Dear James,
At the HSPC 2022, you asked me a question about Christian influences on Old English and Old Icelandic heroic literature. I gave a rambling, somewhat-satisfying answer (hopefully, at least). If I recall correctly, I alluded to a notion that Christian imagery, themes, and morals may be embedded in these texts, whose characters are pagans, in a way not unlike how I have been reading themes of comitatus, gender, and alterity vis-à-vis the model of “legendary” literature. A few nights ago, in the throes of an uneasy sleep, I had a disturbing dream reminiscent of one of my favorite Old English poems, The Dream of the Rood. The dream took place in some sort of post-apocalyptic trash-heap, where for some reason or other an all-too-human-looking sloth-beast had been crucified and shot through with a thousand arrows in a strange sort of Kafkaesque rejuvenation ritual. I don’t remember why, but the whole sequence reminded me so strongly of the poem that I just had to reread it. This time, it made me think of you and your constant curiosity about the interplay between Christian and pre-Christian elements in these old, dusty texts. So, I wish to explore the overlaps and interchanges between Christian and heroic ethics in The Dream of the Rood as a way of better explaining my answer to your great question.
The Dream of the Rood survives in a manuscript called the Vercelli Book, named after the Italian city that houses it. The manuscript is notable for a number of reasons: it contains large amounts of prose in the form of the Vercelli homilies; two of its poems are attributed to Cynewulf, perhaps the most well-known named Anglo-Saxon poet; and it’s the oldest of the poetic codices, dating from the late 10th century. In The Dream of the Rood, as you may expect, the narrator recounts for us a dream they had about the rōd, an Old English word for the crucifix, in which the cross speaks to the narrator about the passion of Christ. Excepting a poem about diddling the altar boys in the confessionals, you can’t get much more Christian than having a fever-dream about the damn crucifixion.
Yet much of the language of the poem bears striking resemblance to Old English’s heroic poems. The men who built the cross, exiling the tree that birthed it from the forest, are feondas (“enemies”), and Christ approaches the cross with elne micle (“with great courage/strength”). The Frean mancynnes (“Lord of mankind”) climbs strang and stiðmod (“strong and brave-minded”) onto the passive cross, as it stands there and takes the punishment. Strang, although common in modern English, seems to have carried a much more restricted meaning in Old English poetry; in Beowulf, for example, the word strang is only ever used to describe the titular hero himself. The rood and Christ are portrayed as lone warriors, standing amidst an onslaught of sin not unlike a mythic battle. Gruesome and gory imagery, similar to that found in Old Norse-Icelandic, enhances the tense and dramatic atmosphere: the rood describes how it was pierced with deorcan næglum (“dark nails”) and how eall ic wæs mid blode bestemed (“I was all drenched with blood”). Sounds like a Silencer song.
Christ’s passion follows the logic of heroic ethics, as he requires bravery to face his fate and carries out a duty in service of his own Lord, the Father, and this heroic sense of his passion is only enhanced by the violent and gruesome narration of the rood. But how could this be? If Christianity abhors the reckless pride of heroes, why would the rood celebrate Christ’s apparent heroism? There is a fundamental difference between the sacrifice Christ makes on the cross and the “sacrifice” Beowulf makes when he stays overnight to fight with Grendel, but each poet characterizes these actions in the same heroic vocabulary of ellen and strang.
Let’s think about comic book superheroes for a second. In the popular imagination, comic book “heroism” entails fulfilling a duty to protect the weak and defenseless, a responsibility afforded by virtue of great power or might, like Superman. Supervillains, by contrast, having that same might, embody self-interest, caring only for themselves and their goals, regardless of the effects their power has on the weak or poor; think Lex Luthor. But American culture celebrates self-interest and rewards its pursuit above almost all else; just based on the number of people licking Elon Musk’s boots on social media, I’m sure that if Lex Luthor were real, America would love him. So why, then, do we root for Superman, if our real-world culture encourages Luthor’s mindset? Superman’s dedication to his heroic duty is inspirational, and his willingness to sacrifice himself for others out of kindness reflects the moral values many of us ought to strive for. We aspire to be like Superman because he reflects both who we want to be within the context of our own culture of the self—a great, powerful, and virtuous person that others love—and an idea of who we ought to be for the sake of the community. On a basic level, the Superman author shows us the value of kindness and selflessness when possessed of great personal power and within a broader culture that encourages self-interest and rewards us for being selfish.
The way I’m reading it, The Dream of the Rood portrays Christ a bit like Superman: through his heroic actions, he embodies a value system critical of the broader heroic culture and its fascination with boasting, vainglory, and feud. The singularity of Christ’s heroic qualities—his strength and courage—highlights the positive attributes a man should aspire towards, while the selfless, kind way in which he employs those heroic abilities, contrary to Beowulf’s boasting and egomania, offers an alternative to reckless contests and feud that leads one to salvation. The poet, then, synthesizes Christian ethics and notions of heroism by adjusting the focus of the heroic endeavor from personal glory and self-interest to personal sacrifice and kindness. This adjustment offers a pathway to avoid destruction and feud, leading to a different kind of glory in the eyes of God, which, in the poem, the Christ and the rood achieve. The poet suggests that we, the audience, employ our own heroic prowess in ways like Christ, striving for goodness above our own gain in order to avoid feud and achieve spiritual satisfaction. The rood itself emphasizes this responsibility of the powerful: Ealle ic mihte feondas gefyllan, hwæðre ic fæste stod (“I could have slain all of the enemies, yet I stood fast”). Christ and the rood are not victims; their choice to heroically sacrifice themselves represents a value to which the poet dares us to aspire towards.
Thus, I view The Dream of the Rood as neither Christian nor heroic, but each at once, for neither ultimately “wins out”. Rather, the poem synthesizes these two contexts by realigning the cultural means of heroism along an axis of Christian decision making. Instead of replacing heroic ethics with a system of Christian behavior, the poet emphasizes that Christ himself achieved his greatest self-sacrifice, his service to all mankind, through the same heroism that has led other heroes (like, say, Beowulf) astray down the path of feuding violence. The fundamental difference between Beowulf and Christ, then, lies more in their motivations and restraint than in their solutions to ethical dilemmas. The Dream of the Rood does not resolve a conflict between two systems of ethics, but rather witnesses how these two models of behavior inform each other, and how values in one context can be achieved through the means of another. Furthermore, I believe this interchange between Christianity and heroic culture goes both ways, that is, it is possible in the world of Anglo-Saxon poetry to achieve heroic goals and aspirations through Christian means and behaviors, such as penance, but that is a story for another blog post.
I should mention, I’ve left out some things. There has been great work done on how the rood is gendered by the poet, so as to emphasize the sexual nature of Christ’s sacrifice, or to reinforce the heroic interpretation of his actions by masculinizing him vis-à-vis the cross’s femininity. All very interesting stuff, but I don’t want this to be a whole ass paper. I encourage you to look into the poem yourself if you’re interested. I hope that answered at least part of your original (now forever lost) question.
Bestu kveðjur,
Matt
The Ruthwell Cross, a stone Anglo-Saxon cross monument from the 8th century. It is often connected with The Dream of the Rood due to its inscription, which bears similarities to the poem.
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