Church and state in medieval England: Thomas Becket and Henry II

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Medieval England had two mutually dependent centers of power, the church and the state. The state relied on the church for legitimacy. It was church ritual that turned a proto-king into a real one–someone who people believed had a god-given right to rule. And the church? It held land and riches, it had a near-monopoly on education and literacy, and people believed in it. All that gave it massive political clout. But it relied on the state’s network of laws and law enforcement.

So, two mutually dependent centers of power, and predictably, they didn’t always line up neatly. Take the tale of Thomas Becket and Henry II.

A rare relevant photo: the pulpit in Canterbury Cathedral

 

First, let’s get the name straight

When I first heard of Becket, he was called Thomas a Becket, which turns out not to have been his name. When he was born, he was called Thomas Beket. Spelling was a liquid back then. Somewhere along the line, he picked up a stray C. It looked good and he kept it. As Archbishop of Canterbury, he was known as Thomas of Canterbury. As a saint, he was (and I guess is) called Saint Thomas.

Then came Henry VIII, Anne Bolyn, England’s break with the Catholic Church, and all that stuff, and since Becket had thrown his weight behind the church and against a king when they came into conflict, he went decisively out of fashion. So in 1538, Cromwell (Henry’s brains as well as his tough guy) decreed that Saint T was to be known as plain old Bishop Becket.

In 1596, another Thomas, Thomas Nashe, a satirist and poet, added the a to Becket’s name.

Why’d he do that? It slotted in nicely with names in the Robin Hood legend (think Alan a Dale), which was popular right about then, and it made him sound like some rural bumpkin. In other words, this was the Anglicans making fun of the Catholics. 

The name stuck and by the 18th century the nifty rhythm of the a Becket form was clattering around after Tom Beket like a cluster of tin cans tied to his belt. Because regardless of its original intent, it does sound nice.

These days, people seem to have gone back to Thomas Becket, and in the interest of high-minded neutrality we’ll call him that. 

 

Henry and Becket

Becket was born in 1118 to Norman parents, and this was soon enough after the Norman invasion for that to place him among the elite. Ah, but his parents were merchants, so he was a long step below the elite of the elite, the aristocracy. He got an education (not a given back then), and after a detour as a city clerk and accountant went to work for Archbishop Theobald. 

Before we go on, though, a warning: you’ll want to keep your archbishops separate from your archdeacons in this paragraph, because it has an excess of arches. Becket pleased Theobald (the archbishop) well enough that he was appointed archdeacon of Canterbury. That’s not as good as being an archbishop, but even so it brought him both power and money. Three months after that, he became Henry’s chancellor and confidant. That was in addition to being archdeacon, so Becket now held two posts, both of them important. 

Becket was, according to the accounts I’ve read, skillful and energetic and gifted at getting people to like him, although he does seem to have neglected the less glamorous work of archdeacon in favor of his job as chancellor, best buddy, and right arm to the king. 

He showed himself to be the king’s man when the church and state came into conflict over something called scutage, which was part of that impenetrable knot of relationships that defined feudalism. Basically, it was money that the holder of a fief could pay instead of sending knights to fight for the king. The church held fiefs that had to produce knights or money, and Becket, taking the king’s side, charged the church a high rate.  

To make this more sensitive, this was a period when the church was pushing for greater power relative to kings, who’d previously had considerable control over the church. This is called the Gregorian Reform, and I never heard of it either. Henry was holding out against the changes, claiming what he considered his ancestral rights. And Becket backed him. He was very much the king’s man.

 

Then it all went sour

When Theobald died, what could make more sense than for Henry to make Becket the new archbishop? He’d be the king’s man inside the church.

Henry tried to persuade Becket to accept the post and Becket tried to persuade the king hat the story wouldn’t end well if he did. Becket lost the argument and was duly made archbishop, at which point he stopped being the king’s man and became the church’s, taking its side in conflicts with the king–first in a disagreement over tax, later over the issue of whether the church or the state would try clerics who were accused of crimes. 

In Europe–and in England before the Norman conquest–the church tried clerics, and their punishments were generally lighter than lay people faced. No death penalty, no mutilation. 

Becket’s argument was that the church already punished clerics and they shouldn’t be punished twice for the same crime. Henry’s was that clerical crime was rife and encouraged by church protection. Basically, though, this was about power.

The conflict came to a head in 1164, with the king claiming several of what he considered his traditional rights. He forbade the excommunication of royal officials and any appeals to Rome. He claimed the revenues of vacant church sees the right to influence the election of bishops.

Becket, having initially accepted this, then registered his disagreement and appealed to the pope, who–no surprise here–took the church’s side. 

Henry’s next move was to summon Becket to a trial. By a state court. And guess whose side it would be on. Becket, being no fool, fled to France, where he lived for six years. By way of spitting in Becket’s and the pope’s collective eye, Henry had the archbishop of York crown his son crowned as co-king, although the archbishop of Canterbury traditionally had the right to crown the king. 

Becket responded by excommunicating a bunch of people.

England, by this point, had more or less withdrawn from obedience to the pope, and in case this isn’t confusing enough I should mention that in addition to a pope, the church had an antipope–a kind of spare pope in case the original went flat. 

Sorry–I thought that was funny but it’s not accurate. Both pope and antipope claimed to be the one true pope. Let’s say it was a messy period in church politics and leave it there.

The pope backed Becket’s excommunications, and excommunication was serious stuff in the middle ages. It could cut a person or an entire nation off from church functions. Since we’re talking about a nation, it meant churches could be closed, people refused the sacraments, and churchyards closed to burials. It meant a country full of people who couldn’t take the sacraments, so they’d believe they were being denied their trip to heaven when they died. This is just the kind of thing that can trigger rebellions. 

So the king allowed Becket to return to Canterbury, but beyond that nothing was settled, and Becket excommunicated a few more people, including the archbishop of York, and refused to re-communicate the ones he’d already excommunicated. 

Henry had what’s known in high academic circles as a runnin’ hissy fit and said– 

Well, he said something. According to the Britannica, “He berated his household for being a pack of ‘miserable curs and traitors’ who stood idly by while a ‘low-born priest’ treated their king with contempt.” But according to Edward Grim, who was an eyewitness to Becket’s killing although not to the hissy fit, Henry said, “What miserable drones and traitors have I nurtured and promoted in my household who let their lord be treated with such shameful contempt by a low-born cleric!”  

We’re not done yet, though. According to Peter O’Toole in the 1964 movie Becket, he said, “Will no one rid me of the meddlesome priest?” Or maybe that’s “turbulent priest.” Go watch the film yourself if you want to get it right. It’s clearly the authoritative version, but I can’t be bothered. 

Whatever Henry said, four knights trotted off to Canterbury, where they killed the archbishop. 

 

Becket’s afterlife

No, not that kind of afterlife. We’re talking about the verifiable kind:

Within days, people were making pilgrimages to Becket’s tomb in Canterbury cathedral–or so says the Britannica, although I have trouble believing anyone constructed a tomb that quickly. Let’s not fuss over details, though. Miracles were quickly attributed to him. Pilgrims came. 

Henry (wisely) swore he never wanted Becket killed, and the next year he–that’s Henry, not Becket–showed up in Canterbury, allowed himself to be whipped by bishops while he prayed for forgiveness, and was duly absolved. His decision to do that might’ve had something to do with a revolt led by his sons and backed by France, which he claimed was a result of Becket’s killing.

And the knights who did the deed? They were excommunicated but asked for forgiveness and were sent to fight in the Crusades for fourteen years. 

Three years after Becket’s death, he was made a saint and people believed that the spot where his blood was spilled would heal the sick, and Canterbury remained an important goal for pilgrims until Henry VIII broke with the Catholic Church and had Becket’s tomb taken down, his bones burned, and his name erased from the service books.

A service book, in case this is all as foreign to you as it is to me, is “a book published by the authority of a church body that contains the text and directions for the liturgy of its official religious services.”

For all that, he wasn’t fully erased. These days, the cathedral burns a candle where Becket’s tomb once stood, and his name is engraved on the floor to mark the spot where he was killed.

26 thoughts on “Church and state in medieval England: Thomas Becket and Henry II”

  1. Not only did Becket become a saint, but he was particularly venerated by Henry’s descendants, who took every opportunity- to pop into the cathedral.

    I wonder if one of the reasons that Becket gave to Henry for not wanting to be archbishop was that he would feel obliged to be on the church’s side rather than the king’s.

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  3. As a child I read an historical novel about Becket – which ended with the tomb being visited by pilgrims for centuries. I guess the writer assumed that I would know it had been destroyed. I didn’t!

    So, on a family visit to Canterbury Cathedral I asked a wandering cleric where the tomb was. He laughed at me. Called others over to hear the silly girl. I can still feel the embarrassment.

    After that, I always fact checked everything I read! 😊

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  4. What a great read, Ellen! I’ve never understood why I find it so difficult to absorb historical facts, but you have a way of getting through to me on the subject. It’s something to do with the light-hearted approach and not wearing my little brain down with too many details, but at the same time illuminating broad, important social features, such as the wide implications of excommunicating people, the more lenient sentences for clergy found guilty of crimes, and, most astonishing to me, that Henry both denied wanting Becket killed and also had himself whipped by bishops while he prayed for forgiveness.

    Admittedly, I may have forgotten most of this in a week, but it’ll have made its mark somewhere in my psyche. Big little things, like the “antipope”, which I either never knew or had forgotten. When I think of the Catholic Church, which isn’t often, it’s just this unified hierarchical system, and when the Pope dies there’s a bit of democratic voting and some smoke, but of course in such a powerful system there will always be factions, and probably gets pretty vicious.

    I have trouble believing anyone constructed a tomb that quickly.

    I wouldn’t be surprised if archbishops had their tombs constructed ready while they were in office. Maybe still do?

    He claimed the revenues of vacant church sees the right to influence the election of bishops.

    He what now?

    Becket responded by excommunicating a bunch of people.

    So he did this while in exile in France, I assume, excommunicating a bunch of Englishmen? Again, this shows the immense international power of the Church, that the victims can’t just say, “Flip that, Tom doesn’t even dare show his face this side of the Channel.”

    Anyway, thanks. We must learn from history to avoid repeating it, or so we say while we repeat it. Heaven forfend that we ever get to a situation where unelected religious legislators with powerful international overlords run systems of reward and punishment contrary to British law, on British soil.

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    • Whew–so much there I’d like to reply to, but in the interest of getting this posted I’ll end up skipping some. Inevitably.

      First, I must’ve gotten murky about Tom’s exile. (I’ll go back and clear that up–probably.) He was in exile for 6 years, but he did return to England. And yes, um, think of the church as the internet. You could excommunicate someone from anywhere (if you had the authority, of course) just as easily as you can email someone from anywhere. Just do the ritual and hit Send. Poof. It’s done.

      I’m fascinated by the power struggle between church and state. It so undermines the idea of the church as spiritual–or it does to me anyway. Ditto the various kings’ efforts to control the church (and get hold of its money). On the one hand, why wouldn’t they? On the other hand, if you really believed the church’s claims, how would you dare? It all seems very foreign, even though the cynicism is familiar enough.

      The trouble with writing history (or anything else) is to find the storylines that allow a picture to emerge from the details. The history I was taught as a kid was either all mythology–in other words, all convenient story and patriotic bullshit–or all unmemorizable detail.

      I should’ve thought about the possibility of bishops–and who knows who else–have their tombs constructed before they died. The medieval period didn’t shy away from death the way we do, and it’s one way to make sure you get a good image of yourself on top.

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  5. Hmm. I wonder if Henry !! had succeeded in co-opting Thomas Becket whether Henry VIII would have needed to create a separate Church of England. It’s pretty much the same line of reasoning – that the State should control the Church.

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    • Interesting thought. I expect if he had the pressure from Rome would’ve continued and eventually found another gap it could flow through. But we’ll never know. The pressure came from both directions and was relentless.

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  6. Sounds a bit like the Egyptians idea of defacing all the monuments dedicated to Akhenaten “the Heretic.” The Egyptians believed that a person was kept alive as long as their name was spoken. So Akhenaten has not been obliterated, and neither has Tom Becket.

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  7. About the Saint’s name : If you would mention a St.Thomas to me in conversation, I would (and I am sure a lot of others would too) assume that you are talking about doctor angelicus St. Thomas Aquinas.
    The one here is listed as “Thomas Becket” in my (official) Heiligenlexikon.

    He was a very consequent man. While he served the King, he did it with aplomb, and in his master’s interests. Then he gave back the worldly roles & functions, and served wholly the Church. I am sure that he had to take the last (full) vows & promises before he was installed as Archbishop – not too bad for a kind of lateral recruit (the picture is wrong, but he made a nice jump in his career). Of course he had to oppose the court, of course he did it consequently. Hacking his head off is just another, medieval, kind of problem solving, but still en vogue in large parts of the world, violence is always en mode.

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    • Given the worldliness of many churchmen, the possibility of a politician-turned-churchman being motivated by sincerity–well, it isn’t the first thing that comes to mind, but you could well be right. It does explain things better than anything I can offer. As for saints and their names, I’ll take your word for what they’re called. I’m clueless.

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      • What is “a politician” for you ?
        I state that there are no “politicians” in The MiddleAges. At least not in the modern sense of the word. I think they (the modern ones) are children of the “Frühe Neuzeit”, Early Modern Age, when something like “States” emerged (Northern Italy, The Netherlands). Before that you have reigns, souvereignities of very different kinds, no (standard) “state”.
        The historical view tries to see & hence understand a person within their time. And the whole damn thing is fluid, too.
        English history, esp. of the high middle ages, is not my forte. Let me look at our local bishop here. He claimes that he was a duke (Herzog), a worldly ruler (it may stand on shaky grounds), but nevertheless : He was the worldly ruler here for thousand years (if you like it that way), and run his diocese like a worldly “state”, earldom may be correct, I do not know.
        Of course he went to war etcetcpp. Of course he played a role (a small one) in the Reich, after all his rule depended on the king’s benevolence, and surely was part of the Ottonic system of rule in the Reich.
        All medieval sharing of power depends on personal relationships – in the worst case that means : No more trust, head off, sorry Tommy.
        What you see is a change in that mysterial thing called mentalite – the 8th Henry grabbed the whole organisation (he needed the dosh), but he had no more qualms about doing that, while his antecessor could not do such a thing : He could not.

        History is lived human life, under very different conditions – and I do not mean in-door-plumbing.

        The Roman Church is a grand idea, sometimes run by little men. But you can not deny the fascinosum of the endeavour. Especially when you look at The East too. The aim is the world, nothing less. Da geht’s dann an’s Eingemachte.

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        • I agree about the wording. I was carrying over a modern word without giving it much thought. As for Henry, I don’t think an earlier ruler could’ve done what he did. The thinking the held the Catholic church together was being challenged by Protestantism, and although Henry didn’t consider himself a Protestant I do think that crack in the ideology was necessary for him to imagine–and create–an English church. As for the idea of the Roman church, I’ll go with you if by grand you mean large. Beyond that, like all attempts at theocracy, it became a way to control people’s lives and exercise power.

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