By Midas Fridas

How should we understand the behavior of a (military) general who purposely orders his army to give up the geographical advantage of a defensive position (which effectively blocks the enemy troops from landing), and instead allows the full force of the foe to unload and assemble in an open field? Is it because the general has got a trick up his sleeves, or is the general very confident in the combat effectiveness of his own men? In The Battle of Maldon, an Old English poetic rendering of the English confrontation against Vikings at Maldon in 991, we are told that this particular general (named Byrhtnoth), after undertaking this bold decision, ended up defeated and slain. Many of his soldiers also died because some of his men, faint-hearted and reluctant to fight, fled amid the heat of the battle so that the army formation crumbled.

It appears that the unfortunate general has overestimated his men’s valor: Byrhtnoth overlooked some of his men’s cowardice when he boldly ordered the giving up of the defensive position. Yet, the poem itself does not suggest this as an explanation for Byrhtnoth’s misguided decision. Instead, the anonymous poet writes:

ða se eorl ongan             for his ofermode
alyfan landes to fela                   laþere ðeode.                                      

(The Battle of Maldon ll.90-91)

[Then the earl (Byrhtnoth), because of his (?)pride, gave up too much ground to the Viking foe.]

What has puzzled generations of critics here is the meaning of ofermod (the final -e is an inflection: it indicates a grammatical case of dative singular), which in ordinary Old English usage means ‘pride’. In poetic usage, the meaning can even extend to the sinful pride which Lucifer (later Satan) demonstrates in rebelling against God (c.f. the infernal Serpent’s ‘pride’ in Milton’s Paradise Lost). However, when applied to the otherwise secular and heroic setting of The Battle of Maldon, the usual meaning of ‘pride’ sounds unnatural: it neither fits well with the overall positive characterization of Byrhtnoth, nor provides a satisfactory explanation  for Byrhtnoth’s misguided decision. There seems to be something more in how the Anglo-Saxon understood pride that we are not currently aware of. My study aims tofind out what these forgotten meanings are (with reference to Old English writings from other genres) and relate them to the ofermod-debate in The Battle of Maldon.

In one sense, literary studies in the Old English period (449-1066; some argue 597-1066) can be quite similar to that of any other period: it is possible to base our analysis on the political, social, ideological or cultural setting (‘context’) of the time when the literary texts concerned are produced, and examine how these literary texts respond to or reflect the context so identified. Thus, just as we may explore how Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey corresponds with the Cult of the Sublime in the 18th century, we may also analyze in what way Old English biblical poems (e.g. Genesis) engages the theology proclaimed in Old English homilies. However, what makes Old English studies unique is that most of the Old English texts (especially verse) are not narrowly ‘datable’ – in other words, the range of dates for the composition of Old English texts tend to be wide. As such, in contextualizing our critical analysis, we may need to spend extra effort in arguing why our selected context is more relevant or appropriate than the others. Consider Beowulf, an Old English epic whose date of composition is an object of keen debate in the field: some argue that it was written in the early eighth century based on its linguistic features, while others suggest the early tenth century on account of its prominent allusions to biblical narratives. This wide range of dating undoubtedly imposes a challenge on how we base our analysis, for the social and intellectual milieu in  eighth century England (where Latin learning in ecclesiastical settings was at its peak) is remarkably different from that of the tenth century (where vernacular literary production was on the rise, accompanied with a decline in Latin literacy).

As with the case of classical studies, critical analysis of Old English texts always involves supplying our own modern English translation for the cited primary texts. Whilst we may consult extant modern English translations as an aid for interpretation, these translations are to be treated with caution. The reason is that different translators have different emphases in their translations: at one end of the continuum, some prioritize the naturalness of modern English expressions and thus render the original texts rather freely; at the other end of the continuum, some translate very literally and attempt to preserve, albeit not perfectly, the diction (such as the rhythm and meter) of the original texts. Sometimes, their editorial focuses may not align well with the perspectives of our critical analyses and may even obscure the subtle significations in the original texts. For instance, in interpreting Beowulf ll.572-573:

               Wyrd oft nereð

unfægne eorl

[My translation: Fate (=wyrd) often saves an earl not fated to die]

Hostetter (a translator of Old English texts) renders ‘the course of events often spares the undoomed earl’, which appears very idiomatic in modern English and easily comprehensible to contemporary readers. However, as we explore the concept of fate in other Old English writings (especially the Alfredian Philosophiae Consolatio), we will recognize that there are (at least) two different  understandings in the early English context: one concept of fate is more pagan in nature and regards it as an essentially destructive force; the other concept is more Christian in nature and equates it as the working of God’s Divine Providence. As such, if we rely on Hostetter’s translated version only (and especially his translated verb ‘spare’), we might overlook the possibility that the fate (wyrd) here refers to the divine kind instead of the destructive.


Published on: April 14, 2021 < Back >