Born from the Dreams of a People, an Empire Awoke
Harking back to a time of near-constant war, as well as a seemingly-unending desire to traverse the vast unknown, Germanic peoples set forth for the Isle of Britannia. Driven to conquer new territories, and fostered from a society that thrived upon combat, the Angles, the Saxons, the Jutes, and the Frisians descended on the Celts, also known as the Britons. Immediately, the British Dream begins to take shape, with the Anglo-Saxons becoming her first “native” children, as Margaret Lamont writes in her article entitled, “Becoming English: Ronwenne's Wassail, Language, and National Identity in the Middle English Prose Brut.” With the arrival of the Saxons, the category of “native” became destabilized in what had been called Britain and would soon be called England. Unlike other non-British groups in English historiography, such as the Romans who conquered Britain and ruled as overlords for several centuries, or the Spanish exiles (later the Irish) who begged land of the British king, the Saxons became “native.” So, when the Normans conquered the Saxons in their turn, English historiographers like Ranulf Higden and Robert of
Gloucester—both writing in the early fourteenth century, the former in Latin and the latter in English—complained of how native English have been put down by foreigners (288).
This attitude that the Anglo-Saxons were the first, true native Englanders is not reserved only for those on the outside, looking in; the Anglo-Saxons themselves even believed so, as can be seen in Bryan Ward-Perkins’ article, “Why Did the Anglo-Saxons Not Become More British?”
All these Anglo-Saxon groups would share one important thing in common, namely a sense that they were different from the native “Celtic” population of Southern Britain, the Britons. In other words, whatever else they might or might not have become, it is considered self-evident that the Anglo-Saxons could never have become “British” like the Britons. Indeed in the popular imagination (including my own), the separate identity of Anglo-Saxons and Britons (who later developed into the English and Welsh) is attributed to a difference in ancestry, in other words, to “racial” differences (514).
Once more, in Lindy Brady’s article, “Constructing Identity in Anglo-Saxon Literature: Review of Current Scholarship,” Brady illustrates, not only the understandable tension surrounding both the invaders, the Anglo-Saxons, as well as the defenders, the Britons, but also the fact that the Anglo-Saxons, immediately upon making contact with the Celts, believed themselves to be of an entirely separate race. Once more, the matter of being of a different race is addressed. The Britons were the original inhabitants of the British Isles. A sense of lingering difference between the Britons and the Anglo Saxons can be found in texts written throughout the period, despite the fact that the lived reality of encounters between these two peoples was vastly more complex and nuanced. As Bryan Ward Perkins has noted, "when they recorded their past, the Anglo-Saxons and the Britons presented themselves as races apart" despite the abundance of historical and archaeological evidence that this was not the case (515). Likewise, Ward-Perkins notes that while there is a great deal of historical evidence for political and military cooperation between the Britons and the Anglo-Saxons, the written records of both peoples present a consistent narrative of two discrete and antagonistic peoples fighting in opposition over the same territory (516). Indeed, recent scholarship on the history of the early Anglo-Saxon period has called attention to the fact that the lived reality of Anglo-British interactions was likely to have involved much more cooperation than conflict (Bassett; Higham; Sims Williams; and Yorke, Kings and Kingdoms). However, work on the literature of the period has tended to focus on the exceptional moments, where Anglo-Saxon identity is positioned against that of the Britons (par. 6).
As Brady makes mention of, the Anglo-Saxons were intent on ensuring that the light in which they were shown cast a different shadow when in comparison to that of the Britons. One of the ways in which this was accomplished was through the means of poetry. One might endeavor to beg the question, though, of how a people brought up to fight could gentle their hand enough to craft a work of poetry. To attempt to claim that the Anglo-Saxons were a people that lived and died by the sword, like one may by the rising and falling of the sun, is but a piece of who they were as human beings. As a matter of fact, one point of contention that one is wont to make would be forced to follow in the form of how the Anglo-Saxons regarded their respective clans; that is to say, above all else. In truth, it was believed that the power resided within that of the clan. One’s community was what made one human, and to be without said community was to, ultimately, lose oneself to the unforgiving wilds that were their world. All the more gruesome and unthinkable a fate was to fall victim to that of exile. To be forcibly removed from one’s own clan, and, indeed, one’s own family—for the two were thought to be one and the same— was a punishment worse than death itself. Consequently, this is not a belief belonging only to the Anglo-Saxons, nor is this a belief that died out as time progressed. On the contrary, even within the American state of Alaska—a land nearly four thousand miles from that of Britain—this way of thinking is still prevalent within that of the modern-day world.
In William L. Iggiagruk Hensley’s memoir, Fifty Miles from Tomorrow, Hensley explores how the Alaska Native people, the Iñupiaq, his own people, view exile. “To be banished, the punishment for committing some truly outrageous crime,” he writes, “was hell, the equivalent of being ejected from the human race. Suddenly, like an animal, an exile had to fend for himself, with no one to protect and help him” (18).
In essence, the Anglo-Saxons and the Iñupiaq people, despite there being a thousand years between them, both regard isolation as inhumane. Furthermore, in a turnabout of juxtaposition, the Iñupiaq people can also be found mirroring that of the AngloSaxons by way of how the aspect of family is concerned. By contrast, to belong to the bosom of a family, in spite of all the dangers in our universe, meant protection, aid—and more: a continuity in time and place. There are few people in America who can say that their forebears were here ten thousand years ago. That is a powerful feeling. To know that your ancestors played with the same rocks, looked at the same mountains, paddled the same rivers, smelled the same campfire smoke, chased the same game, and camped at the same fork in the river gives you a sense of belonging that is indelible (18-19).
Again, the protection that the concept of family carries with it directly parallels the ideals of the Anglo-Saxon people, and, while Hensley may be correct about the fact that the majority of Americans are not be able to lay claim to the same land as their ancestors, ten thousand years ago, the same cannot necessarily be said for those of whom Britain is called home. To be sure, such a lineage can actually be traced via the poetry made mention of previously, poetry like that of the renowned Beowulf—a poem that preserves a moment in history when the British Dream, once in the possession of the clan-based Anglo-Saxons, is visibly in the process of being converted to Christianity, mirroring the conversion that the Anglo-Saxons themselves underwent.
Throughout much of the course of human history, many a tale has been told and then retold, time and again, with each reiteration that follows providing its audience with that of a new experience. The epic of Beowulf is an excellent example, for it is a poem that practices this exact instance of variation within storytelling, as can be observed via the many, different translations that have proven to show discrepancies, from scribe to scribe. This is not to say that the overall story of Beowulf—the one that was once crafted by Christian monks—has deviated far from its roots. Quite the contrary, in fact, as, over the course of the past centuries, the more recent transcriptions of Beowulf have remained much the same to that of the original, written work that was transcribed by the aforementioned monks. Of course, the same cannot be said, with relative surety that is, for the oral narrative that Beowulf initially was. In all honesty, one can never truly be granted the privilege of being able to experience and engage with the poem as it was intended to be, with the Anglo-Saxon version of such a fable being taken in through the lyrical means that would have been considered customary for their time. Indeed, one may also never truly know how closely the Christian scribes adhered in keeping to the early story. One of the main points of contention, surrounding that of Beowulf, as it would turn out, has been the ever-fixed debate on whether or not the Christian themes and elements introduced within the epic are either well integrated or poorly-inserted. To say that there is a lack of Christian influence, and that Christian beliefs and ideals have not been impressed upon the text itself, is simply false.
The matter of the Christian monks supplanting many of the Anglo-Saxon traditions with their own ways of life is not what is being called into question, however, for the simple fact that it is undeniable. These instances of Christian doctrine being interleaved within that of the text are, at times, glaringly obvious, and often detract from the general reading experience by interrupting the flow of the reader with their abruptness. For example, said interjections include, but are most certainly not limited to, Beowulf, an Anglo-Saxon warrior, praying to the Christian God: “And may the Divine Lord / in His wisdom grant the glory of victory / to whichever side He sees fit” (Greenblatt 685-687). At first glance, these apparent abnormalities in convention may appear as though they are entirely out of place. They are, however, not as uncommon as one might first suspect; for that of the time, in particular. These inserts of Christian faith into a pagan legend serve to give ground to the argument that the characters within that of Beowulf are physical representations of two, specific religions that were once at war with one another. The characters of Beowulf and Grendel, for example, serve to act as symbolic representations of the British Dream taking on that of a new form.
Ultimately, no two cultures can touch without one being irrevocably affected by the other; such is the case in terms of the Christians and the pagans, their confluence proving no different. The instance of Beowulf coming into contact with Grendel speaks to this meeting of two different belief systems, a molding taking place that would surely lead to the blending of the two cultures, and result in the culmination of something new. When the Romans sought to convert the AngloSaxons, there was an intermingling of both Christianity and paganism that was made possible through the adopting of many pagan holidays, practices, traditions, as well as stories. They were, then, adapted by the Christian scribes, so that they always bore a more Christian-like moral. Beowulf was manipulated in much the same way, with Beowulf embodying Christianity and Grendel symbolizing paganism.
It is without question that the Christian scribes had a hand—quite literally—in taking the character of Beowulf—known only as a hero of oral narrative origins, at the time—and fashioned him, via ink and paper, in an effort to extract certain pagan themes and replace them with matters that better pertained to their own religious philosophies. In the end, this sparked much query into just how much of the original, Anglo-Saxon story survived its making manuscript, as well as leading many to even question how true to character Beowulf himself is. Countless study has been applied to Beowulf; specifically, to his repurposing into that of a more Christ-like figure as a means of appealing more readily to the Anglo-Saxon populous (Emmerichs). This was done, with the intention in mind, to allow for a more seamless conversion from paganism to Christianity, by means of painting Christ as a warrior, and therefore, making him a more familiar and relatable character to the Anglo-Saxons. Other such instances may include the Anglo-Saxon poem, The Dream of the Rood, where, in direct juxtaposition to that of Beowulf, it is within this story that the character of Jesus Christ has been rewritten as an Anglo-Saxon warrior. Again, this was meant to appeal to the Anglo-Saxons, who were known to revere their warriors as much as they revered their clans.
This was a most common tactic utilized by the Romans, who were terribly aware of the fact that the Anglo-Saxon people would have been able to identify with Christ more easily in such ways, especially since he was being portrayed through the beloved and well-known likes of Beowulf, no less. This, however, leads one to beg the question: how does the Christian Beowulf differ from the pagan one? Could Beowulf have been altered to such an extraordinary extent that the character of Grendel was, at one moment in time, a more genuine representation? In other words, Beowulf would have prayed to pagan deities and behaved in a manner most unbecoming— at least, according to the Christian monks, who would have been scrupulous of Beowulf’s every word and action. This particular likeness would not have abided by the image that the Christian scribes would have been attempting to convey, being that Beowulf was written to represent a character more akin to that of Christ. Beowulf was meant to act as a bridge between pagans and Christians, a middle ground that the two cultures could find themselves upon. Of course, the Christians still needed to deliver the message that paganism was not the way, and, thus, Grendel took on the part of the exiled outsider, of whom would succumb to Beowulf—just as paganism was always meant to succumb to Christianity.
Beowulf and Grendel are parallels of one another, meant to signify the struggle between Christianity (Beowulf) and paganism (Grendel). This struggle, though, does not live and die by Grendel, necessary; it can still be very much observed throughout the whole of the poem. For instance, Beowulf is depicted, again and again, praying to a Christian deity, of whom, in all actuality, he would have never even known existed—let alone believed in—if not for the Christian scribes proclaiming it so upon the page. Take note of how Beowulf is the only character within the epic to give prayer to the Christian God. This is quite purposeful on the monks’ parts, for the reason that all others are illustrated as having been forsaken as no more than heathenistic pagans. The very matter of King Hrothgar’s inability to ward off Grendel’s attacks are explained thusly:
Sometimes at pagan shrines they vowed
offerings to idols, swore oaths
that the killer of souls might come to their aid
and save the people. That was their way,
their heathenish hope; deep in their hearts
they remembered hell. The Almighty Judge
of good deeds and bad, the Lord God,
Head of the Heavens and High King of the World,
was unknown to them. Oh, cursed is he
who in time of trouble has to thrust his soul
in the fire’s embrace, forfeiting help;
he has nowhere to turn. But blessed is he
who after death can approach the Lord
and find friendship in the Father’s embrace (Greenblatt 175- 188).
One of the reasons why Hrothgar is unable to best Grendel in combat, but Beowulf is, is because Beowulf actively prays, as well as attributes all of his extraordinary deeds, to the Christian God, and in return for his unrelenting faith, he is depicted as a great warrior. In contrast, the suffering that Hrothgar’s clan undergoes is explained away as their being heathens, who have prayed to false idols, and even the Devil himself in their swearing oaths to “the killer of souls.” As a result, God abandons them, leaving them vulnerable to Grendel’s wrath for twelve, long years. Grendel, meanwhile, is described as a “God-cursed brute” (Greenblatt 121), a descendant of Cain. It is as a consequence of this ancestry that Grendel and his mother were sentenced to exile. This, undoubtedly, plays upon the fear that the Anglo-Saxons would have felt, in terms of exile. Grendel was a living and breathing embodiment of their fear made flesh, with his brutal death at the hands of Beowulf serving to only further stoke the fires of said fright. If one were to apply the Christian lens that was being pushed by the monks at this time, then, Grendel, in the eyes of the AngloSaxons, would have suffered the worst of all fates, to be cast out of the Clan of Heaven, and to be rejected by the Lord of all lords. By contrast, Beowulf would have also been the ultimate warrior, as he was favored by God, his one, true Lord.
In addition to still being within God’s good graces, Beowulf is also the only character who is not cast out by God. Beowulf was the poster child of Christianity, while Hrothgar and Grendel served to act as examples of what not to do and what not to become. While we might never know what the original moral to the story of Beowulf may have been, the moral that the Christian monks bestowed upon the Anglo-Saxon tale was certainly one of a more propagandist nature. In the end, Beowulf was imbued with all of the characteristics of a good, Christian man. He acted as a guiding light to Anglo-Saxons, a symbol of proof that a warrior, even once such as the renowned Beowulf, had the capabilities within them to convert to Christianity, to serve the ultimate Lord among lords: God. Grendel also bore a purpose that he was always meant to serve: Grendel portrayed all of those who would refuse to align themselves with God. His fate was to be the fate of the many, unfortunate Anglo-Saxons that would not renounce their pagan ways. Just as he died dishonorably, so, too, would the warriors that chose to take the path of the God-cursed. According to the monks, one must follow the path of Beowulf, the path of Christianity, in order for one’s life to have meaning.
It is at the moment in time that history bears witness to a vital shift within that of the British Dream. Christianity has since been introduced and integrated within the British Dream, becoming as much a part of it as the Anglo-Saxons were. Whereas before, the sense-of-self was a concept entirely unknown to the Anglo-Saxons, who favored the community above the individual, the people of the medieval era—the new period in time that the British Dream would go on to traverse through—were a new breed of dreamers. In 1485, most English people would have devoted little
thought to their national identity. If asked to describe their sense of belonging, they would probably have spoken of the international community of Christendom and of their local region, such as Kent or Cornwall. The extraordinary events of the Tudor era, from the encounter with the New World to the break with Rome, made many people newly aware and proud of their Englishness. At the same time, they began to perceive those who lay outside the national community in new (and often negative) ways. Like most national communities, the English defined themselves largely in terms of what or who they were not (Greenblatt 16).
The core ideals of the British within the medieval period seem to have adapted dramatically from their Anglo-Saxon forbearers, and, yet, traces of the British Dream remain intact. For instance, while the exalted community may have turned towards that of the exalted church, the need to remain loyal to a cause greater than one’s self, the need to serve a greater purpose, proved itself to be everlasting. Moreover, as Alan MacColl writes in his article, “The Meaning of ‘Britain’ in Medieval and Early Modern England,” the Anglo-Saxons were not stricken, entirely, from the British Dream. As a matter of fact, they continued to play one of the most important roles: they assisted in the ultimate defining of what it meant to be British. The importance of Britain as a geopolitical concept from the twelfth century onward derives mainly from Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain (Historia regum Britanniac). Completed about 1138, this hugely influential work purports to tell the history of Britain over a period of nearly two thousand years, from its foundation as a kingdom by the Trojan exile Brutus to the coming of the Saxons in the fifth and sixth centuries. The English quickly adopted Geoffrey’s account as the first part of their own national history, and it was not long before the Welsh followed suit. […] both the English and the Welsh made the idea of an ancient British heritage the historical cornerstone of their national identity. Geoffrey’s pseudohistory provided both nations with a distinguished past of the greatest antiquity, but for both, the idea of a unique Britishness was also a way of defining themselves against one another. The English used it as a way of advancing their claims to dominion over Wales, the Welsh to give an ideological backbone to their resistance against the English (248-249).
MacColl’s words serve to call to the mind the xenophobic behaviors of the Anglo-Saxons upon their coming into contact with the Celts. In this manner, the British Dream comes across as more of a British Nightmare for all of those who are not considered “British” enough; indeed, those who are not “natives” of Britain’s great empire. In “From Britannia to England: Cymbeline and the Beginning of Nations,” Andrew Escobedo depicts the British Nightmare that was British xenophobia. The idea of Great Britain had as many detractors as supporters. If Thornborough found “England” too miserly a name for British union, anti-Union writers often found “Britain” archaic and obscure. They warned of a dilution or erasure of English culture and institutions entailed by the mixture with Scotland. At more anxious moments, they predicted a flood of Scots pouring over the border to take English jobs, property, and women (73).
Unfortunately, this fear of the other only roared higher as the flames of British expansion extended outward. As Theodore Koditschek claims in his work, “The Making of British Nationality,” “Britain was no longer an island; it was a world empire” (391). Britain was once home to the British Empire, a vast and ever-expanding power that sought to leave its mark upon the farthest reaches of the world, with the exploration and conquering of new territories becoming an all-consuming focus. The Elizabethan era proved to be a paramount moment in history, whereupon, British exploration, in its restlessness, knew no bounds. The Elizabethan age, also known as the Golden Age within history—so dubbed by historians—took place during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, from the year of 1558, to her eventual, but inevitable, death in 1603. It was to be within the span of these years that England, having already laid claim to extensive and far-off regions, would come to set its sights upon the—believed to be—untouched lands of the world, such as those of the Arctic and the New World. Thus, countless pieces of literature, poetry, music, and art were imagined and produced in response to these unknown realms; they were a blank space upon the map, and, therefore, they were ideal for those who wished to create. Often times, the Arctic, especially, was either depicted one of two ways: the first being a stormy wasteland, ridden with ice and snow and the bodies of those left behind; explorers that had died along the way to discovery, their thirst for knowledge never to be quenched. The second portrayal was that of idyllic and torpid seas, as well as miles and miles of picturesque landscapes, as far as the eye could see, all blanketed by years of accumulated frost. As evidence and firsthand accounts would eventually prove, neither interpretation was represented incorrectly. In truth, the Arctic could be both a cruel and merciless beast, survived only by those who had come to learn its behaviors, as well as a tranquil place that offered a sense of wonder to all of those who gazed upon it.
This unquenchable need to explore and discover and conquer is, apparently, just as present within Queen Elizabeth’s time as it was in the time of the Anglo-Saxons and the Vikings. British exploration and colonization are concepts that far predate that of the empire that was Great Britain, and, while all may have seemed picturesque on the surface, there were those who were not only aware of the social unrest within the uneasy populous of England, but even went so far as to specifically call attention to it. One would be remiss if William Shakespeare’s both curious and intriguing use of juxtaposition throughout his plays were not taken into consideration. By making note of the stark contrasts that take place within his work, one pays homage to Shakespeare’s exceptionally inspired ability to draw comparisons for all their worth, as well as subtly critique the societal standards of his day.
One of Shakespeare’s most well-known plays, that of Twelfth Night, exemplifies this ability to criticize societal norms, as well as societal hypocrisies, by allowing the main character, Viola, to explore and express both her masculinity and her femininity. As Chad Allen Thomas writes in his article, “On Queering Twelfth Night,” In the play’s opening scene, a shipwrecked teenage girl, Viola, decides to disguise herself as a boy, Cesario, in order to better survive in Illyria. The resulting erotic situations compound the sexual confusions that feed the dramatic action of the play. In early modern England, Viola’s cross-dressing was complicated even further, because a young male would have played her role. Given the manifold erotic possibilities the plot suggests, the play’s subtitle, What You Will, seems especially apt (102).
What’s more, Shakespeare’s main title, as Ashley Lile claims in her article, “The Measure of All Things: Gender Binaries in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night,” Shakespeare’s very title “shows how the Christian holiday Twelfth Night was a time of comic misrule and merrymaking. In the Elizabethan era, Twelfth Night also indicated a day of role reversal and gender play” (v). Not unlike the Christian celebration, Twelfth Night partakes in the rituals of comic role play and societal “release.” In the Renaissance era, the holiday of Twelfth Night marked the day of the Epiphany, January 6th, and the Christmas festivals concluded on this date, the last of the seasonal holidays. By titling his play, Twelfth Night, Shakespeare exploits this time of festive celebration and comic release. More specifically, characters trade roles, playing the parts opposite to what society means them to play (1).
Shakespeare permitted his female character to be feminine, as well as masculine; thereby, testing the boundaries of the societal gender roles of the day, in addition to what was expected of both sexes.
He created a gray area, whereas, before, there had only existed black-and-white, in that men were masculine, and women were feminine; nothing more, and nothing less. In this particular play, however, the character of Viola, in spite of her gender—or, perhaps, because of it—is granted the opportunity to dabble within the spaces that were, heretofore, unknown to women. Even more remarkable is the fact that Shakespeare presents his audience with Viola’s inner dilemma, allowing for an outsider to bear witness to her most private and personal of thoughts, via many a soliloquy. Shakespeare encourages said audience to analyze the differences in how a feminine male versus a masculine female may react to certain situations. Moreover, he endeavors to gift Viola, a woman of his own creation, such traits as power, authority, and mastery, that many would have vehemently believed her incapable, and, indeed, unworthy of beholding. Lile explores this exact quandary, claiming:
“The artful rather than natural perspective of the play moves us to compare men and women, servants and master, gender and status, and to ask if one can ever get all these issues clearly into view, while respecting their differences and understanding their connections” (161). If the reaction of audiences to Twelfth Night evokes serious thought on roles of class and gender, then Shakespeare may be using his play in order to do just that: motivate his audience to reevaluate socially assigned roles, especially those concerning gender (2).
Slowly, but surely, and without fail, Shakespeare deconstructs conventional gender roles, helping to lead the way into making it acceptable to find oneself in an area of gray. His tendency to push the bounds of propriety, as well as to toe the line of custom, spanned across each and every one of his works, as both a playwright and a poet. Ultimately, this objection to the status quo helped to further the British Dream in the way that Shakespeare practically refused to leave well enough alone, and, instead, he challenged all that he witnessed around him.
This would both revitalize the British Dream, as well as carry it into the time of fifteenth century England, where it would go on to behold the Restoration. Prior to the Restoration of 1660, Parliament had seized control of the monarchy. This was a time of great unrest within the whole of Britain, for the monarchy no longer had a voice of its own. Instead, Parliament had appointed Oliver Cromwell’s son, Richard Cromwell, to rule. Unfortunately for Richard, he did not have the support of the British army, unlike Charles Stuart, who would go on to reclaim the monarchy; thus, bringing about the Restoration period.
The Restoration of 1660—the return of Charles Stuart (son of the beheaded King Charles I) and, with him the monarchy of England—brought hope to a divided nation, exhausted by years of civil war and political turmoil. Almost all of Charles’s subjects welcomed him home. After the abdication of Richard Cromwell in 1659 the country had seemed at the brink of chaos, and Britons were eager to believe that their king would bring order and law and a spirit of mildness back into the national life. But no political settlement could be stable until the religious issues had been resolved. The restoration of the monarchy meant that the established church would also be restored, and though Charles was willing to pardon or ignore many former enemies (such as Milton), the bishops and Anglican clergy were less tolerant of dissent (Greenblatt 4).
As chronicled, the time leading up to the Restoration was one of intense civil unrest, whereupon, the monarchy, parliament, religion, and the people of Britain knew very little of peace. Furthermore, this lack of ability to agree upon what was best for the empire even carried over into militant terms, as G. W. Stephen Brodsky explains within his book, Gentlemen of the Blade: A Social and Literary History of the British Army Since 1660.
When Britons ended a dozen years of military dictatorship and returned to a sovereign to the throne. Charlies II and his Parliament were soon disagreeing over the distribution of power, but at least the principle had been firmly established that neither should have an edge, as long as the other had a voice. […] Parliament allowed the King his own small army, but kept its own citizen militia as insurance. Through the Restoration, militiamen policed a disaffected citizenry, and through the following century, militia volunteered augmented the Regular Army as Britain’s imperial interests grew (xxii).
In addition to the political, religious, and military unease that England would experience, more was to follow in the form of the nation’s literature, where the “poetic genius” of the Germanic peoples was in the process of coming into the light. In the article, “British Identities and the Politics of Ancient Poetry in Later Eighteenth-Century England,” Philip Connell claims that, while there was much pushback from the British people, in terms of England’s rich history being derived from the likes of Germanic peoples, there could be no denying of the fact that said peoples laid the foundations for many of Britain’s literary feats, as well as governmental achievements; two aspects of their civilization that brought them much pride, ultimately. The recovery of England’s deep literary past also had a rather different, and more politicized, significance. […] the ‘Gothic hive’ of Eurasian antiquity could legitimately be claimed as the remote origin not only of England’s ancient poetic genius, but also of its government and laws. The Germanic sources of the nation’s legal and political institutions remained a qualified, but commonplace, element of historical scholarship and political argument (165-166).
This “recovery of England’s deep literary past” was also a recovery of the British Dream itself. The Restoration of 1660 brought with it a time of reclamation, both of the throne and the monarchy, but also of Britain’s vast and varied bloodline, as a nation. The Angles, the Saxons, the Jutes, and the Frisians, and then, later, the Vikings and the Normans, all had a hand in the crafting of the British Dream; Queen Elizabeth I and William Shakespeare lent themselves when it came time for the British Dream to take on that of a new form; and, when King Charles II reclaimed his birthright to his father’s throne, he assisted in the evolution of the British Dream. The British Dream is as fluid as water, flowing throughout time and bearing witness to the rise and fall of great kings and queens alike. With each new hand that stretches out to touch it, the Dream is altered that much more.
Human beings have forever been fascinated by the dreams their minds create; especially in the telling stories of said dreams. For as long as their mouths have been able to produce sound, and their tongues able to convey words, and, thereby, meaning, these dream-stories have possessed the power to travel entire worlds away; transcending time and distance, and reaching entire peoples, many a civilizations over. From the Anglo-Saxons to the Restoration of Great Britain, the overwhelming need to wander, to explore, and to discover has been an all-consuming one, incapable of dying out as it has traversed through the bloodline of the British people. Whether paving the way via Viking longboat, or setting forth in the name of King and Country as a naval fleet, the British Dream has always done so with the desire to belong; to seek and to find a land to call home and a people to call clan. To pledge one’s own loyalty to either a lord or the lord makes no matter, for the underlying reason remains one and the same.
The hope that one may come from humble beginnings, that one may come from anywhere, with anything—or, indeed, with nothing at all—in the end, is not an innately British Dream, but is, in fact, an innately human one. Values and virtues like that of loyalty and family and purpose are not to be claimed by any one such nation, for they are that which make up humanity itself, and, as such, may never be owned by the likes of only one dreamer. On the contrary, as, much like in the way of dreams, these aforementioned values and virtues, having been the foundation upon which the British Dream has rested for all of these years, were meant to be taken up and remembered by the many, lest they would have been forgotten. If said principles had not carried through, from society to society—like blood, rushing throughout the human body—the British Dream would have succumbed; no more than a hazy memory held together by only the thinnest of grasps. Upon being recalled, nothing more than muted thoughts and feelings would have remained. Therefore, the British Dream is related to its core because it must be. It must ring true, for, if nothing more than the power that dreams are capable of beholding.
Dreams possess the ability to both create and topple entire empires; to rise up amongst the ranks of societies, via the passion of an embolden people, who cling to a dream that is wholly theirs. Dreams bear the power to preserve the history, the literature, and the culture of empires, so that they may live on long after we ourselves have passed. The matter of what becomes of us after we are claimed by death has been a question posed by many a human being across the span of whole ages. (Dare one say that death is on par with dreams, in terms of how they both confound humans.) Both playing, as well as plaguing, upon the mind, the truth of the matter is that no consensus has ever been reached, nor may it ever, for one does not—and, indeed, may not be capable of ever truly knowing what becomes of them after their inevitable death. Frequently, the explanations given, throughout the course of history, have been of a religious nature. This, too, is a profoundly human trait. When the answer to a question is not readily available to us, human beings have a tendency to turn toward the heavens. In truth, most human beings cannot conceive of a world in which they do not exist—hence the need for their memory to live on through the dreams they conceive of. While Great Britain may evolve with the coming and going of time, the British Dream remains constant and timeless because the values that suffuse its very being are constant and timeless themselves; as has been made evident by the works presented that continue to live on, centuries later. The British Dream was born from the loyal blood of the Anglo-Saxons; the unrivaled lust to wander that was beheld in each and every eye of the Vikings; as well as the restless and creative nature of William Shakespeare. In the end, we walk in the footsteps of warriors, travelers, kings and queens, and poets. Through them—through us the British Dream will continue to thrive for as long as human beings do.
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Kristina Stalcup is a senior pursuing a Baccalaureate of Arts in English