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In this episode, LCA British Literature teacher, Karen Elliott, discusses her passion for helping students find their faith in literature through the study of Beowulf.
I teach a first-semester British Literature survey course to all the seniors, and whether they’re in AP or Honors, we always begin with the famous, anonymous Beowulf. After all, it’s the oldest, complete manuscript we have in the English language; however, that’s not why we read it (or why I choose to teach it). This is a book where all of my students, their parents, and grandparents can identify. Unfasten the sword and remove all the chain mail, you’ve got the most modern of men—particularly if you claim to believe in God, or the very least, something larger than yourself. It is the first third of the story my seniors like the best because they can identify so much—Beowulf is a smart 18-year-old who has just finished his “senior year” in the Kingdom of the Geats, and he’s looking for some post-grad work or an internship. He is young and has a questionable reputation; he wants to prove everybody wrong (especially his over-protective parents), so he irresponsibly goes overseas to kill a terrorist (a monster named “Grendel”), and then kills the terrorist’s mother (who makes “tiger moms” look like Elmo). He actually succeeds, and then returns home to say “I told you so.”
After that he rules for many years and gains much deserved wealth and material blessings according to his culture and era; however, that’s where the rest of the story actually begins, especially if you’re older, and you’ve gotten past some of those crucial “check-points” of what defines success (at least according to your own terms, and the world’s), and perhaps you’ve even surpassed them.
This is when my students get judgmental and perhaps rightfully so. They can’t identify with the middle-aged Beowulf, and God-willing, I hope they never do. What I like about this text is that it shows an honest journey of a Christian who must “live in the world but not of it,” and yet, slowly and unintentionally, becomes “of it.” As a result, God brings death and destruction upon Beowulf’s renowned career, success and kingdom. What is amazing is that Beowulf proclaims that it was not God’s fault—but all his. In fact, the author claims that this realization “threw the hero in deep anguish and darkened his mood; the man thought he must have thwarted ancient ordinance of the eternal Lord, broken His commandment” (Heaney [trans.] lines 2327-2331). If only we had such righteous, correct instincts about ourselves (and our Instagram postings).
Inevitably this causes some reflection of what kind of man Beowulf was like as he was young when the story begins, and it raises questions as to how he changed. The author (most likely a scop or monk), however, does not share this latter information. The only thing we know is that Beowulf reigned for many years, and that upon his death “they [his loyal kinsmen] said that of all the kings upon the earth he was the man most gracious and fair-minded, kindest to his people and keenest to win fame” (lines 3180-3182). These are the very last lines of the entire text, and yet, due to Beowulf’s hubris, his kingdom, despite his fatal, final battle and securing victory over the dragon, is left to be taken by conquerors—his empire falls. Due to sin, left unchecked, everybody pays. Beowulf’s sin—metaphorically embodied in the dragon—destroys his kingdom; however, we aren’t allowed to hate him for it. The author wants us to “extol his heroic nature” and give “thanks for his greatness” and “cherish his memory” (3173-3177). So, as some of my students say, “What gives?”
That’s exactly it. It was that too many blessings were given to Beowulf for his apparently great attributes. After he killed Grendel, he was given an abundance of material blessings which King Hrothgar warns him to take caution; this is the man who raised his status and income-tax bracket. King Hrothgar, whose life and kingdom is saved initially by the young Beowulf, warms him after defeating “The Son of Cain” and his mother that he must “beware that trap [Hrothgar’s life in the past twelve years of terror and what led Beowulf there]. Choose, dear Beowulf, the better part—eternal rewards. Do not give way to pride” (1758-1760). After all, Hrothgar knows from personal experience, and this is a great example of how we nod and listen to our elders, but we do not heed them. For some reason, our youthful (and sometimes helpful [in Beowulf’s case]) arrogance is a veneer from not only good sense, but from a longer, perhaps contented life.
The author of the text begins the story with King Hrothgar and how he, too, was a good king; however, the difference between him and his grandfathers is that he didn’t have to work hard for the glittery and privileged lifestyle in which he was born. He didn’t fight for or earn it as his predecessors did; he inherited it. This analogy, quite frankly, hits home for myself and many of my students who have older parents (or they’re the children of recent immigrants). Sadly, the WWII veterans are a dying race and much-needed stock of men and women who fought for and quite literally earned for us—something we shamelessly take for granted everyday—and as a result we thank them by proclaiming dissatisfaction with just about everything we do not or worse, do, have. Analogously much like the Shieldings and King Hrothgar, we are aware “of the long times and troubles they’d come through,” but even though we are fascinated by their efforts to keep our freedom (as the PBS and Marvel’s “Captain America” movie ratings clearly show), they ironically ensured our never-ending entitlement (15). Naturally, this inheritance of freedom transposed itself into materialism, since we are the post-Industry/Technological culture. Most of what we, as middle to upper class Americans, have is not necessary. It’s no wonder that hunger is getting worse when most of the western world and Dubai consumes all the food while well-intended tithing gets stuffed back into our pockets in the name of an unstable economy. Like Hrothgar, “the fortunes of war favoured [him]. Friends and kinsman flocked to his ranks…so his mind turned to hall building” (64-66). Sadly, even my young students can identify with this. We’ve got to have more; we forget the relevance of the past and what it cost, and our minds turn to career-building, getting into that particular college or university, knowing the right people, wearing the hoodie with the right label, and all the while a demon is waiting to hit us right in the materialistic, covetous gut. At first, like Beowulf, and much like my students and myself many-a-time, we convince ourselves that our own pursuits will make a difference in this world; however, we, like Beowulf, don’t fully examine our conscience, so we fail, and not when we are older. It begins with our intentions to succeed “in the name of God” in the first place.
Like Hrothgar and despite the post-9/11 wars, for generations my students and myself can identify with Hrothgar and his reign. There was peace for generations of Shieldings who lived off of the fruits of their parents and grand-parents; consequently, Hrothgar’s “mind turned to hall building; he handed down orders for men to work on a great mead-hall meant to be a wonder of the world forever,” and when it was finished, the author claims that Hrothgar sat on his throne there and “whose utterance was law” (64-70; 79). What is interesting here is that Hrothgar forgot how he acquired the ability to misuse corporate funds in the first place, particularly if you claim to believe in God (which Hrothgar did) and acknowledge His blessings; consequently, he accidentally forgets God Whose utterance is Law even though Hrothgar’s church pew is apparently paid for. In fact, too soon after Hrothgar’s empire has reached a summit with “its gables wise and high, [it awaits] a barbarous burning. That doom abided, but in time it would come” (82-83). It is evident here that God has had enough. It’s not necessarily Hrothgar’s skyscrapers (for in Anglo-Saxon culture they would be) that annoys God; it’s the blatant violation of the tenth commandment—“Do not covet.” After Hrothgar sets the example of luxurious living, “the killer instinct unleashed among in-laws, the blood-lust [was] rampant” (85-86). Since Hrothgar is the king—the moral leader and CEO of Shielding Enterprises—the sets the bar for how his subjects/citizens should live and what they should desire to have or be in their lifetimes; as a result, “times were pleasant [materially and economically] for the people there until a fiend out of hell…[from] Cain’s clan” was allowed to destroy and remove what was causing them to sin (99-101; 106).
Like most of us, Hrothgar doesn’t learn fast. We’re stupid when it comes to Godly expectations, unless of course, we’re looking at what God expects in others. In the story Grendel continually attacks the kingdom for twelve years, and instead of turning to God, Hrothgar consults “powerful counselors, the highest in the land” and worse “sometimes at pagan shrines [he] vowed offerings to idols” (171-172; 175-176). This is all-too reminiscent of tuning into Dr. Oz, YouTube, or the Today Show…any numerous self-help periodicals, that blog or podcast someone told us to check-out, or the Youth Conference that’s coming next month with what’s-his-name as the inspirational speaker. Even as Christians, like Hrothgar and his people, we fail to turn to God Himself. We side-step. Instead of turning to His Word and confessing to our prayer partner (if we have one), we rationalize in the name of reason and philosophically convince ourselves that our theology is intact; it’s just the devil who’s trying to steal our joy or blessings. Well, the author of Beowulf would say that is exactly true; and yet, not from our perspective. That seems to be the post-modern human condition, even amongst the intellectual Christians—we’re always so in tune with other perspectives in the name of God, but we fail to consider or consult God’s perspective solely. We don’t want to know it. In fact, “deep in their [and our own] hearts they [Hrothgar and his people] remembered hell [and yet] The Almighty Judge of good deeds and bad, the Lord God, Head of the Heavens and High King of the World was unknown to them. Oh, cursed is he who in time of trouble has to thrust his soul in the fire’s embrace, forfeiting help”; however, even then, God shows His generosity by taking Beowulf’s weakness and using it for the good of others (179-185). Despite what Hrothgar and his kingdom deserve, the author of Beowulf shows us the character of God—He is gracious even though He finds it necessary to punish us “for our own good so that we may share in His holiness” (Hebrews 12: 10).
What is wonderful about this harsh revelation is that like my students, we all need to be reminded of our weaknesses and that God is serious when He states through St. Paul that “in my weakness I am stronger” and therefore can do more for the Heavenly Kingdom. In a post-Darwinian age where weakness is a sign that you haven’t evolved, as a Christian, I can confidently tell my students (and remind myself) that our strengths, perhaps in the end, are not what God is going to use for our lives or for His ultimate plan. After all, if Christ could make the blind see and then paradoxically hang mercilessly on a cross (by choice), then we should be able to “get this.” And this is exactly what happened to Beowulf who, with a close reading of the text, is not necessarily the next Marvel comic superhero; in fact, albeit he is described as “the mightiest man on earth” and claims that “nobody tried to keep him from going [to fight Grendel in the first place],” this is somewhat contradicted by his great-uncle upon his return home, who admonishes him the moment he steps off the boat (96-98). King Hygelac raises a series of questions even though he’s glad his nephew/cousin is home safely, and one of which is that he “dreaded the outcome of [his] expedition and pleaded with [Beowulf] long and hard” not to go (1993-1995); after all, Beowulf is in line for succession to the throne, which he does eventually attain. It was actually irresponsible for him to undertake the journey (regarding sea travel back in the day, it’s no wonder they survived that alone). Yet, it’s Beowulf’s pride that drives him to “the privilege of purifying” Hrothgar’s kingdom from the demons of their materialism (431). This is paradoxically juxtaposed with Beowulf’s uncompromising faith in God—embodied in his youthful pride and arrogance—which helps him defeat Grendel in symbolically hand-to-hand combat without sword or shield, which for Anglo-Saxons, was suicide. By renouncing proper war-gear, Beowulf proclaims his ultimate trust in God and his renunciation of worldliness/materialism to help him. In fact, Beowulf’s faith and trust are so strong that he proclaims more than once to King Hrothgar that “whichever one death fells must deem it a just judgment by God” (440-441). What is sad, however, is that after he does defeat Grendel, that’s only the first phase of the demon-lay-offs; now, Beowulf’s faith and trust is tested again, but now by Grendel’s mother who is even nastier and more dangerous than her son—the symbol of the origins (and birth) of materialism. He does win, but this time it’s difficult. It’s not because Grendel’s mother hasn’t been working out—it’s because Beowulf, due to the success of his first victory and all the gifts bestowed upon him for it, now relies just a little bit on his own strength instead of implicitly trusting in God. This time “Beowulf got ready, donned in his war-gear, indifferent to death” (1442-1443) as he faces one of Cain’s descendants—the personification of Cain’s sin which was to seek a blessing, ironically from God Himself, through worldliness and viciously holding onto those material blessings to the point of killing his own kin.
Beowulf, in fact, like Hrothgar, does this indirectly and unintentionally, and he is completely mystified at God’s apparent lack of help in this second battle (coming only hours after fighting Grendel). It is illogical, even for a mythical story, that Beowulf should struggle so much considering that he literally killed Grendel with his bare hands. This time, soon after he attains gifts of gratitude and status from Hrothgar and his queen, while he fights “that swamp thing from hell,” he frightfully observes that “the shining blade refused to bite [as he attempted to behead the she-monster]. It spared her and failed the man in his time of need. [As if in a slow motion flashback, Beowulf recalls that his sword] had gone through many hand-to-hand fights, had hewed armor and helmets of the doomed, but here at last the fabulous powers of that heirloom failed” (1522-1528). Here the very source in which he utterly and publicly refused to use when he fought Grendel is the very thing on which he depends. Beowulf failed to remember that “God’s will prevails” over his life, and this isn’t years after his renowned previous victory either (1057). This is literally moments, not even months, after his public proclamation to absolve Hrothgar’s kingdom and bring them back to their rightful Heavenly Kingdom, and his newfound esteem in the eyes of the people. Despite this regression, however, the author attests that God is indeed gracious especially when we don’t deserve it—“holy God decided the victory” and “redress[ed] the balance” so that Beowulf could win in spite of himself (1553-1554).
Consequently, the author challenges the reader to reflect on their own weaknesses. In Beowulf’s case it was his well-fed (and some could argue well-deserved) ego that put him in the ancient, Anglo-Saxon books as the emblematic celebrity; however, when does our weakness stop being a strength for the Kingdom of God? When does it really become a weakness and a big problem? This is evidenced at the story’s end when Beowulf is in his mid-seventies and his prosperous kingdom has apparently been monster-free for a very long time. This is enough time for a generation to forget—like current baby-boomers and their millennial grandchildren who romantically remember those who fought for their “dot-com” hides. Similarly and reminiscent of Hrothgar, Beowulf’s kingdom has been thriving for generations. In the known world it’s the place where everyone wants to emigrate, emulate, or overtake. Like the Shieldings and the Geats, we middle-upper class Westerners enjoy our prosperity; we honestly believe that it’s always been this way—that it’s going to last—“until one [begins] to dominate the dark” (2211).
Because the dragon is guarding a “hoard” or incredibly impressive treasure, it’s not difficult to decipher that the original story-teller was giving us a denotation—the dragon is the significant marker of the age-old problem of wanting too much stuff and then not sharing accordingly. And the worst part is yet to come. Beowulf is certain that God is not going to allow victory anymore; like the dragon, God has seemingly been benevolently absent; however, He’s been just barely patient. Beowulf, as an older man, now knows that “he was destined to face the end of his days in this mortal world” and that he won’t be allowed to win; and yet, this acceptance isn’t as though he is submitting to God’s will either. It’s just the opposite. Yes, Beowulf still believes in an Almighty God who is the Author and Perfecter of his own life and fate, but it’s his weakness that he hasn’t apparently pruned or honed in a while that causes his kingdom’s and his own downfall. The author explains that “the prince of the rings was too proud to line up with a large army against the sky-plague. He had scant regard for the dragon as a threat, no dread at all of its courage or strength” (2345-2348). It is apparent here that Beowulf is trying too hard to make a sequel (or the final episode of a trilogy) in his own life. He recalls all the victories he had in the past during his youth; however, he’s gotten older. Now, according to human terms, this is when he really needs God’s strength, but he refuses to ask for it. He literally goes out alone and then, as a result, takes his kingdom with him. He must wrestle with the dragon—his own demons—as we all do, but when we, like Beowulf, make these matters personal, we fail to rely on God because we keep Him out of it. When we choose to do something on our own, well, we are on our own. Consequently, “Beowulf was foiled of a glorious victory. The glittering sword, infallible before that day, failed when he unsheathed it, as it never should have” (2583-2586). This final comment deserves attention as it connotes that, perhaps, had Beowulf even thought of God before going to battle, the outcome might have been different—at least for his kinsmen and kingdom.
What’s so great about this story is that, at first, my students are intimidated by it—after all, anything that’s deemed “ancient” (before the iPhone) is always “boring”; and yet, they quickly rise to my expectations and then exceed them. They “get” Beowulf because they are living the story daily. It’s all-too-timely; just go to the mall right before Christmas. We (especially Christians) are so entrenched in the “blessings” that we fail to recognize where we’ve taken them, and frighteningly, we fail to recognize the demonic pull and are enticed by what worldly rewards follow—and all the while we’re mostly filled with gratitude for all that God has given us. We know that we live a charmed life, but we’re not careful how we live it. Like Beowulf and Hrothgar, we always seem to reflect on all of this when it’s too late; “hence, understanding is always best and a prudent mind. Whoever remains for long here in this earthly life will enjoy and endure more [blessings] than enough” (1058-1061).
St. Paul once proclaimed that we should “put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world, and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand” (Ephesians 6: 11-13). Consequently, if my students and I want to survive in the era in which God has asked us to live, then we must learn to reflect and discern a whole lot more. Beowulf teaches us that wearing the armor of God in this tempting, materialistic and distracting 21st century technocratic world actually means wearing no earthly “armour” at all—under any circumstances.
Heaney, Seamus. Translator. Beowulf—A New Verse Translation. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2000.