Medieval Sign Theory and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight Ross G. Arthur an authorised republication of the 1987 University of Toronto Press edition In parentheses Publications Middle English Series Cambridge, Ontario 2002 Preface This work had its origins in an almost accidental combination of academic influences. At a time when I was attempting to convince a group of undergraduates that the Gawain-poet was intensely concerned with the productive possibilities of controlled ambiguity, and when I was searching through the works of modern semioticians to find a model for explaining the poet’s practice, I happened to find a short reference in Copleston’s History of Philosophy to Peter of Spain and his distinctions between significatio and suppositio. Further reading in medieval logic quickly convinced me of the utility of the analytic method implied by this insight: for all medieval literature, modes of interpretation need to be placed in historical context every bit as much as theological beliefs and social attitudes. In the years that followed, other investigators have followed similar paths of research, but usually making use of the more innovative and exceptional practitioners of medieval logic rather than the basic works that have informed my study. What follows is a description of my itinerary through this material as it relates to Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. I have selected, in addition to standard texts written in Latin, a variety of materials written in Middle English to show that the modes of thought in the school texts are congruent with the assumptions in more widely distributed vernacular works. In most cases translations have been appended to these quotations, not because they are in themselves linguistically complex or because I have anything new to say about their basic meaning but simply so that this book may be of use both to medievalists who study other national literatures and to beginning students in medieval English. If the modes of interpretation discussed here 2 Preface were as generally accepted as I believe, this study should be useful to scholars working on any medieval European literature, and if they were common knowledge among fourteenth-century undergraduates, there will be little here beyond the comprehension of their twentieth-century successors. Every author owes debts that cannot be properly acknowledged in notes. I would like here to express my gratitude to those people without whose intellectual, moral, and spiritual support this work could not have been done: David Arthur, Ruth Arthur, Frances Beer, Anne Burnett, Michael Cummings, Penelope Doob, Denton Fox, Roberta Frank, Joan Gibson, Maruja Jackman, D’Arcy O’Brien, Cindy Vitto, Rea Wilmshurst, and my colleagues and students at York University. Introduction A The Problem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is strongly resistant to any explanation that relies on decoding. Our sense of loss, as readers, is so great whenever a critic attempts to translate the Green Knight into a simple fiend, or a contemporary squire, or Merlin,1 when a particularly slippery word is replaced by a narrow gloss, or when the narrative as a whole is declared to be an allegory for this or that Christian mystery, that the rational response, “It is not only this,” yields quickly to the emotional assertion we see all too frequently in the scholarly literature, that “It is not this at all.” Yet the weight of historical evidence establishes that the poem invites such criticism. Each new monograph or article reveals another modern mind at work on the material, finding both pleasure and meaning in aspects of the poet’s work that we never suspected were there and that we might still be tempted to deny are there at all. This multivalence must by now be accepted as a fact of the text: no new method or approach will sweep away all previous interpretative work; no rigorous scepticism will succeed in convincing us that all the critical diversity is nothing but critical error. Much of the scholarly debate over some passages in the poem can be seen as the confrontation of complementary reductions, fought out by critics who consider them to be mutually exclusive. If one philologist glosses a troublesome form according to an Old Norse etymon and a colleague argues instead for a Vulgar Latin root, a literary critic needs little imagination to find an artistic justification for ambiguity in the passage, and so transcend 4 Introduction (or at least circumvent) the debate. Successful as such a procedure may be at the verbal level in providing the reader with a more meaningful text, it is less acceptable as a device for explicating the symbolism of the poem. Reconciling the readings that see the Green Knight as the Lord of Hades, Ralph Holmes, and Christ,2 for example, would lead the critic into an agnostic morass and suggest a degree of incompetence in the poet at variance with the experience of every reader. This type of criticism unfortunately prevents any possible co-operation. Unlike the philologists, who, true to their etymology, seem really to love the poet’s words, the “Green Knight is Christ” critic and the “Green Knight is John the Baptist” critic are constrained to do no more than joust when they meet. They must deny the open spirit of the poem and reject the work of their colleagues utterly instead of incorporating it and furthering the scholarly process. Even when taken singly, however, such readings are unsatisfactory. When the critic has completed his work, the poem often seems diminished or even trivialized, as the shimmering complexity of the surface of the text is replaced by schematic patterns that are not only less complex but also far less interesting. Fortunately, our reluctance to accept such reductionist criticism need not be left anchored in something as vague as the often-expressed feeling that “true literature” should not be so treated. We have ample evidence from the work of the Gawain-poet that the full detail of the text was important to him in a way that set him apart from many of his contemporaries. If we compare, for example, the poet’s presentations of Noah and Lot in Purity, with their interest in all the physical and social dimensions of the narrative, to the reductionist allegorizations of the Glossa Ordinaria, the extent of the gulf separating him from such attitudes becomes quite clear: “Noe vir justus.” Hic per actus suos significat Christum, qui ait Matth. xi: “Discite a me quia mitis sum et humilis corde.” Solus justus invenitur, cui propter justitiam suam septem homines donantur. Justus quoque Christus et perfectus, cui septem Ecclesiae septiformi Spiritu illuminatae in unam Ecclesia condonantur.3 “Noah, a just man.” This man, by his actions, signifies Christ, who says (Matt 11) “Learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart.” Noah alone was found to be just, and because of his justice seven men were given to him. Christ was also just and perfect, and to him seven churches 5 Introduction illuminated by the sevenfold Spirit were granted, gathered into one Church.4 Lot frater Abraham, justus et hospitalis in Sodomis, significat corpus Christi, quod in omnibus sanctis inter impios gemit, quorum factis non consentit, et a quorum permixtione liberabitur in fine saeculi, illis damnatis supplicio ignis aeterni.5 Lot the brother of Abraham, just and hospitable in Sodom, signifies the body of Christ, which is active in all the holy in the midst of the impious, and does not consent to their deeds, and will be liberated from mixture with them at the end of the age, when they are damned to the pain of eternal fire. Now while there is nothing in the text of Purity that would make it absolutely impossible for a reader to make such an interpretation, there is also nothing to support it against an alternate allegorization, such as the one offered in an Allegoriae in Vetus Testamentum once attributed to Hugh of St Victor: Lot ergo intelligitur fidelis anima; Sodoma, vita saecularis; Segor, vita conjugalis; mons, vita spiritualis; uxor Lot, carnales qui sunt in Ecclesia.6 Lot means the faithful soul; Sodom, earthly life; Segor, conjugal life; the mountain, spiritual life; the wife of Lot, the fleshly ones who are in the Church. All we can say about such readings is that, in the case of Purity, they would be extremely wasteful in that they ignore all the poet’s efforts to produce a striking naturalistic description of events important to his own world for more than abstract spiritual truths. The case with Patience is, if anything, much stronger, since a reader who insisted on approaching that poem according to the traditional “Jonas, id est Christus” view would have to skip more lines than he read. This attention to detail has not, of course, gone unnoticed, nor is there any lack of attempts to explain the depth of meaning of such surface material. Details of dress, physical appearance, colour, and flora and fauna have all been decoded, often on the basis of solid parallels in contemporary literature or, more frequently and more readily, handbooks of symbolism. 6 Introduction Since the poet was an educated man living in an age when every object and quality in the world, especially if it is mentioned in the Scriptures, was invested with a moral and spiritual significance, it is only natural that a modern reader should try to understand Sir Gawain and the Green Knight on the basis of medieval ideas about the meaning of foxes, holly, pentangles, and green things in general. To this end a thousand years of Latin literature has been scoured in hopes of finding authoritative glosses and explications for the stubborn details of the poem. Here too the decoding critics come to an impasse, and here too the root of the problem is a reluctance to learn from the false starts and the slow recoveries of the linguists. Reliance on the medieval handbooks is risky, since the various writers on the meaning of such signs do not often provide us with uniform explanations. Earlier writers differ from later; vernacular writers differ from Latin authors; and the same object may be interpreted in bono or in malo depending on the circumstances or, it seems, on the whim of the interpreter. If modern critics take any particular decoding of a sign as authoritative because it comes from a contemporary source, we are in danger of falling into the same arbitrary frame of mind, and open to the charge that we have been reading too selectively. If we argue, on the basis of one version of the Secreta Secretorum and its teaching about the connections between physiognomy and psychology, that the Green Knight’s red eyes (line 304) mean that he is “coraious, stalworth and myghty,”7 we have no defence against—and little possibility of reconciliation with—those who would say, on the basis of another version of the same text, that it is men with camel-coloured eyes who are courageous and that red-eyed men “ben dysposed to woodnesse, y-likenyd to bestes whych may not be daunted.”8 It seems likely that both contemporary and modern readers would make their choice of gloss on the basis of an already-formed opinion about the Green Knight, not on the basis of belief in the authority of a particular physiognomic system. The complex and self-contradictory nature of the tradition would seem to leave us once again on the edge of a critical, or rather uncritical, agnosticism, unable to make persuasive distinctions between acceptable and unacceptable interpretations. Our choice would seem to be between accepting the flood of Tantric, Hermetic, and Jungian explications and deciding that interpretation of such symbols should not be attempted at all. This feeling seems to be shared by Bloomfield, who says “One has only to 7 Introduction look at the Distinctiones, those symbolic dictionaries chiefly of the twelfth century, to see that there was no science of symbolism. The commonest objects and animals embrace a wide variety of meanings, often contradictory. The meaning could be interpreted only in context, if at all, and even then multiple interpretations would frequently be possible.”9 The fault is not (how could it be?) with the medieval texts, but with the use we have tried to make of them. We have long since discarded the notion, in our own dictionaries, that words can be explained by simple substitution of lexical “equivalents” for the words of another language or for English words of another time. The failure of such attempts is obvious and has led to an increased sophistication in theories of meaning. The study of other signs and symbols requires a similar rethinking of procedures, so that we derive from medieval texts the kind of information they are capable of providing, instead of faulting them for not giving us what we want. It would be wasteful indeed to abandon attempts to understand the meaning of symbolic objects in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight just because the medieval texts do not line up with our notions of how signs function, and it is not acceptable to allow any and all explanations the same status regardless of their source, just as it would be foolish to abandon attempts to understand individual words or to treat them as interpretable at whim. The poem gives strong indications that some of the objects it mentions are to be taken not simply as objects included for their own sake but rather as signs for other things. Explanation of such signs as the pentangle, the picture of the Virgin, the green girdle, and Gawain’s wound must therefore proceed, and it should follow a pattern responsive to medieval theories about signification. While it is true that there was no “science of symbolism” in the period, if by “science” we mean a discipline that creates the equivalents of logarithm tables and lists of metallic specific gravities, the educated reader and writer of the period had access to a considerable amount of material about signs and their functions. Once we take seriously the possibility that our forebears were concerned with such matters, we find evidence of a pervasive theory of meaning that was not only directly available to the educated but also played an important part in shaping the view of the world found less overtly in writings in a wide variety of genres. In addition to the explicit formal system, found in the elementary writings on logic that formed a basic part of every scholar’s education, contemporary works on heraldry and various 8 Introduction sermons and doctrinal pieces relied on implicit knowledge of similar principles. It is to this system of meaning, as well as to parallels in specific content, that we must look in order to understand the roles of the Gawain- poet’s signs in their original social context. Even the possibility of in bono and in malo interpretations is not the stumbling block it first appears to be. The existence of multiple meanings for individual words or visible symbols was not seen as a bar to understanding by medieval thinkers, and they were far from ill-equipped to deal with them. Instead of focusing on the difficulties the phenomenon causes for our “one word, one meaning” preconceptions, we would do well to recognize that controlled ambiguity was considered potentially productive of more (and more useful) knowledge. Augustine, in one of his most widely known and influential works, laid the foundation for a systematic approach to the creative possibilities inherent in the multivalence of signs: Huius igitur uarietatis obseruatio duas habet formas; sic enim aliud atque aliud res quaeque significant, ut aut contraria aut tantummodo diuersa significent. Contraria scilicet, cum alias in bono, alias in malo res eadem per similitudinem ponitur, sicut hoc est quod de fermento supra diximus. Tale est etiam, quod leo significat Christum, ubi dicitur: Vicit leo de tribu Iuda; significat et diabolum, ubi scriptum est: Aduersarius uester diabolus tamquam leo rugiens circuit, quaerens, quem deuoret ... sic et alia plurima ... Quando autem ex eisdem scripturae uerbis non unum aliquid, sed duo uel plura sentiuntur, etiam si latet, quid senserit ille, qui scripsit, nihil perculi est, si quodlibet eorum congruere ueritati ex aliis locis sanctarum scripturarum doceri potest ... Ille quippe auctor in eisdem uerbis, quae intellegere uolumus, et ipsam sententiam forsitan uidit et certe dei spiritus, qui per eum haec operatus est, etiam ipsam occursuram lectori uel auditori sine dubitatione praeuidit, immo ut occurreret, quia et ipsa est ueritate subnixa, prouidit. Nam quid in diuinis eloquiis largius et uberius potuit diuinitus prouideri, quam ut eadem uerba pluribus intellegantur modis, quos alia non minus diuina contestantia faciant adprobari?10 This variation takes two forms. Thus one thing signifies another thing and still another either in such a way that the second thing signified is contrary to the first or in such a way that the second thing is entirely different from the first. The things signified are contrary, that is, when one thing is used as a similitude in a good sense and in another place in an evil sense, like “leaven” in the above example. This is the situation where 9 Introduction the lion is used to signify Christ, when it is said, “The lion of the tribe of Juda ... has prevailed,” but also signifies the Devil, when it is written, “Your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, goeth about seeking whom he may devour”... Many other things are used in the same way... When, however, from a single passage in the Scripture not one but two or more meanings are elicited, even if what he who wrote the passage intended remains hidden, there is no danger if any of the meanings may be seen to be congruous with the truth taught in other passages of the Holy Scriptures... For the author himself may have seen the same meaning in the words we seek to understand. And certainly the Spirit of God, who worked through that author, undoubtedly foresaw that this meaning would occur to the reader or listener. Rather, He provided that it might occur to him, since that meaning is dependent upon truth. For what could God have more generously and abundantly provided in the divine writings than that the same words might be understood in various ways which other no less divine witnesses approve? 11 The importance of this passage and the attitude it reveals is not simply in its tone, although it is significant that the situation that modern commentators treat as a cause for despair seems to Augustine a cause for delight. It is also an indication that centuries of this kind of analysis of words and other signs with multiple meanings had prepared the way for a very sophisticated attitude towards ambiguity by the time of the Gawain-poet. It is possible to show that the poet has the same ability to deal with several levels of meaning as do the more formal language theorists of late medieval Europe. Just as they are more interested in the complexities of natural sign systems and with modes of meaning than in providing static lists of signs and their equivalents, the Gawain-poet was interested in structuring various possible responses to his poetic material in terms of a doctrinally correct hierarchy of meanings. He is much more interesting to us, in addition, as a poet with a sophisticated view of signs and meanings than as a practitioner of symbolic shorthand, merely saying “red-eyed” when he means “courageous” or “Green Knight” when he means “fiend.”