When considering the intersection of literature with the themes of governance and the common good, there is perhaps no more interesting and complicated episode in the Matter of Britain than “The Sankgreal” episode of Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte Darthur, in which the Round Table knights go out in search of the Holy Grail, “the holy vessell and the sygnyfcacion of the Blyssed Bloode off Oure Lorde Jesu Cryste, whyche was brought into thys londe by Joseph off Aramathye.” The Old French Arthurian Vulgate and Post-Vulgate cycle of romances, which Malory used as a source, narrate these events in detail, and Malory’s version of the tale is remarkably faithful to the core material in his source, despite significant condensing and many deletions.
Malory’s version of the tale begins just before Whitsunday or Pentecost, a day on which Arthurian marvels come thick and fast. At the Round Table, the Siege Perilous (“siege” from the French sège, meaning “seat”) has been transformed according to prophecy, now bearing letters of gold indicating that it will be filled 454 years after the death of Christ, which happens to be that very day. Another wondrous event interrupts the proceedings, as Arthur hears tell of a stone with a sword stuck in it that is floating in a nearby river. The sword bears an inscription indicating that it may only be drawn out by “the best knyght of the worlde.” Arthur immediately assumes that the inscription refers to Launcelot, who demurs. Arthur then commands Gawayne and Percyvalle to try in turn, but they fail to draw the sword from the stone. With success seemingly impossible, the knights abandon their efforts.
Still greater wonderment is in store for the knights of the Table Round. Back in the great hall, the Siege Perilous displays new words indicating that it is the designated seat for Sir Galahad. The young knight then draws the sword effortlessly from the stone, echoing the means by which Arthur’s own worthiness was established. Galahad explains that the sword is from one of the earliest adventures in the Morte, that of Balin and Balan, in which it dealt a supernatural wound to King Pelles, his grandfather, that only he can heal. Another damsel then arrives to inform Launcelot that he is now the second-best knight in the world. She also bears a message from Nacien the hermit that the Grail will that day appear before the knights of the Round Table in Camelot.
The knights have an afternoon joust, and Galahad defeats all but Launcelot and Percyvalle, indisputably establishing his prowess. At supper, after evensong, the Holy Grail appears before the assembled knights in a form that proves its divine origin: there is frightening thunder that threatens to destroy the palace, a bright light that conveys the grace of the Holy Ghost, supernatural vision, which allows the knights to see each other in divinely perfected bodies, but an inability to speak, which renders them mute observers as the Grail floats into the room covered in white samite. A magical feast then appears with every knight served what he best likes, and the Grail floats out of the room, finally allowing the knights to speak to one another and express their amazement about what just transpired.
Gawayne points out that, although they all had what they liked to eat and drink, no one was permitted to see the Grail itself. Therefore, he pledges to quest for a year and a day, or even longer, and not return to Camelot until he has had a glimpse of the precious vessel. Most of the Round Table knights, hearing Gawayne’s speech, pledge themselves to do likewise, and so the quest begins.
Theologically, there can be no more straightforwardly and uncomplicatedly good symbol than the Holy Grail itself, the embodiment of Christ’s salvific and efficacious sacrifice for all mankind, re-presented in the form of the chalice during the eucharistic celebration within the context of the Catholic Mass. Such a perfect good is also a common good, indeed the most common good of all, because it stands for and contains the perfected means of humanity’s salvation—not only the common good of a realm, but of humankind itself. From a literary perspective, Malory’s narrative unquestionably establishes the divine origin of the Grail and its absolute goodness, echoing aspects of the first Pentecost, with the knights being “alyghted of the grace of the Holy Goste” and beatifically transfigured, and then provided by the Grail with perfect food and drink in an obvious reference to Christ’s words—that those who eat and drink of Him shall neither hunger nor thirst.
But Malory’s Grail quest is far more complicated than its purely theological implications would suggest, for reasons that are present from the very beginning of the episode. Certainly, the Grail as a divine object seems to represent a common good, even the common good—that is, a good so totalising and final that its importance supersedes all other goods towards which a society might aim. However, throughout the Morte, Malory prioritises the needs of the polity, and draws attention to the conditions that make good governance possible. Read as an event within the life of the nation, the Grail quest is disruptive and destructive: it leaves the Round Table bereft of many of its best knights, deprives Arthur of the counsel upon which he relies, and leads to the downfall of the kingdom. In this way, the Grail quest is presented as antithetical to the political common good. Malory seems to suggest that the theological and political common goods are at cross-purposes, and that the pursuit of one may well lead to the frustration of the other.
King Arthur, who represents the form of political governance in the Morte, is less than enthusiastic about the Grail quest. Upon Gawayne’s oath to quest for the Grail, Arthur immediately laments the deed, declaring that by so doing, Gawayne has destroyed his court. Clearly, Arthur is concerned about the effect of the spiritual quest upon his ability to govern a temporal state. However, if the polity is indeed directed to the common good, for which the Grail itself may stand as a representation, then it seems that there should be no conflict between the properly-oriented polity and the divinely-oriented Grail knights. If these common goods are not in conflict, some examination is necessary in order to understand Arthur’s disapproval.
Adrian Vermeule, a professor of constitutional law at the University of Harvard, distinguishes between first- and second-order common goods, observing that in matters of law there is necessarily a focus on second-order, political common goods. For Vermeule, it is possible for different goods to coexist within a structure or hierarchy that ranks them in order of priority according to how they fulfil the total end of the natural law and of Creation itself. It might seem, then, that Arthur’s objection is defensible from a political point of view, but indefensible in a system that prioritises the spiritual dimension.
That spiritual dimension is an essential consideration, because the political common good of the polity is vital for the pursuit of the spiritual common good. In brief, the political common good does have valuable particular ends towards which the polity is ordered via its laws, such as to preserve the safety of individuals and of their property. However, the ultimate purpose of safeguarding individual safety is to comply with the natural law, which has a divine or at least supra-political origin. Consequently, the political common good serves the spiritual common good by facilitating the natural law.
If this is indeed the case, then Arthur appears to hold a limited view of the polity as an end in itself. And, by extension, it might be tempting to accuse Malory, too, of missing this fine distinction related to apparently competing common goods. After all, Arthur’s concerns are borne out by events: most of the Grail knights do not return from the quest, and Arthur’s best knight, Galahad—the best knight in the world—is assumed up into Heaven, exerting no further visible effect upon the court. The polity suffers without their counsel, and Arthur suffers without their support in combatting Mordred’s rebellion. However, Malory also preserves the Grail quest’s successful conclusion, which provides divine approval for the quest itself; for without divine approval the quest could never have been accomplished. Malory thus appears self-contradictory by depicting a king whose justified concerns about the political common good are validated in the larger context of the Morte, whilst the end of the Grail quest confirms the validity of the apparently conflicting spiritual common good.
Malory refuses to provide a superficially tidy reconciliation of the political and spiritual common good, because, like Galahad, he understands that the ultimate end of the political common good, properly understood, is the spiritual common good. Galahad desires the order of knighthood, but not so much that he allows it to disturb his orientation towards the supreme good. Moreover, his conduct as a knight is single-minded in its focus upon the spiritual good. These considerations do not diminish Galahad’s knighthood, chivalry, or prowess; they enhance it. During the Grail quest, Galahad overcomes tests that establish not only his spiritual virtue but also his knightly prowess, defeating wicked knights and avoiding opportunities for vice and sin. Far from experiencing ideological conflict, Galahad seems to embody the perfect pursuit of the political and spiritual common good—capable of defeating threats that imperil himself and others, but also unfailing in his sinless expressions of heavenly virtue.
The depredations of the Grail quest upon the court do not have their origins in a putative conflict with the spiritual common good, but are rather due to the failures of the individual knights who participate in the quest. Arthur’s objection, then, comes about not because he perceives the spiritual as in conflict with the political, but because he knows the worth of his own knights, and is keenly aware of their faults. Arthur understands that the quest will prove destructive to his kingdom because it will be fatal to his unworthy knights, just as a leader of warriors should avoid an encounter with an overwhelming enemy force: such a decision is not to vacate the principle of defence or to ignore the common good, but rather to acknowledge circumstances which pose a threat to the very means by which the common good may be pursued and maintained.
According to this reading, Arthur is actually acknowledging the ultimate nature of the spiritual common good. His knights may be capable of aiding in the pursuit of the political common good—they are tools fit for that purpose. But individually, as tools for facilitating (and expressly pursuing) it via the spiritual quest, they prove generally unworthy. Even Galahad, who achieves the quest, does not particularly aid the political common good. The quest proves his worth, and brings Galahad into perfect union with the divine—his final end or good—but it is an end that is restricted to him. Except as a model for the other knight, he accomplishes little. And Malory even suggests that such a model would be useless: Galahad is successful because he is without grave sin. Other knights, like Percyvalle, who are shriven of their sin, still find themselves unable fully to achieve the Grail. If Galahad is a model, he is a poor one by virtue of being irreplicable. If the Grail quest does suggest a political lesson, then it does so by advancing King Arthur himself—who understands the complex relationship between the individual and the state, the spiritual and the temporal—as the best model for those who would govern wisely and well.
