Biography

Although born in St. Louis, Missouri in 1888, Thomas Stearns Eliot is remembered more as an English author
than an American one. While a doctoral student in philosophy at Harvard, Eliot was influenced by F.H. Bradley,
who taught about "'immediate experience' as a means of transcending appearance and achieving the 'Absolute'"-a
theme apparent throughout Murder in the Cathedral.

With the outbreak of World War I, Eliot abandoned philosophy for poetry; he had already written his first "mature" work,
and one of his most enduring, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufock," in 1910 (although it would not see print for
another five years, and then first in England). He also decided to emigrate to England, a decision based in large part
on Ezra Pound's contention that England was better suited for living the literary life. To support himself, and his new
wife (although their marriage was a troubled one), Eliot taught school and also worked at Lloyds of London. He wrote
poetry and criticism by night.

What is probably Eliot's crowning achievement, The Waste Land, was published in 1922. In the work, "Eliot brought
together various kinds of despair, for lost youth, lost love, lost friendship, lost value." Clearly, these themes-definitive of
the "modern"era and so characteristic of British literature, especially, after the great disillusionment of World War I-
continue to resonate in such later work as Murder in the Cathedral.

"After The Waste Land it was incumbent upon Eliot to choose between immobile lamentation, never his mode, and a
new journey of the spirit"-neatly analogous, readers might well argue, to the choice facing Becket in Murder in the
Cathedral. Eliot was confirmed in the Anglican Church in 1927. His Christian faith surfaces in such work as "The
Hollow Men" (1925), "Ash-Wednesday" (1930), and Four Quartets (1944). In addition to his poetry, Eliot established
and edited the acclaimed literary journal, The Criterion.

Eliot's wife, from whom he was now permanently separated, died in 1947; he would remarry a decade later. In 1948,
Eliot was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. The Presentation Speech praised him for his "capacity for stimulating
a reconsideration of pressing questions within intellectual and aesthetic. [I]t can never be denied that in his period he
has been an eminent poser of questions, with a masterly gift for finding the apt wording, both in the language of poetry
and in the defence of ideas in essay form." He died in 1965, and is commemorated in the Poets' Corner of
Westminster Abbey.

A Note on Historical Background

Note: In the following commentary, all page numbers refer to the Harvest Book (Harcourt, Inc.) edition of T. S.
Eliot's Murder in the Cathedral. Eliot's text makes many allusions to Scripture; this analysis quotes the Bible to help
illumine the text. Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations in this analysis are from the New Revised Standard
Version of the Bible, © 1989 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in
the United States of America.

While Murder in the Cathedral is set in December 1170 and alludes to various historical circumstances surrounding
the death of Thomas Becket, Eliot's concern is not to teach history but to present an examination of power and faith in
a poetic and dramatic form. Some factual knowledge about Becket, therefore, is necessary in order to fully appreciate
Eliot's work.

Thomas Becket was born in the house of his father, Gilbert Becket, in Cheapside, London, sometime between 1115
and 1120. As a young man, Thomas studied ecclesiastical law and served as a close confidante of Archbishop
Theobald of Canterbury-Canterbury being the most important English "see," or seat of church authority-who ordained
Thomas a deacon and appointed him Archdeacon of Canterbury in 1154, a post in which Thomas oversaw the see's
temporal affairs.

The next year, King Henry II, founder of the Plantagenet line (reigned 1154-1189), appointed Thomas as England's
chancellor. "The king's chancellor in England during the Middle Ages was given a variety of duties, including drawing
up writs that permitted the initiation of a lawsuit in one of the common-law courts and deciding disputes in a way that
gave birth to the system of law called equity. His governmental department was called the Chancery" (West's
Encyclopedia). Thomas thus wielded great political power as chancellor. He was a close aide to the king; indeed,
according to the Dictionary of National Biography, "An extraordinary intimacy sprang up between him and his
sovereign. Henry's policy was his own, and. Thomas was simply the chief instrument in its execution-[but] an
instrument of such exceptionally perfect and varied capabilities that those who watched its operations well nigh lost
sight of the hand by which it was directed." Thomas helped Henry quell a rebellion in Anjou, France in 1156; in 1158
he served as ambassador to France-an occasion on which he traveled in such majestic style that King Louis VII and
his subjects are reported to have thought, "If this is the English chancellor, what must not the king be!" (Dictionary of
National Biography)-and, in 1159, he levied an unfairly heavy tax on the church to fund King Henry's military campaign
in Toulouse. In addition to his political power, Thomas possessed military might. "When all the great barons refused
the task of securing the conquered territory [of Tolouse] after Henry's withdrawal, Thomas and the constable, Henry of
Essex, undertook it, and performed it with signal success. Thomas afterwards defended the Norman border for some
months with troops whom he paid at his own cost and commanded in person; he led several forays into France, and
once unhorsed a famous French knight in single combat" (Dictionary of National Biography).

After the death of Archbishop Theobald in 1161, Henry elevated a reluctant Thomas to the post. Thomas knew that his
ideas about ecclesiastical authority would not be easily reconciled, if at all, to Henry's desire to consolidate the crown's
control over the church. Very quickly, the two came into conflict. Thomas tried to reclaim property from Henry that the
see of Canterbury had lost; he prohibited a marriage of Henry's brother because it violated church law; and he denied
the crown's jurisdiction over criminal clerics. As Archbishop, Thomas also established himself as a champion of justice
for the common people; most notably, he led "the first case of any opposition to the king's will in the matter of taxation"
in Britain (Dictionary of National Biography) when Henry tried to deny local sheriffs compensation for their services.

A great financial dispute between the crown and Canterbury, during which Thomas refused to yield what he felt
belonged to the church, led to Thomas' departure, in disguise, from England in 1163. He left after having celebrated
"the mass of St. Stephen"-the first Christian martyr (Acts 7)-"with its significant introit, 'Princes did sit and speak
against me'." (Dictionary of National Biography). Thomas would not return to England until 1170, after a reconciliation
between him and the king could be arranged-a reconciliation that was to have included a ritual "kiss of peace" but no
resolution of the monetary dispute that had caused the heart of the conflict.

Further conflict arose, however, when Thomas and the Pope learned that Henry planned to have his oldest son's
coronation performed by Roger of Pont l'Evêque, Archbishop of York-a privilege always formerly reserved to
Canterbury. (The coronation did, in fact, take place in York in June of 1170.) The Pope ordered the suspension of York
and any other bishops who took part in the irregular ceremony. Consequently, Roger of York, in league with the
bishops of London and Salisbury and the sheriff of Kent, plotted to intercept Thomas upon his planned landing, in
order to take the papal letters of suspension he would bring with him. Thomas thus sent the letters ahead of him. He
landed at Sandwich on December 1, 1170 "and proceeded, amid much popular rejoicing, to Canterbury" (Dictionary of
National Biography).

Thomas refused the king's request to absolve the suspended bishops. On December 29, four knights-Hugh de
Morville, William de Tracy, Reginald Fitzurse, and Richard le Breton-came to Canterbury to make the demand again,
in person. Thomas again refused, citing papal authority. The knights left after a brief fight, only to return with a larger
force. Thomas' aides took the Archbishop into Canterbury Cathedral; three priests stayed with Thomas while the rest
hid. Thomas did not allow them to bar the cathedral doors. The four knights and a cleric entered. The Dictionary of
National Biography recounts what happened:

To the cry "Where is the traitor, Thomas Becket?" he returned no answer; but at the question, "Where is the
archbishop?". [he answered], "Here I am, not traitor, but archbishop and priest of God; what seek ye?" "Your death."
"Slay me here if you will, but if you touch any of my people you are accursed." They again bade him absolve the
bishops; he returned the same answer as before. They tried to drag him out of the church; but he and Edward Grim,
now his sole remaining companion, were more than a match for the five. In the struggle fierce words broke from the
archbishop; but when his assailants drew their swords to slay him where he stood, he covered his eyes with his hands,
saying, "To God and the blessed Mary, to the patron saints of this church, and to St. Denys, I commend myself and
the church's cause," and with bowed head awaited their blows. The first blow made a gash in the crown of his head,
and then fell sideways on his left shoulder, being intercepted by the uplifted arm of Grim. Probably this wound
compelled Grim to relinquish the archbishop's cross, for it is expressly stated in a contemporary letter that Thomas
himself had the cross in his hands when he was smitten to death... He received another blow on the head, with the
words, "Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit;" at a third he fell on his knees, and then, turning towards the altar of
St. Benedict on his right hand, and murmuring "For the name of Jesus and for the defence of the church I am ready to
embrace death," dropped face downwards at full length on the floor. One more sword-stroke completed the severance
of the tonsured crown from the skull.

Thomas was quickly acclaimed as a martyr and a saint by the people of England; the Pope proclaimed
Thomas' canonization on February 21, 1173. He is commemorated in many shrines and churches across
England-including some ostensibly named for Thomas the apostle-and his story has been told in many
literary forms, including not only Eliot's play but also dramas by Tennyson (Becket, 1884) and Jean Anouilh
(Becket; or, The Honor of God, 1961).

Part I

Summary
The scene is the Archbishop's Hall in Canterbury, December 2, 1170. A group of Canterbury's women find themselves
inexplicably drawn to the cathedral, filled with foreboding. Three priests also arrive, wondering about the
circumstances surrounding the imminent return of Archbishop Thomas Becket to Canterbury. Becket has been
in exile for seven years; now he is to return, supposedly reconciled to the king, whose authority Becket
opposed in defense of the church's sovereignty and the Pope's authority. A messenger informs the priests
that Becket draws close to the city, urging them to prepare to meet him. He reports that crowds are welcoming
Becket with wild abandon and great devotion. He also, however, hints at trouble on the horizon: he relates how Becket
told the king, "I leave you as a man / Whom in this life I shall not see again." The messenger allows that none know
precisely what Becket's words meant, but "no one considers it a happy prognostic." The priests recognize that, "[f]or
good or ill," Becket's return will set a chain of events into motion: "For ill or good, let the wheel turn."

The women return, imploring Becket not to return, for he brings doom with him. One of the priests admonishes them to
keep silent-but he, in turn, is himself admonished by the returning archbishop. He tells the priest that the women of
Canterbury "speak better than they know" and speaks of suffering: it is necessary "[t]hat the pattern [i.e., of life] may
subsist."-that is, to exist, to continue, to make sense. He knows, as do the women, that his return will bring
suffering, even if he does not know exactly what shape that suffering will take.

Becket's suffering begins when four figures of temptation appear to him. The first advises Becket to abandon his
serious insistence on ecclesiastical independence and authority in favor of a life of pleasure, like the life he knew and
enjoyed as the king's chancellor. The second urges Becket to acquire and exercise temporal power to achieve his
aims. The third appeals to Becket as "a rough straightforward Englishman," enticing the archbishop to betray the king.
Becket remains steadfast in the face of all these temptations. A fourth tempter, however, comes closest to pulling
Becket astray. He urges the archbishop to embrace actively the role of martyr in order to win heavenly glory, asking
him, "What earthly glory, of king or emperor, / What earthly pride, that is not poverty / Compared with richness of
heavenly grandeur?" But Becket resists this temptation also, knowing that, if he is indeed to become a martyr, it must
not be for reasons of personal pride: "The last temptation is the greatest treason: / To do the right deed for the wrong
reason." Knowing that he is not consumed by pride, confident that he is serving the "greater cause" of God
and God's church, Becket prepares to meet the fate he knows awaits him, confident that "my good Angel,
whom God appoints / To be my guardian, hover over the swords' points."

Analysis
Ostensibly set on December 2, 1170, Part I of Eliot's drama effectively stands outside of time. The opening chorus
gives voice to the non-temporal qualities of the scene, and, indeed, of the entire play. The women allude to the
passage of time-"Since golden October declined into sombre November."-but state also, "The New Year waits,
breathes, waits." (p. 11). Dramatically speaking, time seems to have stopped; the "wheel" (to use one of the play's
dominant images) has ceased turning. This impression of time having stopped probably serves to dramatize the
nature of the events about to transpire as a turning point: as the women say, "[d]estiny waits for the coming" (p. 12).
As they put it, the women have been "[l]iving and partly living" (p. 19 et al.). In Becket's absence, they have endured
seven years of "oppression and luxury. poverty and license." and a host of other dichotomies; but now that seemingly
endless, cyclical repetition of life's extremities, as well as the mundane existence in between them, is about to come to
an end. It is about to be interrupted. In a sense, it has finished; readers may note the ancient, symbolic connotations of
the number seven as a number of completion, even of divine wholeness (e.g., the completion of creation in seven
days according to Genesis 1; the ancient and medieval designation of the "sevenfold" gifts of the Holy Spirit from
Isaiah 11:2-3). The old way of "living and partly living," then, has come to an end-a conclusion the women are neither
entirely comfortable nor overly happy about: as they lament, "We do not wish anything to happen.[A] great fear is upon
us. A fear like birth and death" (pp. 19-20). Because the women do not "wish anything to happen," they are loathe to
leave behind their half-existence in which nothing, in fact, actually happened-in which they were simply turned upon
the wheel they describe. Becket's return threatens to upset the status quo-a common motif in the Christian tradition,
out of which Eliot wrote, following his conversion to Anglo-Catholicism in 1927. For example, consider the apostle
Paul's apocalyptic conviction that, because of the Resurrection of Jesus, "the present form of this world is passing
away" (1 Cor. 11:31). The imminent end of their world's present form creates a crisis of anxiety for the Canterbury
women. "[W]e are content," they say, "if we are left alone" (p. 12). They go so far, in their second major speech, to
plead with Becket: "O Thomas, return, Archbishop; return, return"-but not the expected plea of returning to
Canterbury-"return to France" (p. 18). The chorus thus expresses a common psychological reality: it is often easier to
suffer under a known but unsatisfactory set of circumstances than to risk venturing into a new and potentially more
satisfactory but unknown set. It is often easier to remain in the past than to move forward into the future. "Now I fear
disturbance of the quiet seasons." (p. 12).

In another sense, it may be accurate to say that the play's first act is set, not in ordinary time, but in liturgical time.
(Indeed, the text very quickly foregrounds the Christian calendar in the audience's mind, with a reference to All
Hallows [p. 12], the feast day on which all saints and martyrs, known or unknown, are celebrated.) Becket's impending
arrival represents a break in time, a rupture in history and, significantly, this first act is set during early December, what
is in the Christian liturgical calendar the season of Advent (from the Latin adventus, "coming" or "arrival"), during which
waiting for the second coming of Christ is a dominant focus. Traditionally, then, Advent is a season for waiting:
"Concerned with the Four Last Things [i.e., Christ's second coming, the Day of Judgment, heaven, and hell], Advent
prepares for the parousia [i.e., the Second Coming], as well as for Christmas" (Bowker 22). And while Christians are
enjoined to observe Advent with both penitence and expectancy, the Canterbury women observe Becket's "advent"
with only dread. In either case, however-whether set in ecclesiastical-theological time or outside of time altogether-the
play begins with an undeniable establishment of temporal stillness: "The New Year waits, destiny waits for the
coming." (p. 12). Further potential allusions to Advent occur in the Messenger's first speech, as he urges the three
priests to "prepare to meet" the returning archbishop (p. 15). Given that the word "angel" derives from the Greek word
for "messenger," one might even view the Messenger's speech as an "annunciation" of sorts, preparing the world to
meet a coming savior.

The conversation among the three priests prior to Becket's return introduces a contrast between the temporal realm
and the spiritual realm. For example, the third priest criticizes temporal authorities (picking up on the chorus' words,
"Kings rule or barons rule") for governing by "violence, duplicity and frequent malversation" (p. 14). They obey only the
law of brute force; in contrast, the first priest speculates that Becket returns with the confidence of "the power of Rome
[i.e., the Roman Catholic Church], the spiritual rule, the assurance of right, and the love of the people" (p. 15). In short,
the temporal realm is equated with force; the spiritual, with love. The priests' conversation also raises the question of
whether true peace can ever be found between these two realms: "What peace can be found to grow between the
hammer and the anvil?" (p. 15). Such "patched up" reconciliation as does exist between the archbishop and the king is
"[p]eace, but not the kiss of peace" (p. 16)-in other words, it is more of an uneasy, mutual co-existence or toleration
than an actual cessation of hostilities and restoration of relationship. Becket's own life, of course, came to an end
because of the conflicting, competing interests of the temporal and spiritual realms; thus, Eliot's play sounds this
theme early on, alerting the audience of the central conflict to come.

The conversation among the priests also raises a second central question: Is Thomas Becket a proud man? And, if so,
in what sense? The first priest claims that Becket was proud as secular chancellor, and is still proud as spiritual
archbishop. Pride has, the priest says, been a constant in Becket's character, whether he held temporal or spiritual
office, for it was "pride always feeding upon [Becket's] own virtues, / Pride drawing sustenance from impartiality, /
Pride drawing sustenance from generosity" (p. 17). The priest ties together the themes of temporal versus spiritual
power and pride when he states that Becket has always wanted to be in "subjection to God alone." Is such dedication
a form of pride in itself? Should one aspire to be completely free of the temporal realm in order to live entirely in the
spiritual? Of course, such questions' validity depends upon the validity of the priest's assessment of Becket's
character, an issue readers can only decide for themselves as the play unfolds.

As noted above, the Chorus' second major speech is an ironic plea for Thomas' return: they wish him to return, not to
Canterbury, but to France, for they fear an upheaval in the world they have known, even though it is but a world of
"[l]iving and partly living" (p. 19). They state they have existed in this limbo for seven years-more than a straightforward
temporal reference, the number seven, which commonly signifies completeness and wholeness in religion and
mysticism, the number seven may here mean that the time allotted for this quasi-life has reached its end; Becket's
return will, as the Third Priest says, "for good or ill, let the wheel turn" (p. 18). For an audience versed in the Bible, the
women's speech at this point may evoke the book of Ecclesiastes, with its famous passage on the cyclical nature of
time: "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven" (Eccl. 3:1). The writer of
Ecclesiastes (traditionally identified as King Solomon, but in the text identified only as Qohelet, "the Teacher," 1:1 and
passim.) points to a series of antitheses to support his thesis that "there is nothing new under the sun" (1:9): he recites
a litany of "a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted," and so forth
(see 3:2-8). The Teacher wishes to be freed from this "wheel" of time (not his phrase, but Eliot's), because he sees it
as, in effect, a curse upon humanity: God, Qohelet declares, "has put a sense of past and future into [human beings']
minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end" (3:11). In other words, God implants
a sense of temporality in humanity, and then frustrates human desires to make sense of temporality. The Canterbury
women, however, in contrast, long for no such resolution. As does Qohelet, the women intone a litany of antitheses-
e.g., "Sometimes the corn has failed us, / Sometimes the harvest is good, / One year is a year of rain, / Another a year
of dryness" (p. 19)-thus demonstrating that they share the common human experience of sensing temporality. When
an event looms, however, that could potentially serve as a moment that reveals the "pattern of time" (p. 13), they reject
it. They do not wish to know, as Qohelet says, "what God has done." Instead, they implore Thomas to go away, for he
brings a "doom on the house, a doom on [himself], a doom on the world" (p. 19). In this speech, the word "doom" may
carry overtones not only of a disastrous end but also of the word's medieval definition of "fate," good or ill. Becket's
arrival in Canterbury is, as the women rightly perceive, the arrival of nothing less than fate itself; yet it is an arrival they
reject, preferring instead to go on "living and partly living."

From Becket's first entrance, Eliot begins developing him as not only a Christ-figure in general but also as an analogy
of Jesus Christ himself. Priests do, of course, physically represent or "stand in for" Jesus in many Christian traditions;
so Becket is a Christ-figure in that sense already. But Eliot wishes to draw tighter parallels. Becket's first spoken word,
for instance, is "Peace" (p. 21)-a greeting Jesus commonly uses in the gospel narratives, especially after his
Resurrection (e.g., Luke 24:36; John 20:19). Ironically, however, Jesus used this greeting to allay his followers' fears,
but Becket can be seen as confirming the fears of those who follow him: like the women, he realizes that his return will
initiate suffering. This suffering, however, is necessary-even as Jesus' suffering was "necessary" (Luke 24:26).
Becket's suffering, like Jesus', will have a salvific dimension: it will allow "the wheel"-the order, the pattern of life-to
"turn and still / Be forever still" (p. 22). This admittedly difficult, oxymoronic statement may mean that, whereas
Canterbury, as symbolized in its women, has been stagnant for the past seven years, stuck in a "peace" that really is
no peace, Becket's impending suffering and death will move Canterbury and its inhabitants to a new state of being-i.e.,
Becket's death will cause the wheel to turn-and yet this new state of being truly will be peace.

The mere fact that Becket enters Eliot's drama as one who returns further develops the characters as a Christ-figure;
cf. this commentary's previous discussion of Advent as a time of preparation for Jesus' Parousia, or "second coming."
Note also the Second Priest's protestation, "Forgive us, my Lord, you would have had a better welcome / If we had
been sooner prepared for the event" (p. 22). Becket's rooms have not been made ready, even though the priest
promises he will make them so. This exchange may bring to mind Jesus' parables of his own return: for example, "You
also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour" (Luke 12:40). Notably, the phrase "Son of
Man" has already surfaced in Eliot's text, when the Chorus asks, "Shall the Son of Man be born again in the litter of
scorn?" (p. 13). Thus Eliot has already explicitly invited his audience to view Becket's return as an eschatological
event-that is, an event which inaugurates the eschaton, the "end times," the "last things." Eschatological events mark
the end of an old world and the birth of a new. By foregrounding biblical material surrounding the Parousia, Eliot
creates the expectation that Becket's impending suffering and death will be just such an epochal event. The
archbishop himself calls it an "end": "End will be simple, sudden, God-given" (p. 23). Becket advises the priests to
"watch" for the "consummation" of his story (p. 23)-an echo not only of Jesus' admonitions to his disciples to watch for
the last day (e.g., Mark 13:37; Luke 21:36) but also of his request that the disciples watch with him in Gethsemane
prior to his arrest (Matt. 26:35-46 and parallels), a time during which Jesus was tempted to abandon his saving
mission.

Similarly and appropriately, then, Becket is tempted at this point to abandon his mission. The Four Tempters who
present themselves were intended, Eliot revealed in a prefatory note to the third edition (1937), to be "doubled" with
the roles of the Four Knights; i.e., the same actors were to play the parts.

The First Tempter calls Becket back to the hedonistic life he lived while he was King Henry's chancellor: "[S]hall we
say that summer's over / Or that the good time cannot last?" (p. 24). Attentive readers and audience members know
that, of course, the summer has long been over (see the Chorus' words on p. 13, "What shall we do in the heat of
summer / But wait in barren orchards for another October?," words that describe the women's present situation).
Becket cannot retreat into the past, as the Tempter advises him to do. The Tempter presents a symbolic vision of the
passing seasons that is at odds with the scheme established earlier in the drama: where the Tempter declares that, in
the reconciliation with the king, "Spring has come in winter," bringing rebirth with it (p. 24), Becket knows that the
vision is but a "springtime fancy" (p. 26)-that is, a fantasy, a fiction, an illusion-and adheres to the already-established
motif of the seasons as markers of a seemingly endless cycle of barren waiting-a cycle that his impending death will,
however, break. Notably, the First Tempter, like the First Priest (p. 17), accuses Becket of pride-specifically, self-
righteousness: "You were not used to be so hard upon sinners / When they were your friends" (p. 25). He brands
Becket's principles as "higher vices / Which will have to be paid for at higher prices" (p. 26). In keeping with his frivolity
(his "humble levity"), he departs Becket with an ironic and sarcastic anticipation of Becket's canonization to come: "If
you will remember me, my Lord, at your prayers, / I'll remember you at kissing-time below the stairs" (p. 26). It is a
mocking allusion to the plea of people who pray for the saints' intercession; Ora pro nobis (Pray for us). This first
temptation has no unambiguous parallel in those faced by Jesus, although Jesus was tempted to focus on physical
needs when tempted to turn stones into bread (Matt. 4:1-3; Luke 4:1-4).

The Second Tempter would have Becket shift from pursuing and using spiritual to temporal power: "You, master of
policy / Whom all acknowledged, should guide the state again" (p. 27). He thus reintroduces the conflict between
temporal and spiritual power into the play. He argues that only power matters, not "holiness," because power can
shape the world today, not in some "hereafter" (p. 27). This argument has some appeal to Becket because he has
been established as the champion of the lowly; the Tempter tells Becket that he could again use the power of the
chancellorship to "set down the great, protect the poor, / Beneath the throne of God can man do more?" (p. 28). The
Tempter thus invokes the old, morally fallacious argument that ends justify means. As Becket moves closer to falling
into the Tempter's trap, the Tempter tells him that the price of such power is the "[p]retence of priestly power"-he would
have to give up his claims as archbishop to spiritual authority. Only in so doing will Becket receive "the power and the
glory" (p. 29)-a phrase from the traditional, doxological conclusion of the Lord's Prayer: "For thine is the kingdom and
the power and the glory forever." These words have the effect of jolting Becket out of his near-submission to the
Tempter. They serve to remind him of where his true loyalties lie. They may also be Eliot's echoing of such biblical
commentary on the nature of power as 2 Cor. 12:9: "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in
weakness." Such "weak" power is the only power Becket has been called to wield, and he will do so in facing his
martyrdom. All worldly power is as nothing compared to the power of God, as Becket knows: "[S]hall I, who keep the
keys / Of heaven and hell"-a reference to the power of pardon Jesus grants to the Church (see Matt. 16:19;
18:18)-".Descend to desire a punier power?" (p. 30). Becket makes clear the distinction between temporal and spiritual
power: it can only guarantee order "as the world knows order" (p. 30)-the unavoidable implication being that "order" as
the world defines it is not true order at all, just as "peace" as the world defines it is not true peace (see Becket's earlier
greeting of "Peace" as well as Jesus' words in John 14:27). Becket's second temptation has a clear analogue in
Scripture, when the devil tempts Jesus to rule over all the kingdoms of the earth, in return for worshiping him (Matt.
4:8-10; Luke 4:5-8).

The Third Tempter styles himself "an unexpected visitor," but Becket claims he has, in fact, been expected (p. 31).
This Tempter tells Becket to betray the king with whom he has so recently been reconciled: "Other friends / May be
found." (p. 33). But Becket also resists this temptation to expedient friendships on the basis of his faith: "If the
Archbishop cannot trust the Throne"-i.e., if he has cause for fear from the king (which, in fact, he does)-"He has good
cause to trust none but God alone" (p. 34). This third temptation perhaps parallels the temptation Jesus faced to ally
himself with the common people against the religious leadership by throwing himself from the Temple (Matt. 4:5-7;
Luke 4:9-12); but at any event, Becket's repudiation of the temptation echoes Jesus' repudiation of any help but God in
the face of temptation (Matt. 4:10; Luke 5:8). As have the other tempters, the Third Tempter leaves Becket to his fate,
declaring, "I shall not wait at your door" (p. 34)-an allusion to the depiction of sin in Gen. 4:7: "[S]in is lurking at the
door; its desire is for you, but you must master it." At this point, it would appear that Becket has done so.

The Fourth Tempter comes closest to luring Becket away from the mission he knows he must fulfill. No doubt his
unexpected arrival accounts for some of his power over Becket-as the Archbishop says, "I expected / Three visitors,
not four" (p. 35), perhaps because Jesus only wrestled with three temptations in the Gospel narratives of Matthew and
Luke (cited numerous times above)-but much of this Tempter's near-success must also be attributed to the fact that he
seems closest to being Becket himself. When Becket asks the Tempter's identity, he does so in a way that indicates
this truth: "Who are you, tempting me with my own desires?" (p. 39). Or again, when Becket accuses this last Tempter,
"You only offer / Dreams to damnation," the Tempter responds, "You have often dreamt them" (p. 40). He even uses
Becket's earlier words against him ("You know and do not know, what is to act or suffer," etc., pp. 40-41). Thus, the
Fourth Tempter would seem to be Eliot's way of externally dramatizing Becket's inner struggles. The Tempter strives
to persuade Becket to pursue the path of martyrdom, but for ultimately selfish reasons: for instance, "think of glory
after death. Think of pilgrims, standing in line / Before the glittering jewelled shrine." (pp. 37-38)-the last perhaps a sly
reference to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales as well as the historical fact of the multitude of pilgrims who traveled to
Canterbury to do homage at Becket's shrine. "King is forgotten, when another shall come," the Tempter tells Becket;
but "Saint and Martyr rule from the tomb" (p. 38). The appeal is to more than Becket's alleged, much-talked about
pride; it is an appeal to a desire to break free of the "wheel" (p. 38) of time itself. This alternative is imagined as
Becket, in effect, canonizing himself: the Tempter asks him the rhetorical question, "What can compare with the glory
of Saints / Dwelling forever in presence of God?" (p. 39). The Tempter, in other words, tempts Becket to seize the
honor of sainthood for himself. He wants the archbishop to be proud-to embrace a martyr's fate for an ulterior motive.
Interestingly, to do so would be for Becket to be an anti-Christ figure, as Jesus "did not regard equality with God as
something to be exploited" (Phil. 2:6)-or "grasped," in other translations.

Yet that wheel, that pattern, is an order to which Becket firmly belongs. He cannot escape from it, any more than can
the women of Canterbury; he, however, knows that his purpose is not to escape it but to interrupt it; as discussed
above, his role is to bring an "end," a true "peace," a state of life-no longer "living and partly living"-in which the wheel
once again turns, in which the unjust status quo has been disrupted. As far as becoming a saint is concerned, Becket
knows that, like the office of high priest as described in the New Testament, sainthood is not an honor one presumes
to take for oneself (see Heb. 5:4)-one must be called to it, as God is calling Becket. For all of his supposed "pride,"
then, Becket sees this fourth temptation for the temptation to pride that it is: "I know well that these temptations / Mean
present vanity and future torment" (p. 40). He does not seek to make his role in God's pattern anything but what God
means it to be. Becket is accused of being proud-by the Fourth Tempter, by the priests-but he is actually anything but.

Thus, Becket's final speech in Part I-which includes the famous couplet, "The last temptation is the greatest treason: /
To do the right deed for the wrong reason" (p. 44)-expresses his coming to terms, humbly and appropriately, with his
fate. Becket recognizes, as did the apostle Paul before him (e.g., Romans 7:7), that "[s]in grows with doing good" and
the "[s]ervant of God has chance of greater sin" (p. 45). Nonetheless, he must strive to "serve the greater cause" (p.
45), regardless of how it looks to others (e.g., "What yet remains to show you of my history / Will seem to most of you
at best futility," p. 45).

Theme Analysis
In its assessment of Eliot's importance to modern English literature, A Literary History of England (New York:
Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1967; ed. Albert C. Baugh) argues that a shift from despair to hope-a change from "the
'inert resignation' of those who breathe the small, dry air of modern spiritual emptiness" to something more positive
and potentially transcendent-can first be detected in Eliot's "Ash-Wednesday" (1930), "of which the theme is the
search for peace found in humble and quiet submission to God's Will" (p. 1587).

This theme, clearly an expression of the Anglo-Catholicism Eliot embraced during his life, appears again throughout
Murder in the Cathedral. It informs and breathes through the entire text of the play, as the commentary above has
demonstrated. In Murder in the Cathedral, the "inert resignation" of modern life manifests itself in the Chorus' refusal to
embrace transcendence: the women of Canterbury are content to go on "living and partly living." As they state, even
imploringly to Becket, on several occasions, they "do not wish anything to happen." They do not want the wheel of
God's pattern to begin turning. As do all moderns in Eliot's estimation, they "fear the injustice of men less than the
justice of God." They are not ready to live, as Becket was, "out of time."

Yet, through Becket as he portrays him, Eliot forcefully argues that such transcendence must be achieved. In keeping
with biblical testimony about the nature of spiritual power versus temporal power, however, Eliot posits that
transcendence cannot be achieved by force. It arises, not through utilitarian machinations (such as those the Four
Tempters propose to Becket in Part I), but by, in the Literary History's words, "humble and quiet submission to God's
Will." As Becket himself declares, "I give my life / To the Law of God above the Law of Man." His triumphant
affirmation of faith echoes the words of the New Testament: "Whether it is right in God's sight to listen to you rather
than to God, you must judge; for we cannot keep from speaking about what we have seen and heard" (Acts 4:19-20);
or again, "Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God?" (James 4:4). Only by valuing
"friendship"-i.e., a total alignment of mind and soul and will-with the spiritual, with God, over such friendship with the
world or the temporal order of the status quo, can "peace"-that elusive goal referred to throughout the play: in Becket's
fragile relationship with King Henry; as Becket's greeting to the Chorus in Parts I and II; as the turning of God's wheel
of providence-be found.

In this way, the themes of Murder in the Cathedral aptly crystallize the themes of Eliot's own life-long work.

Top Ten Quotes

1. For good or ill, let the wheel turn.
The wheel has been still, these seven years, and no good.
For ill or good, let the wheel turn.
For who knows the end of good or evil?
-Third Priest, Part I, p. 18

2. Temporal power, to build a good world,

To keep order, as the world knows order.
Those who put their faith in worldly order
Not controlled by the order of God,
In confident ignorance, but arrest disorder,
Make it fast, breed fatal disease,
Degrade what they exalt.
-Thomas, Part I, p. 30

3. Now is my way clear, now is the meaning plain:

Temptation shall not come in this kind again.
The last temptation is the greatest treason:
To do the right deed for the wrong reason.
-Thomas, Part I, p. 44

4. A Christian martyrdom is never an accident, for Saints are not made by accident. Still less is a Christian martyrdom
the effect of man's will to become a Saint, as a man by willing and contriving may become a ruler of men. A martyrdom
is always the design of God, for His love of men, to warn them and to lead them, to bring them back to His ways. It is
never the design of man; for the true martyr is he who has become the instrument of God, who has lost his will in the
will of God, and who no longer desires anything for himself, not even the glory of becoming a martyr.
-Thomas, Interlude, p. 49

5. Every day is the day we should fear from or hope from. One moment
Weighs like another. Only in retrospection, selection,
We say, that was the day. The critical moment
That is always now, and here. Even now, in sordid particulars
The eternal design may appear.
-Third Priest, Part II, p. 57

6. It is not I who insult the King

And there is higher than I or the King.
-Thomas, Part II, p. 65

7. But if you kill me, I shall rise from my tomb

To submit my cause before God's throne.
-Thomas, Part II, p. 66

8. Human kind cannot bear very much reality.

-Thomas, Part II, p. 69

9. You argue by results, as this world does,

To settle if an act be good or bad.
You defer to the fact. For every life and every act
Consequence of good and evil can be shown.
-Thomas, Part II, p. 73

10. For wherever a saint has dwelt, wherever a martyr has given his blood for the blood of Christ,
There is holy ground, and the sanctity shall not depart from it
Though armies trample over it, though sightseers come with guide-books looking over it.
-Chorus, Part II, p. 87

Metaphor Analysis

The wheel was a symbol, in medieval times, of the "wheel of life" or the "wheel of fortune,"
"which never stands still, being constantly subject to the turns of fate" (Dictionary of Symbolism,
p. 379). No doubt Eliot draws on these ancient associations in his text's multiple references to the
wheel, but he also subverts them by stating that, in fact, the wheel of fate-or, in Eliot's Anglo-
Catholic worldview, of God's providence and plan for history-has in fact been standing still
during Becket's seven-year absence from Canterbury. (As discussed earlier, the length of
Becket's exile is itself of metaphorical importance, since seven symbolizes totality and
completeness.) Becket's task is to set the wheel turning again: to take his part, willingly and
completely, in God's "pattern" (another word-image that occurs frequently in the text) so that the
wheel can resume turning and that "peace" can replace the mere existence of "living and partly
living."

The seasons also carry symbolic freight in Eliot's play. The most notable example is the Chorus'
invocations of the passage of the seasons at the beginning of Part I and then at the end of Part II.
At the beginning of the play, the passing seasons are in actuality one long season of waiting, one
endless Advent. But by the play's end, after Becket's martyrdom, the seasons in their cycle have
become part of human beings: "Even in us the voices of seasons . praise Thee." Eliot's use of
seasonal imagery will no doubt remind readers of his work in The Waste Land (1922). That epic
poem's first line, "April is the cruelest month," reinforces the poem's dominant mood of
pessimism in the face of what Eliot sees as the moral and spiritual bankruptcy of the then still-
young twentieth century. As in Murder in the Cathedral, the passage of the seasons in The
Waste Land is not a healthy cycle of life, death, and rebirth. Life has become stuck in "living and
partly living." Still, even The Waste Land was "not merely a poem of despair of the present but of
hope and promise for the future, since at the close the thunder speaks, foretelling the coming of
the life-giving rain" (Baugh, p. 1586). In a similar way, Murder in the Cathedral ends in hope-
although more tempered by a realization of humanity's reluctance and inability to, in Becket's
words, "bear too much reality." Still, the "redemption" of the seasons is an important symbolic
motif in the play, as it was in Eliot's earlier work.
Character Profiles

The Chorus:  an unspecified number of Canterbury's women, is a corporate

character serving the same purposes as does the chorus in Greek drama: to
develop and, more importantly, to comment on the action of the play. The
women's initial speech fairly defines their dramaturgic role: "We are forced to bear
witness." And yet this chorus, like its ancient Greek predecessors, is no mere,
dispassionate, objective "eyewitness"; rather, it is a witness bearing testimony to
truth-almost as in a legal proceeding, but that analogy fails to capture the
nature of the testimony the chorus offers. In commenting upon the action of
Thomas Becket's murder, the women are voicing insights into, reflections on,
and conclusions about time, destiny, and life and death. In the end, they emerge
as representatives of ordinary people-such as those who make up the audience
of the play, or its readership-people who, mired in and having settled for an
existence of "living and partly living," are unable to greet transcendence when it is
offered to them. As they state in the play's final moments, not everyone can bear
the "loneliness. surrender. deprivation" necessary to become a saint. Not all can
be saints-but all can pray for their intercession.

Thomas Becket:  is the Archbishop of Canterbury, former Chancellor to King

Henry II, now estranged from the monarch because he insists upon the right of
the Church to rule in spiritual matters-a rule that, in practice, has ramifications for
how the king ought to rule in temporal matters. Unlike the Chorus, Becket is able
to stare into the existential abyss-that "Void" behind death and judgment,
mentioned in Part II, that is "more horrid than active shapes of hell." Becket is
often accused of pride in the play, but he is actually humble in submitting himself
completely to the will of God as he comprehends it. His death offers a glimpse of
how transcendence can be achieved: the only question that remains is whether
the rest of humanity is able to trace the same path, to "give [its] life / To the Law
of God above the Law of Man."

The Four Tempters: present Becket, in Part I of the drama, with various ways of
avoiding his impending death as a martyr. Their temptations correlate, to one
degree or another, with the justifications of Becket's assassination offered to the
audience by The Four Knights at the end of the play. In a prefatory note to the
play's third edition (1937), Eliot indicated that the roles of the Tempters had been
intended to be doubled-that is, played by the same actors-as the roles of the
Knights, thus underscoring the connection between the two quartets in an even
stronger fashion.

The Three Priests:  serve the (admittedly little) dramatic action of Eliot's play,
particularly in Part II, when they urge Becket to bar the doors of the Cathedral
against the knights-although they characterize them as savage beasts-who seek
his life. They could thus be seen as representing the temporal order: indeed,
Becket at one point accuses them of thinking only as the world does-"You argue
by results, as this world does." On the other hand, the Priests also are capable of
offering insight into the spiritual order. For example, the Third Priest affirms the
Church's endurance in the face of world built on the ruins of the presumed
absence of God; and earlier, he offers a key interpretive insight by stating, "Even
now, in sordid particulars / The eternal design may appear." Like so many of us,
then, the priests have one foot, so to speak, in the spiritual and the other in the
temporal; and they struggle to balance the two orders as best they can, as do we
all. Unfortunately, according to the argument of Eliot's drama, there can ultimately
be no balancing: peace-that is to say, transcendence-is to be found only in the
complete submission to God's design, God's pattern, God's wheel of providence.
Mortals, say both Jesus and Eliot, cannot serve two masters-and so the Priests
are fundamentally impotent, unable to do anything but to pray to God with heavy
reliance upon the intercession of Saint Becket, as they, in their own way but like
the Chorus, go on "living and partly living."