© 1966 Robert Holt
163 pages
"...the king wants either Sir Thomas More to bless his marriage or Sir Thomas More destroyed."
"They seem odd alternatives, Secretary."
The king
wants a son, Sir Thomas – what are you going to do about it? King
Henry, eight of that name and possibly last of the Tudors, has decided to change wives. His lawful queen,
Catherine of Aragon, has so far only given him one long-lived child: a girl, utterly useless for
succession purposes. Convinced that his marriage
is cursed, Henry seeks to have it declared null and void by the Pope, but said
pontiff is unwilling. He already made special dispensation for Henry to marry
his brother’s widow in the first place; now they want to him to
un-dispensate? Anxious to replace
Catherine with a younger model, and in fear of dying without a proper heir,
Henry decides to resolve the succession problem via secession. Assume leadership of the Church in England, appoint someone pliable as
archbishop, and hey presto, instant divorce.
Henry can do nearly what he wants; the Pope may object, but he is across
the Channel, and even the Queen’s Hapsburg family doesn’t have the energy to
invade England just for marriage counseling. Henry intimidates both Parliament and the
church into giving in, but still—there is an itch of sanction. The compliance
of dogs is easy to find; they can be appeased with food or cowed with
beatings, and dog-men abound here, epitomized in the person of Richard Rich What Henry needs to sooth any
lingering qualms that he is following the straight and narrow path is approval
from a man of virtue and conscience – a man like his Chancellor, Sir Thomas
More. But More cannot approve; he is a faithful husband and doting father to
several daughters, and a good Catholic who finds Henry’s easy disposal of his
wife and the Church’s authority to be utterly alarming. Choosing discretion as the better part of
valor, More retires from the court in
the wake of Henry’s break with the church, but Henry is not content. He and his
minions want either More’s sanction, or his destruction. “A Man for All Seasons” follows the king’s
pursuit of More, a path that ends only
with the subject's martyrdom. More never
explicitly opposes the king’s behavior;
never writes a tract, never denounces him from the chair of office, never even says a word to his wife. His silence, however, is forbidding, and the
king will not have it. There can be no
law in England save the King’s – not even
More’s private reign over his conscience. The import of “A Man” is not lost centuries
ever the times they portray, nor decades after the play was written. Its championing
of conscience against coercion, of moral conviction against swaggering license,
remain relevant so long as those in authority continue to pursue their every
impulse, dressing their wrath and lust
for power in the clothes of law and demanding obedience. Sophie Scholl lost her
head for the same reason More lost his;
they had a better one than the king’s. More’s stand for conscience was such that the Church of England –
which More opposed – hails him as a saint.
Truly he was as Holt describes him, a man for all seasons, including ours.
This is one of my favorite plays. The depiction of More's conscience makes for stirring drama.
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