T.S.

ELIOT MURDER IN THE CATHEDRAL

Murder in the Cathedral (sh. Ubistvo u katedrali) je historijska drama u stihu koju je napisao
engleski pjesnik T.S. Eliot i koja je praizvedena u Canterburyjskoj katedrali 15. juna 1935.
godine.
Radnja se temelji na stvarnim događajima, odnosno odigrava od 2. do 29. decembra 1170.
godine te opisuje događaje koji će kulminirati ubistvom Thomasa Becketa, nadbiskupa
Canterburyja koji je, zalažući se za primat crkvene nad svjetovnom vlašću došao u sukob
sa engleskim kraljem Henryjem II.
Murder in the Cathedral je napisana na poticaj Georgea Bella, anglikanskog biskupa
Chichestera koji je također uredio da se predstava odigra na autentičnom mjestu događaja
koje prikazuje. Dio autora vjeruje da je Eliot djelomično bio inspiriran političkim zbivanjima
u tadašnjoj Evropi, odnosno da je kroz motiv pojedinca koji se odupire tiranskoj vlasti i za
svoje stavove spreman umrijeti mučeničkom smrću izrazio vlastite bojazni vezane uz
rast fašizma i drugih totalitarnih pokreta. Eliot je, međutim, nekoliko godina kasnije izrazio
nezadovoljstvo kvalitetom svog djela.

Murder in the Cathedral Summary

Eliot wrote his play for an audience expected to know the historical story of Thomas Becket
and King Henry II. For that reason, a brief review of that story, contained in the "About
Thomas Becket and King Henry II" section of the Note, will greatly aid comprehension of
this summary.
Murder in the Cathedral opens in the Archbishop's Hall. A Chorus, comprising (including)
women of Canterbury, has gathered at the cathedral with some premonition (a strong feeling
that sth is about to happen) of a terrible event to come. In a long speech, they reflect on how
their lives are defined by suffering and reflect on their archbishop, Thomas Becket. He has
been in exile from England for seven years, after a terrible clash (conflict) with King Henry
II. The women worry that his return could make their lives more difficult by angering the
king.
Three priests enter the hall and also lament (mourn) Thomas's absence and debate the
ramifications (a consequence of an action or event) of his potential return. A Herald arrives,
bringing news that Thomas has indeed returned to England and will soon arrive in
Canterbury. The Herald quashes (reject or void) their hopes that Thomas's return indicates
reconciliation with Henry and confesses his own concern that violence is soon to follow the
archbishop's return.
Once the Heralds leave, the priests reflect on Thomas's time as Chancellor of England, when
he served as secular administrator under Henry. The Chorus, listening to the priests discuss
the matter, confess their disappointment at his return, which they believe will bring them
more suffering. They admit their lives are hard but predictable, and they would rather "perish
in quiet" than live through the turmoil (unrest) of new political and spiritual upheaval
(sudden change).

The Second Priest insults them and insists they fake happiness to welcome Thomas. However,
Thomas enters during this exchange and stresses that the priest is mistaken to chide (scold or
rebuke) them, since they have some sense of the difficulty that awaits them. He stresses that all
should submit to patience, since none can truly know God's plans or intentions.

A series of tempters enters, one by one, each attempting to compromise Thomas's integrity.
The First Tempter reminds Thomas of the libertine (characterized by a disregard of morality,
especially in sexual matters.) ways of his youth and tempts him to relinquish (voluntarily cease to
keep or claim; give up.) his responsibilities in favour of a more carefree life.

The Second Tempter suggests Thomas reclaim (povrati) the title of Chancellor, since he could do
more good for the poor through a powerful political post than he could as a religious figure.

The Third Tempter posits a progressive form of government, in which a ruler and barons work
together as a "coalition." In effect, he offers Thomas a chance to rule and break new ground in
government. Thomas easily rejects all three tempters; after all, they are forms of temptation that he
has already rejected in his life.

A Fourth Tempter enters and suggests the idea of martyrdom (the death or suffering of a martyr) ,
which he notes would give Thomas the greatest dominion over his enemies. He would be
remembered throughout the ages if he allowed himself to die for the church, while his enemies
would be judged and then forgotten by time. Thomas is shaken by this temptation, since it is
something he has often entertained in his private moments. He recognizes that to die for pride,
which is "the wrong reason," would compromise the integrity of a martyrdom, so he must overcome
that impulse if his death is to have meaning.

While he considers the dilemma, all of the characters thus far mentioned (except the Herald)
give a long address considering the uncertainty of life. When they finish, Thomas announces
that his "way [is] clear" – he will not seek martyrdom from fame, but instead will submit to
God's will. He has accepted his fate. Part I ends here.

Between Part I and Part II, Thomas Becket preaches (pripoveda) a sermon in an Interlude, in which
he restates the lesson he learned at the end of Part I. The Interlude is set in the cathedral on
Christmas morning, 1170. In the sermon, Thomas considers the mystery of Christianity, which both
mourns and celebrates the fact of Christ's death – Christians mourn the world that made it
necessary, while celebrating the sacrifice that enables others to transcend that world. He suggests
that the appreciation of martyrs (a person who is killed because of their religious or other beliefs) is a
smaller version of that mystery, and defines "the true martyr [as] he who has become the
instrument of God, who has lost his will in the will of God, not lost it but found it, for he has found
freedom in his submission to God" (199). He closes his sermon by admitting he might not preach to
this congregation again.

The first scene of Part II is set in the Archbishop's Hall on December 29th, 1170. The terrified Chorus
begins with an ominous address, after which four boorish (rough and bad-mannered; coarse) knights
enter. They insist they are there on Henry's business from France and demand an audience with
Thomas despite attempts by the priests to distract them.

Thomas arrives and is immediately insulted and chided by the knights for what they perceive as
disloyalty toward Henry and misuse of the archbishop's position to incite opposition to England.
Thomas denies their interpretation of events but also reveals a serenity (the state of being calm,
peaceful, and untroubled) and readiness to die when necessary. The knights attempt to attack him
but are interrupted by the priests. A more specific political argument follows, during which Thomas
continues to deny their claims and insults them as overly concerned with petty, political matters.
Angry, the knights threaten the priests with death if they let Becket escape, and then the knights
leave.
The Chorus gives a brutal, evocative speech, and Thomas comforts them. He acknowledges
that by bearing necessary witness to the ritual of his death, their lives will grow more
difficult. But he maintains that they can find comfort in recollection on having been here this
fateful day.

As the knights approach again, the priests beg Thomas to flee, but he refuses. The knights
force him from the hall and into the cathedral, against his protestations. As the scene changes,
the women of the Chorus steel themselves for the death soon to follow.

The priests bar the doors, which the knights then begin to besiege. The priests' arguments do not
convince Thomas, who accuses them of thinking too much of cause-and-effect, rather than accepting
God's plan. Finally, the priests open the door and the knights drunkenly enter. They demand Thomas
lift all the excommunications (the action of officially excluding someone from participation
in the sacraments and services of the Christian Church) he has put upon English rulers. He
refuses, and they murder him. While Thomas is being murdered, the Chorus gives a long, desperate
address lamenting the life they will now have to lead in the shadow of Thomas's martyrdom.

After the murder is done, the four knights address the audience directly. They wish to explain
themselves and defend their actions. The First Knight admits he has no facility for argument,
and so acts as an MC to introduce the other knights. The Second Knight says he understands
how the audience and history will hate them, but begs the audience to realize the knights
were "disinterested" in the murder; they were merely following orders that were necessary for
the good of England (216). The Third Knight presents a long, complex argument suggesting
that Becket was guilty of betraying the English people and hence was killed justly.
The Fourth Knight suggests that Becket willed his own death by pursing martyrdom for the
sake of pride, and hence is guilty of suicide, making the knights not guilty of murder.
Once the knights leave, the priests lament Thomas's death and worry about what the world
will become. The Chorus gives the final speech, revealing that they have accepted their duty
as Christians. They acknowledge that living up to the sacrifice Thomas made is difficult, but
that they will be spiritually richer for undertaking this challenge, and they beg mercy and
forgiveness from Thomas and God.

Murder in the Cathedral Character List

Thomas
Thomas Becket is the Archbishop of Canterbury and former Chancellor of England.
Historically, he stood up against Henry II's demands that the Church subsume (podvesti) its
authority to Henry's secular power, and ultimately died for the cause. In the play, he is
represented as an overly proud and sanctimonious (pobozan) man who nevertheless
transcends his weakness to accept martyrdom as God's will.
Chorus
The chorus of Murder in the Cathedral comprises the women of Canterbury. Poor, common,
and plain, these women have lived a difficult but manageable life since Thomas was sent into
exile seven years before the play begins. Though they are Catholic and respect the
archbishop, they are also worried that his return will bring them a new level of spiritual
burden. The play examines the way they come to accept their spiritual responsibilities
through the example of Thomas's martyrdom.
Herald
A messenger who brings word that Thomas Becket has returned to England and will soon arrive in
Canterbury. He has a premonition (a strong feeling that something is about to happen, especially
something unpleasant) that Thomas's return presages violence.

First Priest
A nameless priest of Canterbury, characterized by his excessive mournfulness and worry. He
continually sees the situation of Becket's return as one that can bring trouble for his people
and their country.

Second Priest
A nameless priest of Canterbury, characterized by his pragmatism. He examines Becket's return
based on its political ramifications (a consequence of an action or event, especially when complex or
unwelcome) and notes how Becket's clash with Henry reflects issues of land ownership and power,
rather than spiritual dominion.

Third Priest
A nameless priest of Canterbury, characterized by his patience. Whereas the other priests
worry about how Becket's return will change their lives, the Third Priest suggests that, as no
human can understand the way the universe works, so should they remain patient and allow
God to work his will upon the world.

First Tempter
The first man to tempt Thomas identifies himself as Old Tom. He is a friend from Becket's
early, carefree days, and he tempts Thomas with the possibility of relinquishing (give up) his
responsibilities in favour of a more libertine lifestyle.

Second Tempter
The second man to tempt Thomas identifies himself as a political ally from Thomas's days as
Chancellor. He tempts Thomas to resume his role as Chancellor, arguing that Thomas could
do more good for the poor through secular power than he ever could as a priest.

Third Tempter
Thomas does not know the third tempter, who identifies himself as a simple baron. He tempts
Thomas with the possibility of ruling the country via a coalition that would split control
between the nominal ruler and the barons.

Fourth Tempter
The Fourth Tempter is unexpected. Using subtle arguments, he tempts Thomas with the
possibility of courting martyrdom for the sake of his reputation and glory. His temptation is
powerful because it touches on something Thomas has wished in his private moments. By
denying this temptation, Thomas prepares himself to accept martyrdom for the right reason.

First Knight
Though none of the four knights is particularly individualized before Becket's murder, the
First Knight gives his name as Reginald Fitz Urse afterward when he addresses the audience.
He claims he is a not a man of eloquence, and so mostly serves as a narrator during the
knights' speeches.
Second Knight
Though none of the four knights is particularly individualized before Becket's murder, the
Second Knight is introduced as William de Traci afterward. He presents an emotional
argument, asking for pity on the grounds that, though the knights committed the murder, they
were "disinterested" and merely did what was necessary for the English people as ordered by
their king.
Third Knight
Though none of the four knights is particularly individualized before Becket's murder, the
Third Knight is introduced as Hugh de Morville afterward. He presents a long, detailed
argument that Becket was guilty of great offenses against the English people, and hence was
it legal to murder him.
Fourth Knight
Though none of the four knights is particularly individualized before Becket's murder, the
Fourth Knight is introduced as Richard Brito afterward. He presents the most subtle
argument, claiming that Becket essentially committed suicide by facilitating his murder, and
hence the knights are innocent of the crime.
Henry
King Henry II, though not a speaking character in the play, is a large influence on the action.
Historically, he was an impetuous king who wanted to subsume the various factions of
English power under the crown; the most contentious of these was the church, led in England
by Thomas Becket. The knights arrive in his name, and he is cited frequently by those in the
play who try to understand Becket's past and character.
Pope
Though not a speaking character in the play, Pope Alexander figures prominently.
Historically, he was protecting Thomas Becket at the time of this play's action, allowing the
archbishop to announce excommunications upon the English church. His protection is one of
the many barriers between Thomas and Henry, and it gives Thomas a defense against the
knights.

Murder in the Cathedral Themes

Martyrdom
One of the most explicit philosophies Eliot explores is what constitutes (predstavlja) a true
Christian martyr (mucenika). As Thomas explains in his Interlude sermon, a martyr is not
merely one who dies for God, but rather one who allows himself to be "the instrument of
God" . He argues that a martyr is not made by accident, but rather by God's will. Thomas's
journey in Part I is marked by his acceptance that he wants to seek martyrdom for the sake of
his pride and worldly glory, and his subsequent willingness to rid himself of those desires and
to die solely for God's cause. Further, the play explores martyrdom in terms of how it impacts
the true believers who come afterward. The chorus must come to terms with the fact that a
martyr's death saddles them with a burden to validate the sacrifice through their own lives. In
many ways, a true martyr must die as Christ did – because God wills it – and those Christians
who follow are expected to subsume their own lives in service of God for that reason.
Time
The question of time runs throughout the entire play and informs the theology behind
Thomas's recognition of his role as a martyr. Time is presented as an earthly (zemaljski),
human concern in the play. Time leads humans to think of events in terms of cause and
effect, and to therefore make decisions on the basis of efficiency and outcome. However, to
consider anything from this perspective allows a person to justify his actions, so that the
distinction between good and evil is blurred. Thomas considers that his decision – to
willingly submit himself to be an instrument of God's will – is a decision made outside of
time. It is not made for its effect, and in fact cannot be understood by any human, since no
human can understand God. Thomas suggests that from God's perspective, the limitations of
time do not apply. The play proposes that humans are tormented by the difficulties and
complications that time puts upon us, whereas ridding ourselves of our personalities in order
to be God's instruments allows us to transcend those limitations.
"The wheel"
"The wheel" was a common image in medieval theology and helps us to understand the ideas
at work in [Murder in the Cathedral]. Associated primarily with the medieval thinker
Boethius, the wheel image posits that God sits at the center of a large wheel, and hence
understands the system behind its rotations. Humans, who live at various places along the
edge of the wheel, are confounded by those rotations and cannot glimpse the order behind
them. Thus, serenity comes in accepting that we can never understand the workings of the
universe and should instead endeavor to transcend our humanity so as to deserve God's
protection after death.
Thomas enters the play prepared to seek martyrdom for earthly reasons, but learns that he
must simply submit himself to God's control. In effect, he has to rid himself of his earthly
ambitions because they are necessarily flawed. Those ambitions cannot possibly take the
universe into account. One of the lessons Thomas learns – and which he teaches
the Chorus through his example – is that our lives of suffering and difficulty are illusions that
we overvalue. We can never understand them, and so we should not dwell on them. Instead,
we should focus on pleasing God, in faith that he knows why and how the wheel turns, and
will reward us for our faith in a way we could never reward ourselves because of our limited
perspectives.

Politics
Eliot aimed to craft a play built around ritual rather than around human psychology, and yet
the story of Thomas Becket is too heavily political to support a solely theological framework.
Politics are present throughout the play, from the exposition given by the priests before
Becket arrives to the arguments the knights make to Thomas and directly to the audience. To
some extent, these political elements are there to round out the story, to give an informed
audience its expected details. However, the political arguments also represent the aspect of
Thomas's personality that he must overcome in order to be worthy of true martyrdom. By
acknowledging Thomas's political nature and past, Eliot endows him with a palpable quality
that the audience will see him overcome. He wishes to be God's instrument, and so refuses to
concern himself with political questions. Interestingly, Thomas cannot help himself from
engaging in some political banter with the knights in Part II, which suggests that no person
can ever fully rid himself of his personality; he can only endeavor to do so up to the limits of
his humanity.

In terms of the chorus, the complicated politics stand in stark contrast to the reality of their
everyday lives. They are interested in political issues only insofar as they complicate the
suffering of their daily toil. By emphasizing the chorus so strongly in the midst of such a
political story, Eliot implicitly suggests that the nuances of politics are less valuable and
spiritual than the community of Christians who attempt to please God through their simple,
everyday lives.
Suffering
"Suffering" in the play has two meanings. In its most common usage, suffering means "to
undergo pain or distress." The horrific imagery of the chorus's speeches, as well as the detail
they give about their daily toil, stresses how much suffering they undergo. Because of this
suffering, they wish mostly be left alone. Eliot's ultimate message, of course, is that for true
spiritual fulfillment, we must not simply retreat into our earthly suffering, but rather
overcome it and devote ourselves to serving as God's instruments. However, the extent to
which he presents extreme suffering as a fact of life certainly informs the play's messages.

"Suffering" is also manifest through the dichotomy Thomas presents between "action" and
"suffering." In this context, suffering is best defined in terms of patience and waiting. From
this definition, the theme is less about overcoming physical distress and more about
remaining patient in the face of worldly events that we cannot understand. Thomas suggests
that some people act to change their fates, while some simply wait to see what happens. His
perfect middle road is an active patience, an active choice to be submissive before God's will.

Opposites
In a variety of ways, Eliot explores the theme of opposites: elements that contain a
contradiction within them. The most explicit manifestation of the theme is the mystery of
Christ's death, which is paralleled in the death of martyrs. As Thomas explains in his
Interlude sermon, Christians both celebrate and mourn these deaths. They mourn the wicked
world that makes those deaths necessary, while celebrating the bravery and glory of the
individuals who make the sacrifice. Likewise, there is a contradiction in what the chorus is
encouraged to accept in the play. They are promised a greater, more fulfilling existence if
they accept their burden in validating the sacrifices of martyrs, but this burden also makes
their lives more difficult. They cannot simply retire into their suffering, but must more
directly confront the limitations and difficulties of the physical world. Finally, Eliot explores
opposites through the chorus's speeches, especially in Part II, in which they continually posit
elements that are both positive and negative at once.

Responsibility
There are two emotional journeys in the play: that of Thomas and that of the chorus. Both of
these journeys entail accepting responsibility for spiritual transcendence. Thomas must accept
that his responsibility is greater than that which he owes to himself. He enters the play
prepared for martyrdom, but for the wrong reason: to bolster (ucvrstiti) his own pride and
reputation. His journey in Part I entails his realization that he must die as God's instrument,
so as not to waste the death. His responsibility to his church means he must rid himself of
personality and be submissive to God.

However, the chorus has a much more complex obligation. As they note many times, they are
powerless to impact their world. Instead, they merely hope for minimal interference into their
already-difficult lives of toil and struggle. What they prefer at the beginning of the play is an
existence of "living and partly living," a miserable but predictable life in which they are not
forced to take responsibility for anything other than their immediate survival. They even hope
Thomas will not return, since that will potentially make their lives more difficult by forcing
them to become more involved. They prefer to be complacent. Thomas poses a situation
where they have a share of the "eternal burden," where a martyrdom is meaningless without
an audience or congregation to sanctify it and validate it through their lives. The chorus is
frightened of the potential for being engaged and responsible, since a life of passion requires
them to more directly confront the iniquity of the world. Their journey in the play is learning
that their spiritual fulfillment will be greater even if their physical challenges intensify, and
so they accept their responsibility and ask God and Thomas to help them.

Murder in the Cathedral Quotes and Analysis

Seven years and the summer is over

Seven years since the Archbishop left us,

He who was always kind to his people.

But it would not be well if he should return.

King rules or barons rule;

We have suffered various oppression,

But mostly we are left to our own devices,

And we are content if we are left alone.

Chorus, p. 176
Here, the Chorus reveals their complicated feelings about Thomas and the Church. While
they lament his absence of seven years, noting that he was good to them, they worry about his
return. What concerns them most of all is the idea that their lives, already marred by
suffering, will grow more complicated. They do not consider themselves immersed in the
political world of kings and barons, and worry that any controversy Thomas stirs up by
returning will cause them trouble. This attitude – of miserable complacency over spiritual
responsibility – is what will change for them through the ritual of Thomas's sacrifice.
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, p. 179

Here, the Third Priest introduces the concept of the wheel and the theme of patience, when he
chides the other two priests for conjecturing so excitedly and anxiously about the effects of
Thomas's impending return. He is calmer than they, and stresses that they do not understand
the way God runs the world. He invokes the image of the wheel, which in medieval theology
represents how God sits at the center of a moving wheel while humans are on the edges.
Therefore, God understands the meaning and cause of rotations, whereas humans are
disoriented by its movement. Stipulating this as truth, the Third Priest insists they ought to
show patience and faith rather than concerning themselves with potential earthly causes
beyond their control. This philosophy is similar to that which Thomas will manifest in his
martyrdom.
Seven years we have lived quietly,
 Succeeded in avoiding notice,

Living and partly living.

There have been oppression and luxury,

There have been poverty and license,

There has been minor injustice.

Yet we have gone on living,

Living and partly living.

Chorus, p. 180
Here, the Chorus expands upon the extent of its complacency, and begin to expand on the
level of suffering they bear. The women of Canterbury admit that their lives are complacent
and unhappy – they must accept that their lives are comprised of "partly living." Their
persistence is less from strength than from necessity. Their pains are terrible but predictable.
Because of this attitude, all things – "oppression and luxury" – are shades of the same
lingering trouble. What is interesting is that the Chorus accepts this, and is more terrified of
the opposite option, which Thomas's death will give: the option to live a fuller, more engaged
and passionate life devoted to God. The cost of this second option would be more pain, since
they would have to confront the iniquity of the world head-on.
They know and do not know, what it is to act or suffer.

They know and do not know, that acting is suffering

And suffering is action. Neither does the actor suffer

Nor the patient act. But both are fixed

In an eternal action, an eternal patience

To which all must consent that it may be willed

And which all must suffer that they may will it,

That the pattern may subsist, for the pattern is the action

And the suffering, that the wheel may turn and still

Be forever still.

Thomas, p. 182
Thomas spells out one of the play's main conflicts when he chides the Second Priest for
speaking harshly to the Chorus right before his entrance. In the quote, he proposes a
dichotomy between acting and suffering. The former is action, best understood as an
individual's attempt to influence his own fate. The latter is suffering, best defined as "patience
to endure" rather than as a sensation of pain. It calls to mind the women of the Chorus, who
simply assume that what will come will come. Thomas stresses that these two opposites are
interlinked in the order of the universe, and invokes the concept of the wheel to suggest that
God alone understands its structure. Ultimately, he will accept in Part I a mindset of active
patience, one in which he wills himself to be submissive to God's will. By fully embracing
the contradiction, he comes closer to transcending the limits of human existence, thereby
nearing the serene existence God enjoys at the center of the wheel.
Real power

Is purchased at price of a certain submission.

Your spiritual power is earthly perdition.

Power is present, for him who will wield.

Thomas, p. 186
Thomas easily repudiates all of the first three tempters, but in this response to the Second
Tempter, he explains the serenity that allows him to so easily ignore them. He stresses a
dichotomy between power and submission. The Second Tempter has offered him palpable
power by suggesting he reclaim the mantle of Chancellor. However, Thomas suggests that
real power is inexorably linked with "submission." Active power must involve passive
submission; the opposites must be embraced. He admits that spiritual power means a difficult
life on Earth, but that spiritual power is not compromised. He is no longer interested in the
trappings of earthly power, which is why he can so easily defeat the Tempters who offer him
worldly temptations. He wishes to "wield" the greater Power known only to those who make
themselves available as God's instruments.
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, p. 196
The dramatic crux of Part I occurs in silence for the protagonist. As the Chorus, Priests, and
Tempters speak together about the uncertainty of life, Thomas retreats into himself to
consider the Fourth Tempter's promise that he could find glory if he wills martyrdom for
himself. When he speaks again, beginning a long speech with the above lines, he has firmly
committed to dying for the right reason. Thomas's arc in the play (which begins and ends in
Part I) is to first acknowledge that his pride is leading him towards "the right deed for the
wrong reason," and then to rid himself of the "self," the personality, that is keeping him from
being God's instrument. Once he speaks these words, Thomas will not be waylaid from his
purpose, and the Chorus becomes dramatically more important.
Have I not known, not known

What was coming to be? It was here, in the kitchen, in the passage,

In the mews in the barn in the byre in the market place

In our veins our bowels our skulls as well

 As well as in the plottings of potentates

As well as in the consultations of powers.

What is woven on the loom of fate

What is woven in the councils of princes

Is woven also in our veins, our brains,

Is woven like a pattern of living worms

In the guts of the women of Canterbury.

Chorus, p. 208
One quality Eliot gains by appropriating the structure of Greek tragedy for Murder in the
Cathedral is the evocation of the idea of fate, which he uses to reinforce the play's meaning.
Here, in an Act II speech of despair as the murder approaches, the Chorus acknowledges that
Thomas's impending martyrdom is known to them, which suggests that it was an inevitable
occurrence. This imbues it with a mythic power that raises the stakes for this Chorus, who
must decide whether to dedicate their lives towards being worthy of the sacrifice. They also
stress the existence of fate by suggesting that all humanity is small and powerless against
these greater forces. What they have felt in their "guts" is the same feeling that haunts
princes. What makes it most complicated of all is that Thomas's death is of course a
marvelous Christian sacrifice, and yet it is also a terrible event worthy of being compared to
"a pattern of living worms." As Thomas explains in his Interlude sermon, in martyrdom lies
the cause for both celebration and mourning.
You think me reckless, desperate and mad.

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.

And as in time results of many deeds are blended

So good and evil in the end become confounded.

It is not in time that my death shall be known;

It is out of time that my decision is taken

If you call that decision

To which my whole being gives entire consent.

I give my life

To the Law of God above the Law of Man.

 Thomas, p. 212
Thomas frequently stresses that his decision to accept an active patience by making himself
God's instrument is a decision out of time. He is not hemmed in by the limitation of time that
humans, on the exterior edge of the wheel, must confront. Here, as he chides the priests for
insisting he hide from the knights, he further details the earthly structure that he wishes to
repudiate. He notes how humans tend to see events in terms of their effects and to justify
whatever happens by its purpose. This focus on efficiency over goodness leads to
rationalization, wherein "many deeds are blended" and a human can justify his behavior
based on its outcome. The attack has particular resonance considering how well it aligns with
the political behavior that has defined Thomas's career as both Chancellor and Archbishop.
Thomas wishes to rid himself of such limiting thoughts and attempts to transcend to a higher
plane of awareness. The first step, however, is to ignore "the Law of Man," which is too
limited to achieve true goodness.
The speakers who have preceded me, to say nothing of our leader, Reginald Fitz Urse, have
all spoken very much to the point. I have nothing to add along their particular lines of
argument. What I have to say may be put in the form of a question: Who killed the
Archbishop?
Fourth Knight, p. 218
In his direct address to the audience after the Archbishop's murder, the Fourth Knight
provides a representative example of the rationalizations and cause/effect political systems
that Thomas wishes to repudiate by allowing himself to be martyred as God's tool. All four of
the knights speak in prose (as opposed to the usual verse) to convince the audience that they
are logically not guilty of Thomas's murder, but the Fourth Knight's argument is the most
subtle. This conforms to the subtle arguments of the Fourth Tempter, with whom the
character would have been double-cast. There is a fascinating disconnect between the Fourth
Knight's suggestion – "Who killed the Archbishop?" – and what the audience only moments
ago saw enacted on stage. Eliot is allowing the knights to tempt the audience, to give the
audience a chance to repudiate these logical, political, cause/effect arguments that Thomas
repudiated, to disavow the relativism of modernity in favor of a more serene and pure faith.
Forgive us, O Lord, we acknowledge ourselves as type of the common man,

Of the men and women who shut the door and sit by the fire;

Who fear the blessing of God, the loneliness of the night of God, the surrender required, the
deprivation inflicted;

Who fear the injustice of men less than the justice of God…

…Lord, have mercy upon us.

Christ, have mercy upon us.

Lord, have mercy upon us.

Blessed Thomas, pray for us.

Chorus, p. 221
In its final address, the Chorus reveals that it has indeed changed over the course of the play.
At the beginning, the women were most concerned with maintaining their status quo, which
involved much suffering but was predictable; it allowed them to ignore the larger world.
Through Thomas's example, they have recognized and accepted their share of the "eternal
burden": they must endeavor to confront the iniquity of the world and allow themselves to be
God's instruments. In their final speech, their only bright and positive speech in the play, they
acknowledge their previous shortcomings – they feared "the injustice of men less than the
justice of God" – and promise to attempt better. However, they know that most men and
women lack the fortitude of Christ or even of Thomas, and that they will need the forgiveness
and mercy of both figures. This speech thus ends in one of the most commonly repeated
phrases of Christianity: the Kyrie eleison, or "Lord, have mercy upon us; Christ, have mercy
upon us; Lord, have mercy upon us."

Murder in the Cathedral Summary and Analysis of Part I (up to Becket's entrance)
Summary
The first part of the play is set in the Archbishop's Hall on December 2nd, 1170.
The Chorus – which comprises women of Canterbury, all commoners – enter and stand near
the cathedral. They are uncertain what has drawn them to this place, but have a sense that
something great and terrible will soon occur. They are extremely pessimistic about their lives
and their potential for happiness. They explain that they are accustomed to suffering. In
extremely poetic tones, they describe how the landscape has wizened as winter has come:
"the land became/brown sharp points of death in a waste of water and mud" (175).
They then reflect on Thomas Becket, their Archbishop. It has been seven years since Thomas
left in exile, and since then, they "have suffered various oppression,/ But mostly [they] are
left to [their] own devices." They live a life that avoids controversy and conflict, since they
are thereby left alone by people in power, even if that life has its share of misery. They are
particularly concerned about the impending tragedy that they sense is coming, for it will
cause them additional and undue challenges. They speak of spring as "ruinous" and summer
as "disastrous." Realizing that God controls destiny and that neither they nor "statesman" can
influence it, they resign themselves to simply "wait and to witness" (176-177).
Three priests enter the hall. The First Priest repeats the lament that Thomas has been gone
seven years, and the Second Priest wonders aloud whether the religious power of Thomas and
the Pope has any impact on the political intrigues that exist between the English
King Henry and the French King. The Third Priest speaks harshly of worldly political
concerns, since they are motivated by greed and personality rather than by justice. The First
Priest worries that the "poor at the gate" (the Chorus) will be left behind in their spiritual
lives because of such political chaos (177).
A Herald arrives, bringing news that Thomas has returned to England and will soon arrive in
Canterbury. The First Priest hopes his return means he has made peace with Henry, but
worries it might also mean impending war. The Herald confirms that Thomas has returned
not because of a new peace, but from "pride and sorrow," backed by the French King, the
Pope, and the legions of English people who celebrate him in the streets. Though no war has
been declared, the Herald remembers Thomas's last words to Henry before his exile – "I leave
you as a man/Whom in this life I shall not see again" – and worries this means violence will
soon follow his return (178). The Herald then leaves.
The First Priest immediately expresses his worry. He remembers how, when Thomas was
Chancellor, he was "flattered by the King" but hated by the barons whose affairs he oversaw.
In particular, it was Thomas's excessive virtue that made him both effective as Chancellor
and hated by the barons, since that sanctimony left him "always isolated." The Second Priest
insists that Thomas will give them political guidance and tell them how they should feel. The
Third Priest begs for patience – "let the wheel turn… For who knows the end of good or
evil?" (179).

The Chorus, who has listened to this entire exchange, does not wish to be embroiled in these
questions. Instead, they wish for Thomas to return to France, since his return means they will
be confronted by difficulty. They wish to simply "perish in quiet." They give a long litany of
their daily lives, explaining the many challenges, miseries, and difficulties that have
confronted them during the past seven years, and still they have gone on "living and partly
living" (180). Though it is not a pleasant life, they understand it, whereas the disaster that
might follow Thomas's return is beyond their comprehension. They repeat their desire for
him to return to France and leave them to an existence of "living and partly living."

The Second Priest insults them for this attitude and asks them to "put on pleasant faces" to
greet Thomas, who is soon to return (182).

Analysis
In telling the Becket story, Eliot drew less upon biographical material than upon classical
forms of drama to explore his themes. In this opening section, before the protagonist enters,
the play already establishes the dramatic context in which Becket's ultimate question – how
will I accept martyrdom? – is staged. Here, Eliot establishes his use of Greek tragedy,
medieval theology, and poetic verse as the tools to understanding his version of Becket.
Additionally, the play's most central themes are introduced even before Becket enters.

The most notable influence on Eliot's style in Murder in the Cathedralis Greek tragedy. As
noted below, he is not relying on a pastiche, and so any attempts to deliberately relate his
structure to that of a tragedy are imperfect. However, by consciously appropriating some
signature elements of tragedy (particularly from the early tragedies written by Aeschylus),
Eliot provides some insight into his perspective.
Arguably the most important element of the play is the Chorus. In Greek tragedy, a chorus
played a central purpose. Certainly, the heroes of Greek tragedies were 'great' men or women,
people of power, prestige, and great ambitions. Even when the heroes were not entirely moral
or just, they had big personalities and confronted life with strength and gusto. The chorus was
important because it provided a context into which the decisions of these 'great men' were
made. Their poetic speeches allowed the playwright to comment on the action, in effect
explaining to the audience how he interpreted the myth he was telling. The chorus was also
important because it allowed the actual theatre audience to be part of the action. Because a
chorus typically comprised common characters, the audience became engaged in the action of
the myth. They were given a mouthpiece. As Nietzsche explains in his Birth of Tragedy, the
chorus both separated the audience and immersed them in the action, since it allowed them
characters with whom they could emotionally relate.
From the beginning of Murder in the Cathedral, the women of Canterbury function in much
the same way. Their speeches are often touted as the most magnificent of the play, and many
scholars believe it is through the chorus that Eliot creates the only lasting drama of the play.
These claims rely on the basic question that the women raise – is it better to live a life of
acceptable misery, or to challenge the order of life in hope of something better? The former is
not pleasant, but it's predictable and easy to understand, even for a common person. The latter
can promise some great reward, but requires a passionate refusal to accept the status quo. At
the beginning of this play, the women are firmly committed to the former option. They would
prefer an existence of "living and partly living" to one of fiery passion and spiritual
responsibility. It is useful to understand this perspective at the top, since the play's dramatic
momentum will involve not only a change in Thomas, but also a change in the Chorus by the
end.
One other effect of using a Greek chorus in the play is to introduce the theme of fate. The
Chorus suggests a supernatural sense to the impending events, since they have felt themselves
drawn toward the cathedral. In other words, they have not chosen to come but instead feel as
though they are being controlled by God's hand. Because the Greek plays were so reliant on
an understanding of fate, the use of a chorus implies the same sense. This is extremely
important to understand even before Thomas's entrance, since the story of Thomas and Henry
is often told in terms of individual personality conflicts. By aligning the events to come with
a fate controlled by God, Eliot announces that his intention will be less to explore the
psychology of individuals than to explore the forces by which God runs the universe.

There is a certain social commentary in the use of the chorus as well. Their desire to go on
living in comfortable misery rather than in passionate conflict comes partly from their belief
that they do not control anything in the temporal world. The wars and personality conflicts of
kings and archbishops bring torment to their lives, even though they have no hand in shaping
these events. Eliot is not overly optimistic about the strength of the common mob, and the
extremely violent imagery they use in their speeches proves this. Instead, Eliot reveals how
terribly the common mob is affected by the 'great' men of tragedy. His play will not empower
the Chorus in the temporal realm, but rather their growth in the play will involve a spiritual
purpose, one they do not yet recognize in this opening.

Though they are higher in social stature, the priests are mostly powerless as well in this
opening. They are equally reliant on events outside their control – namely, the return of
Thomas Becket and what that will mean for the conflict between church and state. By not
naming his priests (or any of his characters except for Thomas), Eliot suggests his intention to
tell a mythic story rather than an individual one. Again, his story will explore the spiritual
weight of Becket's martyrdom rather than its social or psychological factors. However, the
priests do delineate the particulars of these social factors in a way that confronts Eliot's
audience with the different interpretations of the murder.

The First Priest is defined by his mournfulness and worry. He is supremely concerned about
what trouble might come from the Archbishop's return. This perspective conforms to those
who think of Becket's story as one of immovable personalities. The world cannot handle
these great men at odds. The Second Priest is more pragmatic and focused on the social and
political impact of Thomas's return. He interprets the clash with Henry as being about land
ownership and political power. This relates to a common reading of Becket's story: at its core,
it is about politics, power, and wealth.

The Third Priest offers the philosophy most aligned with Eliot's: he is patient. He recognizes
that they should "let the wheel turn." The "wheel" is a common image from medieval
theology. Traced to medieval philosopher Boethieus, the wheel suggests that God sits at the
center of a wheel so that He understands all action in the world, while we exist on varying
spots of the wheel, unaware of what the force turning the wheel means. In other words,
understanding is beyond our control as humans. We argue and attempt to understand the
import of Becket's personality, politics, and religiosity, and yet we understand nothing. What
Becket will soon do – die for a cause – is much greater than its physical and social factors. In
fact, the only way to understand it is to approach it from a higher plane, from the center of the
wheel. Naturally, such understanding is impossible for mortal humans, but we must
acknowledge our own limitations before even attempting the task of transcendence. Eliot has
often cited the medieval allegory Everyman as his primary influence in Murder in the
Cathedral, and one can see this influence both in his use of verse and in the expression of this
medieval theology.
Both the priests and the Chorus introduce the play's primary thematic conflict in this opening:
action vs. suffering. When the Chorus says, "For us, the poor, there is no action,/But only to
wait and to witness," they are expressing the main dilemma all humans face in life, according
to Eliot (177). Do we attempt to act, to influence things usually beyond our control, or do we
simply wait and watch what comes? Both choices have a downside, and Thomas will explore
how this theme resonates both in our lives and in his martyrdom in the subsequent sections.
Both the Priests and Chorus will learn over the course of the play that to witness something is
to be involved in it.

The opening also does important work in establishing Thomas's character, as Eliot sees it.
This is done primarily in the First Priest's description of Thomas as Chancellor. What he
describes is a man too taken by pride over his own virtue. Thomas's sanctimony left him
"always isolated… always insecure." This sanctimony and pride help the audience understand
the flaw that Thomas will have to overcome in order to die a true, holy martyr. In effect, this
sets up Thomas's dramatic conflict in the play.

Finally, it is worth establishing the various poetic devices Eliot uses in the play. There is a
deliberately archaic quality to Murder in the Cathedral. In addition to the medieval theology
already discussed, Eliot's use of verse marks the play as something non-modern, which is
particularly relevant considering the fame he had reached for modernist works like The
Wasteland earlier in his career. There are two ways to understand this. The first is that the
verse links his story to the liturgy of a mass. Many scholars have spent time dissecting the
ways that Eliot's structure parallels that of a Catholic or Anglican mass, which has a similar
dichotomy to that of Greek tragedy. While the higher figures are on stage dictating a
philosophy, the audience is not meant to be passive, but instead is included in the action.
Without an audience/congregation to respond to the liturgy, the ritual has no impact. By using
verse, Eliot stresses that he considers his play to be less story than ritual action, through
which an audience will be transformed much as the Chorus will be transformed.
The verse's shifts can help us understand character. Sometimes, characters will rhyme (it does
not happen in this opening section), which indicates a suaveness or confidence. Another
example can be found in the "living and partly living" speech that the Chorus gives. Notice
how during their litany of misery, the verse uses short lines and the repetition of "living and
partly living." This call-and-response structure gives the speech a sense of order. It contrasts
with the lines that begin with, "But now a great fear is upon us…" Thomas's return brings the
fear of chaos, and the lines therefore grow longer and less structured. Eliot frequently uses
verse to such effect.

Finally, Eliot constantly uses literary elements. In his essay "Hamlet and His Problems," Eliot
introduced a literary concept called the "objective correlative," in which an objective element
reflects the interior state of a character. The Chorus shows frequent use of the objective
correlative in the way it describes the seasons. They are ironically plagued by summer and
comforted by the ravages of winter, which symbolizes their preference of quiet misery over
loud conflict. The heat of summer parallels the heat of a passion they would like to avoid, and
so it makes sense that the summer is so brutal. Many of their subsequent descriptions of
landscapes or weather reflect their fears. Similarly, they tend to personify Earth, to see it as
moving beyond their control. It plagues or rewards them as it sees fit, as though the Earth
itself were an individual.
Murder in the Cathedral Summary and Analysis of Part I (after Becket's entrance)
Summary
The scene is continuous from the previous section. Thomas Becket enters having heard the
priest's admonishment of the Chorus for expressing dread instead of joy over Becket's arrival.
He notes that they in fact "speak better than they know," and he lays out an important
philosophy for the play:
They know and do not know, what it is to act or suffer.

They know and do not know, that acting is suffering

And suffering is action. Neither does the actor suffer

Nor the patient act. (182)

The Second Priest apologizes for not preparing more adequately for Thomas's return but
assures him that they have prepared his former chambers for him. Thomas thanks him but is
unconcerned with it. He tells them how he snuck past the barons who would have stopped his
return. He begs them to be patient, since he believes greater things will soon occur.
A man, the First Tempter, enters. He identifies himself as Old Tom, one of Becket's former
friends, and speaks nostalgically about "the good times" of the past. Mistaking Becket's
return as a sign that the Archbishop and King have resolved their argument, he expresses his
anticipation for the "gaiety" to come. Thomas quickly disabuses him of the notion, insisting
he is no longer a carefree young man. The First Tempter then warns him that such "proud"
sternness will cost him greatly and reminds him that "the easy man lives to eat the best
dinners" (183-184). In effect, he is tempting Thomas to drop his sternness and responsibilities
so as to enjoy an easier, more luxurious life. Thomas remains firm in his refusal of the
temptation and the man leaves.
Thomas considers aloud how the man's offer was tempting even though it would have been
impossible to accept. The Second Tempter enters and identifies himself as someone Thomas
met years before when the latter was still Chancellor. He tempts Thomas by suggesting
Thomas "guide the state again," thereby reclaiming his former power and glory (185). When
Thomas points out that he is a man of God, the Second Tempter reminds him that the
Chancellor is actually more immediately powerful than the King (since he carries out the
laws), and Thomas could therefore do good works like "protect the poor" with more
expediency than he does as Archbishop. Thomas is angered by the man's insistence that he
can have more power (186). Thomas argues that he would lose virtue as Chancellor because
of compromises he would have to make with corrupt barons and bishops. He then insists his
power is greater as Archbishop, since from that vantage he is placed "to condemn kings, not
serve among their servants." Bested, the Second Tempter leaves and Thomas reminds himself
that worldly power is inherently limited.
A Third Tempter arrives and claims he is "unexpected," a claim Thomas denies (187). The
temper identifies himself as "a country-keeping lord" and "rough straightforward
Englishman," more interested in his business than in politics. He tells Thomas that there is no
chance of reconciliation with Henry, but that he and other barons will help him overthrow the
King. Believing that Becket's connection to Rome will give them legitimacy, he wants to
create a coalition with Thomas at its head. However, Thomas easily rejects him, remembering
how such "wolves" used to sit at his door constantly when he was Chancellor. The man
leaves and Thomas tells himself, "if I break, I must break myself alone" (190).
The Fourth Tempter arrives and is genuinely unexpected by Thomas. He is deliberately
mysterious about his identity, saying, "I always precede expectation," and "I do not need a
name… You know me, but have never seen my face" (190). When Thomas asks him to
speak, the tempter briefly agrees with Thomas's replies to the previous tempters and then
suggests that Thomas should die for his beliefs. By becoming a martyr, the Fourth Tempter
suggests, Thomas will "bind/King and bishop under [his] heel." The tempter's argument is
that the world of "temporal power" is transient and unfixed, whereas the prestige of
martyrdom is eternal and all-powerful (191). Thomas admits he has considered this path
before, and the tempter reveals that he knows the Archbishop's deepest fears: Thomas is
afraid he will not only be hated until his death, but also become irrelevant in the face of
history. The tempter reminds Thomas that martyrdom will make his enemies irrelevant in the
face of history, and Thomas rebukes him as offering nothing but "dreams to damnation"
(193). Thomas begins to despair at being faced with his deepest, most shameful fantasies.
The tempter throws his philosophy about "acting" and "suffering" back into his face,
repeating the speech almost verbatim.
As Thomas is silent in his pain, the Chorus considers how there is "no rest" to be had in this
situation. They feel affected by the uncertainty. The Four Tempters then address the audience
in verse, suggesting that "all things are unreal," and that Thomas is doomed, "lost in the
wonder of [his] own greatness." The priests address Thomas directly, begging him not to
fight against "the intractable/tide" (194).

All the characters except for Thomas then give a long address, with lines alternating between
the Chorus, the priests, and the tempters. Together, they consider the uncertainty of life and
death and the lack of discernible order to the universe. The Chorus breaks from the shared
address and begs Thomas for "some reason, some hope." In a reprise of their "living and
partly living" speech, they tell him they have known misery and that they feel "The Lords of
Hell" in the air, but beg him, "save us, save us, save yourself that we/may be saved;/Destroy
yourself and we are destroyed" (195-196).

Thomas has made up his mind. He announces that the "way [is] clear" and "the meaning
plain." He acknowledges the danger of the Fourth Tempter, who begged him "to do the right
deed for the wrong reason." He tells how he once sought only pleasure and fame in life and
never wanted to devote his life to God. In fact, he always feared that by devoting his life to
the highest purpose of God, he might be more inclined to use that power and authority
corruptly. He acknowledges that by accepting martyrdom, he might be judged harshly by
history, but that nobody can control such things. He announces his decision: he will "no
longer act or suffer," and will instead face `his martyrdom not as something he wants, but as
something he is willing to accept (196-197). He has accepted his fate.

Analysis
Many critics believe Eliot achieves the sum of his purpose in Act I. Thomas enters the play a
hero with a destiny before him, is tempted to hide from that destiny, and ultimately
overcomes not only those temptations but even his own weaknesses in deciding to accept
martyrdom for what he sees as the right reason. In a sense, the entire play is encapsulated in
this second half of Act II.

It is useful to recognize the influence of Greek tragedy on Eliot's creation of Thomas. Part of
the Aristotelian conception of tragedy was that a 'great' man would brave challenges that
attempted to waylay him from accepting his fate. Even though Greek tragedies ended poorly
for their heroes, audiences were meant to respond to the bravery with which these heroes
accepted their deaths. While the concept of a 'tragic flaw' is often overstated, it is worth
mentioning that these heroes often were defined by a characteristic quality that both aided
and hampered their journey toward accepting their fate.

Thomas is easily analyzed according to these terms. Eliot was not interested in creating a
realistic, psychological depiction of the saint. As some critics have noted, the play was
intended to be performed in the expansive cathedral of Canterbury, which would have made
any audience connection with an individual almost impossible, since the human form would
be dwarfed in those surroundings. Instead, Eliot depicts Thomas more as a myth, in the same
way that Orestes or Oedipus would have been seen by a Greek audience. The Easter audience
for whom Eliot wrote would have known the end of this story from the moment the play
started, much as Greek audiences would have know the basic plot of their myths. So the
experience of Murder in the Cathedral is about relating to a hero who has to accept his fate as
a martyr. The dramatic struggle is not whether Thomas will die, but rather how he will accept
that death.
The primary challenge that confronts Thomas in accepting this fate is his version of a 'tragic
flaw' – his pride and moral superiority. These are the very qualities that made Thomas an
effective Chancellor and now empower him to so passionately defend his Church. However,
this pride is also his biggest obstacle. As we learn from the Fourth Tempter, Thomas is more
than willing to die for the Church. The issue – a moral issue, not a practical one – is whether
he will die "for the wrong reason." To die for the sake of glory, to feed his pride and grant
himself immortality, would be to compromise the death. Instead, Thomas has to die for the
right reason: because God wills it. He must rid himself of a 'self,' ignore his own feelings and
totally subsume himself to the will of God. It is this acceptance that constitutes the dramatic
momentum of Part I.
Like a Greek tragedy or a medieval allegory like Everyman, the structure of Murder in the
Cathedral is quite simple in its episodic shape. Thomas confronts Four Tempters, who offer
various challenges to his ultimate goal of accepting martyrdom for the right reason. By
tracing through their offers, one can understand the various challenges that Thomas must
overcome. The first three tempters do not offer much in terms of dramatic tension. Not only
has Thomas already rejected what they have to offer in his life, but the audience would also
know he has already rejected them. Their effect is largely expositional: by revealing what
Thomas has rejected, they can remind the audience of Becket's past. The First Tempter offers
Thomas the carefree dalliance of youth, a past Thomas historically would have known as far
back as his time studying in Paris. Thomas was known for his high taste in fine things, and
this tempter reminds him that those things still exist. The Second Tempter offers earthly
power. He promises to have Thomas reinstated as Chancellor and appeals to Thomas's pride
and virtue by suggesting that a Chancellor can do more with laws than a priest can with
pronouncements. He also reminds the audience of how effective Thomas was as Chancellor.
The Third Tempter offers a vision of the future in which Thomas will not only rule, but rule
via a new system of government. This tempter's evocation of a 'coalition,' a political concept
that would have been impossible in the feudal era in which Becket and Henry lived, is a nod
to Eliot's modern era.
Again, these tempters can be seen as superfluous to the drama, since there is never truly any
chance that Thomas will accept their temptations. And yet they still do much to enrich the
play. The first purpose they achieve is a stress on Becket's pride, the flaw he must overcome
in order to peacefully accept martyrdom for the right reason. All three appeal to that quality,
albeit in different ways. The first appeals to Becket's love of his body (physical pleasures),
the second appeals to his love of control (Chancellorship), and the third appeals to his
ambition to be greater, a quality that defines Becket's rise from a middle-class boy to one of
the most powerful people in England. For all these reasons, it is possible to see the tempters
as versions of Thomas himself. Considering that Thomas's ultimate dramatic goal is to rid
himself of a 'self,' of his personality, it is important that the audience see him confront all of
these variations of that personality, even if he has already repudiated those temptations.

The three tempters also have something else in common: they all speak to alterations in time.
The first two tempters offer Thomas the possibility of going back, of changing what has
already happened. They play to his potential regrets and his desire to live a simpler life, one
in which he has already found success without the complications he faced ever since clashing
with Henry. The third tempter offers a vision of the future, a promise of a world in which
Becket's ambition could be realized. Certainly, any reader or audience member can relate to
the desire to escape into the past or future from a tumultuous present. So when Becket refuses
both possibilities, it is a sign of his fortitude; he will not turn away from the challenges before
him.

The Fourth Tempter raises the stakes considerably by indicating that the greatest challenge
Thomas faces is from himself. In terms of time, he offers neither a past nor a future, but
immortality. He argues that not only will Thomas's name last throughout history if he allows
himself to die, but he will also exist beyond the limits of time. He will be at the center of the
proverbial wheel, more a myth than a man. Suddenly, the challenge of repudiating the
temptations of the past and future seem simple. The Fourth Tempter does not offer Thomas a
different existence – he offers him a greater existence, a more pronounced and incredible
version of the holy existence and reputation he now has. Like the first three, the Fourth
Tempter is a version of Thomas himself, but one less superficial, one far more hidden in the
shadows. He indicates as much in his addresses to Thomas, noting that the Archbishop
entertains the temptation for martyrdom only at private times, "between sleep and waking,
early in the morning" (192). This is the voice Thomas least wants to hear from himself and as
such, it is the most difficult to defeat. The Fourth Tempter is both mysterious – he never
gives his identity and instead uses phrases like "I do not need a name" that evoke
Mephistopheles or other versions of Satan – and subtle. He is not incorrect in arguing that
Thomas will do great good for his church by dying, and so Thomas would not be rejecting his
holy duty by giving in to the man's temptation.
However, Thomas would be rejecting his own moral integrity, and the play argues implicitly
that this would have compromised his martyrdom. Even though Eliot gives Thomas a realistic
flaw, he does so in the vein of the great Greek heroes, and therefore does not totally avoid
hagiography in his depiction of Thomas. Consider that Thomas's first word is "Peace." Eliot
knows the audience for whom he is creating his Thomas Becket, and he is certain that
Thomas will not die for impure or selfish reasons.

In understanding the crux of Thomas's transformation, it is important to consider the play's

central themes of acting and suffering, which were introduced by the Chorus before Thomas
entered. Firstly, it helps to define "to suffer" as "to endure pain or distress patiently" rather
than as "to undergo pain or distress." The suffering Thomas and the Chorus evoke certainly
involves pain, but it is more akin to patience than to sensation. This makes it align cohesively
within the play and frames it as a stark contrast to action. The question Thomas asks in his
important acting/suffering speech (which is repeated to him by the Fourth Tempter) is
whether there is a distinction between action (aggressively attempting to make change) and
suffering (patiently and passively receiving what comes). He chides the Second Priest for
insulting the Chorus, suggesting that they do not realize that acting and suffering are two
sides of a coin, or, to use the medieval symbolism, on opposite sides of a wheel that turns. To
act is to wait, and to wait is to act. We never fully do one or the other, though from our
limited perspective on the proverbial wheel of the universe, we do attempt to choose one side
or the other.

Thomas is guilty of the same misunderstanding that he claims the Chorus is. The Fourth
Tempter, in repeating the speech, points out that Thomas is falling into the same despair that
the Chorus was. He is uncertain whether he should act in pursuing martyrdom or suffer
through his life, since his reasons for seeking martyrdom are impure. The tempter's words are
interesting in that at first, they seem to be mocking in tone, but an attempt to read the full
speech as mockery makes it quite ineffective. Instead, the Fourth Tempter plants the seed for
Thomas's final decision: he must accept martyrdom, but he must accept it as his fate willed
by God, not as an effect of his own will. His martyrdom exists outside of time, and so is not
engendered by the cause/effect of his decision-making. He must be patient,
but actively patient. He must choose to accept what comes independent of his own decision.
He must rid himself of personality so he will be ready to accept what God intends. He must
wait and understand that he does not live in the middle of the wheel, but this requires active
and difficult vigilance.
The climax of Part I, therefore, is Thomas's realization that neither acting nor suffering exists
independently of the other. The play is often criticized because this crucial climactic decision
is decidedly undramatic. It is an entirely internal shift that happens for the protagonist during
his long silence following the Fourth Tempter's reprise of the acting/suffering speech. On
stage, the actor playing Thomas has no language following this speech until he decides to
accept it. The fact that the audience does not hear his thought process is fitting, since Eliot is
not interested in psychology, but it does rob the audience of the climax.

But Eliot works overtime to keep the play theatrical during this silent climax. The Tempters,
Chorus, and Priests all have speeches that overlap until they all speak as one voice. The
tempters address the audience, suggesting the pessimistic voice that Thomas must be hearing
in his own mind. He must be considering that he is "obstinate, blind, intent/On self-
destruction," and hence incapable of reaching the serenity required by holy and proper
martyrdom (194). The Priests speak the more optimistic voice in reminding him that there is
an "untractable tide," although even this voice suggests simple patience, not active patience.
The Chorus is miserable as usual, until all three voices become different shades of the same
perspective. In the speech where the voices overlap, they all accept that no man can know
what is to happen. No man is at the center of the proverbial wheel. These voices are distinct
for the audience, but they are all the same for Thomas. They are all shades of himself, the
'self' he needs to repudiate if he is going to accept martyrdom. His decision is not to make a
decision, but to rid himself of decision-making and become joyfully ready to accept God's
will.

Ultimately, he comes to the proper decision and is worthy of martyrdom. It is arguable that
the final impulse comes not from his own strength but from the Chorus, who gives the last
speech before Thomas accepts his fate. In many ways, the Chorus provides the only real
dramatic tension in this section, for they, too, have changed. Whereas they earlier begged
Thomas to leave them to a comfortable misery, they now beg him to die, to "save us, save us,
save yourself that we may be saved." In both the Greek tragedy tradition and the Catholic
liturgical tradition, the audience/congregation is crucial to the ritual. If only the characters go
through a transformation, then the ritual or play is meaningless. The audience must change as
well; indeed, the Chorus has realized that they are involved. They cannot personally take any
path that will enact immediate change, but they are crucial toward convincing Thomas;
likewise, their decision to accept their own fate is equally important. The saint/priest/tragic
hero needs his Chorus to journey with him. Without this, the ritual and transformation is
individual. What matters to Eliot is the community that is affected by Becket's martyrdom,
the very community celebrating that martyrdom as they celebrate the death centuries later
through Eliot's play. As the Chorus changes its mind, Thomas's martyrdom is complete.
Dramatically, the protagonist has reached his serenity, and through his strength led his people
to do the same. Now, all that is left is for him to die.

Murder in the Cathedral Summary and Analysis of Interlude

Summary
In the Interlude, the Archbishop preaches in the cathedral on Christmas morning, 1170. He
delivers the entire speech, and there are no stage directions. The Interlude begins with a verse
from Luke praising God, after which Thomas promises his sermon will be short. He
announces that his intention in the sermon will be to explore the "deep meaning and mystery
of our masses of Christmas Day." He notes how there is a contradiction in these masses –
they exist both to celebrate Christ's birth and to celebrate his death. It is strange, Thomas
notes, "for who in the World will both mourn and rejoice at once and for the same reason?"
(198).
Thomas wishes to reflect on the meaning of the word "peace." He notes how Christ told his
disciples, "My peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you" (198). By analyzing the
context of both Christ and his disciples, Thomas reveals that Christ did not mean the peace of
the world, but rather a greater peace. Certainly, he did not mean peace between barons,
bishops, and kings in the country of England not yet invented, and considering that the
disciples lived lives of misery in service of Christ, it is unlikely Christ meant peace in the
sense of worldly comfort free of strife.

Thomas reminds the congregation that the day after Christmas is a day of celebration for
Christ's "first martyr, the blessed Stephen." Thomas does not believe this proximity is an
accident – rather, he believes that the mystery of Christmas is paralleled on a smaller scale in
the celebration of martyrs, since we engage in the contradiction of celebrating death for them.
For martyrs, "we mourn, for the sins of the world that has martyred them; we rejoice, that
another soul is numbered among the Saints in Heaven, for the glory of God and for the
salvation of men" (199).

Thomas then analyzes the concept of martyrdom, insisting that a martyr is not merely one
who dies for Christ, since these things can happen by accident and "Saints are not made by
accident" (199). Worldly ambition, which can often lead to martyrdom, has no place in
heaven. It is a human creation, and therefore martyrs who die through ambition will not reach
the full extent of glorious death. Instead, "the true martyr is he who has become the
instrument of God, who has lost his will in the will of God, not lost it but found it, for he has
found freedom in his submission to God" (199). It is a profound and mysterious concept,
Thomas notes, and accounts for the mystery of its celebration.

Thomas closes his sermon by sharing, "I do not think I shall ever preach to you again" (200).
He alludes to the potential of his impending death and martyrdom and begs the congregation
to remember his words.

Analysis
The Interlude, one of the only two prose sections in the play, is a fascinating interjection into
the drama for several reasons. It sums up the play's basic philosophy/theology, reveals how
fully Thomas has been altered in Act I, and connects the play to the rituals of both tragedy
and the mass.

The sermon explicitly spells out the play's theology. In no uncertain terms, Thomas explains
that a true martyr is one who dies without ambition. Coming so soon after the episode with
the Fourth Tempter, this reminds the audience of his response that closed Part I. He restates
with the clarity of prose that a true martyr is one who has vanquished his 'self' - his
personality, ambition, and will - and has accepted that he is God's instrument. He basically
preaches the philosophy of active patience as described in the Analysis to Part I, although he
does not use the words "action" or "suffering" here.
Becket posits himself as parallel to Christ by suggesting that Christians ought to celebrate
martyrdom in the same way (albeit on a lower scale) as they celebrate Christ's sacrifice by
death. This enforces the holiness of martyrdom. What both deaths have in common is a sense
of opposites, an important theme in the play that is manifest both in the story and in the
language of the Chorus in Part II. Holy events contain opposites – in this case, the death of a
martyr and the death of Christ are simultaneously worthy of mourning and joy. That a human
cannot fully comprehend this mysterious contradiction matters little, as long as the human
accepts the contradiction as a fact.
Dramatically, the sermon has little impact. It does reveal to the audience that Thomas has
firmly accepted his place as God's instrument; he has vanquished his ambition and is ready to
die for the right reason. However, nothing has happened since his final speech of Part I to
make us think that he might have changed his mind. The character undergoes no
transformation here and does not add much to the ideas presented in Part I. Perhaps Eliot
wanted to make certain his audience understood his themes, and perhaps he wanted to
announce that Thomas's crisis of faith would not extend into Part II. But this raises an
interesting question when reading or viewing the play for the first time: if our protagonist has
already reached the apex of his personal journey, where else is there for him to go? How can
the play only be half over if there is nowhere left to journey? Compounded with the fact that
the audience knows how it will end (Thomas will be murdered in the cathedral), Eliot poses
an interesting dramatic challenge he will have to address in Part II.

It's worth considering the theatrical effect of this sermon for Eliot's intended audience. In the
expansive Canterbury cathedral, the actor playing Thomas would have taken the pulpit and
then preached, the only figure on stage, and with very little indication that this was part of a
play rather than an actual sermon. Listening to a sermon drawn somewhat from the historical
record of Thomas's final sermon on Christmas Day, 1170 must have been a rich, profound
theatrical experience, complicating the lines of fiction, myth, and reality for audience
members.

This effect is in line with Eliot's intent to structure the experience of his play alongside that of
a mass. Again, he is interested more in ritual than storytelling, and both the theatricality and
the substance of this sermon reinforce that intention. In terms of theatricality, his play has
explicitly become a mass. In terms of substance, Thomas preaches about the mystery and
contradiction of celebrating and mourning at the same time. This is an experience that
transcends intellectualism. It is about visceral connection and faith, a community whose
shared passions are made manifest through a ritual. By putting these ideas into the play, Eliot
sets himself up to make Thomas's murder in Act II not a climax (again, the protagonist in
many ways reaches his climax in Part I, and will not falter from his resolve), but rather a
ritual.
Some of the ideas in the sermon also echo those of Greek tragedy. At its core, Greek tragedy
embodies a similar contradiction as that of saint celebration. It looks mournfully and honestly
on the unfortunate forces of the world that destroyed individuals, while simultaneously
celebrating those individuals who stayed strong in the face in those forces. In many ways, this
is the message of the sermon. We celebrate those individuals who were strong enough to die
for God and vanquish their personalities for God, but we also mourn that the iniquity of the
world required their death. What Eliot's play has that Greek tragedy lacks is the lynchpin of
faith. Greeks did not celebrate in the promise of afterlife in their tragedies, while the
Christians for whom Eliot writes celebrate someone like Becket not only for his strength, but
because he reminds them that they will be rewarded for their own strength in heaven.

Murder in the Cathedral Summary and Analysis of Part II

Summary
The first scene of Part II takes place in the Archbishop's Hall on December 29th, 1170. It has
been four days since the sermon of the Interlude, and 27 days since Part I. The Chorus of
women gives an ominous address about the arrival of deep winter, noting how the winter
brings momentary peace from man's aggressive wars: "The world must be cleaned in the
winter" (201).
Four knights enter. All four are excitable – they have just come from France with business
from King Henry, who was in France at the time of Becket's assassination. The priests
recognize the knights and try to distract them with dinner before they bring them to the
Archbishop. The knights insist that Thomas appear right away, and the First Priestsends an
attendant. Thomas arrives immediately. When he sees the knights, he privately tells the
priests that he recognizes "the moment" has come, but that he is embroiled in "matters of
other urgency" (203). He tells them where to find his business and then addresses the knights.
They insist their audience be private and Thomas dismisses the priests.
Immediately, the knights lay out their grievances. They insist that Thomas remains Henry's
"servant, his tool, and his jack," and that he is revealing deep disloyalty. They remind him he
was born a simple, middle-class "tradesman's son," a "backstairs brat" whom the King
favored but who "broke his oath and betrayed his King" (203). Thomas denies their claims
and insists that he remains the King's "most faithful vassal" but that he has a higher master
(probably meaning both God and the Pope). They mock him and suggest he is driven less by
love of God than by love of himself, derisively pretending they will pray for him.
Thomas stops them to ask whether their business is simply "scolding and blaspheming?"
They prepare themselves to deliver the King's message, and Thomas demands that if their
message is "by the King's command," then it should be "said in public" so he can "refute
them" (204). They move to attack him, but the attempt is interrupted by the entrance of the
priests and attendants.

The First Knight lectures Thomas on his ingratitude, suggesting he fled England with the goal
of "stirring up trouble" for King Henry with the Pope and Louis, the king of France. The
other knights add that even after the King kindly offered him clemency, Thomas remained an
antagonist, contesting Henry's desire to crown his son king and causing unrest among some
of the King's advisors in England. They ask if he will meet the King to answer these charges,
and identify that as their purpose.
Thomas insists he bears Henry no ill-will and has no reason to contest the prince's coronation,
but that it was the Pope who excommunicated them. The knights insist that the interdiction
was engineered through Thomas, who could have them absolved. Thomas admits he was the
impulse behind it, but says he cannot "loose whom the Pope has bound." The First Knight
insists Thomas and his servants leave England immediately and Thomas replies that, after
being separated from his people for seven years, causing them spiritual pain, he will not leave
again. He insists that it is not he with whom they should be angry, but Rome. He calls them
"petty politicians" and is openly contemptuous of their cause (206).

They threaten his life, and he promises that he would hold his ground not just to Rome on
Earth, but to God in heaven. The knights warn the priests that they will be held accountable
"with [their] bodies" if they let Thomas escape again before they return, and then they leave.
Thomas announces that he is "ready for martyrdom" as they exit (207).

The Chorus gives a brutal, evocative speech in which they claim to have "smelt the death-
bringers." They use violent imagery to describe the horror of the world to come and lament
that this fate awaits everyone, from "councils of princes" to themselves, the "women of
Canterbury." However, they assure the Lord Archbishop that they "have consented" and are
prepared (208). Thomas begs them to "be at peace" and acknowledges that their "share of the
eternal burden" is to accept things they cannot control. He assures them that their
remembrance of this event will stay with them the rest of their lives until the memories "seem
unreal. Human kind cannot bear very much reality" (209).

Together, the priests beg Thomas to flee before the knights come back to kill him. Thomas
remains calm and insists he is ready and worthy to receive martyrdom. The priests hear the
knights approaching and forcefully suggest Thomas fulfill his duty of vespers. When he still
denies their request, they force him off stage against his will.

The Chorus gives a speech as the setting is changed to the cathedral. A Latin chant, the Dies
Irae, is sung in the background. In their speech, the women emotionally steel themselves for
the death soon to follow. In the cathedral, the priests bar the door despite Thomas's insistence
that he will not be locked up and have the cathedral turned to a "fortress." The priests argue
that the knights are not like men, but like "beasts" who must be kept out. Thomas chides them
for arguing "by results, as this world does," which confuses the distinction between good and
evil. He insists he has made his decision "out of time" and that he must "conquer… by
suffering" (211-212).

The priests open the doors at his command, and the knights, whom Eliot describes as
"slightly tipsy," enter. The priests try to force Thomas to the crypt to hide while the knights
tauntingly call out to Becket as they search for him. Thomas confronts them and declares he
is "without fear... ready to suffer with [his] blood" (213). The knights insist he absolve those
he has excommunicated and declare his obedience to the King, but Thomas ignores their
requests and insists they do with him as they like but leave his people untouched. They begin
to chant "traitor" at him, and Thomas reminds the First Knight, Reginald, that he himself has
been a traitor to Thomas. The First Knight denies he owes anything to a "renegade" (213).
Thomas commends his cause and life to God, and the knights murder him.

As the knights kill him, the Chorus gives an address in which they beg someone "clear the
air!" They feel lost and see the return of peace as impossible. They realize that life will grow
harder now that they can no longer go on "living and partly living," since now they must bear
some of the weight for the miserable world. They now see a life "out of time," but that
awareness brings extra responsibility, guilt, and suffering.

When the murder is over, the First Knight – whose name is Reginald Fitz Urse - walks
downstage and directly addresses the audience. In a prose speech, he begs the audience to
give him a chance to explain his and the other knights' behavior. He stipulates that his
English audience believes "in fair play" and will sympathize with "the under dog." However,
he equally expects them to allow a "Trial by Jury" in which the knights might defend
themselves. Not being an eloquent man, he wishes for the Second Knight – William de Traci
– to present their case (215).
The Second Knight presents as their defense the fact that they are personally "perfectly
disinterested" in the murder. They do not stand to profit from the murder but instead did it
because they "put country first." He apologizes for their boorish behavior earlier, noting that
they were all a bit drunk. However, he indicates that their drunkenness was their way of
coping with the impending murder, which they personally were not motivated to commit. He
points out that they in fact stand to lose something by the murder, since they will have to flee
and will be maligned by history, even after the English eventually accept Becket's murder as
necessary (215-216). When the Second Knight finishes, the First Knight briefly sums up his
"disinterested" argument and then introduces the Third Knight, Hugh de Morville.
The Third Knight provides a different and much longer defense. He believes Becket had
committed an offense against his King and the people of England, and therefore the
execution was just. He wonders whether Becket should actually be considered the under dog,
and suggests he will appeal to his audience's "reason" rather than their "emotions." The first
stage of his argument is that the King's aim was always to unite his judiciary so as to
engender justice. The judiciary was split into three courts: those of the King, those of the
bishops, and those of the baronage. Thomas, as Chancellor, supported this campaign and was
in fact named to the Archbishopric specifically for the purpose of uniting those courts.
Though he acknowledges that Becket was qualified for the post, the Third Knight attacks
Becket for having immediately resigned the Chancellorship and grown "ascetic." With his
new attitude, Thomas withdrew from the King's counsel and was no longer interested in
compromise. The knight believes his audience views such behavior as contrary to their
interests, since Thomas's refusal to compromise kept the legal system unjust and corrupt.
Hence, the Third Knight believes the only problem is with the "method" the knights
employed, and not their "issue." In fact, he argues, under other circumstances Thomas might
have been found guilty by courts for these offenses and killed by the state, without garnering
any controversy. Because the knights have taken the first important step toward securing the
interests of the people, they represent the people, and hence all people must be somewhat
guilty of the crime if it is called a crime (216-218). The First Knight commends Morville for
his subtle reasoning and then introduces the Fourth Knight, whose name is Richard Brito, to
provide a final argument.
The Fourth Knight gives the most subtle argument. His argument is that the knights are not
guilty of murder because Thomas is guilty of suicide. He briefly repeats a history of
Thomas's life, saying that Thomas pursued "unity" and "justice" while he was Chancellor, but
"reversed his policy" when he was named Archbishop. Thomas then revealed his primary
instinct was "egotism" that grew into an "undoubted mania" that showed no concern for the
people of England. The Fourth Knight provides evidence that Thomas had spoken in France
of his impending murder in England, which proves that he was "determined upon a death by
martyrdom" (218). He points to Thomas's refusal to answer their charges in his final moments
as further proof of his guilt in facilitating his own death. Knowing the knights were "inflamed
with wrath," Thomas nevertheless had the doors opened instead of letting the knights cool
off. For all these reasons, the Fourth Knight asks that the audience "hesitatingly render a
verdict of Suicide while of Unsound Mind" (219). The First Knight closes the proceedings
and suggests the audience head home without doing anything "that might provoke any public
outbreak" (219). The knights leave.
The First Priest laments Thomas's death and fears the "world without God" that he predicts
will now come (219). The Third Priest insists that "the Church is stronger for this action,"
since it will be fortified for having survived the tragedy. He addresses the absent knights,
suggesting they will forever justify their actions while God creates a "new state" that is
stronger because of its new martyr (220).
The Chorus gives the final speech while a Latin song, the Te Deum, is sung in the
background. They give praise and thanks to God and acknowledge Canterbury as holy ground
that will engender more holiness throughout the world. In their final stanza, the women ask
God to forgive them as weak, representative examples of "the men and women" who "fear of
injustice of men less than the justice of God," and who want a comfortable misery rather than
a challenging spirituality. They acknowledge they wish to fear and love God more than they
fear and love the physical world. They are thankful that "the blood of the martyrs and the
agony of the saints" help them to transcend their weakness. They ask God, Christ, and
Thomas to have mercy and pray for them.

Analysis
Part II begins with a strange theatrical challenge. The play's protagonist has already gone
through the entirety of his personal journey, as he stresses in the Interlude. He has faced his
temptations and now is ready to accept martyrdom for the right reason. Since the audience
knows what will happen – Thomas will be murdered by knights in the Cathedral – the second
half of the play runs the risk of being overlong and undramatic. Indeed, from a purely
dramatic standpoint, Part II is static. Thomas knows that his end has come immediately upon
seeing the knights early in the act; there is no suspense. Even the altercations with the priests,
in which they argue vehemently and then force Thomas to hide, lack much momentum.
Certainly, these scenes in performance would be physically exciting, but nevertheless would
lack any suspense.

However, the value of Part II is less about drama and more about confrontation and ritual.
Because Eliot wishes to involve his community so fully in the experience, along the lines of
Greek theater or a mass, the ritual must be enacted. In the same way that a mass without the
communion (which represents the body of Christ, sacrificed for mankind) is not considered
complete, so would the play not fulfill Eliot's purpose if the ritual of the murder were not
dramatized. Eliot emphasizes this purpose through his masterful use of the Chorus in Part II.
In many ways, Thomas is rather absent in Part II. Aside from the speeches that the knights
give the audience, the Chorus is given the most stage presence as well as the most
magnificent poetry in this second half of the play.

The Chorus undergoes its own journey throughout Murder in the Cathedral, and it is this
journey that is most important to the play's intention. Eliot does not add much to the Becket
story, but he does add a new perspective by integrating the idea of community into Becket's
murder. The Chorus in Part I learns to accept that they are involved in Becket's sacrifice and
must recognize their choice: they may stay passive in a life of suffering untroubled by
spiritual turmoil, or they can act as Thomas does and engage the wickedness of the world
directly. This second option is more spiritually fulfilling and honest, but requires more
struggle.
Thomas enters Part II having reached serenity in terms of this struggle. He has accepted his
fate and is active in his patience. He is ready to be God's instrument. The Chorus realizes that
they, too, face this challenge, but are not yet at peace with it. Instead, their language grows
significantly harsher throughout Part II. They have heard Becket's Christmas sermon, in
which he explored the idea of opposites in Christianity – Christians celebrate martyrdom as
they celebrate Christ's death, simultaneously mourning the world that forces such death while
celebrating the sacrifice that validates existence - but they are not yet ready to accept the
peace that comes with accepting the contradiction. This transformation happens through the
act. They must learn to accept their "share of the eternal burden," which is to force their own
spiritual growth by imitation and reflection of Becket's martyrdom (208).

Their opening speech in Part II reveals their persistent pessimism. They reflect on how "the
peace of the world is always uncertain" because "man defiles this world" (201). Ironically,
they find peace in the harshness of winter because that harshness cleanses the world of the
violence that comes with the warmth of spring. The warmth correlates to human passion,
which they professed to reject in Part I, since passion brings with it hope and greater
dissatisfaction. The life they propose in Part I is one of "living and partly living," not one that
challenges the social and spiritual order as Becket does. Here, we see that though they realize
the necessity of Becket's sacrifice, they are mired in a pessimism which evokes Eliot's earlier
poetry. In a sense, they are the Eliot of The Wasteland and "The Love Song of J. Alfred
Prufrock," chained to a pessimistic perspective that sees mankind as doomed by their own
failures, and reticent to hope for any better, since hope leads to disappointment. Eliot had
since that time converted to Christianity, but he clearly can still relate to a pessimistic
perspective. As Eliot found Christianity to brighten his perspective, so will this Chorus find
their Becket through Part II and learn to accept their spiritual, Christian responsibilities for
the world.
Their second speech, which begins with "I have smelt them, the death-bringers," is
significantly harsher in its imagery and perspective. It's important to remember that these
speeches are primarily defined by their poetry, not their philosophy. To read the speeches
aloud is to recognize the linguistic mastery and emotional power at work. But the philosophy
is implicit and worth exploring. In the "death-bringer" speech, the Chorus is particularly
obsessed with the nature of opposites, which parallels the message of Thomas's sermon. For
instance, they note how there is "corruption in the dish, incense in the latrine, the sewer in the
incense," and a multitude of other such images (207). They have realized more fully how the
degradation of man infects the world. Thomas knows this as well – he has only just moments
before confronted the boorish knights on their first visit – but he has found peace in accepting
the possibility of a greater existence in submission to God. The Chorus cannot yet bring
themselves to accept these contradictions so easily; they still see what is to come in terms of
physical death brought by the "death-bringers," and not in terms of its spiritual import. They
realize that his sacrifice is meaningless unless they make it manifest in their own lives, noting
that everything that is "woven on the loom of fate" and "woven in the councils of princes" is
also "woven like a pattern of living worms/In the guts of the women of Canterbury" (208).
They are part of the wheel, and the ritual of Thomas's sacrifice needs a congregation to give it
meaning. However, they are too distracted by their violent pessimism, and they therefore end
this speech by asking Thomas to forgive them. They are not yet strong enough to do service
to what he is about to give.

As Thomas is dragged forcefully to the cathedral by the priests, the Chorus gives a speech
that begins "Numb the hand and dry the eyelid," which reveals a burgeoning strength in the
women while still reflecting their refusal to accept what is happening. They confess the depth
of their fear, which is less of God than of the nothingness they will face if they cannot accept
God's plan. They fear "the face of Death the Judgment/And behind the Judgment the Void..
Emptiness, absence, separation from God" (210). They are beginning to understand that there
is a greater death than physical, earthly death. The "death-bringers" are no longer the greatest
threat, which is instead the eternal existence of nothingness. However, they are still not quite
ready – they end their speech asking the Lord for help.

As Thomas is being murdered, the Chorus gives a speech that begins "Clear the air! Clean the
sky!" This speech allows the murder to theatrically take a long time without drawing full
focus to its horror; the chorus acts as incidental music might in a film. However, they
transcend their functional purpose through the poetic intensity of their language. The imagery
is harsher here than in either of the previous two speeches – "the land is foul," "a rain of
blood has blinded [their] eyes," they are "soiled by a filth that [they] cannot clean" – because
they realize how terrible their burden will be in accepting their share of Thomas's sacrifice.
They see more clearly than ever before how depraved and foul the world truly is.

It is telling that while Eliot wrote Murder in the Cathedral with a powerful, positive message
– we all have the opportunity through our rituals to transcend the limits of our physical
suffering – he does not sugar-coat it. This speech reveals that the sacrifice of someone like
Becket, and the way that a congregation must endeavor to live up to that sacrifice in their
own lives, is difficult. It requires that congregation to open their eyes and discover how
terrible and cruel the world can be. The sufferings the Chorus listed in their opening speech
of Part I, which were about physical difficulties of seasons and daily toil, are nothing
compared to the imagery of blindness through blood or a "terror by day that ends in sleep"
(214). In many ways, this is the moment before the climax of the Chorus's journey. The
moment has come, and Becket dies. Their realization of how intense their own existence will
become parallels his as the worst moment of the journey. What they want more than anything
is for the air to be cleared and the world to be cleaned. It's a futile and impossible request, but
they make it from desperation.
Their final speech, which closes the play, shows that they have overcome this obstacle. Gone
are the intense, horrific images. Instead, they praise and thank the Lord. They have not
forgotten how difficult the world is, but they have come to peace with it. They are prepared to
attempt the active patience that Thomas modeled for them in his sacrifice. They want a
greater life and recognize that even in a terrible world, "all things affirm [God]." They ask for
forgiveness, admitting that their insistence on seeing the world in physical terms is a
weakness that they must struggle to overcome. They "fear the injustice of men less than the
justice of God," which is how they felt at the beginning of the play. The difference is that
they now recognize the iniquity and failure of such a perspective. They might not have
Thomas's strength and persistence, but that is what makes him a saint. They promise to
endeavor to follow his lead and they beg proactive forgiveness and mercy as they prepare to
do service to his martyrdom through their lives.

Without this transformation, the play would be incomplete. Eliot did not write this play to tell
us historical facts about Becket's life – again, he adds little to the central story - but rather to
draw attention to the congregation who would watch his play. The play reminds them that
they, too, are responsible for the sacrifice Becket made, since it was made for the community
they share. In the same way that all Christians endeavor to justify Christ's sacrifice, so must
they endeavor to justify the deaths of their martyrs on a smaller scale.

However, Thomas is not entirely irrelevant in Part II. Thomas is busy at work when the
knights finally arrive, and his first words are to the priests, to tell them how to continue that
work. This conforms to the historical depiction of Thomas as an obsessed and vigilant
worker. The one area in which Thomas cannot help but engage his attackers is politics. This
drive towards political and legal wrangling certainly conforms to the real Becket, who was
equally adept at Chancellorship as at priestly matters. Here, Eliot proposes another way to
delineate the Becket story from the political framework in which it was and continues to be
frequently considered. Thomas proposes a dichotomy of ways to think of the world in Part II.
On way is through the lens of ritual and myth. He comforts the Chorus at one point, saying
that their memories of this day will turn to myth in their minds, until the memories "will seem
unreal" (209). He does not posit this as a negative thing, instead suggesting that "humankind
cannot bear very much reality" (209). In the context of the play, this is almost a virtue.
"Reality" is not painted in a positive light in Murder in the Cathedral. People are described as
essentially warlike, the knights and even the priests are defined by their self-interest as much
as anything else, and death is an easy answer to political problems. By reflecting on our
world as myth, to recognize that it is "unreal" and not the highest realm of existence, people
can find comfort. On the other hand, he suggests that most humans see the world from a
polarized, political framework that serves self-interest and moral justifications:
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.

And as in time results of many deeds are blended

So good and evil in the end become confounded.

It is a philosophy obsessed with worldly gain and justifications, rather than spiritual
transcendence. This philosophy is manifest in the political arguments of the knights. In the
Middle Ages, the Catholic Church was its own political entity and often warred with secular
regimes. While it did sometimes battle physically, it more often worked by excommunicating
opponents. In a solely Catholic society, the threat of excommunication from the church was
devastating, since it meant one no longer had the opportunity to go to heaven after death. It
also carried great social stigma. On the other side of the struggle, many secular regimes
resented the independence of the church, which compromised secular rule. Henry had long
attempted to force the church courts under his control (as the knights describe), and in fact
likely hoped his right-hand man and Chancellor Thomas Becket would help in that purpose
when the latter was named Archbishop. When Becket immediately found a new, greater
allegiance to the church, Henry, a notorious hot-head, was politically thwarted and personally
offended. During their long struggle, which forced Becket to flee England in exile, Becket
suggested that Pope Alexander not recognize the legitimacy of the young Prince Henry's
coronation. Finally, excommunications could be easily lifted when a person acquiesced to or
overpowered church demands, and so often only added political complication to situations.

The knights – whose names in the play are the same as the names of the murderous knights in
history - are clearly boors by nature and are drunk, as well. Historically, they were not
explicitly ordered to murder Becket, but were acting from the intensity of Henry's anger.
What they want more than anything, though, is to defeat Becket in political argument. They
insist he has betrayed the king on a personal and legal level, and that he is hiding behind a
smokescreen in blaming the prince's excommunication on the Pope. In many ways, their
arguments are justifiable. However, though Becket is momentarily drawn into the nuances of
political argument, he mostly expresses his serenity, his active patience in awaiting death.
This infuriates them – it is a philosophy "out of time," whereas all they want is the political
argument of cause and effect. Eliot intended the Four Tempters to be double-cast with the
Four Knights, which stresses their purpose. They are meant to tempt Becket into returning to
a physical, earthly means of discourse.

Though they fail on that front, they do serve as tempters to the audience through their direct
address speeches, again showing how important the congregation is to Eliot's intention. Thus
far, he has meant for the Chorus to represent the audience. However, in a wonderful and
hilarious theatrical shift, Eliot directly confronts and tempts the audience of his play. The
question posed by the knights' speeches is whether we will be drawn into the cause-and-effect
political discourse that defines our own world. Have we realized the spiritual nature of
Becket's sacrifice, which exists out of time? Or will we be led again to consider his story as a
political one, one which should be judged by cause and effect?
Eliot's purpose is to deliberately confront a physical realm and then to suggest the possibility
of transcendence. He does not sugar-coat the transcendence offered by martyrdom – the
violent murder happens on stage, and the Chorus reflects on how this martyrdom will add
more responsibility to Christians in its aftermath. However, to think of Becket's death in
terms of its effect is to remain tethered to the physical world, which sees things in terms of
cause-and-effect. Our lives have the potential to reach a greater existence if we accept that we
can never understand them. We are placed throughout the "wheel" and can never understand
its movement because we are not at its center, as God is. Thus, what Becket teaches is neither
acting nor suffering (waiting), but rather a mixture of the two: an active patience, a
submission to God's will. It is not happiness or comfort that such submission brings, but
greater spiritual fulfillment. It is for this wisdom that Becket died, and it is this wisdom which
Eliot wishes to impart by dramatizing the ritual of this mythic martyrdom.

Murder in the Cathedral Thomas Becket and Henry II

One of those historical events that has gained the weight of myth through its extraordinary
and complicated circumstances, the murder of Thomas Becket is notable for more than the
martyrdom it produced. Instead, the profundity of the experience derives from the themes of
Becket's friendship with the English King Henry II, a relationship that in its dissolution
touches on themes of class, power, and personality. It is important to understand the general
idea of this story to best appreciate Eliot's play, since he would have assumed his audience
was familiar with the story.
Thomas Becket was born to parents of moderate means in Cheapside, a poor London
neighborhood, circa 1118. The world remained largely feudal at this time, meaning that the
king ruled under the pretense of divine right, with the entire society below him organized
around financial responsibility to him. The medieval feudal system was strictly hierarchical
and the concept of social mobility had barely been breached.

Therefore, Becket's rise to power is extraordinary. His parents insisted he pursue an

education, even sending him to a fashionable school in Paris. While this decision might have
been inspired by concern over the then-tumultuous political situation in England, it also
served to introduce Becket to the study of Latin and the classical texts that he would later rely
on to secure his reputation.

The political situation in England was complicated. The royal line of succession had been in
question for several years at this point and Henry, the young upstart from the Angevin line,
was contending for the crown. Ultimately, through both warfare and characteristic subterfuge,
he would both ensure the crown for himself and construct a powerful central authority.
After returning to England, Becket secured a few advantageous apprenticeships that
ultimately earned him a post under Theobald, the Archbishop of Canterbury. In this position,
Thomas revealed his political instinct and began to meet members of the highest levels of
society and government. While never ordained as a priest, Thomas was introduced to the
conventions of the clerical life, and certainly never lost the connection to the Church that he
engendered at this point.

After he was crowned King, some of Henry II's most pressing concerns involved England's
relationship with France. At the time, England included several provinces in the north of
modern-day France. This property increased after Henry wed Eleanor of Acquaintance, who
had already been married to the French king Louis but had her marriage annulled when he
could not produce children. The many conflicts between Henry and Louis were partially
ameliorated by the political advocacy of Thomas Becket.

Thomas was ten years Henry's senior and of a decidedly lower parentage, but their friendship
and partnership grew quickly from this point. Henry named Thomas Chancellor, an
administrative post that was in many ways second in power only the king, since the
chancellor was responsible for enacting the laws and deciding the particulars of the kingdom.
Though the extent of their friendship has potentially been exaggerated by time and a
historical record influenced by the propagandistic purposes of their later schism, Thomas
certainly enjoyed a high post in Henry's rule and was trusted like few others.

One of Henry's primary goals was to reinstate certain ancestral customs that his grandfather
had enjoyed as king before the line of succession became confused. Among these customs
was a consolidation of power under the King. As it stood, rule and management of England
was organized under three classes: the ruling class (Henry and his court), the barons
(aristocratic land-owners), and the Church. The medieval Church was extremely powerful, a
political institution in its own right, and while the Popeonly occasionally used explicit
military power, the threat of excommunication stood as the ultimate punishment in this
Christian world. To be excommunicated meant one was prohibited from entering heaven, and
so rulers and peasants alike feared upsetting the Church's designs.
And yet the bishops of the Church were too free from secular control in Henry's eyes, even
having their own courts and system of justice that was completely divorced from the king's
courts. Therefore, Henry and Thomas endeavored together to consolidate power, a
responsibility Thomas seems to have relished. Meanwhile, Thomas grew to develop fine
tastes thanks to the money he had access to. He was known for his efficiency but also for his
pride and sanctimony.

When Theobald, the Archbishop of Canterbury and Thomas's first mentor, died, Henry
decided to nominate Thomas for the post. This was the most powerful religious position in
England, the closet to the Pope that an Englishman could get. Thomas would then serve as
both Chancellor and Archbishop, which would naturally consolidate the power of those two
elements in the kingdom.

It was an incredibly prestigious opportunity for anyone, much less a low-born man like
Thomas. And yet within less than a year after being named Archbishop in 1162, Thomas
revealed a spiritual prerogative that was in stark contrast with Henry's desire. Whether
Thomas was truly inspired by his new spiritual duties or saw a political purpose in opposing
the king is open to historical debate. However, the friendship quickly began to dissolve as
Thomas resigned the Chancellorship and then began to refuse Henry the access to the church
courts that he requested. Thomas continued to claim that he was loyal to Henry above all
others except God, which incensed the hothead, impetuous, arrogant king to no end.

The struggle persisted until Henry successfully manipulated Becket into signing a document
that reinstated the ancestral customs during a meeting in Clarendon. Mortified at having been
beaten, Thomas quickly organized those bishops loyal to him and tried to rectify the mistake,
even though this meant maligning Henry's intentions. When Henry made clear he would use
force to enact his will, Thomas gathered a few loyal subjects and fled the country for France,
with whose king he remained close.

Not only was the friendship now gone, but it had devolved into hatred. For seven years, a
series of political intrigues subsisted, with Thomas always seeking the support of Pope
Alexander and the French King Louis, and Henry refusing to budge on his requests. Both had
much to gain from a reconciliation: Henry's country stood in an ambiguous relationship to the
Catholic Church, and Thomas no longer had access to the lands and income to which he had
grown accustomed. During this period, Thomas's lifestyle grew far more ascetic, an element
that contributed to his hagiography: many see him as growing more spiritual in turning away
from the temptations of the physical world.

Ultimately, Henry felt that Thomas was an ungrateful, disloyal brat, while Thomas
considered Henry a vicious tyrant whose desires to control the Church were sacrilege. When
the political situation found Thomas with the upper hand, he used his power of
excommunication to attack many of those who had betrayed him in England. Though he
never explicitly excommunicated Henry, he did engender a situation whereby Henry was not
officially able to have his son and heir coronated. This threat to the Angevin line of
succession was a personal affront, since Thomas had been close to the prince from the latter's
birth, and it brought Henry to the negotiating table.

A compromise was reached through the mediation of King Louis, but by the time Thomas set
sail for England, he knew Henry would not honor his end of the bargain. Henry was certain to
withhold the church lands he had seized, and would surely continue to press for control over
church courts. Therefore, Thomas had to sail and travel incognito, not revealing his identity
until he reached Canterbury to a great and raucous welcome from commoners who gathered
at the risk of their own safety.

Immediately, Thomas raised the stakes, excommunicating more of Henry's close advisors
with the Pope's blessing. Henry, realizing that both his pride and the legitimacy of his son's
coronation were being questioned, uttered some version of these famous words during a
meeting: "Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?!" Though this was not an explicit order,
and certainly in line with his documented temper, four of his lower-ranked knights heard this
sentiment and set out to bolster their reputations by directly and forcefully confronting their
liege's greatest professed enemy.

The four knights first confronted Thomas at the cathedral of Canterbury in a political
argument, during which Thomas was openly contemptuous of them, despite their obvious
drunkenness. They left and soon returned with more men, and when Thomas refused to leave
with them, they brutally murdered him inside the cathedral, a great sacrilege considering the
cathedral was holy ground.

In the aftermath of the murder, Thomas was quickly canonized as a saint and the spot of his
murder became a near-instant pilgrimage site. Henry himself, though likely only concerned
about his reputation and the potential of excommunication in the midst of his own unrelated
political struggles, traveled there to be flogged in penance. He acknowledged both publicly
and privately that his words inspired the murder, though he never admitted to officially
giving the order. The number of eyewitness accounts to his spontaneous exclamation makes it
likely that he did not intend Becket to be killed in this way. However, the fact that Henry
would later imprison his own wife Eleanor for ten years shows that he was not disposed to
show mercy.

The four knights all fled England within a few years, were excommunicated by the Pope, and
eventually banished by Henry. The time it took him to banish them suggests that Henry had
little personal remorse for the death of his old friend.

Since Becket's death, the cathedral at Canterbury has remained a pilgrimage site. In
Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales, the storytellers meet on their way to the site of Becket's
murder, where they hope to secure mercy from God. Over time, Becket's body has been
moved to a beautiful and impressive tomb in the cathedral.
The complicated personalities and exciting reversals of fortune that characterize this tale
certainly leave some of its facts open to skepticism. Were Henry and Thomas really as close
friends as dramatists would have us believe? Was Thomas really a holy, committed figure, or
was he more of a rebellious iconoclast with a temper to match Henry's? Regardless of how
one answers these questions, the story deserves attention as a symbol and a myth, which is
very much what would have attracted a writer like Eliot to it.

Brief Biography of T. S. Eliot

Born in St. Louis, Missouri, T.S. Eliot grew up to become arguably the most prominent poet
and literary critic in the nineteenth-century English-speaking world. Known widely for such
poems as “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” “The Waste Land,” and “The Hollow
Men,” Eliot was a pioneer of the Modernist movement in literature. He received his
bachelor’s degree in philosophy from Harvard University in 1909, and, after a period of
travel and attending graduate school at Harvard, Eliot settled in England in 1914. There, he
encountered the poetry of fellow literary giant Ezra Pound, who encouraged and helped him
to publish his poems in several magazines. By 1930, Eliot had achieved his own fame as a
poetic genius, and would remain in the literary spotlight for the following thirty years, writing
poems as well as seven works for the theatre, and winning the Nobel Prize for Literature in
1948. He died on January 4, 1965, in London.

Murder in the Cathedral Summary

Murder in the Cathedral is divided into two parts, with an interlude separating them. The
play begins with the thoughts of the Chorus, a group of common women of Canterbury. They
say that Archbishop Thomas Becket has been away from his Canterbury congregation (of
which they’re members) for seven years. Becket has been away because of religious and
political conflicts he came to have with King Henry II. While they miss his presence, the
Chorus does not wish for Becket to come back, as they fear his return would stir up old
conflicts which might get him killed. Three priestswho served the Archbishop in the past then
enter the scene, as well as a herald who informs them and the Chorus that Becket is in
England, back from France. The Chorus is dismayed, worried that Becket’s return will lead to
his death, and therefore their own religious turmoil (they’ll lose their spiritual leader). The
priests, on the other hand, readily welcome Becket back to Canterbury.
Becket enters the scene, and is shortly accosted by four “tempters”—four people who, one-
by-one, try to persuade or tempt Becket into adopting certain views on how he should balance
his religious power as Archbishop with its associated political power—political power which
could either supplement his religious authority or replace it altogether. Becket discounts all
the tempters’ proposals, thinking that none of their visions for his future are sourced in the
higher, spiritual dimension of fate or God’s plan. He decides that martyrdom—sacrificing his
life in devotion to God—is his fate, and refuses to be tempted by other, more earthly pursuits
of political power or worldly, secular desires.
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In the interlude, Becket gives a sermon to the congregation of Canterbury Cathedral. He asks
his audience to think about sainthood from a divine perspective and reconsider the
conventional, human understanding of saintliness as pure, peaceful and gained without
torturous hardship, adding that Jesus’s disciples became saints only after experiencing great
suffering. He ends the sermon by saying that it may be the last time he stands before the
congregation, foreshadowing his martyrdom.
In the second part of the play, four knights serving Henry II arrive at Canterbury Cathedral
and accost Becket, calling him a traitor to the crown. Before Becket left, the king appointed
him to be the Chancellor of England as well as Archbishop. After initially accepting both
positions, however, Becket immediately dropped the chancellorship. Further, the knights say
Becket then began to abandon all the king’s policies which he had formerly supported.
Claiming they’ve been sent by the king, the knights ask Becket if he’ll agree to appear before
Henry II and speak for his actions. Becket responds by saying that, if the king has ordered
such an appearance, then the public ought to be allowed to know Henry II’s charges against
him and personally witness his defense against them. The knights disregard this response and
move to attack Becket, but the priests and some attendants enter the scene before they get a
chance to. The knights leave, promising to return for Becket.
Knowing that the knights will be returning to murder the Archbishop, the priests try to
persuade him to go into hiding, but Becket refuses, fully committed to his martyrdom. When
the knights come back to the cathedral, the priests bar its front doors, preventing them from
entering. Becket, however, demands that the priests open the doors, thereby offering his life
up to the swords of the knights and to his own martyrdom, saying it’s against the Church’s
policy to exclude anyone from entering one of its cathedrals. The priests unbar the doors, and
the knights enter and kill Becket.
Devastated by Becket’s death, the Chorus cries out in painful desperation that the sky and air
be cleansed of the death newly sprung upon Canterbury. The priests, however, conclude that
Becket’s death was a manifestation of fate, and that the Church is stronger for it. The four
knights then turn towards the audience and offer arguments in defense of their decision to
murder Becket. They describe why they think he was a traitor to the king and also largely
responsible for his own death. The play ends with the Chorus asking God to forgive them and
have mercy on them for not seeing—at first—Becket’s martyrdom as having incredible
spiritual significance beyond their own personal concerns. Following the priests, the Chorus
evolves to see Becket’s death as something caused by a divine source which they cannot
understand but which nonetheless merits their faith and devotion.
Summary

The play begins in the Archbishop’s Hall of Canterbury Cathedral; the date is December 29,
1170. The members of the Chorus—made up of common women of Canterbury—are the first
to speak. They say that it’s been seven years since Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of
Canterbury, has left them, and that—despite his kindness as a spiritual leader—it would be
best that he not return, though they do not explain why. The Chorus says that they have
suffered since he’s left, but that they are nonetheless content if they are left alone, “to their
own devices,” and unbothered by the wealthier members of society (barons, merchants,
the king) who can lord their power over the Chorus in a coercive fashion. Ultimately, the
Chorus conveys a sense of powerlessness as they say that they expect some “malady” to fall
upon them. They can only wait in anticipation, since destiny is controlled by God, and—as
the poor folk of Canterbury—they have no power to change their lives through the world of
politics and commerce. They truly are left to themselves—to their own inventiveness and,
ultimately, their faith. After the Chorus’s opening monologue, three priests enter the scene
and discuss a feud which occurred between Archbishop Becket and the king some time ago,
before Becket’s departure. The second priest wonders what the Archbishop does now that
he’s abroad in France, with the English and the French king being caught up in a political
battle of “ceaseless intrigue.” The third priest comments that he sees nothing “conclusive”—
nothing effective, dignified, or merited—in “temporal” (everyday and earthly) political
(versus religious) government. He adds that the only law which the keepers of temporal
power uphold is that of seizing and maintaining a greedy, lustful power. After the priests’
brief discussion, a herald enters the scene, and announces that Becket, the Archbishop, is in
England. The first priest asks if the feud between Becket and the king has been resolved or
not—whether Becket comes in war or in peace. The herald replies by saying that Becket’s
return, even though it may seem cheerful and potentially peaceful at first, is really just the
beginning of more turmoil. The priests respond to the herald’s message. The first priest says
he fears for the Archbishop and the Church, adding that he always thought Becket was out of
place in the world of political power (Becket was formerly both Archbishop and Chancellor).
The second priest develops this, saying that, with the spiritual leadership of Becket back in
Canterbury, they can feel confident that they will be guided through whatever political
problems the king, barons, and landholders may throw at them, and concludes that they
therefore have cause to rejoice. The third priest, more philosophically, says that they must
“let the wheel turn” for good or bad—they must let the passage of time and the unfolding of
fate operate however it will, and with whatever consequences it brings for their lives, since
the nature of good and evil cannot be totally comprehended. After the priests’ discussion
about Becket’s return to Canterbury, the Chorusweighs in. They say they want the
Archbishop to go back to France, thinking his presence in Canterbury will spell only doom.
“Living and partly living” for seven years, the Chorus describes their time living apart from
the Archbishop as troubling, but at least tolerable. But Becket’s return imposes a “great fear”
upon them (the possibility of his death—of losing their spiritual leader). They therefore plea
that Becket go back to France. The second priest, hearing the Chorus’s reluctance about
Becket’s return, condescends to them, calling them “foolish, immodest and babbling
women.” He tells them to put aside whatever unmerited, personal fears they have, and give
Becket a “hearty welcome.” Becket enters the scene, and tells the second priest that
the Chorus is not being foolish, but that they “speak better than they know, and beyond your
[the second priest’s] understanding.” He then gives a philosophical description of the
relationship between acting and suffering, saying that both are interdependent, “fixed / in an
eternal action,” and constitute a fundamental pattern to existence. Becket then likens this
pattern to a wheel that turns and yet is still at the same time. The second priest apologizes for
the poor welcome Becket received, as Becket walked in on the Chorus saying they didn’t
want him to return. The second priest regrets that he and the other priests were unable to
prepare an adequate welcome for Becket, since he arrived with such short notice, but the
Archbishop says he is more than grateful for whatever accommodations the priest will
provide, adding that these are small concerns compared to the greater distresses facing
Canterbury. Becket informs the priests that he evaded being killed on the way to Canterbury,
because “rebellious bishops” who would have sent spies after him failed to intercept letters
he’d sent—letters describing where he’d be going once he left France. In response, the first
priest asks Becket if anyone might be following him, and his answer is unusual: Becket
describes his enemies like a “hungry hawk” preying on him, but does not make any
conclusive statement about whether he feels safe or not. Instead, he says the “end will be
simple, sudden,” and “God-given,” though whether he intends this “end” to be the death of
his enemies or himself is unclear. The first tempter, a former friend of both Becket and
the king, enters the scene. He says he hopes that, despite the seriousness of Becket’s current
situation, Becket will nonetheless excuse him for the cheeriness and comparably trivial nature
of the topic he wants to discuss. The tempter tries to get Becket to remember when he and the
king were good friends, and says that friendship shouldn’t let itself be undone by the passage
of time. He also thinks that Becket should drop his problems with the king, claiming that
mending their relationship will have a trickle-down effect on solving the problems of the
Church. When Becket concedes that the first tempter is discussing a past worth remembering,
the tempter says he’s also talking about the “new season”—about the joys of the incoming
spring. But Becket replies that neither he nor anyone else knows about the future, and further,
that whatever has happened in the past cannot happen again. The first tempter gives up trying
to convince Becket, saying he’ll leave the Archbishop to the pleasures of his “higher vices,”
mocking Becket’s religion. Still, he leaves Becket on relatively friendly terms, saying that if
Becket will think of him during prayer, he’ll think of Becket “at kissing-time below the
stairs.” The second tempter enters the scene, and reminds Becket of how they met many years
ago. He says that Becket made a mistake when he resigned from the office of Chancellor, to
which Henry IIappointed him along with the role of Archbishop. This tempter says that the
power of the Chancellor is much greater, and more real, than that of the Archbishop. While
the power of the Chancellorship is in the present, he says, the holiness of the Archbishop is
“hereafter.” Becket responds by calling the Chancellorship a “punier power” compared to his
own as Archbishop, and says that those who have faith in political, worldly orders not
controlled by God only “breed fatal disease.” The second tempter leaves, calling Becket a
sinner. The third tempter appears, and introduces himself to Becket as a “country-keeping
lord” and a “rough straightforward Englishman,” and not a trifler or politician. He says that
country lords like himself are the people who truly know England and its needs. He then
starts his proposal to Becket by claiming that, once real friendship ends, it can never be
recovered, so there’s no hope for Becket to reconcile with the king. But other “friends,” the
tempter says, can be found in Becket’s situation: the country lords like himself—the English
barons. He then proposes that Becket help him in a plot to overthrow King Henry II—that
Becket procure the Pope’s blessing for a coalition of the country-lord middle class, formed
with the aim of ending the king’s “tyrannous jurisdiction.” Becket rejects the third tempter’s
proposal, saying that he’d never betray a king. The tempter leaves, and tells Becket that he
hopes the king will one day show more regard for Becket’s loyalty. The fourth tempter enters
the scene, and commends the strength of Becket’s will in rejecting the other tempters’
proposals. He says that kingly rule, and all other political power beneath the king, pales in
comparison to spiritual power, and affirms the magnitude of Becket’s power as Archbishop,
saying that “the course of temporal power” leads only to destruction, instability, and falsity.
He further points out the futility and impermanence of kingly rule, since kings just keep
dying and replacing one another, implementing new reigns that will never last. The saint and
the martyr, however, rule from the grave, the tempter says—and he asks Becket to think
about such glory after death. Ultimately, the fourth tempter tells Becket to follow the path
of martyrdom—to make himself “the lowest / On earth, to be high in heaven.” But Becket is
repulsed. He acknowledges that the fourth tempter tempts Becket with his actual, personal
desires, while the others have only been concerned with the temporal, worldly order of things
—things he actively shuns. Ashamed that this fourth tempter has revealed his innermost
desires, Becketwonders if it is even possible to escape damnation on account of pride (such as
his desire for glory and renown because of martyrdom). In response, the tempter repeats the
same speech about the relationship between acting and suffering (using the image of
the wheel) which Becket gave to the priests before. After the fourth tempter finishes his
proposal, all four tempters, in unison, proclaim that human life “is a cheat and a
disappointment,” and that everything, for humankind, is either “unreal or disappointing.”
They say that humans only pass from unrealities to further unrealities, “intent / On self-
destruction,” and that humankind is the enemy of itself and of its own society. After the
tempters give their opinion about the nature of humankind, the priests all plead, in unison,
for Becket to not enter a fight he can’t win—to not “fight the intractable tide” or “sail the
irresistible wind.” They want Becket to hold off on immediately implementing his own
religious agenda in Canterbury, and wait for the political conflict bred by his presence to cool
down. The Chorus addresses their Lord, Becket, and says that they are not ignorant or
idealistic; they say they know what to expect and what not to, and that they are intimately
familiar with political coercion and personal/physical hardships. Yet God always gave them
some hope, they say, whereas now a new fear haunts them—a fear which they cannot avoid.
They say that God is leaving them, and beg Becket to save them by saving himself, for if
their Archbishop is destroyed, then they will be destroyed themselves. The first part of the
play ends with a monologue by Becket. He’s now certain of his fated path, and proclaims that
he will never again feel temptation in so overwhelming a manner as the fourth tempter’s
proposal. The fourth tempter encouraged Becket “to do the right deed for the wrong
reason”—to sacrifice himself through martyrdom not for a sheer love of, and faith in, God,
but rather a selfish desire for spiritual glory and power. Becket goes on to recount how, in his
youth, he sought pleasure in all the wrong, superfluously secular ways, through such means
as philosophy, music, and chess. He also reveals that he never wanted to become a servant of
God, and says that God’s servants risk committing greater sin and experiencing more sorrow
than someone who serves a king. Becket concludes by acknowledging that most people will
view his commitment to God and martyrdom as fanatical, but he nevertheless commits
himself to his divine cause, and asks an Angel of God to protect him from getting caught in
the human divide between suffering and action.
ANALYSES
The Chorus would rather keep to themselves and remain in the state of relative
dissatisfaction and suffering they currently face, just because it’s tolerable. They’d rather that
Becket stay away from Canterbury, it seems, because his presence in Canterbury would
somehow bring about more suffering and pain for them, to an extreme degree which they
couldn’t bear to face. The Chorus wants to be left alone to their own ways of dealing with the
somewhat hopeless world around them, because so far they’ve been able get by. The Chorus
occupies the lowest position of power in Canterbury society, both spiritually and politically.
Spiritually, they are subjects of the Archbishop and look to him for religious guidance.
Politically, they are peasants at the hands of those with earthly wealth and power. A clear
sense of the divide between worldly/temporal power and spiritual power in the play first
appears here. That the third priest sees no purpose in temporal power instantly lets us know
that the priests are aligned with Becket’s spiritual cause, and against the political agendas of
the king, insofar as they impinge on the Archbishop’s religious authority. The only
motivation behind temporal power, for the priests, is greed. The herald’s message gives some
substance to the Chorus’s desire to remain separated from Becket. And now that the priests
have explained the feud between Becket and the Archbishop, we ourselves can come to sense
the thickness of the tension between the two authorities. The strength of the priests’ faith in
the Archbishop becomes amplified here—despite the potential backlash that Becket’s
religious agendas in Canterbury may face from the main forces of political power (the king,
barons, and landholders), the priests are confident that Becket and God will guide them and
the Church effectively through whatever hardships they may face. Further, the third priest’s
opinion about the relationship between good and bad, and the passage of time, suggests that
he and the other priests feel that, whatever results from the potential conflict between Becket
and the king, it will unfold according to God’s plan. Here, the Chorus’s initial desire to
remain in their currently disappointing yet tolerable state of existence acquires more
meaning. Becket’s return to Canterbury could spell their ruin, and it seems what they truly
fear is his death at the hands of the King. The loss of their spiritual leader and guide would
bring their currently tolerable level of suffering to something more overwhelming and
extreme. The Chorus is therefore opposed to the priests’ view. Further, the
priest’condescension towards the Chorus reveals their general disregard for their opinion. The
image of the wheel—a metaphor for the passage of time, and the way human action can and
cannot change the external world—appears here for the first time. Becket’s insistence that the
Chorus is speaking from a place of genuine feeling, and are not the fools the priests make
them out to be, underscores that the Chorus, just like everyone else, is caught up in the
unfolding of fate, over which they have little control. While the priests care about superficial
matters regarding Becket’s arrival at Canterbury—such as his accommodations and the way
his followers (the Chorus) vocalize their reaction to his return—Becket seems unconcerned.
He cares only about the spiritual needs of Canterbury as a whole, and not his material
comfort or the fact that the Chorus holds a contrary opinion about his return. The calmness of
Becket’s reply to the first priest’s question reveals his lack of concern about the way the
future unfolds. He doesn’t say how he thinks the “end” should occur—whether he outlasts his
enemies or they outlast him—rather, he says that the “end” will be wholly given, or
determined, by God; he therefore seems to feel that, however the future unfolds, it will have
spiritual merit, because it will be the realization of God’s will. The first tempter is just
concerned with restoring the happiness and enjoyment of life in Canterbury’s past—he’s not
invested in any higher spiritual goals. He thinks that restoring happiness—through the
mending of Becket’s relationship with the king—is the sole solution to the problems facing
Canterbury. The first tempter seems unwilling to think that happiness should be sacrificed for
spiritual progress or any kind of higher ideal. Becket refuses to given in to the first tempter’s
hopes of restoring the pleasures of the past. Rather, he holds the philosophy that nothing can
ever be repeated—and so it would be futile to try and restore his past relationship with the
king. By calling them “higher vices,” the first tempter equates Becket’s religious endeavors
to merely alternative ways of seeking pleasure. He tries to bring Becket’s sense of spiritual
superiority to down to the level of simply desiring happiness. The second tempter totally
dismisses spiritual power as a valid form of authority that has any effects on the world,
claiming that the office of the Chancellorship (a form of worldly or temporal power) holds a
more effective power than the Archbishop. This tempter therefore represents an extreme way
of thinking about the relation between worldly and spiritual powers. He thinks the spiritual
should be totally shunned, whereas the fourth tempter argues for the opposite. The third
tempter argues for a total overthrowal of the king—of the prevailing seat of worldly power in
England. Yet this tempter’s proposal is by no means motivated by spiritual goals—he simply
wants to replace one worldly power with another one (a government ruled by the class of
country lords). In this way, his proposal contrasts with the fourth tempter’s, who argues that
Becket should shun the worldly for spiritual reasons. Compared to the second tempter, the
third tempter has less lust for authoritarian power, and less disdain for the Church; however,
he still sees spirituality as coming second to worldly affairs. Becket’s claim that he’d never
double-cross a king reveals his conviction that, despite the political/religious conflicts he’s
had with Henry II, he doesn’t feel he’s ever forfeited his loyalty to the crown. The fourth
tempter embodies everything against which the second tempter stands, asserting that true
power is spiritual, not temporal, in nature. Temporal power, lacking roots in the spiritual
dimension, leads only to worldly chaos, and is not eternal. But spiritual power, precisely
because it rules from beyond the grave—in the “hereafter,” a trait which the second tempter
said made spiritual power useless—is why it’s so powerful: it outlasts the temporal, it outlasts
life itself. The fourth tempter reveals that Becket is maybe not so personally disinterested in
his martyrdom as he may think he is or wants to be. Becket actually is quite invested in his
martyrdom in a way that is somewhat selfish at this point in the play; he merely wants the
spiritual glory martyrdom affords. Becket encounters a paradox once his personal desire for
martyrdom gets revealed: is it even possible at all to escape being prideful, or desiring things
for personal gain? After all, isn’t some amount of desire required to do anything, even
sacrificing oneself? Based on Becket’s insistence in following his own spiritual path away
from their worldly temptations (even the fourth tempter invoked worldly desire), the four
tempters all conclude that the whole of humankind seeks destruction (like
Becket’s martyrdom) and that the things and ideals it values are always illusory (like
Becket’s spiritual fanaticism). The priests want Becket to stay alive, and worry that, by
entering into conflict with the king, his life will be threatened. They are therefore opposed to
Becket’s spiritual path, which might require that he sacrifice his life for God. The utter
powerlessness which characterizes the spiritual and political position of the Chorus keeps
magnifying. It becomes more and more apparent that Becket truly isn’t safe in Canterbury,
and that he’s unwilling to tone down his religious fanaticism. Whereas the Chorus always had
a sense of hope in the past, living their disappointing but tolerable existence, now they have
none in the face of an overwhelming fear (Becket’s death). Becket exudes a new confidence
in his fated path after having endured the psychological brunt of the fourth tempter’s proposal
—realizing that to only seek martyrdom for spiritual glory is to totally miss the point, which
is the sacrifice of oneself for the will of God, to become an instrument of God’s will. Here,
Becket reveals how he’s evolved spiritually—how he wasn’t always so fervently devout, and
invested himself in intellectual pursuits rather than trying to foster a pure faith in God; he also
alludes to the fact that, because of the pride potentially involved in being a servant of God,
there’s greater risk of damnation. Becket continues to exude confidence and a purity of faith,
refusing to cater to those who would say his spirituality is overzealous. To stick purely in
touch with his fate, he must avoid getting caught in the dualistic, worldly view of suffering
and action.
Worldly Power vs. Spiritual
As a play based on the actual historical conflict between the Archbishop Thomas Becket of
Canterbury and the English King Henry II, Murder in the Cathedral explores the relationship
between two forms of power: worldly and spiritual. Worldly power refers to any power that is
wielded over the everyday world of human affairs, particularly political power. The play
refers to this power as “temporal,” highlighting its fleeting nature and the fact that it is
completely subject to the passage of time. Worldly power is therefore open to change, and the
effectiveness of its laws is never guaranteed. In contrast, spiritual power in the play refers to a
code of laws that spring from God, are eternal, and to a significant degree are beyond human
comprehension. From the beginning to the end, Murder in the Cathedralexplores how people
should navigate between these two powers, through Becket’s interactions with the four
tempters, the four knights, and in Becket’s own evolving understanding of his martyrdom—
his willingness to die for God.
The four tempters’ dialogues with Becket may be interpreted as attempts to persuade him to
adopt certain conceptions of how temporal and spiritual power should be balanced. The first
tempter treats spirituality as a kind of decoration on worldly power—as something that can
inspire joy and merriment by bringing happiness to the state and, in the process, fix Becket’s
conflicted relationship with the king. The second tempter, however, sees spiritual power as
utterly ineffectual, and argues that to truly effect change Becket should focus less on religion
and return to his former political role as Chancellor. The third tempter sees spiritual power as
basically just another form of worldly power—or something that can be put to work to
achieve worldly ends that have no spiritual grounding. He argues that Becket should use his
role as Archbishop to help empower the lower class of country lords to overthrow the king.
The fourth tempter has the opposite opinion of the second: he argues that Becket should
devote himself solely to the realm of spiritual power, and shirk the temporal, through
martyrdom. Thus, the four tempters all argue for certain ways of how the two forms of power
should be thought together or apart.
In the second part of the play, the four knights—representatives of the king and therefore of
the king’s worldly power—confront Becket. The knights’ conception of the relationship
between worldly and temporal power leads them to call Becket a traitor: they think he’s
betrayed the worldly authority of the English crown through an overzealous loyalty to the
spiritual authority of the Pope (who has condemned the king). The knights therefore see
worldly and temporal power as separate entities that exist in a kind of natural opposition, an
opposition where both powers to some extent restrict one another. The knights (and, by
extension, the king) believe that Becket has pushed too far in supporting the Pope’s
condemnation of the English king; they thus believe he has become a traitor.
Becket’s own view about the relationship between the two powers is revealed by his reply to
the knights. He responds by declaring that there is a higher order responsible for the king’s
condemnation: “It is not Becket who pronounces doom, / But the Law of Christ’s Church, the
judgment of Rome.” This Law, applied by the Pope, is believed by Becket to stem wholly
from God (the Pope was believed to be God’s mouthpiece). Becket therefore appeals to the
realm of spiritual power as if it had absolute priority over the dimension of worldly authority.
To Becket, worldly power is a puny, false conception of power; real power stems from a
higher source, beyond human comprehension, and based in God.
FATE AND SACRIFICE

As Murder in the Cathedral unfolds, Becket, the priests, and the Chorus all undergo spiritual

evolution with regard to how they view fate and their relation to it. By the end of the play, all
three must endure some kind of sacrifice as a result of this evolution. At the beginning of the
play, Becket somewhat selfishly desires martyrdom in order to reap the spiritual benefits
associated with it: sainthood, spiritual glory, and historical renown. Over the course of the
play, though, Becket comes to view his martyrdom not as something he chooses (in terms of
its actual unfolding in his life, or the potential impact it may have on the world), but rather as
a path he’s fated to follow according to God’s plan. With this new understanding, Becket
sacrifices his own personal aspirations and ambitions in order to accept martyrdom as a role
designed for him by God—a role which only God can ultimately understand.
Becket’s martyrdom is the pivot around which the priests’ and the Chorus’s understandings
of fate revolve. The priests begin the play in welcoming anticipation of Becket’s return to
England—they want him to stay, and they do not want him to be killed or allow himself,
through martyrdom, to be killed. They try to protect him from the king’s knights, thinking
that preserving Becket’s life will be better for the Church, the church-going public, and
England as a whole. They think that safeguarding Becket is part of a faithful relationship to
God’s plan, to fate. Yet, by trying to protect Becket, the priests—at least from Becket’s view
—are turning him away from his fated path, his martyrdom, because they are trying to shape
or change the divine outcome of events. The priests come to understand this by the end of the
play—they come to treat Becket’s martyrdom as pre-destined, as having a purpose behind it
which they needn’t know, and they thereby sacrifice their own conception of fate in favor of
a more divine view.
In contrast with the priests, the Chorus—made up of common women of Canterbury—does
not want Becket to return from his exile in France. The Chorus says they are “living and
partly living,” existing in a world over which they have no control, and where the whims of
either the King or of nature can overwhelm them—but they’d rather cling to this way of life
than risk losing the hope (however imaginary) they’ve invested in the form of their still-living
spiritual leader, Becket. They’d prefer to remain with their current lives because they are
familiar and at least tolerable, rather than fall into the spiritual despair that Becket’s death
could cause. The Chorus therefore begins the play in direct opposition to fate: they do not
want to endure the unfolding of Becket’s fated path, his martyrdom. They’d prefer he
continue to exist as an idea, as a glimmer of hope in what for them is a hopeless world. To
lose that glimmer would unleash hopelessness to its fullest possible extent. As the play
progresses, the Chorus continues to see Becket’s likely martyrdom not as the unfolding of
God’s plan, but as a personal tragedy for them, as a fault of the world in which they live—as
if the world lorded Becket’s death over them with a personal vengeance. The Chorus never
accepts that they must submit themselves to God’s plan—they’d rather have their spiritual
leader for themselves. Therefore, when Becket is killed, they are thrown into a terrible
despair verging on madness.
Ultimately, Murder in the Cathedral seems to celebrate Becket’s self-sacrifice and
submission to fate. The priests ultimately come around to seeing things Becket’s way, and the
Chorus suffers for not doing so. And yet the play also offers some means of questioning this
conclusion. Can Becket’s martyrdom truly be an act of God’s will if it results in the despair
of the downtrodden? And if so, what does that say about God’s will? It’s not clear that the
play itself is actually endorsing such questions, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t worth
asking.
The four tempters all try to tempt Becket away from his fate by proposing that he adopt
various views about how to balance his role as an individual of everyday society with his role
as a religious figure. The play even treats the fourth tempter’s proposal—that Becket become
a martyr because, as a spiritual role, it’s associated with the highest glory (saintliness)—as a
“temptation,” even though Becket himself seems at first to be pursuing exactly this path. But,
in Becket and the play’s ultimate logic, such advice is a temptation because the fourth
tempter frames martyrdom as glorifying the individual, even if that glory is earned through
dying “for God.” Becket, in contrast, comes to believe that he should not seek to understand
or think about the impact of his martyrdom – to his own legacy or to the world – in any way.
He accepts it unquestioningly, without effort to shape or control it, as part of God’s plan.

TEMPTATION

The concept of temptation as something that causes people to deviate from the divine
unfolding of fate—at least as Becket sees it—permeates Murder in the Cathedral. The four
tempters and priestsboth try to “tempt” Becket away from his fate, though in two very distinct
ways.
The priests also try to “tempt” Becket—though less obviously than the actual “tempters”—by
trying to keep Becket alive. They refuse to unbar the doors of the church at Becket’s
command, and while the knights are gathered outside, the priests reply: “You would bar the
door / Against the lion, the leopard . . . Why not more / Against beasts with the souls of
damned men, against men / Who would damn themselves as beasts.” Though not explicitly
using the language of temptation, the priests here are playing a role which parallels that of the
tempters: the priests also try to make Becket change or shift events, to shift fate rather than
accept it. The priests even go a step further than the tempters in trying to get Becket to do
what they think is best—they try to physically force him into safety from the knights.
In this way, the difference between the roles of the tempters and the priests is somewhat
blurred by the play, making “temptation” assume a more general shape and meaning.
Temptation, as the play presents it, is anything that leads one toward a personal view of
action and the world, because that will naturally pull one away from a selfless acceptance of
God’s plan.

ETERNITY AND HUMAN UNDERSTANDING

At the core of Murder in the Cathedral is a contrast between a higher power beyond human
comprehension and the earthly realm of everyday human affairs. This realm of human
thought is fraught with opposites—with oppositional thinking that pits good against evil, holy
against unholy, high against low—while the divine realm of spiritual thinking is concerned
with a oneness and wholeness that transcends the partial nature of human categories. Eternity
—the everlasting, indivisible dimension of spiritual unity—therefore, is put into a complex,
unfolding relationship with human understanding in the play.
Becket explores this dynamic relationship in a few ways. He describes the relationship
between acting and suffering as one that humans understand as oppositional, but which, from
a higher perspective, is an interdependent whole. Early in the play he compares the
relationship to a wheel that can turn and be still at the same time, with the moving aspect of
the wheel representing human conception of the wheel and the unmoving aspect representing
the eternal view. Yet, though Becket retains this theological view about the division between
eternity and human understanding throughout the play, he nonetheless seems to believe that,
by submitting completely to fate through his martyrdom, he can in some sense bypass the
partial nature of human understanding and be an instrument of God’s will in the world.
Further, Becket, in the sermon he delivers in the interlude of the play, encourages his
audience to understand the quality of saintliness from a divine, and not a human, perspective.
He wants the congregation to understand that Jesus’s disciples by no means became saints
through any peace they achieved or experienced on earth. Becket says that the peace which
Jesus left to his disciples did not “mean peace as we think of it: the kingdom of England at
peace with its neighbours, the barons at peace with the king,” for his disciples never
encountered this kind of worldly, political peace. Instead, they suffered arduous journeys,
torture, imprisonment—very little, if any, earthly comfort or peace. He asks his congregation
to consider that the peace which Jesus promised had nothing to do with the everyday realm of
human satisfaction, but referred rather to peace from a divine, eternal perspective.
The Chorus also demonstrates an appreciation of the radical division between human
understanding and eternity. In the beginning of the play, when the Chorus begs Becket to
leave and return to France, they say they are facing a fear which they cannot understand, and
which is ultimately unknowable; they say that this fear has torn their hearts away, and
unskinned their brains as if they were onions—the symptoms of a “final fear which none
understands.” The play as a whole, therefore, displays an appreciation of some fundamental
split between human knowledge and the realm of something higher than the Chorus—a
higher realm whose intervention in their lives threatens to split them from and destroy their
sense of self.
The Chorus’s sense of a difference between human understanding and the higher, more
eternal powers of fate persists throughout the play. However, the chorus does undergo a
changing relationship with the eternal dimension: whereas they begin the play merely
speculating about it—warning that it, “the doom on the world,” will be unleashed upon them
if Becket stays—they end the play no longer possessing the comfort of a speculative distance
from their fear. The fear has come to fruition – Becket has been killed – and they must truly
face it.
Thus, just as Becket appreciates a division between human understanding and eternity, so
does the Chorus. The way they deal with that division, however, differs. While Becket is
“secure and assured of [his] fate, unaffrayed from the shades”—while he deals with the split
between eternity and human understanding through spiritual self-sacrifice to fate—the
Chorus is unwilling or unable to adopt a more spiritually nuanced, selfless understanding of
the eternal.

LOYALTY AND GUILT

Both political and religious loyalty (loyalty to God) are examined in the play, as well as the
way those loyalties do or don’t inspire guilt. When Becket found himself caught between
serving his king as chancellor or serving the Church, he chose the Church. He also refused to
acknowledge the prince’s coronation. In the play, Becket defends his actions towards the king
by claiming that it was not he but the Pope (and therefore God, since the Pope was believed
to be infallibly speaking for God) who has made these decisions, but the furious king does
not accept this reasoning. By extension, it’s clear that the king does not see Becket’s loyalty
to God as being able to coexist with his political loyalty to the king. The king thinks solely in
terms of political loyalty, and can only view Becket as a traitor. The king does not, for
example, see Becket’s political refusal to obey as something that might help the king to better
align himself with the Church or with God—he’s focused solely on his own political power.
The king’s knights, meanwhile, also describe their actions in terms of loyalty. When they
turn to the audience to justify their murder of Becket, the knights say that they were simply
following the orders of the king. They did not want to murder him, but were politically
obligated to—it was an act of loyalty to the king. They justify the murder by offering political
arguments about Becket’s renunciation of the chancellorship, as well as his abandonment of
the political policies he formerly held (Becket had begun espousing the belief that there was a
spiritual order higher than the king’s rule).
It’s therefore tempting to see the knights’ loyalty and Becket’s loyalty as similar. After all,
the knights simply followed the order of their king (seemingly, though this is never explicitly
stated), while Becket simply followed the dictates of his Pope and his religion. The
distinction between Becket’s loyalty and the knights’ loyalty blurs in this sense: both are
loyal to a power that demands total submission. However, the play does present a different,
and very clear, distinction between Becket’s loyalty and that of the knights: the degree to
which both parties feel guilt over their actions. Becket is confident in his loyalty to God – and
dissension from his king – and feels no moral qualms over it. The knights, on the other hand,
do feel such qualms. They even admit that, to ease their conscience, they had to drink alcohol
before acting. They feel guilty, and offer justifications and explanations to the audience in
order to assuage their own sense of guilt, and, perhaps, to try to save themselves from being
seen as villains.
Through these very different responses – the guiltlessness of Becket and guiltiness of the
knights – the play suggests that loyalty is only as worthy as the thing to which it is given,
and, perhaps, that one can only find peace by giving one’s loyalty, one’s self, to something
that does not sting one’s conscience. The play ultimately seems to suggest that Becket’s
loyalty is the most worthwhile—and that only God can honor the radical submission involved
in both his and the knights’ loyalty.
MARTYRDOM
As the act of sacrificing one’s life in the defense or upholding of certain religious beliefs,
martyrdom is the emblem of Becket’s radical submission to God. Becket seems to desire
martyrdom from the very beginning of the play, though the reasons behind this desire evolve.
At first he wants to die for God out of a combination of self-interest and activism (achieving
glory and fame that will affect the world in ways he would want), but he eventually comes to
think of himself as being fated for martyrdom, chosen by a source that is totally beyond his
own ability to understand and comprehend what it might mean to, or do for, himself.
Martyrdom therefore has two dimensions in the play: not only the obvious, physical event of
Becket’s death, but also the continual process of sacrificing one’s partial, human view of the
world for a more divine perspective that has nothing to do with human desire. Alongside
Becket, the Chorus and the priests undergo this latter form of martyrdom as well.

THE WHEEL
Used by Becket as an image to describe the interdependent relationship between acting and
suffering, the wheel represents the wholeness and indivisibility of the divine, spiritual reality
behind the everyday world of (medieval Christian) human experience. It also shows how that
wholeness appears as a fundamental contradiction to human thought. The wheel, as a
metaphor, provides a tool for thinking about how the divided world of human thought (i.e.,
divided between such partial, finite categories as acting and suffering) is undivided, singular,
and whole from a divine perspective.
The wheel of time, which Becket says both spins and remains still simultaneously,
demonstrates how impossible it is to conceive, in Becket’s world, of the divine realm where
motion and stillness, energy and inertia, merge and become the same. For any motion to be
perceived at all, there must exist a sense of stillness or motionlessness against which it can be
compared, and vice-versa. But to see both motion and stillness as the same would destroy the
meaning of the two categories; neither motion nor stillness exist as separate, distinct
categories in the realm of divine perception. The two are interdependent; they depend on one
another’s existence to exist separately from one another. But this interdependence in and of
itself—how the two categories reinforce one another’s sense of meaning—cannot be reduced
to either one of the two, separate categories themselves.
Interdependence—a property of the singular, whole, undivided nature of the divine
perspective—eludes the partial categories of human thought, like the revolution of a wheel
that is simultaneously still. Thus the spiritual world, in Murder in the Cathedral, is something
which demands self-sacrifice and submission in order to connect with it. To be closer to God
and fate, Becket, the Chorus, and the priests must all fundamentally alter the way they think
about themselves and their relation to the divine. They all come to think of themselves not as
fundamentally cut off or separate from the divine, but somehow as integral to, a part or an
instrument of, the divine and the way it unfolds in the form of fate.

Modernism
The end of the 19th Century and the beginning of the 20th Century brought tremendous changes
to how the world was understood. Developing science and philosophy challenged traditional
understandings of how people perceived and interpreted the world around them, particularly with
the growing popularity of theories such as Darwinism and Freudianism. Additionally, a more
complicated and faster lifestyle, more developed technology and the experience of witnessing
the atrocities that occurred during World War I also challenged people to rethink their conception
of reality. Faced with this new context, many artists believed that it was necessary to create art
that reflected the complicated reality of the world of the early 20th Century. This movement came
to be known as modernism and is defined by its use of innovative and often abstract art.

PLOT (Synopsis)

The play can be said to begin at the climax, for the tension and fear imposed by the
state have reached the people at the lowest level. At the beginning of the play,
there is a sense of doom that hangs heavy in the air. Everyone fears that Becket's
return will result in tragedy, clearly foreshadowing the end of the play from the
very beginning.

The plot centers on the changed friendship between King Henry II and Thomas
Becket. Henry has raised Becket to the post of Chancellor and later makes him the
Archbishop of Canterbury. The Chancellor's position is that of the first subject in
the Kingdom, controlling the ecclesiastical patronage of the King. The post of
Archbishop is the highest religious head, next to the Pope. After becoming the
Archbishop, Becket stops supporting the radical changes the King wants to
introduce in England. Becket opposes the King's thirst for power, as he tries to
raise the standard of the Crown higher than that of the Pope. Before the play
begins, Becket has undergone a transformation and has started living a very pious
life, giving up all the enjoyment he previously shared with the King. When
disputes develop between the two, Becket flees to France.

With this background, the play begins with the news of Becket's return to England
after seven long years in France. The people of Canterbury are overjoyed to have
him back, and their welcome to him, though a small one, is astonishing. England is
eagerly waiting for their beloved religious head that has always strongly supported
and guided the poor peasants and countrymen. As the people are busy meeting and
welcoming the Archbishop, the three priests have an apprehension that Becket is
not fully reconciled with the King. Both of them are proud and strong
personalities; as a result, they may not be able to renew their old tie of friendship.
The priests worry that the homecoming may cost Becket his life.

The women of Canterbury represent the simple folk of the town. They have lived a
hard life, and they know that it is their fate to suffer and struggle whether the King
rules or the barons' rule. During the seven years of Becket's exile, their lives have
been even more painful. Now since Becket is back home, they are happy; but they
feel a curious sense of doom. They gather outside the cathedral and await Becket.
They are asked to put on cheerful faces as Becket arrives. When Becket arrives, the
priests greet him and apologize for their simple welcome. Becket informs them that
his letters have been interrupted by spies and that his assassins have been waiting
for an opportunity to kill him, like hungry hawks.

The tempters enter the stage and suggest if Becket pleases the King on his terms,
he can become happy and prosperous. The temptations include a life full of fun and
feasting; Chancellorship and the status of the post; joining hands with barons to
overthrow the tyrannous King; and finally, dying at the hands of the assassins and
becoming a martyr. Becket faces each tempter. The first temptation has no effect
on him because he is no longer fascinated by feasting and good times. The second
temptation of Chancellorship is also a weak one, for Becket is already a Keeper of
"the Keys of heaven and hell." He is the supreme power in England and, hence,
Chancellorship cannot lure him. The third temptation of overthrowing the King for
the sake of the Normans is also brushed aside. Becket says that he will not act like
a wolf and betray the King. The last temptation is sudden and unexpected. By
allowing the King's assassins to kill him, he can acquire the glory of martyrdom.
Becket soon realizes that even the desire of martyrdom if filled with sinful pride
and will lead him to damnation. He refuses to commit the sin of cherishing the
desire.