The Episcopal New Yorker |

By the Dr. Rev. Clair McPherson

Several Popes have been called “Great.” Several Tsars, a few European monarchs. And of course any number of ancient empire-builders. But only one English king. In the fourteen-hundred year history of the English monarchy, Alfred of Wessex alone is called “Great.” Now why, within that familiar roster of rulers, a roster that includes those illustrious Richards, Henries, Williams, Elizabeth I and Victoria, should Alfred, an early medieval tribal ruler, alone merit that honorific adjective? What was great about him?

The English honor him first and foremost because he defeated the Danish Vikings after decades of hard struggle, through a combination of courage, intelligence, and faith. This was no ordinary power-motivated adventure in warfare: the English were threatened by the Norse invaders, had been for over a century, and at the time of Alfred’s accession in 871, there was a very strong possibility that the loosely-connected English tribes would become a colony of the Danes, rather than a sovereign nation.

Those Danes amounted to a savage, ruthless, fearless, powerful militia, who either pillaged and destroyed or annexed their victims. Alfred reorganized the Anglo-Saxon army, virtually created its navy, and sent them home. It was a colossal accomplishment.

But why should we honor him now? Why does he also deserve mention in our Christian calendar? Because of what he did during the latter part of his career, after he checked the Vikings and as they were passing into history.

The nascent English Church and nation was in quite understandable disarray. Understandable–but also, to Alfred, unacceptable. Injustice, illiteracy, faithlessness, exploitation–surely these homespun evils were as reprehensible as the Viking menace. So Alfred, in the final decade of his rule and life, devoted his soul to what we would call domestic and ecclesiastical reform.

He organized programs for helping the poor. He reorganized the judicial system,
making it fair and comprehensible (our own judicial system traces its roots to Alfred’s reform). He reinforced the old Anglo-Saxon witangemot, the representative council that always symbolized the democratic principle in English tradition, even under the most powerful would-be autocrats.

He challenged the clergy–who had become notoriously grasping and lazy–to get a more substantial grasp of the faith of which they were custodians. And then he himself helped them meet that challenge.
By means of an undertaking that is practically without parallel in the history of political leadership.

The problem was that all Christian literature was in Latin (and Latin translation from the Greek), but only a small educated minority could actually read it–and that minority did not by any means include most of the clergy (a situation which was more familiarly replicated at the dawn of the 16th-century Reformation).
Alfred called for more Latin study on the part of the Priests, Deacons, and Bishops. And, conversely, called upon the best minds in the country to produce decent translations into English of the major theological works.
Most remarkably, he undertook several of those translations personally. Alfred translated the Universal History of Orosius, the Church History of the English People by Bede the Venerable, Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy, and the Dialogues and Pastoral Care by Gregory the Great. Scholars from time to time have questioned whether Alfredreally did these translations; and the consensus has been that he certainly did. Those Old English translations are extant today, they are superb examples of the art of translation, they give us a window into the mind of the early Middle Ages.

But more than all that, they show us a leader whose sole purpose was to put his talents to use for others, and whose Christianity was genuine. The works Alfred translated were, outside the Bible and St. Augustine, the chief Christian literature of the western world at the time. Alfred took the time from his loving and careful
leadership to make them available to the many Anglo-Saxons who could read English–or understand it when read to them!–but had no Latin.

It was a truly remarkable and unusual thing for a king to do. Especially an early medieval king, who was more of a tribal chief and parent to the clan than those early-modern nation heads we associate with kingship.

Of how many rulers, Christian or otherwise, can it truly be said that they rule by the precepts of the Sermon on the Mount? Alfred did. In this brief sketch, I have included only material historians consider historically reliable. There are, in addition, all sorts of anecdotes and stories about Alfred that are probably legendary–the sort of thing that always gather about famous and beloved leaders. One of these, however, seems worthy of inclusion:

In the darkest days of his war of resistance against the Vikings, Alfred found himself on the run, a fugitive in his own homeland. Exhausted, he disguised himselfone night as a vagabond and sought shelter with a poor old peasant woman. She offered him the hospitality of charity. As she went about her evening chores, she asked him to watch some cakes she had baking in the oven. Preoccupied with his plans, Alfred forgot about them and let them burn. But when she returned, the woman recognized Alfred for who he was, and apologized for not having shown the proper respect due the king. Alfred assured her: it was he who owed her the apology–for he was the one who had let the cakes burn.

It is a story so characteristic of this monarch who thought of himself not as a person of privilege and authority, but of solemn responsibility, a servant of the servants of God, that I consider it factual. For Alfred’s real role model and template was not Alexander or Augustus or David or any of those powerful men the early medievals usually chose as their heroes. Alfred’s model was Gregory I, the humble and self-sacrificing Pope whose works Alfred translated. They shared a love of God and a love for those whom they served. And they also shared an adjective. For Gregory, too, was called “the Great.”

See October 26 (page 417) in Lesser Feasts and Fasts

THE EPISCOPAL NEW YORKER
Church Year	September/October 2006
Alfred Of England

By the Dr. Rev. Clair McPherson Several Popes have been called “Great.” Several Tsars, a few European monarchs. And of course any number of ancient empire-builders. But only one English king. In the fourteen-hundred year history of the English monarchy, Alfred of Wessex alone is called “Great.” Now why, within that familiar roster of rulers, a roster that includes those illustrious Richards, Henries, Williams, Elizabeth I and Victoria, should Alfred, an early medieval tribal ruler, alone merit that honorific adjective? What was great about him? The English honor him first and foremost because he defeated the Danish Vikings after decades of hard struggle, through a combination of courage, intelligence, and faith. This was no ordinary power-motivated adventure in warfare: the English were threatened by the Norse invaders, had been for over a century, and at the time of Alfred’s accession in 871, there was a very strong possibility that the loosely-connected English tribes would become a colony of the Danes, rather than a sovereign nation. Those Danes amounted to a savage, ruthless, fearless, powerful militia, who either pillaged and destroyed or annexed their victims. Alfred reorganized the Anglo-Saxon army, virtually created its navy, and sent them home. It was a colossal accomplishment. But why should we honor him now? Why does he also deserve mention in our Christian calendar? Because of what he did during the latter part of his career, after he checked the Vikings and as they were passing into history. The nascent English Church and nation was in quite understandable disarray. Understandable–but also, to Alfred, unacceptable. Injustice, illiteracy, faithlessness, exploitation–surely these homespun evils were as reprehensible as the Viking menace. So Alfred, in the final decade of his rule and life, devoted his soul to what we would call domestic and ecclesiastical reform. He organized programs for helping the poor. He reorganized the judicial system, making it fair and comprehensible (our own judicial system traces its roots to Alfred’s reform). He reinforced the old Anglo-Saxon witangemot, the representative council that always symbolized the democratic principle in English tradition, even under the most powerful would-be autocrats. He challenged the clergy–who had become notoriously grasping and lazy–to get a more substantial grasp of the faith of which they were custodians. And then he himself helped them meet that challenge. By means of an undertaking that is practically without parallel in the history of political leadership. The problem was that all Christian literature was in Latin (and Latin translation from the Greek), but only a small educated minority could actually read it–and that minority did not by any means include most of the clergy (a situation which was more familiarly replicated at the dawn of the 16th-century Reformation). Alfred called for more Latin study on the part of the Priests, Deacons, and Bishops. And, conversely, called upon the best minds in the country to produce decent translations into English of the major theological works. Most remarkably, he undertook several of those translations personally. Alfred translated the Universal History of Orosius, the Church History of the English People by Bede the Venerable, Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy, and the Dialogues and Pastoral Care by Gregory the Great. Scholars from time to time have questioned whether Alfredreally did these translations; and the consensus has been that he certainly did. Those Old English translations are extant today, they are superb examples of the art of translation, they give us a window into the mind of the early Middle Ages. But more than all that, they show us a leader whose sole purpose was to put his talents to use for others, and whose Christianity was genuine. The works Alfred translated were, outside the Bible and St. Augustine, the chief Christian literature of the western world at the time. Alfred took the time from his loving and careful leadership to make them available to the many Anglo-Saxons who could read English–or understand it when read to them!–but had no Latin. It was a truly remarkable and unusual thing for a king to do. Especially an early medieval king, who was more of a tribal chief and parent to the clan than those early-modern nation heads we associate with kingship. Of how many rulers, Christian or otherwise, can it truly be said that they rule by the precepts of the Sermon on the Mount? Alfred did. In this brief sketch, I have included only material historians consider historically reliable. There are, in addition, all sorts of anecdotes and stories about Alfred that are probably legendary–the sort of thing that always gather about famous and beloved leaders. One of these, however, seems worthy of inclusion: In the darkest days of his war of resistance against the Vikings, Alfred found himself on the run, a fugitive in his own homeland. Exhausted, he disguised himselfone night as a vagabond and sought shelter with a poor old peasant woman. She offered him the hospitality of charity. As she went about her evening chores, she asked him to watch some cakes she had baking in the oven. Preoccupied with his plans, Alfred forgot about them and let them burn. But when she returned, the woman recognized Alfred for who he was, and apologized for not having shown the proper respect due the king. Alfred assured her: it was he who owed her the apology–for he was the one who had let the cakes burn. It is a story so characteristic of this monarch who thought of himself not as a person of privilege and authority, but of solemn responsibility, a servant of the servants of God, that I consider it factual. For Alfred’s real role model and template was not Alexander or Augustus or David or any of those powerful men the early medievals usually chose as their heroes. Alfred’s model was Gregory I, the humble and self-sacrificing Pope whose works Alfred translated. They shared a love of God and a love for those whom they served. And they also shared an adjective. For Gregory, too, was called “the Great.” See October 26 (page 417) in Lesser Feasts and Fasts

Alfred Of England