'The Quest of the Holy Grail is pivoted on the doctrine of asceticism, its centre is a mystic vision of man and the world' - how far did the author of the Quest succeed in his attempt to bring this religious theme into the framework of the Arthurian Romance?
I'll just copy and paste the end result below, so you can get a sense of what a typical paper is like. For now I am off to the Radcliffe Camera (beautiful round reading room for undergrads, google image it, because I am not allowed to take pictures!) This time, I will remember to bring my headphones so I can listen to Biebl's Ave Maria sung by a St. Olaf men's choir from the 1990's. Its the perfect soundtrack for researching the Holy Grail in Oxford.
A Saint Among Knights
While the Arthurian romances has always maintained a symbiotic relationship with Christianity, The Quest of the Holy Grail, the third romance of the Vulgate Cycle, comes closer to melding the two worlds than any other of the Grail romances. The anonymous author uses the Arthurian legend as a framework for his depiction of various aspects of the Christian tradition, with a focus on asceticism and the beatific vision. R.S. Loomis is just one of many critics who support this reading over one that glorifies secular knighthood. He states that the author’s goal is to depict ideal Christian life under the guise of a quest with chivalric characteristics.[1] While many critics have succeeded in expounding the Christian symbolism which pervades the text, the effect the one genre has on the other remains largely unexplored. The Arthurian romance is necessarily fraught with Christian influences and structured according to the Christian culture of the 12th century, yet it remains a strictly secular genre, set on depicting the virtues of those who fight, not those who pray. Even when those who fight are glorified for their piety and Christian virtue, they still belong to the secular world, and usually are not judged by the same yardstick used to measure a monk. That said, the author of the Quest projects Christian means (asceticism) and ends (mystic visions) onto the typical chivalric journey, totally changing the rules and altering the romantic framing device. The similarities between the callings of the secular knight and the celestial monk are unquestioned and even made interchangeable; whether or not the Christian content of the Quest warps or fortifies the framework of the typical Arthurian romance is yet to be determined.
There is much to commend the romance as the most likely candidate to play host to such strong Christian themes. The quest of the generic romance is fundamentally similar to the spiritual pilgrimage described by many religious authors and mystics. The doctrines of Bernard of Clairvaux offer a particularly illustrative example; according to St. Bernard, any pilgrim aspiring to a mystical union with God must go through a series of purifying rituals. Likewise, a knight aspiring to reach the pinnacle of knighthood must prove his worthiness with adventures. In these adventure, the knight usually ascends from brutish to refined, learning to love and serve first the self, and then others. The clergy would be familiar with this Platonic pattern; religious men are usually described on a spectrum ranging from those who are earth-bound in their love to those who sacrifice themselves completely for the love of God. In this Christian to chivalric parallel, a beatific goal of the mystics is obtained by a series of steps that is very similar to a knight’s coming of age.
Likewise, the stages of chivalric quests are episodic trials meant to test and strengthen the chivalric values, as though in a fire. Further comparison yields even more parallels; the crucial lord and vassal relationship and even the devotional element of courtly love translate well from a secular, chivalric setting to one in which God is the ultimate overlord, or the ultimate beloved. The mystic is driven to submit himself to God, while the knight shows the same self-surrender, but for the sake of serving secular lords; God may be his inspiration, but it is almost always a secular authority who completes the knighting ceremony, thereby deserving the knight’s primary allegiance. These basic likenesses are intensified by their adherence to a Platonic structure, in which piety and knighthood can exist on different levels. These links between the two traditions make the romance a likely nest for a deeply Biblical thesis.
Although there is a clear natural compatibility between Christian traditions and romances in general, Matarasso states that the Quest is unique in that it is the only romance that calls for direct comparison with the Bible. It is true that the Quest borrows plots, themes, and even characters from the Bible more openly than any of the romances. The asceticism of the three Grail knights is unlike the physical rigors secular knights undertake; the Grail knights must prove themselves spiritually in a distinctly Christian way that differs from the vague nobility of spirit enveloping the secular knight; the goals of their quest are not earthly goals, but celestial ones. Barber was correct when he stated that the Quest leaves behind the orthodox world of romance.[2] The question now is whether the Arthurian romance is not warped by its manipulation for such extreme uses. The knight may be comparable to the mystic, but does Galahad’s role as a Christ figure undermine the secular duties of a knight? Is the romance’s adventure of self-realization compromised by the Christian way of learning, in which all meaning is explained matter-of-factly by omniscient hermits? And finally, does the mystical love of God humiliate the romance’s major element, courtly love? The Quest itself offers many illustrations of the Christian message’s effect on the role of the knight, the nature of chivalric adventure, and the nobility of courtly love.
When examining the transformation of the knight’s role in the Quest, the most obvious character to analyze is Sir Galahad. Although Galahad is almost universally viewed as some sort of Christ figure, the detailed readings of his character are varied. Matarasso sees two distinct threads in his character, one of a Christ figure, totally incompatible with the role of a typical knight, but also a model of any terrestrial-bound soul’s journey to God.[3] Other critics are less flexible with their classifications, and have amassed a large volume of examples to support Galahad’s role as more of a paragon of Christianity rather than of chivalry. Although Matarasso warns against excessive allegorizing of this text, which normally expounds itself quite efficiently by way of hermits and recluses, she is the first to offer a list of parallels between Galahad and Christ, or his worldly ancestors.[4] Galahad’s physical and personality traits mirror those of the boy King David; his rejection of arms at Arthur’s court is a metaphorical statement against the Old Law. Parallels are even drawn between the mysterious man who leads him into Arthur’s court and John the Baptist.[5] Loomis offers even more comparisons, including Galahad’s predestined arrival, messianic function, and his liberation of the Castle of Maidens.[6] These are just a portion of the list of similarities that have been drawn up between Galahad and Christ. Even his name compares him to the redeemer. In many ways, it is Galahad’s character in the Quest that forever changes the role of the knight from an unquestioned hero to a self-doubting pilgrim on a horse.
Although there are many episodes in which Galahad overcomes some darkness or liberates some land from the unfaithful, none of these endeavors are undertaken for the sake of proving himself. He was proven almost immediately after he was knighted, just by fact that his coming was predestined. The Seat of Danger and the test of the sword in the stone both show that he is already the best knight by worldly standards. These instances are in addition to the maiden who arrives after Galahad draws the sword from the stone to proclaim point blank that Galahad has usurped Lancelot’s worldly title. Barber makes the excellent point that Galahad is already a finished product almost the moment he walks onto the scene. He has no place in the world of chivalry, because knighthood implies a spiritual coming of age; the knighthood of the romantic epic is a journey that ends with adulthood. Although he is young in years, Galahad is already fully mature in all the necessary respects. In his comparison with the other Grail knights, Barber concludes that Percival, Lancelot and Bors are more sympathetic and relatable, and therefore more accurately illustrate the true knight, even though they technically rank beneath Galahad.[7]
While Galahad can be classified as a chevalerie celestiel, the others are incapable of rising to his level, and must remain chevalerie terriene.[8] This is not necessarily any fault of their own; after all, they were not predestined to be messianic figures. Their names were not written on the Seat of Danger. That is why the Quest’s glorification of Galahad is so distorting; other knights may be expected to achieve the same spiritual worthiness as Galahad, yet this is impossible, mostly because of the incompatibility of the two designations, best chevalerie terriene and chevalerie celestiel. They are exclusive titles. Galahad’s predetermined perfection makes it unnecessary for him to undertake the typical quests of self-realization, while the other knight’s flaws necessitate that they complete that same type of quest. Without Galahad’s natural (or unnatural) lack of sin, however, they literally can never supersede him in this mystical/chivalric hierarchy. In this case, Galahad and the others champion two different types of knighthood, (it may be debated whether Glahad’s type of knighthood is really knighthood or mysticism masquerading). Barber astutely suggests that Galahad is the only member of Arthur’s court to actually seek the Grail; Lancelot, Bors, and Percival are actually just seeking to be like Galahad.[9]
The different goals of the chevalerie celestiel and the chevalerie terriene imply that they have different types of adventures as well. In her notes on the text, Matarasso spins out the concept of the Arthurian “adventure” in an effort to show how the author of The Quest alters the basic pattern:
There is much to commend the romance as the most likely candidate to play host to such strong Christian themes. The quest of the generic romance is fundamentally similar to the spiritual pilgrimage described by many religious authors and mystics. The doctrines of Bernard of Clairvaux offer a particularly illustrative example; according to St. Bernard, any pilgrim aspiring to a mystical union with God must go through a series of purifying rituals. Likewise, a knight aspiring to reach the pinnacle of knighthood must prove his worthiness with adventures. In these adventure, the knight usually ascends from brutish to refined, learning to love and serve first the self, and then others. The clergy would be familiar with this Platonic pattern; religious men are usually described on a spectrum ranging from those who are earth-bound in their love to those who sacrifice themselves completely for the love of God. In this Christian to chivalric parallel, a beatific goal of the mystics is obtained by a series of steps that is very similar to a knight’s coming of age.
Likewise, the stages of chivalric quests are episodic trials meant to test and strengthen the chivalric values, as though in a fire. Further comparison yields even more parallels; the crucial lord and vassal relationship and even the devotional element of courtly love translate well from a secular, chivalric setting to one in which God is the ultimate overlord, or the ultimate beloved. The mystic is driven to submit himself to God, while the knight shows the same self-surrender, but for the sake of serving secular lords; God may be his inspiration, but it is almost always a secular authority who completes the knighting ceremony, thereby deserving the knight’s primary allegiance. These basic likenesses are intensified by their adherence to a Platonic structure, in which piety and knighthood can exist on different levels. These links between the two traditions make the romance a likely nest for a deeply Biblical thesis.
Although there is a clear natural compatibility between Christian traditions and romances in general, Matarasso states that the Quest is unique in that it is the only romance that calls for direct comparison with the Bible. It is true that the Quest borrows plots, themes, and even characters from the Bible more openly than any of the romances. The asceticism of the three Grail knights is unlike the physical rigors secular knights undertake; the Grail knights must prove themselves spiritually in a distinctly Christian way that differs from the vague nobility of spirit enveloping the secular knight; the goals of their quest are not earthly goals, but celestial ones. Barber was correct when he stated that the Quest leaves behind the orthodox world of romance.[2] The question now is whether the Arthurian romance is not warped by its manipulation for such extreme uses. The knight may be comparable to the mystic, but does Galahad’s role as a Christ figure undermine the secular duties of a knight? Is the romance’s adventure of self-realization compromised by the Christian way of learning, in which all meaning is explained matter-of-factly by omniscient hermits? And finally, does the mystical love of God humiliate the romance’s major element, courtly love? The Quest itself offers many illustrations of the Christian message’s effect on the role of the knight, the nature of chivalric adventure, and the nobility of courtly love.
When examining the transformation of the knight’s role in the Quest, the most obvious character to analyze is Sir Galahad. Although Galahad is almost universally viewed as some sort of Christ figure, the detailed readings of his character are varied. Matarasso sees two distinct threads in his character, one of a Christ figure, totally incompatible with the role of a typical knight, but also a model of any terrestrial-bound soul’s journey to God.[3] Other critics are less flexible with their classifications, and have amassed a large volume of examples to support Galahad’s role as more of a paragon of Christianity rather than of chivalry. Although Matarasso warns against excessive allegorizing of this text, which normally expounds itself quite efficiently by way of hermits and recluses, she is the first to offer a list of parallels between Galahad and Christ, or his worldly ancestors.[4] Galahad’s physical and personality traits mirror those of the boy King David; his rejection of arms at Arthur’s court is a metaphorical statement against the Old Law. Parallels are even drawn between the mysterious man who leads him into Arthur’s court and John the Baptist.[5] Loomis offers even more comparisons, including Galahad’s predestined arrival, messianic function, and his liberation of the Castle of Maidens.[6] These are just a portion of the list of similarities that have been drawn up between Galahad and Christ. Even his name compares him to the redeemer. In many ways, it is Galahad’s character in the Quest that forever changes the role of the knight from an unquestioned hero to a self-doubting pilgrim on a horse.
Although there are many episodes in which Galahad overcomes some darkness or liberates some land from the unfaithful, none of these endeavors are undertaken for the sake of proving himself. He was proven almost immediately after he was knighted, just by fact that his coming was predestined. The Seat of Danger and the test of the sword in the stone both show that he is already the best knight by worldly standards. These instances are in addition to the maiden who arrives after Galahad draws the sword from the stone to proclaim point blank that Galahad has usurped Lancelot’s worldly title. Barber makes the excellent point that Galahad is already a finished product almost the moment he walks onto the scene. He has no place in the world of chivalry, because knighthood implies a spiritual coming of age; the knighthood of the romantic epic is a journey that ends with adulthood. Although he is young in years, Galahad is already fully mature in all the necessary respects. In his comparison with the other Grail knights, Barber concludes that Percival, Lancelot and Bors are more sympathetic and relatable, and therefore more accurately illustrate the true knight, even though they technically rank beneath Galahad.[7]
While Galahad can be classified as a chevalerie celestiel, the others are incapable of rising to his level, and must remain chevalerie terriene.[8] This is not necessarily any fault of their own; after all, they were not predestined to be messianic figures. Their names were not written on the Seat of Danger. That is why the Quest’s glorification of Galahad is so distorting; other knights may be expected to achieve the same spiritual worthiness as Galahad, yet this is impossible, mostly because of the incompatibility of the two designations, best chevalerie terriene and chevalerie celestiel. They are exclusive titles. Galahad’s predetermined perfection makes it unnecessary for him to undertake the typical quests of self-realization, while the other knight’s flaws necessitate that they complete that same type of quest. Without Galahad’s natural (or unnatural) lack of sin, however, they literally can never supersede him in this mystical/chivalric hierarchy. In this case, Galahad and the others champion two different types of knighthood, (it may be debated whether Glahad’s type of knighthood is really knighthood or mysticism masquerading). Barber astutely suggests that Galahad is the only member of Arthur’s court to actually seek the Grail; Lancelot, Bors, and Percival are actually just seeking to be like Galahad.[9]
The different goals of the chevalerie celestiel and the chevalerie terriene imply that they have different types of adventures as well. In her notes on the text, Matarasso spins out the concept of the Arthurian “adventure” in an effort to show how the author of The Quest alters the basic pattern:
In a general way the adventure represents the random, the gratuitous, the unpredictable element in life; often it is the challenge which causes a man to measure himself against standards more than human, to gamble life for honor or both for love. To this the author of the Quest adds a further dimension. For him the adventure is above all God working and manifesting Himself in the physical world. To accept an adventure is to accept an encounter with a force which is in the proper sense of the word supernatural , an encounter which is always perilous for the sinner or the man of little faith and much presumption.[10]
Matarasso’s distinction between normal romantic adventures and those presented in the Quest is an important one, as it completely alters the dynamic of the Arthurian romance. In the Quest, we see that Galahad does undertake many adventures, knowing that they were manifestations of Providence. Although he has a lot at stake in case of his failure, there is little doubt of his ever failing. His adventures are not so much adventures in the Arthurian sense, but chores that he alone can perform due to his singular status as the messianic knight. Strangely, it is the other knights whose Christian-flavored adventures are more intensive tests of spiritual fortitude. This can be seen with Perceval’s grappling with lust and the devil on a lonely island. Lancelot’s constant struggle with his great sin with the Queen, and Bors’ choice between saving his brother’s life and a maiden’s virginity are other prime examples of the tests of faith for the non-Galahads of the round table; they meet with mixed success, and none come close to being worthy of Galahad’s eventual mystic vision of the Grail. As much as Galahad is exalted as the ultimate knight of Christ, his adventures are painless when compared to those of the other Grail knights: claiming swords and shields that have been destined for him for generations sounds more like running errands than achieving chivalric or especially pious deeds. By normal romance standards, Galahad, as one who cannot fail, takes few risks. It is the other knights who give the Grail quest the good Arthurian-effort, and yet are frustrated by their irredeemably fallen state. In this way, the unrealistic role model of Galahad diminishes the self-esteem and honor usually earned by the Arthurian adventure.
Just as courtly love lies at the center of each good Arthurian romance, so the love of God is at the heart of the Quest. The disparity between these two types of love is perhaps the most problematic tension in the transition from Arthurian romance to Christian romance. Matarasso discusses how the tension between the sin of lust and the virtue of virginity had become a hot topic in the romances of Tristan and Isolde, and also in the earlier Lancelot and Guinevere stories. The authors of these romances and their continuations had worked hard to reconcile adultery, courtly life, and the need to preserve the knight’s virtue in his amorous affairs. The general solution was to elevate the adulterous affair to a quasi-sacramental status, proving that the love between couples such as Lancelot and Guinevere was so strong as to supersede the sin it naturally implied. In these most recent romances, the love between courtly lovers was so passionate, so sacrosanct, that it would have been mystical had the beloved been the Godhead, and not a mortal woman. According to the latest trends of romance, adulterous courtly love could indeed be ennobling, and in fact, it could be argued that Lancelot’s love for Guinevere enabled and inspired him to achieve his former status as the best knight in the world. Matarasso argues that the highly Christianized standards presented by the Quest not only change these rules, but humiliate the efforts of previous authors to validate adulterous affairs.[11] Galahad is the central figure in this humiliation process, first by his indifference to amorous relationships with women, and second by setting the example of loving God before all else. These practices seem peevish not because Arthur’s knights are irredeemably lustful scoundrels, quite the contrary! Like Galahad, Lancelot and Tristan offer models for how to love God to the best of one’s ability, with the limitation that their model is restricted by their acceptance of man’s fallen status in the cosmos. In the courtly world, it is almost taken for granted that knights are fallen, and will inevitably fall again to sin by lust. Tristan and Lancelot’s stories have actually taken this fact and worked to make the sin of lust as inoffensive to God as possible. This is achieved through the intricate emotional and moral understandings of courtly love in literature; a carnal affair can reach sacramental status, like the love between Tristan and Isolde in Gottfried von Strassburg’s version of the story. Galahad’s purity makes them all look like self-justifying fools in comparison, especially Lancelot who went from being the best knight in the world to a failure almost overnight. This can be the only expected result of placing a saint in the midst of emotionally-tame warriors, which is basically the role of the knight up until the Quest.
After considering the success of the Quest on an Arthurian scale, it would seem that the potential for a great relationship between knighthood and sainthood is ruined by the attempt to actualize the marriage of the two value systems. What we see from a comparison between Galahad and the other knights is that even the very best of the secular knights are reduced to secondary hero status by the introduction of a messianic knight. In many ways, it is unfair of the author of the Quest to compare the heroes of a single genre to a type of world-saviour. Other romances and criticisms have demonstrated that the courtly world is as far removed from reality as heaven. The Quest attempts to fill the mold of the Arthurian world with Christian ideals, but the effect is only to warp the shell, and forever humiliate the genre as inferior to one which would be better set in the celestial world, not the Arthurian one.
Just as courtly love lies at the center of each good Arthurian romance, so the love of God is at the heart of the Quest. The disparity between these two types of love is perhaps the most problematic tension in the transition from Arthurian romance to Christian romance. Matarasso discusses how the tension between the sin of lust and the virtue of virginity had become a hot topic in the romances of Tristan and Isolde, and also in the earlier Lancelot and Guinevere stories. The authors of these romances and their continuations had worked hard to reconcile adultery, courtly life, and the need to preserve the knight’s virtue in his amorous affairs. The general solution was to elevate the adulterous affair to a quasi-sacramental status, proving that the love between couples such as Lancelot and Guinevere was so strong as to supersede the sin it naturally implied. In these most recent romances, the love between courtly lovers was so passionate, so sacrosanct, that it would have been mystical had the beloved been the Godhead, and not a mortal woman. According to the latest trends of romance, adulterous courtly love could indeed be ennobling, and in fact, it could be argued that Lancelot’s love for Guinevere enabled and inspired him to achieve his former status as the best knight in the world. Matarasso argues that the highly Christianized standards presented by the Quest not only change these rules, but humiliate the efforts of previous authors to validate adulterous affairs.[11] Galahad is the central figure in this humiliation process, first by his indifference to amorous relationships with women, and second by setting the example of loving God before all else. These practices seem peevish not because Arthur’s knights are irredeemably lustful scoundrels, quite the contrary! Like Galahad, Lancelot and Tristan offer models for how to love God to the best of one’s ability, with the limitation that their model is restricted by their acceptance of man’s fallen status in the cosmos. In the courtly world, it is almost taken for granted that knights are fallen, and will inevitably fall again to sin by lust. Tristan and Lancelot’s stories have actually taken this fact and worked to make the sin of lust as inoffensive to God as possible. This is achieved through the intricate emotional and moral understandings of courtly love in literature; a carnal affair can reach sacramental status, like the love between Tristan and Isolde in Gottfried von Strassburg’s version of the story. Galahad’s purity makes them all look like self-justifying fools in comparison, especially Lancelot who went from being the best knight in the world to a failure almost overnight. This can be the only expected result of placing a saint in the midst of emotionally-tame warriors, which is basically the role of the knight up until the Quest.
After considering the success of the Quest on an Arthurian scale, it would seem that the potential for a great relationship between knighthood and sainthood is ruined by the attempt to actualize the marriage of the two value systems. What we see from a comparison between Galahad and the other knights is that even the very best of the secular knights are reduced to secondary hero status by the introduction of a messianic knight. In many ways, it is unfair of the author of the Quest to compare the heroes of a single genre to a type of world-saviour. Other romances and criticisms have demonstrated that the courtly world is as far removed from reality as heaven. The Quest attempts to fill the mold of the Arthurian world with Christian ideals, but the effect is only to warp the shell, and forever humiliate the genre as inferior to one which would be better set in the celestial world, not the Arthurian one.
[1] Roger Sherman Loomis, The Grail: From Celtic Myth to Christian Symbol (New York: Columbia University Press, 1963), 179.
[2] Richard W. Barber, The Holy Grail: Imagination and Belief (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), 111.
[3] Pauline Matarasso, A Redemption of Chivalry: A Study of the ‘Quest del Saint Graal’ (Geneva: Droz, 1979), 38.
[4] Perhaps it is only fair to note that one of Matarasso’s stated goal is to show that allegory is in the eye of the beholder, not necessarily that all allegory is worthless. If she offers a long list of allegories found in The Quest, some of which are sketchy at best, she is merely being thorough with her evidence. See Matarasso, preface and 41-43.
[5] Matarasso, 38-50.
[6] Loomis, 177.
[7] Barber, 111.
[8] For chevalerie terriene and celestiel, see Matarasso, 43.
[9] Ibid.
[10] See The Quest for the Holy Grail, translated by Pauline Matarasso, Penguin Classics (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1969), endnote #44.
[11] Matarasso, 145-147. See also Loomis, 177.
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