of Henry’s dexterous maneuvering of those around him is contained in

the first act, when he declares war on France. When Henry first takes the stage, the Archbishop

of Canterbury, scheming to postpone tax reforms affecting the Church, commences to lobby for a

French invasion. Prof. Bradley Greenburg suggests that Henry, wanting caution as the son of a

usurper, niftily employs Canterbury’s encouragement to go to war as a pretext for his plans to do

so all along (189). According to Greenburg, Henry strategically inserts self-effacing comments

24

meant to transfer the appearance of warring initiative to his advisors (190). Henry’s very first

speech, a grave, twenty line caveat to the Archbishop not to overstate Henry’s claim to France,

sounds particularly rehearsed, and leads the Archbishop to lay “the sin upon my head” (1.2.102).

Once his lords have added their coaxing, Henry puts the finishing touch on his passive-

aggressive war-waging by calling in the French ambassador. French hostility is already primed as

Henry has previously seized several French dukedoms (1.2.92). When the indignant ambassador

presents the Dauphin’s mock gift of tennis balls, a jab at Henry’s virility, Henry can react with

expected outrage and declare his intention to invade France blameless before the public

(Greenburg 192). For the audience, it is hard not to question that Henry is the guileless victim of

French insolence, not engineering the intended result of war from behind the scenes.

As the war proceeds and the decisive battle of Agincourt approaches, Henry’s mettle is

tested, and Shakespeare counterbalances his deviousness with ample lines that convey genuine

bravery. Notable are Henry’s two refusals at Agincourt to designate for himself a ransom in case

of his capture. These confirm that Henry is willing to put his life at risk alongside his men. This

is not to say that Henry lacks a strategic purpose. When the French herald Montjoy first suggests

ransom, Henry’s given reason for declining is that his men are weak and few (3.6.150-1). This is

obviously to encourage the French to underestimate him. Montjoy again visits Henry on the

verge of Agincourt offering ransom, but Henry again refuses. This time, the outnumbered Henry

speaks only out of sheer bravado. Henry audaciously boasts that even his slain soldiers will

continue to kill the French by spreading disease, and he mocks the fancy dress of the French

(4.3.105-25). Given the dire circumstances, Henry’s spirit, unlike his plotting, can hardly be

artificial.

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Shakespeare also intends to humanize the monarch, and Henry’s captivating trip into his

camp incognito the night before Agincourt is sown with language demonstrating Henry's

vulnerable side. First, Henry establishes himself as a truly affable man. One example is Henry’s

good-natured reaction to Pistol’s rambunctious manner. After Pistol proffers him a crude gesture,

Henry only jokes that Pistol’s name “suits well with your fierceness” (4.1.65). Henry also has a

good word for the boisterous Captain Fluellen, commenting, “there is much care and valor in this

Welshman” (1.4.87). Henry then ventures upon three privates, Bates, Court, and Williams. He

initially commiserates with their apprehension of defeat, admitting that they seem to be “men

wracked upon a sand, that look to be washed off the next tide” (4.1.102-2).

However, to inspire loyalty from the men, Henry quickly resorts to more underhanded

tactics. He deceptively poses as merely “a friend” so he can familiarize his royal persona in the

third person. Feigning neutrality, Henry rhapsodizes that “the King is but a man as I am. The

violet smells to him as it doth to me” (4.1.105-7). Henry goes on to boast that he “could not die

anywhere so contented as in the King’s company, his cause being just” (4.1.130-3). While

Henry’s remarks are considerate of a soldier’s fears, an audience might well feel critical of

Henry’s lack of candor about his identity while he encourages his men to imperil their lives.

Henry is a prudent military leader to offer his despondent men inspiration, but he does so by

deliberately misleading them.

Nowhere is Henry’s motivational propaganda more in play than when Henry answers

private Williams’ claim that the King is accountable for the war-crimes of his dead soldiers.

Henry convincingly explains that a king has no more responsibility for an individual soldier’s

crimes than has a father for his son’s (4.1.152-5). However, he shrewdly dodges the issue of

whether or not his campaign as a whole is a righteous pursuit. If Henry’s claim to the French

26

throne, at best tenuous, is actually a sham, then he is indeed responsible to his entire army for

ordering their unlawful acts of aggression. But Henry wants to discourage these conjectures

about the justice of his war, and draws the discussion away. Here, Henry uses rhetoric to

moralize his men, but also to give false confidence in the moral implications of his invasion.

Shakespeare continues exploring Henry's deceptiveness in wry fashion through an

ensuing altercation with Williams over whether the king actually denied himself a ransom. Henry

beguilingly suggests they settle their disagreement with fists after the battle, when, of course,

Henry will be flanked by his army. On one hand, Henry is giving Williams an incentive to fight

through Agincourt, but on the other, Henry is enjoying common yet cruel revenge. Sure enough,

Henry confronts the aggressive Williams after the battle with his real identity, and receives a

mortified appeal for mercy. Even when Henry shows magnanimity by making a peace offering

of money, Williams remains angry about being deceived (4.8.52-8). Henry’s tricking of Williams

hints at the benignity behind Henry’s rhetorical strategies, yet also illustrates their degrading

effect.

Once the three privates exit, Shakespeare abruptly disarms his audience with a troubled,

heart-wrenching soliloquy from Henry. As king, Henry reflects that he has exchanged the

freedom of plebeian responsibilities for just empty “ceremony”, or ritual (4.1.238-93). Henry

gives voice to the agonizing worries that this so called “idol” afflicts him with, which eliminates

for the audience the theory that Henry might manipulate for the fun of it. Furthering his appeal is

that Henry’s words lift up the homely spectators to feel not so different from monarchs

themselves as he mourns that the laboring peasant is better off than a king. In these lines, Henry

disassociates from himself “ceremony”, and in conjunction, his ceremonious, crafty language,

and does so in a way that is sure to wrest empathy out of the audience.

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As Henry soliloquizes, his insecurities come further to light in fears of defeat, and even in

doubts of the legitimacy of his cause. Henry anxiously prays to God not to avenge on him in the

coming battle his father’s usurpation of the throne (4.1.300-16). This poignant scene highlights

Henry’s steadfast convictions, reassuring the audience that he does not use rhetoric in a

capricious way. In the soliloquy, Shakespeare depicts Henry as a pious figure not without

compunction, who admirably perseveres in what he believes to be right.

While these private reflections compliment Henry, current scholarly criticism views his

St. Crispin’s Day speech, soon to follow, more skeptically. Analysis tends to focus on the

artificiality of the equal brotherhood Henry proclaims to inspire his soldiers. Alison Thorne notes

that Henry’s “band of brothers” is hardly egalitarian. She refers to Henry’s alternating use of the

pronouns “we” and “I”, and the fact that, although Henry promises his soldiers their names will

become household words, Henry himself can only reference his top captains by name (177-9).

These subliminal contradictions hint that the esteem Henry ensures his men is only a false bribe

for their courage. This would again seem confirmed when, in tallying the dead, Henry gives the

common men only a footnote’s remembrance (4.8.109-10). Donald Hedrick also draws attention

to Henry’s post-Agincourt breaking of his St. Crispin’s promises. Henry changes face and denies

his men credit for the victory, forbidding any man to “take that praise from God” (4.8.120)

(Hedrick 474). These scholarly commentaries accent the way Henry seizes the emotions of his

men by crafting an impossible fantasy of shared glory.

While as above, some validly argue that Henry’s St. Crispin’s Day speech is insincere,

they would not be correct to maintain further that Shakespeare intends to define Henry as an

seditious demagogue. Rather, Henry’s words would speak consolingly to the political concerns

of Shakespeare’s intended audience. For one thing, as Jonathan Baldo asserts, Henry’s speech

28

accomplishes the feat of associating St. Crispin’s feast day with a patriotic holiday. Baldo

recounts that the way Henry combines “ecclesiastical, patriotic, and even private forms of

memory” was “so crucial to Elizabethan England’s emerging concept of itself as a nation” (156).

Christopher Dowd lends another insight that Henry’s fraternal language, especially when spoken

to foreign, Celtic soldiers like Captain MacMorris, would have soothed the Irish prejudices of his

Elizabethan audience (350). Shakespeare subtly offers them, through Henry’s democratizing, a

way to imagine the hated Irish as their friendly allies, helping preserve, not demean British

culture (Dowd 350). Finally, although Henry’s promises prove empty in the context of the play,

there is no reason to think anyone in or outside the play expects Henry to personally fulfill the

grand prophesies he makes in the St. Crispin’s Day speech. It is obvious that, given the

circumstances, Henry is improvising in a charged moment. Henry’s audience can recognize and

appreciate the fact that his words are designed to stir emotion, and are not serious pledges or

predictions for the future.

In Henry V, Shakespeare weaves into Henry’s lines a balance of plotting manipulation

and courageous spirit to bring the legendary king down to earth. Henry rules the stage through

his words, using them artfully to outmaneuver his court and command his soldiers. Often in the

same breath, he demonstrates an appealing solicitude or bravery. Shakespeare expertly avoids

defining the King as either an alarming exploiter or a praiseworthy leader. Possibly the Bard

quietly warns of the coercive as well as galvanizing potential of a skilled orator. In perhaps a

wink to the audience, the fourth act Chorus instructs play-goers to “sit and see / Minding true

things by what their mock’ries be” (4.Chorus.53-4). In any case, after considering that power

corrupts, Shakespeare’s audience can, in the end, identify with Henry’s insecurities, forgive his

wiles, and cheer him on.

29

Works Cited

Baldo, Jonathan. “Wars of Memory in Henry V.” Shakespeare Quarterly 47.2 (1996): 132-159.

JSTOR. Web. 18 Mar. 2013.

Dowd, Christopher. “Polysemie Brotherhoods in Henry V.” Studies in English Literature, 1500-

1900 50.2 (2010): 337-353. JSTOR. Web. 18 Mar. 2013.

Greenburg, Bradley. “‘O for a Muse of Fire’: Henry V and Plotted Self-Exculpation.”

Shakespeare Studies 36.5 (2008): 182-206. Academic Search Premier. Web. 18 Mar.

2013.

Hedrick, Donald. “Advantage, Affect, History, Henry V.” PMLA 118.3 (2003): 470-487.

JSTOR. Web. 18 Mar. 2013.

Shakespeare, William. Henry V. Ed. Barbara A. Mowat and Paul Werstine. New York:

Washington Square Press, 2004. Print.

Thorne, Alison. “‘Awake Remembrance of these Valiant Dead’: Henry V and the Politics of the

English History Play.” Shakespeare Studies 30.6 (2002): 162-187. Academic Search

Premier. Web. 18 Mar. 2013.

30

"Meaning Beyond Matter: Natural and Supernatural Elements of The Dream of the Rood"

Sr. Marie Genevieve, O.P.

ENG 213: English Literature I

Instructor: Dr. Katherine Haynes

The Old English poem and meditation about the “rood,” or cross, of Christ has fascinated

scholars and historians for centuries. The Dream of the Rood not only draws the reader into a

narrative and meditation on the cross. It lifts one’s gaze to heaven and at the same time makes

the reality of Christ’s passion, resurrection and redemption meaningful and applicable to life

through the use of earthly symbols. The unknown author of The Dream of the Rood uses natural

images and symbols familiar to the Anglo-Saxon culture of his time to introduce supernatural

themes. The cross changes before the eyes of the narrator-dreamer and describes different stages

of its suffering and glory. Each of the author’s descriptions of natural images and themes, such

as a tree, warrior-hero, thane and banquet hall, symbolizes a deeper, spiritual reality.

The narrator’s use of a tree as his first description of the cross may seem to the secular,

modern reader to be obvious or uncreative. But by introducing the image of a tree as early as the

fourth line of the poem, however, the author intentionally references an abundance of images in

scripture, “In my dream I espied ¶ the most splendid tree. . . . That bright tree” (The Dream of the

Rood, lines 4, 6b, by which ¶ will replace the caesura). By alluding to the “tree of life” and other

tree images in scripture, the author uses a natural image to connect the audience to deeper,

spiritual truths. According to Barbara Raw, the Dream of the Rood uses the image of the tree to

remind the audience that Christ’s passion and death on the cross is relevant to every man:

The poem known as The Dream of the Rood places Christ’s death on the cross at the

centre of redemption history, from the tree in the garden of Eden to the tree of life by the

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river of life in the Apocalypse. . . . it relates the theme of the cross as the tree of life very

closely to the needs of the dreamer and to his future death and salvation. (228)

The natural image of a tree nourished by a flowing stream gives way to a spiritual understanding

of the just soul’s flourishing upon receiving the waters of life—grace—from God. One Dream

of the Rood scholar, Éamonn Ó Carragáin, supports this claim when he explains that,

“Throughout scripture, the just man is identified with the tree growing by life-giving waters:

from the first Psalm to the trees standing by the River of Life in the final chapter of St. John’s

Apocalypse (Revelation 22:2)” (313). The original Dream audience would have been familiar

with the recurring image of the flourishing tree from scripture.

Ó Carragáin also claims that the poem has direct connections to the scripture readings

allocated for the liturgical readings during Lent and Holy Week. This further proves that the

image of a tree in The Dream of the Rood is intended to have spiritual significance. Ó Carragáin

references several scripture passages from Lent and Holy Week which compare the “just man” to

a tree; for example, “In an Epistle read earlier during Lent, Jeremiah had seen the just man as a

deeply-rooted and living tree (17:7-8): ‘Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord… He shall be

like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream’” (313). If the author of The

Dream of the Rood was indeed a monk, priest or other religious figure as scholars have

suggested, it would be plausible that the poem is the fruit of the author’s meditation on the

liturgical readings for Lent and Holy Week. Ó Carragáin notes how the use of the cross as a life-

giving tree and fellow sufferer with Christ elevates the audience’s mind from the natural to the

supernatural:

In Dream 28-33a the Cross is presented both as guiltless and as a green tree hewn down:

“I was cut down at the edge of a wood, / removed from my root. Strong enemies seized

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me there.” This passage closely identifies the Cross with the way Christ was imagined on

Wednesday of Holy Week. The Cross and Christ both suffer without guilt. (313-314,

with translation by Richard J. Kelly and Ciaran L. Quinn)

The tree in the Dream lifts the image of Christ before the audience and invites them to enter into

the mystery of Christ’s passion and death.

Throughout the poem, the Dream of the Rood continues to relate the cross to other

supernatural elements by means of natural symbols, in addition to the more direct biblical

allusions. Later in the poem, the narrator describes how he imitates the cross’s loyalty and

devotion to Christ, “Now I live in hope, / venturing after ¶ that victory-tree. . . . my protection /

depends on the rood. ¶ I possess but few / friends on this earth” (The Dream of the Rood lines

126-127, 130-132a). The narrator relates to the cross by its personification and narration of its

varying experiences as Christ’s follower and servant. This helps the narrator to believe a

personal encounter with Christ is possible, as noted by Daniel Donoghue:

During the course of the vision the cross transforms itself in stages from a spectacle that

fills the gaze of all creation, to the wooden gallows, to a warrior serving his Lord, to a

forgotten landfill, and finally (in the dreamer’s description) to the humble sign worn

around the neck … it moves from the cosmic to the personal. (73)

Though the cross describes physical experiences, “On that mountain ¶ I have endured many cruel

happenings,” it leads the narrator and the audience to the heavenly glory it now enjoys, “On me

the son of God / suffered a time; ¶ therefore I now tower / in glory under heaven” (The Dream of

the Rood lines 83b-85a). This is the author’s lesson for the narrator and audience. The followers

of Christ, like the cross, may suffer on earth, but they experience everlasting peace and happiness

in heaven. Scholars, such as Carol Braun Pasternack, agree that this link between earthly

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suffering and heavenly joy and peace is the author’s way of expressing supernatural realities in a

way the audience can understand and put into practice in their own lives:

[T]he poem as a whole expresses an idea. . . . Robert Burlin has defined the poem’s topic

as “about vision [as]. . . . a way to Life and a way of life” and N.A. Lee as “the symbol of

the cross itself and its role in the spiritual life; a contemporary, not merely an historical

phenomenon.” (405)

The Dream of the Rood is just one of many examples of literature and artwork which imitate the

Incarnation of Christ by taking natural elements and using them to transcend nature and even the

bounds of time. Christians of the time would have realized the significance of the blood still

flowing from the side of the cross “beneath that gold ¶ it had begun / bleeding on the right side”

(The Dream of the Rood 19-20a). It means that Christ’s passion, death, resurrection and

ascension are ever present, unconstrained by time, and the graces flowing from them are

available for those who are receptive. Raw explains the importance of these supernatural

elements in her journal article, “Biblical Literature: the New Testament,” by saying:

[The Dream of the Rood and other Old English poems on Christ] lift man from his time-

bound existence into an immediate and direct experience of redemption. . . . They are not

just stories about Christ’s life, but meditations on salvation history, designed to show the

significance of the gospel events for those who read or hear them. (241-242)

After experiencing the natural elements of the setting by seeing the blood drip down the cross,

the audience is encouraged to enter spiritually into Christ’s suffering and glory.

Besides the natural and supernatural descriptions of the tree and of suffering and glory,

The Dream of the Rood delves into the Anglo-Saxon culture of its time to use symbols and

relationships which will further draw the audience into the supernatural meaning of the poem.

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The Dream describes Christ as a young warrior hero, resembling the legendary characters of

secular tales of the time:

Then this young man stripped himself ¶ —that was God Almighty—

strong and courageous; ¶ he climbed up on the gallows,

brave in the sight of many. (39-41)

Instead of a passive death, Christ is seen as “coming with great haste ¶ so that he might climb. . .

he set out to redeem mankind,” thus willing his own death for mankind’s salvation with love,

courage and energy like a young hero (34, 41). The Dream of the Rood uses heroism, a virtue

honored by the pagan Anglo-Saxon culture, to teach the audience about true Christian heroism.

Ó Carragáin offers further explanation:

[T]he Dream proposes a subversive ideal of heroism, founded not on pride (ofermod) and

not simply on courage (mod), but on the kenotic humility and self-giving embodied in

Christ’s life from Incarnation to death; a bravery initiated by the Cross (60a) and, as we

shall see, by the Dreamer. (123a) (319)

Ó Carragáin underscores the importance of the author’s use of pagan heroism to describe Christ,

“by fusing Christ’s Incarnation, Passion and return to heaven into a single expedition. . . . the

poem redefines the meaning of heroism ‘for the sake of all mankind’” (324). Some scholars

have suggested that Christ’s heroic mounting of the cross in The Dream of the Rood is not

faithful to the Gospel accounts of the passion and therefore only alludes to pagan heroism. Ó

Carragáin, however, finds that the author combines the Gospel’s passion accounts with Old

Testament prophecies of the Messiah. One of these Old Testament readings, a Mass reading for

the Wednesday of Holy Week, fits the image of a young warrior king, “Who is this so splendidly

robed, marching in his great might? ‘It is I, announcing vindication, mighty to save. . . . I looked

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but there was no helper. . . . so my own arm brought me victory,” (Isaiah 62:11-63:7). This

passage, as Ó Carragáin further states, is evidence that the Dream author’s inspiration for the

poem comes from the Mass, “The context of the whole Mass. . . . helped inspire the narrative of

the Dream, where Christ is seen ‘hastening with great valour’. . . . to the Cross” (315). Though

historically Christ’s broken, bruised body prevented his physical running to the cross, his divine

love propelled him forward with the valor of the young warrior king, as seen in the Dream.

The “hastening” and zeal of an earthly hero, shown by Christ in the poem, is faithful to

the spiritual reality of Christ’s mission, “All of Christ’s life is seen as a successful expedition. . .

. He hastened because he was running a great course: from heaven to earth in the Incarnation; to

the Cross which led to his defeat of Hell; and finally to a triumphal return to his homeland”

(321). By describing Christ in terms familiar to Anglo-Saxon culture, the Dream helps the

audience to understand the courageous love and goodness of God, as well as man’s personal and

collective response to Christ’s sacrifice. From her writings in The Cambridge Companion to Old

English Literature, Raw expresses the Dream’s intimate connection between Christ’s courage

and passion and the reader’s personal response to his sacrifice:

Christ is portrayed as a young hero, reigning from the cross, but, at the same time, he is

described as cruelly stretched out, weary of limb, enduring severe torment. The

combination is important for the argument of the poem, for man is saved. . . . by

participating in the suffering of Christ which ends in glory. (239)

The Dream thus invites the reader not only to meditate upon Christ as the warrior-hero, but to

unite the sufferings of their lives with his own. Christ as the young warrior hero is one who

bestows courage and strength to those who are faltering, an image which is heartening to those in

the midst of struggles.

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The Dream also describes the cross as Christ’s trusting thane, another well-known role

for the people of the Early Middle Ages, “Then I did not dare ¶ act against the Lord’s word / bow

down or fall to pieces. . . . I stood in place” (35-36, 38). The thane’s role is one of a trusted

servant who, though humble and weaker than his lord, still has an important part to play. Many

scholars, including Raw, agree that warriors, thanes and other personages in The Dream of the

Rood are often referenced in other texts of the times, “The picture of Christ willingly mounting

the cross has all the heroic qualities of secular writing. The cross itself is portrayed as the

retainer, forced to acquiesce in the death of its lord” (240). The cross, as well as the narrator and

audience, is invited to somehow play a dual role in this drama of redemption—it is both the

cause of Jesus’ death and strives to be faithful to Jesus. Though mankind is responsible for the

death of Jesus by sin, they attempt, like the cross, to become his trusting thanes, disciples and

followers. The audience is able to become an imitator of the cross-thane, by witnessing the

passion and death of Jesus and preaching his sacrifice and salvation.

Furthermore, the natural roles of “hero warrior-king” and “loyal thane” are striking in

their relationship to one another. The author chooses these roles to describe the close

relationship of Christ, the warrior-king, with the cross, his loyal thane. This bond of “loyalty and

love” to Christ is described by the cross to the narrator (Donoghue 73). Later the narrator is

invited by the cross into this same kind of thane-lord, “kinship with the king” bond with Christ,

which transcends the cultural and familial bonds he knows:

Now, I command you, ¶ my man so dear,

to tell others ¶ the events you have seen. . . .

And on this earth ¶ each soul that longs

to exist with its savior ¶ forevermore

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must seek his kingdom ¶ through the cross. (The Dream of the Rood 95-96, 119-121)

Then the narrator in turn describes to the audience the bond for which he strives, “I shall dwell in

glory, ¶ together with the saints / share in their delights. ¶ May the Lord be my friend” (143-

144). The narrator has experienced a deeper conversion as a result of this dream vision with the

cross and invites the audience to enter into the same bond between Christ as the Warrior-King

and his thanes. Donoghue and other Old English historians describe the lord-thane relationship

in The Dream of the Rood as one which “resembles. . . . the newly forged bonds of loyalty and

love between a retainer and his lord” (73). This use of familiar, secular images engages the

reader or hearer at a natural level. The Dream unites faith and culture to draw the audience

beyond earthly images to the supernatural reality of man’s redemption and friendship with God.

According to Donoghue, the use of the “lord-thane relationship” in the Dream “ingeniously

accommodates” the Anglo-Saxon culture of the time while elevating it to the “religious

worldview of the Christian church” (79). The Dream uses the description of Christ, the brave

warrior, as a bridge to Christ, the supreme Warrior-King, who willed to die not just for one man

or kingdom, but for all mankind:

May the Lord be my friend,

who on earth long ago ¶ on the gallows-tree

suffered agony ¶ for the sins of men:

he redeemed us ¶ and gave us life,

a home in Heaven. (The Dream of the Rood 144b-147)

Every man is called to enter this relationship with Christ which includes and transcends the

friendship, kinship and lord-thane relationship he knew in earthly relationships.

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The Dream of the Rood compares heaven to a banquet hall, another image familiar and

welcome to his Anglo-Saxon audience:

They dwell in Heaven now ¶ with the High-father

living in glory, ¶ and I look forward

constantly toward ¶ that time. . . .

where the Lord’s people

are joined at the feast ¶ where joy lasts forever. (134-136, 140b-141)

The mead hall in the Early Middle Ages was a place of joy, peace, love and community. In this

banquet hall the people were safe and sheltered. They received food, drink and sometimes gifts

as well. The Dream author uses the hall to describe the place God has prepared for those who

love him. Fell explains that, “when the poet tells us of his desire to join. . . . ‘the people of the

lord, sitting at the feast’ it is clear that he visualizes heaven as a re-creation of the joys of the

hall, the reciprocal love between lord, friends and kin established in an enduring context” (187).

Just as warriors and workers received rest and refreshment in the hall after their labors, so too the

faithful (and perhaps persecuted) Christian will receive even more in the next life.

The author of The Dream of the Rood uses images common to his culture to draw the

reader or hearer into a meditation on the passion, death, resurrection and ascension of Christ. By

using the natural images and themes of Anglo-Saxon culture, such as the flourishing tree, hero-

warrior, thane, and mead hall, the author approaches the audience where they are at that moment

in time. He preaches to his own culture about supernatural realities, but in a way that they will

understand. The author’s intent, to draw each individual hearer or reader of the poem into a

deeper, supernatural understanding of and relationship with God, is clear in his use of natural and

supernatural elements. The young warrior hero and his rood have forever changed the course of

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human history. Though written for an Anglo-Saxon culture over 1,200 years ago, The Dream of

the Rood continues to draw readers of all times into the drama and beauty of redemption.

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Works Cited

Donoghue, Daniel. Old English Literature: A Short Introduction. Malden: Blackwell Publishing,

2004. 72-79. Print.

Fell, Christine. “Perceptions of Transience.” The Cambridge Companion to Old English

Literature. Ed. Malcolm Godden & Michael Lapidge. New York: Cambridge University

Press, 1991. 186-187. Print.

Ó Carragáin, Éamonn. Ritual and the Rood: Liturgical Images and the Old English Poems of the

Dream of the Rood Tradition. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005. 308-327.

Print.

Pasternack, Carol Braun. “Stylistic Disjunctions in The Dream of the Rood.” Old English

Literature: Critical Essays. Ed. R.M. Liuzza. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002.

405, 415-416. Print.

Raw, Barbara C. “Biblical Literature: the New Testament.” The Cambridge Companion to Old

English Literature. Ed. Malcolm Godden & Michael Lapidge. New York: Cambridge

University Press, 1991. 228-242. Print.

“The Dream of the Rood.” Trans. Alfred David. The Norton Anthology of English Literature.

Ed. Stephen Greenblatt. 9th

ed. Vol. A. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2012. 33-

36. Print.