Church-State conflict in 12th-century England

God and my right. by Alfred Duggan
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Church versus State conflicts seem to appear throughout the history of the Christian Church, and that between English King Henry II and Archbishop Thomas Becket in the 12th century is one of the better-known examples. It took place not long after the Norman conquest of England, and so most of the ruling class were Normans, with one foot in England, and the other on the European continent. Thomas of Cheapside, who became Archbishop of Canterbury, was the son of a London merchant of Norman descent, and was educated in monastic schools, and spent his holidays with a Norman knightly family to learn the code of chivalry.

When King Henry II was looking for a chancellor, someone recommended Thomas, and he and the king became friends. He was ordained as a deacon. His monastic schooling meant that he took his Christian duties seriously, but in his duty as chancellor he looked after the interests of his employer, the king. When the post of Archbishop of Canterbury became vacant, King Henry proposed Thomas for the job, and he was duly elected by the monks of Canterbury. King Henry expected that the post would be a sinecure, and that Thomas could go on being his chancellor, and delegate his church duties to others. Thomas, however, saw that being the most senior bishop in England required all his attention, and thought that the kings interests came second to those of God. As a result f this, their friendship cooled. Henry wanted to control the Church and its revenues, and Thomas resisted.

King Henry was given to temper tantrums when he didn’t get his way, and would roll around screaming and drumming his heels on the floor like an infant. Apparently these outbursts impressed his courtiers, and it seems not dissimilar to the temper tantrums of US President Donald Trump in our day. It was in the course of one of these rages that he complained that no one would help him to get rid of the turbulent priest. A group of his knights took him at his word, and set off for Canterbury where they murdered Thomas, and soon afterwards he was declared a saint by the Western Church. 

Alfred Duggan tells the story well, and gives an impression of what life was like in 12th-century England. As historical novels go, the story is well told.

I've been re-reading The Inklings and King Arthur: J. R. R. Tolkien, Charles Williams, C. S. Lewis, and Owen Barfield on the Matter of Britain, and since Thomas was Archbishop of Canterbury about the time that King Arthur's story was being compiled, God and my Right seemed an appropriate one to read concurrently. Of King Arthur, it says:

Bishop Gilbert had been studying the new fashionable romances about King Arthur, a frivolous diversion for a holy monk of Cluny. Geoffrey of Monmouth described a state of affairs, in the fifth century, when the Church in Britain was ruled by an Archbishop of London. At this Gilbert’s imagination took fire, and he began to claim that his See should be raised to Metropolitan status; at the same time King Henry relied on him to administer all benefices left vacant by the exile of the Archbishop’s supporters.

Geoffrey Monmouth and other contemporary compilers of Arthurian romances, like Layamon, doubtless viewed fifth-century Britain through twelfth-century spectacles. Later historians referred to the fifth century as the beginning of the “Dark Ages” because so few written sources had survived from that time. Archaeology has given later historians a better idea of the material culture of the earlier period, but Geoffrey and Layamon lacked such resources, and so Alfred Duggan in giving us a picture of life in the twelfth century, also gives a picture of the fifth-century as seen through the eyes of the authors of the Arthurian romances.

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Amis and Son -- a literary biography

Amis And Son: Two Literary Generations by Neil Powell
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I have known the names Kingsley and Martin Amis for years, decades even, but have never read any of their books. I have a science fiction anthology edited by Kingsley Amis, and started to read, but did not finish, The Information by Martin Amis, so why would I want to read a literary biography of both of them?

One reason is that I have often enjoyed literary biographies more than I've enjoyed the works of the authors themselves, and because I have heard so much about them over the years I thought I might learn something about how they fitted in to the 20th-century literary scene. I thought if I read more about their books and how they came to write them, I might find one or two that I might enjoy reading.

I found the biography interesting, but rather confusing in parts. Neil Powell deals with Kingsley Amis, but then when he starts telling the story of his son Martin he goes back to earlier periods of Kingsley's life, so the story is rather fragmented. He also looks for autobiographical hints in the characters in the books of both of them, and so sometimes it is difficult to keep track -- is this person mentioned someone they had met, or was it merely a character in one of their books?

Neither father nor son seem to be particularly attractive characters, or the kind of people I would like to hang out with, though I did feel that at times Powell's criticism of Martin Amis and his works was rather harsh.

At certain points, however, I did find the book very interesting, but this is more because of a particular interest of mine, and so might not be of the same interest to other readers. For a long time I have been interested in the Beat Generation, and I have a book, Protest: The Beat Generation and the Angry Young Men, which has an excerpt from Kingsley Amis, and is probably where I first heard his name. Powell gives the background to that book, and Kingsley Amis's contribution to it.

Powell's biography throws more light on this. It seems that in the US the British authors referred to as the "Angry Young Men" were regarded as similar to the Beat Generation authors in the US, hence their inclusion in the anthology.  That puzzled me back in the 1960s and it appears to have puzzled Kingsley Amis too. I recalled a a small informal gathering in Pietermaritzburg in 1965, of members of the small and persecuted Liberal Party. Some of us (then) younger members of the party were invited to meet Margaret Ballinger, the grand dame of the Liberal Party, and the only one ever to have been elected to parliament (by black voters). She asked me about the difference between beatniks and ducktails, which I tried to explain to her: that the ducktails' outlook was "we want it all, and we want it now". They shared the values of straight society, but didn't have the possessions and prestige that were valued. The Beats, on the other hand questioned the values of mainstream society.

Mods in the 1960s

The UK equivalent of Ducktails were the group of youth known as Rockers, who rode big powerful motorbikes and wore leather biker gear. There were reports in newspapers of pitched battles at British seaside resorts between Rockers and Mods. The Mods rode small underpowered motor scooters decorated with bling, numerous rearview mirrors and the like. Kingley Amis was a Mod. He was neither a Rocker nor a Beat. I didn't try to explain to Margaret Ballinger the difference between Beats and beatniks -- that the Beats were the genuine article, while the beatniks were the groupies and hangers on, in orbit around the Beats as sputnik was in orbit around the earth. 

The Angry Young Men were more akin to the Mods, Kingsley Amis certainly was. But Jack Kerouac, one of the better-known Beat Generation authors, was born in 1922, as was Kingsley Amis, though their literary schools were not the same. 

Another literary link that interested me was to an earlier generation -- the Oxford Inklings, who interest me even more than the Beat Generation.   Among Kingsley Amis's lecturers at Oxford were two of the Inklings, C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. Powell notes that:

When Kingsley Amis went to teach in the English department at Swansea University College, "Because he had experienced, or endured such widely varying standards of lecturing at Oxford, he was determined to emulate the best rather than the worst of them: his own style owed much to that of C.S. Lewis, from whom he had borrowed the useful trick of reading out important but hard-to-find quotations at dictation speed."

Lecturers, Kingsley later suggested,

could be divided into the hard and the soft, like policemen. The former imparted the necessary, if barely intelligible information which was likely "to appear in the relevant parts of the final examination"; the latter, more enjoyably but less usefully, offered "civilised discourse with perhaps some critical interpretation and ideas about the past"... Tolkien was, clearly, granite-hard; while the best of the soft -- indeed, "the best lecturer, in more than one sense, that I have ever heard" -- was C.S. Lewis.

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God, the gods, and Nephilim

Reading Canto XXXI of Dante's Inferno I was struck by Dorothy Sayers's note on the Giants:

But allegorically, what do they signify? In one sense they are images of Pride; the Giants who rebelled against Jove typify the pride of Satan who rebelled against God. But they may also, I think, be taken as the images of the blind forces which remain in the soul, and in society, when 'the general bond of love' is dissolved and 'the good of the intellect' wholly withdrawn. and when nothing remains but blocks of primitive mass-emotion fit to be the 'executives of Mars' and the tools of treachery. Nimrod is a braggart stupidity; Ephthialtes, a senseless rage; Antaeus, a brainless vanity: one may call them the doom of nonsense, violence and triviality, overtaking a civilization in which the whole natural order is abrogated.

Nimrod is a braggart stupidity; Ephthialtes, a senseless rage; Antaeus, a brainless vanity: and Donald Trump is all three.

Nimrod, a mighty hunter

And perhaps that is why, in reading social media, I get a sense of an upsurge of interest in the Nephilim. There seem to be numerous podcasts about them. Podcasts are not my favourite medium, so I've only listened to one or two, but I've noticed the theme in many more. And, since Dorothy Sayers's translation of Dante was first published in 1949, a word has appeared to typify "the blind forces which remain in the soul, and in society" -- egregores. C.S. Lewis, in his book That Hideous Strength calls them macrobes.

And indeed it seems that "nothing remains but blocks of primitive mass-emotion fit to be the 'executives of Mars'" -- genocide in Gaza, war between Russia and Ukraine, US attacks on Venezuela and Iran, Israeli attacks on Lebanon and Iran, the governments of Germany, France and the UK increasing their military spending, and saying there is no money for health care. There is always enough money when they want to kill people and break things, never enough when you want to heal people and build things. The executives of Mars seem to be more powerful and influential than ever.