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Volume 11, 2026

Innovation

The Journal of Creative and Scholarly Works

Previously published by the Office of Undergraduate Research and Creative Works, the journal is now produced by the School of Humanities and Behavioral Sciences with assistance from the HPU Writing Center.

For more information, www.highpoint.edu/urcw/hpu-journal/ journal.urcw@highpoint.edu

Cover design by Laura Schramm ‘13 High Point University alumna, Laura Schramm, graduated in 2013 with a bachelor’s degree in business after completing a nonprofit business major and graphic design minor. In the fall of 2012, Schramm won the journal cover design competition hosted by the Office of Undergraduate Research and Creative Works. The artistic process began with brainstorming ideas in a sketchbook and led to the final design of photographed lightbulbs—an image that symbolizes the tedious trial and error required to produce one brilliant idea across disciplines and the process of innovation at work. Today, Schramm continues her artistic pursuits as a graphic designer in North Carolina.

Innovation: Journal of Creative and Scholarly Works

Editor-in-Chief

Dr. Justin H. Cook Director of the HPU Writing Center Assistant Professor of English

Student Editor

Audrey West High Point University, ‘27 English & Business Administration

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2026 Board of Reviewers Dr. Justin Cook Assistant Professor of English

Dr. Amanda Allen Assistant Professor of History

Dr. Matthew Carlson Associate Professor of English

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Letter from the Editor-in-Chief Welcome to volume 11 of Innovation. Among the many topics you will find in this volume are a twelfth-century remedy of houseleek steeped in goat's milk, a lullaby sung about a woman who died leading an army, and The Maltese Falcon, just to name a few. Ten undergraduate authors are collected here, and sorting them by major or by field would tell you very little. Sorting them by what they chase tells you so much more. Five of these authors chase forgotten histories, specifically the parts recorded by people with reasons to record them inaccurately or incompletely. Elysia Hagstrom follows the witch trials to the women most likely to be accused, the widow and the midwife. Kate Hemric finds Gwenllian of Wales flattened into a lullaby by historians who kept her husband's name in the battle records. Audrey Houle traces Tudor marriage policy and concludes that the need for an heir steered the Reformation more often than the Reformation steered the monarchy. Gianna Kocur traces clerical celibacy from a theology of purity back to who inherits the land. Caitlin McCray follows women's medicine from Hildegard's herbals to the Paris tribunal that ordered Perretta Petone to stop practicing. Four chase literature and push back once they catch it. Cassidy Brake reads Margaret Atwood's two dystopias side by side and finds Gilead and Crake's paradise failing the same test. Abby Lawson stays with Kazuo Ishiguro's carers and donors long enough to argue that the novel is about time, not cloning. Ellison Soto catches William Wordsworth hiding inside C.S. Lewis. Finnegan Twomey sets Sam Spade beside Wyatt Earp and watches American masculinity reverse itself in fifteen years. One chases the concept of writing itself. Madison Molis makes the case that keeping yourself out of your academic paper has never made the work more credible, only quieter, and she takes on eminent scholars in the field of Writing Studies to do it. Her essay describes the conditions under which the other nine were produced. Students learn early that credibility can be interpreted as disappearing from the page. Molis argues that this is a lesson worth unlearning, and the nine essays around hers are full of writers who have not disappeared at all. Every one of these essays began under a deadline that had nothing to do with publication. What happened after that deadline is the part worth noticing. Our review board

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read each, returned it with comments, and a writer who had already been graded reworked it anyway. Some went through that cycle more than once. Audrey West, our student editor, did the work a finished journal is designed to hide. She coordinated with ten authors not only on their essays but on everything that surrounds them. She reconciled styles, chased grammatical errors, and set these pages. She did it all without losing the student-author's voice. None of that shows, which is the nature of the work, but this volume is hers as much as anyone's. It has been a pleasure to work alongside her. This volume also owes its existence to the reviewers who read the submissions closely and offered feedback to our student-authors, and to the Douglas S. Witcher School of Humanities and Behavioral Sciences for the resources that brought it into print. If you are an undergraduate holding this volume and wondering whether your own work has anywhere left to go, the address is Innovation. If you are faculty or staff reading these words and remembering a time when you saw a student chase their education, the address is also Innovation. Happy Reading!

Justin H. Cook, Ph.D. Assistant Professor of English Director of the HPU Writing Center Editor-in-Chief of Innovation: Journal of Creative and Scholarly Works

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Note from the Student Assistant Editor Hello fellow readers! Welcome to the 11th edition of Innovation. My name is Audrey West, and I am a senior here at High Point University. As a student myself, I would like to congratulate the scholars who were bold enough to submit their work. Writing is an extremely personal experience in our lives. To write, you must be vulnerable and open. If there is one thing all writers can agree on, it is that criticism is not easy to encounter. So, I want to applaud our authors who took the step to submit their work and then went through an intense editing process to get to the point you are reading today. Then, to the readers, I hope these authors’ writing encourages you to take the step as well. Additionally, as I reflect on the authors' courage, I have also thought about my own role as the Student Assistant Editor and how they have changed my perspective on the writing process. As a Writing Center Tutor, I have learned that editing is not about “fixing” someone’s work, but more about making it just a little bit better, so the work reflects the writer’s goals. However, editing for a publication is a bit different. Instead, it is focused on keeping the author's voice and preserving what makes it unique. There is not just one way to write, because writing is supposed to be experimental. To end this letter, it has been an honor and a blessing to see the author’s essays turn from manuscripts into published works. I have nothing but gratitude to give to both the Editor-in-Chief, Dr. Justin Cook, and the authors. As I have said many times before in my personal essays, everyone has a story to tell, so I want to make it my duty to share them with the world. I hope you find reading these works as much fun as I did!

AWest Audrey G. West

HPU class '27 B.A in English | B.S.B.A in Business Administration 5

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Table of Contents Reading Atwood’s Dystopias Through a Feminist Theology Lens Cassidy Brake

Woman, Wife, Widow, Witch: The Wicked Sin of Female Autonomy in a Patriarchy Elysia Hagstrom

Gwenllian of Wales: Battle Cry, Lullaby, Martyrized Kate Hemric

Politics and Procreation: Evolution of the English Monarchy During the Protestant Reformation Audrey Houle

From Clerical Marriage to Clerical Celibacy in the Roman Catholic Church Gianna Kocur

Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go: How Mortality Leads to Sacrifice Abby Lawson

Evolution of Women’s Healthcare from the Medieval to Early Modern Era Caitlin McCray

Inviting the Writer Back into Academic Writing Madison Molis

Edmund Pevensie and the Recovery of Romantic Innocence Ellison Soto

Wyatt Earp as Detective, Sam Spade as Cowboy, and the Evolution of American Masculinity Finnegan Twomey

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Reading Atwood’s Dystopias Through a Feminist Theology Lens Cassidy Brake Cassidy Brake is a sophomore majoring in Elementary Education with a minor in English. After college, Cassidy plans to teach in the classroom while pursuing a master’s degree. Her interest in Margaret Atwood’s writing was fueled by Dr. Carlson’s Contemporary Fiction Class, where she made the literary connection to the religious framework. To Cassidy, the most fulfilling part of undergraduate research has been the freedom to pursue interests beyond her major, which has pushed her to become a more well-rounded scholar. Working with her mentor, Dr. Carlson, has given her the motivation to continue her study in the English department. With prior obstacles, Cassidy is grateful for his support with this paper and his loyal dedication to both her and his students. Abstract This essay looks at how two of Margaret Atwood’s major works parallel ideas from Christian feminist theology. The Handmaid’s Tale and Oryx and Crake represent two opposite ends of a spectrum: religious extremism and secular extremism. Neither philosophy results in success for their fictional communities. Through a reading of both texts, this essay draws on theological similarities between Atwood, an agnostic, and her Christian feminist counterparts. Both criticize the patriarchal nature of religious fundamentalism. Atwood uses The Handmaid’s Tale to portray the extreme consequences of Christian Nationalism because of weaponizing Scripture and abusing power. However, she simultaneously advocates for religion’s positive role in society. She writes about an alternative dystopia that takes place in a world devoid of religion, expressing the danger of losing a spiritual and moral framework. Atwood’s voice resonates today with religious leaders and armchair theologians who see a reflection of their ideas in her work.

In his critical essay, scholar Matthew J. Bolton compares and contrasts Margaret Atwood’s two dystopias: the oppressive theocracy of The Handmaid’s Tale and the biotechnological nightmare of Oryx and Crake. He claims The Handmaid’s Tale is a version of 1984 “in which Big Brother is not a totalitarian God-substitute but a shared notion of God himself.” On the contrary, in Oryx and Crake, Atwood shows us how “man’s hubris in playing God through genetic engineering re-shapes the earth into a paradise fit for his evolutionary successors, but no longer fit for man himself” (Bolton 59-60). Bolton notes that by calling out both systems, Atwood shows that the true threat to society is an ideology that disregards human worth and dignity. Neither religious theocracy nor fundamentalist secularism has it right.

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Although Atwood herself is agnostic, this philosophy parallels ideas found in feminist theology. Christian feminists advocate for a form of religion that celebrates and empowers women, but, more broadly, upholds dignity and justice for all people. This is the type of faith Atwood believes brings value to our world. Using two distinct examples of societies ruled by fundamentalism, she advocates a middle ground between extremes. Religion should not be eliminated but used in such a way that it does not cause harm to others. In this way, Margaret Atwood finds common ground with feminist theologians who keep justice, mercy, and compassion at the center of faith. Religious Totalitarianism in The Handmaid’s Tale Although totalitarian religious groups have existed for centuries, The Handmaid’s Tale, which takes place in a redefined United States, draws its closest parallels to 20th- and 21stcentury American Christian Nationalism. Through Gilead, Atwood critiques the weaponization of religion and Christian Nationalism by parodying some of its most dangerous pitfalls. Atwood has said in many interviews that she drew inspiration from historical events, armed with a collection of old newspaper clippings (Penguin Books). But it is no coincidence that her novel also reflects current events of the 1980s. Five years before she began writing The Handmaid’s Tale, a movement called the Moral Majority began to rise in America. As a Canadian, Atwood watched it unfold from a close distance. Conservative evangelical Christians became determined to restore America as a “Christian nation” by reinstating “Biblical patriarchy” and blurring the lines between church and state (Matzko). Despite the growth of the Moral Majority, Christian feminism also gained traction in the 70s and 80s. An example of this is the 1983 book Sexism and God-Talk by Rosemary Radford Ruether. The book is a theological critique of patriarchal forms of Christianity that mirrors many ideas put forth in Atwood’s novels. Atwood is, intentionally or not, aligning herself with modern-day feminist theologians who vehemently oppose nationalism and fundamentalism of all forms. Misuse of Scripture One way that Scripture is misused by the oppressors in The Handmaid’s Tale is when those in authority selectively pick parts of verses and leave out the rest. Offred recalls how Aunt Lydia used the phrase “blessed are the meek” (64) to promote submission, while leaving out the second half of the line, “for they shall inherit the earth.” This comes from Matthew 5:5, a portion of Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount. The Beatitudes, or blessings Jesus gives, are not about patriarchal submission at all. The rest of Matthew 5 provides context. Here, Jesus is turning the world’s power structures upside down, saying that those who mourn and suffer will be comforted and given mercy. Aunt Lydia plucks one four-word phrase from its broader context and offers it as a chastisement to women she believes are too outspoken. She is not alone in using this tactic of manipulative cherry-picking. Atwood is using Lydia as an example of people who weaponize the Bible to advance their agenda, common in Christian Nationalist circles. Another danger Atwood critiques in her portrayal is biblical literalism. In Gilead, people take the Bible at face value. Personal interpretation is so demonized that handmaids are not allowed to read in fear that they may understand another meaning of the Bible. The concept isn’t new to America. It is a painful callback to the laws that prevented slaves from learning to read to keep them in submission (Smithsonian American Art Museum). Rosemary 8

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Radford Ruether writes that the patriarchal systems portrayed in Scripture must be “set aside and rejected” the same way the verses approving of slavery have been after abolition. Feminist theology acknowledges the importance of reading the Bible through an interpretive lens, a “prophetic-liberating tradition” that “critiques dominant systems of power” and promotes “God’s intended reign of peace and justice” (Ruether 24). Atwood, along with a chorus of religious feminists, is warning us that if the words of a sacred text are not interpreted based on context and literary structure, they can be used as tools of oppression. The Bible itself warns against idolizing “the letter.” The spirit of the law is a legal term that describes the intention behind a law rather than its literal wording. Following the letter of the law is to follow it as it is literally written. St. Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 3, “[God] has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant—not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.” It’s ironic, but of the religious groups bent on enforcing rules, Atwood says, “They much prefer the letter” (Moyers). The Combination of Church and State When these misinterpreted passages are codified into law, Hell breaks loose. The Republic of Gilead is not just a religion, but a national government entwined with patriarchal theology that controls its people using religious doctrine. It “knows no bounds” (Atwood 23). Its leaders have merged religion with all facets of public life to justify and maintain their social order. Today, Christian Nationalists advocate for the combination of church and state. In The Myth of a Christian Nation, author Greg Boyd puts the Christian Nationalist argument this way: “If we can just get more Christians into office, pass more Christian laws, support more Christian policies…If we can just get prayer (Christian prayer of course) back into our schools along with the Ten Commandments and creationist teaching, we will be restoring our country’s Christian heritage” (91). Politicians around the country have not stopped trying to pass laws such as these. One can only speculate that a similar conversation was heard in the meeting room of Gilead’s founding fathers. Both make no attempts to hide the call for a theocracy. To be a “true believer” in Gilead means to submit to the regime. Offred and Ofglen pretend to watch the Soul Scrolls to have their first private conversation, where each learns that the other is not as “pious” as they once thought (168). But when dissent is equated with unfaithfulness, and unfaithfulness is a crime punished with severity, the government remains in full control. They have so much power over Offred that she does not attempt to rise against them. She lives in quiet rebellion but feels she must passively accept what they do to her. The Female Body as Property Offred is first brought to the doorstep of Commander Waterford, where the Commander’s Wife instructs the Guardian to “leave it on the porch” (12), as one might say of a stray dog. Women are handled and moved around as packages instead of people. Many prominent 21stcentury figures in Christian Nationalism also treat women as less than human. Pastor Joel Webbon, a lead editor for The Statement on Christian Nationalism & The Gospel, believes women should not have the right to vote, comparing women to five-year-olds (“Joel Webbon: Biblical Patriarchy” 0:18:15). Webbon runs the podcast Right Response Ministries, where he defends Christian Nationalism as a positive ideology and a “step in the right direction.” In a video entitled “Are Christian Women ‘Birthing Machines,’” Webbon and his guests state that the one and only purpose of sex is procreation and not pleasure. These 9

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Handmaid’s Tale–esque statements have prompted responses from other Christians who are standing for women’s rights. April Ajoy is an influencer and former Christian Nationalist who took to Threads to respond to Webbon’s position on women’s suffrage. She writes, “Looks like he’s cosplaying to be a commander in The Handmaid’s Tale” (Ajoy), to which a user replied, “It's not cosplay if it's what he is truly trying to be” (Elkins). In feminist Rosemary Radford Ruether’s book, she describes four stages that must occur for men to have absolute power over global society. The first step in the subjugation of women, according to Ruether, is control over the womb. This is the portion of her book echoed in the plot of The Handmaid’s Tale. To do this, the oppressors must ensure that “only the male to whom she has been legally handed over may put his seed in her body, so that he can be sure that the children that emerge from her body belong to him, pass on his name, inherit his property” (Ruether 260). Gilead easily checks this box. The handmaids are assigned their Commanders and given over to them. Sex can only be for procreation, to the delight of men like Webbon, and only with the Commander the Handmaid serves. Offred’s affair with Nick is punishable by death in the Colonies for this reason. The Handmaid gives birth to the child, but the child is not her own. It belongs to the household, of which the man is the head, and as Ruether writes, “the male seed alone provides the form of the child, the woman is only the passive receptacle for man’s active power” (260). The Handmaids experience this in the sanitized version of sexual intercourse that is not a cooperative act of love, but an action received. When it’s over, the woman “must obediently accept the effects of these holy male acts upon her body” — Offred is silent — “must not seek to control their effects” — Offred complies and lies still— and “must not become a conscious decision maker about the destiny of her own body” (260-261). Offred admits that during The Ceremony, she is detached (Atwood 95). By chapter forty-five, she makes an ultimate declaration of giving herself away: “I resign my body freely, to the use of others. They can do what they like with me. I am abject” (286). Feminist theologians like Ruether wholeheartedly reject any religious belief that results in such desecration of women. Secular Fundamentalism in Oryx and Crake By comparison, the world that Jimmy/Snowman inhabits in Oryx and Crake has no tyrannical religious regime. Religion is fairly absent in Jimmy and Crake’s childhood. However, society is far from perfect, as the absence of religion has the potential to lead to an absence of moral ethics. Jimmy’s mother recognized the moral dilemma caused by OrganInc and the other companies, but she was a member of the minority for doing so. Jimmy and Crake glorify violence in their genocide-themed video games and proclivity for exploitative porn. Children are sold into sex slavery. Corporations value profits over people, strip art and creativity from humanity, and experiment on living things in deplorable conditions. Upon Crake’s attempt to rid the world of religion even more, he commits mass genocide and causes the apocalypse. Here, Atwood satirizes secular fundamentalism, an ideology that “seeks to remove religion from public life altogether” (McAnulla). Feminist theology argues that secularism, taken to the extreme, is no better than religious fundamentalism. It can be just as destructive and have just as little regard for the well-being of humanity. Continuing to follow Atwood’s message from this perspective, Oryx and Crake furthers the feminist’s goal of exposing injustice wherever it occurs.

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The Attempt to Remove God The journalist Bill Moyers once asked Atwood in an interview, “If you were asked to design a new human being as an improvement on the current model, would you eliminate the hunger for God?” This is the same question Crake asked himself as he designed his new species of human, genetically modified to be superior to us. “It has been tried,” Atwood replied. “It wasn’t much of an improvement as I recall.” As society loses something to measure morality, the consequence is ultimate chaos. Atwood doesn’t argue that society should have one required religion like in Gilead. However, a variety of religious practices present in our world teach kindness, care for the marginalized, liberation for the oppressed, and personal accountability for mistakes. Liberation theology is closely intertwined with feminist theology and centers on justice and social change (Ruether 201). If all religion was eliminated, so too would the positive expressions of it that have been instrumental in social progress. Crake doesn’t see it that way. He believes that “nature is to zoos as God is to churches…Those walls and bars are there for a reason” (Atwood 205-206). He knows the danger of religion and wants to ensure it can’t “go on the rampage” (Atwood 205-206), which is the worry Jimmy has about the genetically engineered animals. Crake is overconfident that the consequences of both religion and tampering with nature “won’t get out” (Atwood 205206). This is an ominous moment of foreshadowing (Atwood 205-206). The Handmaid’s Tale makes it clear that religion can spread far beyond the church walls. Who is to say that the animals could not do the same? Worse still, the desire in Oryx and Crake to take God out of society can be accomplished, but God cannot be without a proper replacement. Jimmy recalls how the workers at OrganInc joked about feeling like God because they enjoyed the thrill of divining their own creation. They took up unethical science projects on the side to make hybrid animals for their own amusement (51). Feminist theology is no stranger to men abusing their positions of power to rule over those they think they are given dominion over. Crake represents this God-complex and hubris brought to its logical conclusion. Animals are no longer the only thing being experimented on. Crake’s desire to be God goes all the way to the top: he recreates mankind. Religion as a Natural Part of the Human Experience Although Crake sees only the harmful side of religion, the novel portrays it as an essential part of humanity from an anthropological standpoint. The Crakers were never supposed to become religious. But as a human species, the Crakers developed their own beliefs in higher powers. They instinctively began to build idols and create chants. This is partly due to Snowman’s creative storytelling. However, without an ingrained desire for shared purpose and meaning, the Crakers would not have gone so far in adopting religious practices. Religion answers questions that will inevitably come up throughout human history. Snowman is the prophet who answers the Crakers’ many questions. To uncover who we are, we use stories to describe where we came from. Atwood implies that even when written out of the code of human life, it is impossible to keep religion from forming. She seems to believe it is a necessary element of what sets us apart as humans. The claim that religion is the way in which communities “are engaged in making their own selection from the patterns of received tradition that fit or make sense in their lives” is central to many feminist theologians (Ruether 15). Atwood walks alongside them in acknowledging the role religion plays across a variety of social groups. 11

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When healthy religion exists in a society, humans acknowledge themselves as equals who have one Creator. If it is nonexistent, people will clamor their way to the top. The idea that religion is needed in society may seem on the surface to contradict messages in The Handmaid’s Tale. However, The Handmaid’s Tale is not a commentary on religion, but a commentary on fundamentalism, and in this way, Oryx and Crake posits the same critique. Both Extremes: Two Sides of the Same Coin Neither religious nor secular fundamentalism puts human worth and dignity at the forefront of their ideology. This message is clear across Atwood’s two novels. Rather than creating a utopia with an ideal world, she uses emotional accounts of what happens when society goes the other direction. The stories of The Handmaid’s Tale and Oryx and Crake are made so distressing that, in doing so, she advocates for the belief that human flourishing is central to the preservation of society. If a system rises to power that puts principles over people, it will surely lead to widespread consequences. Atwood said in her Faith and Reason interview with Bill Moyers, “I don’t think it’s a question of God or not God, or religion or not religion. It’s what people do with their belief system…Whether they use it to really improve things, rather than people. Or whether they use it to tyrannize over other people.” Read together, these stories speak to each other. They challenge readers to think of how they can preserve a midway point between two unimaginable extremes. Atwood is not religious, but she shares common viewpoints with many who are. Therefore, The Handmaid’s Tale and Oryx and Crake can each be read through a religious lens centered on compassion. A theology that affirms the inherent worth of all individuals cannot stay quiet when faced with notions of oppression and abuse. Conclusion Through her work, Atwood critiques forms of fundamentalism that try to either mandate or outlaw religion. Both systems are equally destructive, just as Matthew J. Bolton argues in his piece. He is correct that her books remain relevant in modern discussions of faith, feminism, politics, and technology. Most importantly, Margaret Atwood advocates a world in which both religious and secular leaders prioritize ethics over their desire for power. The juxtaposition of her dystopias gives readers a perfect picture of what progressive theology has been saying for decades. Any ideology that is not driven by empathy is poison to the world. Atwood’s warning is clear: We as a culture can hold both God and science. But we must be careful that science does not become our god, and God does not become a science.

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Works Cited Ajoy, April [@Aprilajoy]. “Looks like he’s cosplaying to be a commander in The Handmaid’s Tale.” Threads, 24 Apr. 2025, www.threads.net/@aprilajoy/post/C-u5nq1ul7Q?hl=en. Elkins, Tim [@Codeslave]. “It's not cosplay if it's what he is truly trying to be.” Threads, 16 Aug. 2024, www.threads.com/@codeslave/post/C-vA1zYR2qS. Atwood, Margaret. Oryx and Crake. Anchor Books, 2003. ---. The Handmaid’s Tale. McClelland & Stewart, 1985. Bolton, Matthew J. “‘This Is the Way the World Ends’: Margaret Atwood and the Dystopian Impulse.” Critical Insights: The Handmaid’s Tale, edited by J. Brooks Bouson, Salem Press, 2010. Boyd, Gregory A. The Myth of a Christian Nation: How the Quest for Political Power Is Destroying the Church. Zondervan, 2005. “Joel Webbon: Biblical Patriarchy vs Andrew Tate, True Masculinity, Postmillennialism and Blue States.” YouTube, uploaded by Eschatology Matters, 28 May 2024, www.youtube.com/watch?v=2hUrZIR3Xhg. King James Version. Bible Gateway. https://www.biblegateway.com/versions/King-JamesVersion-KJV-Bible/ Matzko, Paul. “Timeline Entry: 06-01-79.” www.thearda.com, The Association of Religion Data Archives, www.thearda.com/us- religion/history/timelines/entry?etype=1&eid=46. McAnulla, Stuart. “Secular Fundamentalists? Characterizing the New Atheist Approach to Secularism, Religion and Politics.” British Politics, vol. 9, no. 2, Nov. 2013, pp. 124–45, https://doi.org/10.1057/bp.2013.27. Moyers, Bill. “Faith & Reason: Margaret Atwood & Martin Amis.” Vimeo, 6 Mar. 2013, vimeo.com/61192027. Penguin Books. “Margaret Atwood on the Real-Life Events That Inspired The Handmaid’s Tale and the Testaments.” Penguin.co.uk, 8 Sept. 2019, www.penguin.co.uk/discover/articles/margaret-atwood-handmaids-tale-testamentsreal-life-inspiration. Right Response Ministries. “Are Christian Women ‘Birthing Machines’?” YouTube, 8 May 2024, www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTS0klBKBTE. Accessed 24 Apr. 2025. Ruether, Rosemary Radford. Sexism and God-Talk: Towards a Feminist Theology. Beacon Press, 1983. Smithsonian American Art Museum. Literacy as Freedom. Sept. 2014, americanexperience.si.edu/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Literacy-as-Freedom.pdf.

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Woman, Wife, Widow, Witch: The Wicked Sin of Female Autonomy in a Patriarchy Elysia Hagstrom Elysia Hagstrom is a sophomore majoring in Psychology. She plans to continue her education by earning her doctoral degree in Psychology. She also hopes to continue researching social behaviors within gender construction. Elysia has always been interested in how women’s stories, accomplishments, and lives have been dictated and often misconstrued by men in positions of power throughout history. Many historical works Elysia has encountered portray women who did not conform to traditional societal norms as dangerous and deviant. In the end, this shows bias in historical recollection rather than reality. Throughout her course with Dr. Allen, she studied the European Witch Hunts and discussed the mass hysteria and superstitions that led to the deaths of thousands of women. Elysia then realized how independent women being turned into scapegoats is acutely connected to the systems of patriarchal control. Elysia states that the most fulfilling part of this undergraduate research was being able to formulate her own project and conduct the research independently, while also receiving guidance that motivated, challenged, and inspired her. While working with her mentor and professor, Dr. Allen, she has found that her studies at High Point University were impacted tremendously. In Elysia’s words, “Dr. Allen’s passion for teaching and her deep knowledge of the subject matter made me look forward to attending her classes.” Through her guidance, Elysia has gained research opportunities and experiences that have helped her grow as a critical thinker. She hopes to continue her undergraduate research and work with Dr. Allen throughout her remaining years at High Point University. Abstract This essay examines how the witch hunts in medieval and early modern Europe were a patriarchal tactic to maintain control by vilifying women who lived outside of societal norms. In these time periods, marriage was an expectation for women to uphold; therefore, widowed and unmarried women were viewed as disobedient and a threat to male dominance. Utilizing religious teachings, philosophical justifications, and societal expectations, this paper argues that accusations of witchcraft were not as much about the fear of the supernatural, but more about suppressing and diminishing the strength, reputation, and intelligence of independent women. Kramer’s Malleus Maleficarum (1486), an influential witch-hunting guidebook, was rooted in prejudice and misogyny. This work portrayed women as morally and intellectually weak and attempted to justify the unfair persecutions through religious doctrine. Furthermore, numerous environmental disasters caused economic instability and widespread fear, leading to the search for scapegoats and generally implicating an older woman already estranged. Judicial systems fortified these gendered accusations through interrogation and

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torture, coercing innocents to confess. Overall, this essay demonstrates that witch hunts were a calculated effort to maintain patriarchal control.

whisper in the dark heightens to murmurs in the street and spreads like wildfire as the unmarried woman is accused of witchery. Throughout the medieval and early modern eras, the vilification of unmarried women was a common tactic among men to assert dominance and control over communities. During these years, marriage was seen as a rite of passage and was an expectation for all women to uphold. Therefore, men in power viewed women who chose to remain unmarried or widowed with suspicion and used these witch hunts to assert authority and fear in those rejecting traditional gender roles. Through the use of religious teachings, philosophical justifications, and societal expectations, powerful men cemented their leadership in society and attempted to diminish the strength and intelligence of women. Marriage during the medieval period was not a choice or based on true love, but instead on the betterment and continuation of the community. A woman was never in control of her own freedom; she was either under her father’s or her husband's control. Society viewed the marriage ceremony as the woman "plac[ing] herself under the authority of her husband… her promise to be bonaire and buxom [meek and obedient]."1 This showcases how men were always the ones dominating and holding positions of power. Communities taught women to view themselves as beneath men, not to question them, and to be submissive. Furthermore, in The Goodman of Paris, a guidebook for a young bride, women were compared directly to dogs. They were expected to "l[ay] down before his master to appease him."2 This vivid imagery depicts a woman as obedient and malleable, further pushing the patriarchal agenda of the time. Nonetheless, some women still did not marry, either by choice or circumstance, and this led to severe social consequences. They were viewed as a failed woman and morally corrupt since they lacked a male authority figure to ensure their compliance in society. Women without husbands also did not have financial security, which forced them into taking specific jobs, including midwives--- a job later associated with witchcraft. A woman who chose singlehood was viewed with suspicion and fear, emotions that would launch a series of accusations, trials, and executions.1 To understand the witch hunt hysteria that overtook Europe, it is important to first understand the history that created the “ominous witches.” Witchcraft trials were incredibly rare before the fifteenth century, and peaked in Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.3 However, inquisitor Heinrich Kramer published his work Malleus Maleficarum in 1486, a guidebook to identify and prosecute witches that would later condemn many women. Kramer's beliefs on witches were rooted in prejudice, stereotypes, and misogyny. He contextualized witchcraft as coming from lechery and believed that “all witches have been slaves from a young age to carnal lust."4 He also believed that women were more susceptible to witchcraft because the female sex was fragile both in body and mind. He also focused on criticizing older women and, specifically, midwives. Kramer's work was incredibly influential 1 Christine Peters, “Gender, Sacrament and Ritual: The Making and Meaning of Marriage in Late Medieval and Early Modern England,” Past & Present, no. 169 (2000): 87. https:///www.jstor.org/stable/651264. 2 The Goodman of Paris, trans. Eileen Power (Routledge, 1928). 3 Jackson, Eleanor. 2024. “Medieval Witches.” Medieval Manuscripts Blog. October 31, 2024. https://blogs.bl.uk/digitisedmanuscripts/2024/10/medieval-witches.html 4 Hans Peter Broedel, The Malleus Maleficarum and the Construction of Witchcraft (Manchester University Press, 2003), 2.

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and harmful to the women of the time, as it became the primary source used to convict them. Philologists believed that the "Malleus [was] just as responsible as Christian Demonology when it came to targeting women. This shows the vast influence the text Malleus Maleficarum had on the view that they were naturally female."5 This is partially because it placed the blame on women and created a scapegoat for their otherwise unexplainable fears. 2 Since there were numerous disasters in the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries, this period is known as the "Age of Despair." While poor weather, disease, and death were concepts everyone in the sixteenth century understood, the severity of these issues coerced people into looking for a cause. "Closer analysis reveals a striking correlation between this epoch and a period of general climatic deterioration after 1560, "6 which occurred in Early Modern Europe. This deterioration included floods, damage to pastures, decreased milk production, and increased human vulnerability.7 The communities were failing, and people lost their money and food sources because of decaying crops. As these natural disasters continued to increase, people needed a source for these catastrophes and chose the Devil. More specifically, they accused women who were deemed under the Devil’s control. These accused women, known as Wettermacherei witches, or weather witches, were deemed to be responsible for summoning these disasters. Proof of these accusations is found in a pamphlet from Southern Germany, stating how Germany was "filled with vermin and servants of the devil who destroy the fruits and fields… thunder, lightning, showers, hail."8 The correlation between the witch hunts and the temperamental weather appears strong because "in the sixteenth century accusations of weather magic recurred with striking frequency."9 The Malleus Maleficarum furthered this belief and highlighted it as one of the main examples of witchcraft. This caused many women to be accused and condemned because, after a horrendous storm, the community looked for someone to blame. Generally, this was placed on an older woman already estranged. These accusations were extreme because, for most instances of witchcraft, it was a debate among individuals, but in the case of weather-related witchcraft, "the whole land rose up to exterminate them.”10 These communities were fueled by confusion and desperation for a scapegoat and turned on their neighboring women. The Wettermacherei witches are some of the first known legal cases of witchcraft, but at the same time, trials were held for many other murderous and debilitating crimes The rumors and suspicions surrounding witchcraft did not remain a whisper in the dark, and soon towns exploded with accusations, hunts, trials, and executions. Hans Fründ, chief clerk of Schwyz, shared an extremely brutal account of supposed witchcraft occurring in Valais. The witch trials began in 1428, and within two years, more than one hundred people were executed, with witches "still being convicted and burned every day."11 The individuals who confessed reported giving poison to others, killing, bewitching women to become barren, and other wicked things.12 These confessions were common at the time, and many did plead guilty to the

5 Birks, Arran. 2020. “The ‘Hammer of Witches’: An Earthquake in the Early Witch Craze- the Historian.” The Historian. QMUL. January 24, 2020. https://projects.history.qmul.ac.uk/thehistorian/2020/01/24/the-malleus-maleficarum-an-earthquake-inthe-early-witch-craze/. 6 Wolfgang Behringer, “Weather, Hunger and Fear: Origins of the European Witch-Hunts in Climate, Society and Mentality,” The German History Society 13, no. 1 (1995) 7. 7 Behringer, “Weather, Hunger and Fear,” 8. 8 Behringer, “Weather, Hunger and Fear,” 9. 9 Behringer, “Weather, Hunger and Fear,” 4. 11 Hans Fründ, Report on Witchcraft in Valais, trans. Michael D. Bailey (Penn State University Press, 2021). 25. 12 Fründ, Report on Witchcraft, 27.

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crimes for which they were accused. However, these confessions must be taken with a grain of salt, as torture was a common tactic used to force people into admitting to these crimes. One example is Ursula Götz, an unmarried older woman who authorities accused of witchcraft. At first, she proclaimed herself innocent and "behaved as if she was as clear as glass,"13 but once threatened with torture, "Götz confessed readily."14 Götz's This story exemplifies how vulnerable older women and those without the protection of a husband were more easily susceptible to these accusations. A fellow woman accused Götz, which was common at the time. Patriarchal societies pitted women against each other, and in the time of witch hunts, it became increasingly common for women to blame other women for witchcraft. This further perpetuated male domination in small communities since not only were men blaming women, but other women were placing blame on their close friends and neighbors. This was partially because housewives were responsible for many household tasks and "[w]hen a housewife failed in any one of these tasks… it was easier for her to detect magical sabotage than to admit her own incompetence."15 This failure was disastrous for women since housework and food production were among the only powers a married woman could uphold. Women gained social influence by controlling food and deciding who could get it. However, this could have deadly consequences as "the management of food also gave women power, a power which could breed suspicion in the hearts of those who possessed it and those who did not."16 Women were not supposed to have power in society. Therefore, when something went wrong, like someone getting sick from the food provided, it was easy to flip the narrative and depict the provider as a threat to the common good. This created an endless cycle of accusations and claims of revenge. By deflecting personal blame and instead condemning other women, the narrative was reinforced that not only was witchcraft real, but it was also a feminine act of jealousy. 3 The accusations did not fall equally on all women, but instead focused specifically on older widows, midwives, and those who rejected traditional gender roles. This distanced them further from male authority. Midwives were often suspected because they were older and deeply knowledgeable about herbs, medicine, and the female body. Kramer and many other authors focused on midwives believing that they "surpass all others in wickedness."17 In other sources, these women were referred to as "the crafty midwife,"18 and it states how "one midwife confessed to killing 50 mothers and children; another, to having killed over 200 newborn babies."19 These accusations also gave rise to the belief that these women had the power to give and take away life. They were likely to be accused of witchcraft if something during the birthing process went awry. Instead of acknowledging the complications of childbirth, they were suspected of siding with the Devil and providing him with deceased infants. Men tarnished the image of midwives because they were increasingly seeking control of all medical situations and rejected the knowledge midwives had. They depicted them as murderers, further creating

13 Lyndal Roper, “The Witch at the Smithy,” in Witch Craze: Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany, (Yale University Press, 2004), 2. 14 Roper, “The Witch at the Smithy,” 2. 15 Carter, Philippa. 2025. “Work, Gender and Witchcraft in Early Modern England.” Gender & History 37: 95. Https://doi.org/10.1111/1468-0424.12717. 16 Carter, “Work, gender and witchcraft,” 95. 17 Heinrich Kramer, Malleus Maleficarum, trans. Montague Summers (London J. Rodker, 1928). 18 Lyndal Roper, “The Baroque Landscape,” in Witch Craze: Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany, (Yale University Press, 2004), 33. 19 Roper, “The Baroque Landscape,” 33.

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mistrust and a divide among all women. Men in power turned these midwives into heretics to ensure their ironclad control over medicine. 4 Biblical preachings and religious doctrines validated this endless cycle of blame and reinforced the belief that independent women were weak-minded, sinners, and dangerous to society. The Malleus Maleficarum used multiple biblical verses to argue for the wickedness of women. Kramer uses Ecclesiasticus 25: "There is no head above the head of a serpent: and there is no wrath above the wrath of a woman."20 Kramer was proclaiming that feminine rage was stronger than the Devil's rage. This further vilified women and portrayed independent women as irrational and dangerous. He also included an excerpt from Cicero's The Rhetorics. Cicero wrote, "The many lusts of men lead them into one sin, but the lust of women leads them into all sins."20 This painted women as easily corruptible and perfect targets for the Devil to use to spread his sins. These quotes attempt to justify the mistreatment of women and prove why he believed women were more likely to perform witchcraft. The story of Adam and Eve was another familiar tale used to demonize women. Society viewed apples as food only witches would sell since "all good Christians knew that Eve's original diabolic pact had been sealed with one."22 The association between women, temptation, and forbidden knowledge cultivated suspicion of even the simplest tasks for women, such as selling goods at the market. As speculation grew, women like Alice Clark were accused after Clubber "[d]id eat an apple given her by Alice Clarke & is ready to be choked with it."23 These Scriptures helped to sanctify the fears of others and turned spirituality against women, insisting that men needed to stay in control to ensure the safety of the communities. 5 Once someone was accused of witchcraft, there was little chance of salvation. The judicial system did not focus solely on evidence; instead, it prioritized setting examples and securing confessions, regardless of the truth. The accused were stripped naked and asked to confess under the guise that if they refused, they would be subjected to torture. If the prisoner still did not confess, then "the prisoner is loosed again and is taken aside and once more persuaded to confess, being led to believe that he will in that case not be put to death."24 Regardless of the confession, the judge would often call for an execution. This trick led many to confess, hoping it would spare their lives. For example, Gertrauta Conrad was one of the women accused of witchcraft. Before her torture, she insisted on her innocence, but after being left "hanging on the rack from eight in the morning until 1 p.m,"25 she confessed. The pain she experienced was so immense that she felt forced into submission, but the inquisitors at the time believed this "enabled her tongue to be loosened."26 These trials were not seeking justice for the accuser or the accused but rather were used to portray control and dominance over the unexplainable. This system did not show the communities the truth; instead, it used suffering to compel individuals to submit to corrupt authorities. 6

Kramer, Malleus Maleficarum. Carter, “Work, Gender and Witchcraft,” 96. 23 Carter, “Work, Gender and Witchcraft,” 96. 24 Heinrich Kramer, Malleus Maleficarum, ed. George L. Burr, The Witch Persecutions, (University of Pennsylvania History Department, 1898-1912). 25 Lyndal Roper, “Interrogation and Torture,” in Witch Craze: Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany, (Yale University Press, 2004), 44. 26 Roper, “Interrogation and Torture,” 45. 22

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While the majority of those accused were women, some men also suffered from this shameful system. "As many as 20 percent of the victims of a witch craze in Germany might be men."27 The interesting fact about this percentage is that "at least half of these men were related to women tried for witchcraft,"28 which creates the question of whether men were only accused when a woman was blamed first. It is important to note that men were less likely to be accused because their jobs gave them more protection. Since the majority of men during this time were farmers, their jobs "depend[ed] upon the conditions of the soil and the climate, and however poor these conditions became, they were endured by everyone alike."29 These issues were seen as natural, not supernatural, which is ironic since women were still being blamed and tried for being Wettermacherei witches. This showcases another example of the hypocrisy of this time. The system may have persecuted both sexes, but ultimately, its goal was to suppress female autonomy. The persecution of supernatural beings or witches, innocent women whose only crime was independence, was an effort to maintain patriarchal control. By enforcing marriage, ostracizing midwives and widows, and manipulating religious doctrines, male authorities were able to fabricate an intricate story depicting women as evil beings who needed to be tamed and controlled. Women were scapegoats for the unexplainable, from natural disasters to infant deaths. The witch craze was a battle against female autonomy, and its goal was to force them into fear and submission using torture and death. The medieval and early modern era witch hunts were not simply about superstitions but instead about targeting women and forcing them to suppress their increasing knowledge and independence because it threatened the patriarchal society. 7

Roper, “The Witch at the Smithy,” 6. Roper, “The Baroque Landscape,” 31. 29 Carter, “Work, Gender and Witchcraft.” 100. 28

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Gwenllian of Wales: Battle Cry, Lullaby, Martyrized Kate Hemric Kate Hemric is a freshman majoring in Marketing. When she graduates from High Point University, she plans to pursue a career in marketing and event management. What sparked Kate’s interest in her essay topic was the limited information available about Gwenllian of Wales. The most fulfilling part of this undergraduate research was seeing her work pay off in ways she never expected. She now feels more confident in her writing and hopes Gwenllian is finally getting the recognition she has been denied for centuries. Dr. Allen, her mentor, encouraged Kate to submit her work, which inspired her to dig deeper and find joy in her studies. In Kate’s words, “Dr. Allen is an incredible mentor, and I would not have had the confidence to do this without her support.”

Abstract This hagiography paper traces the life of Gwenllian Ferch Gruffydd, Gwenllian of Wales, and contrasts the sources that detail her achievements and their biases. This includes her famous battle and death at Kidwelly Castle in 1136, where she fought Norman forces, and her supposed burial site, “Maes Gwenllian”. Authors from Famous Welsh Battles and Knights attempt to diminish her role to that of her husband’s accomplice and inaccurately compare her to Maid Marion, highlighting how her challenges in a male-dominated world continue today to suppress her accomplishments. Sources often focus on her father, brothers, and sons continuing to fight after her death, while Gwenllian is often reduced to appearing only as a wife and mother. Even her title, “Gwenllian of Wales,” is shared by another highly accomplished woman born only a hundred years later, denying both women the recognition they rightfully deserve. She also shares many characteristics with the hero Boudica, which suggests a disfigurement and conflation of their histories. Gwenllian served as an army leader, strategist, and one of the few female warriors of the medieval British Isles and deserves to be known beyond a few lines of a children’s lullaby.8

“S

leep, Gwenllian, Sleep, Gwenllian, my heart’s delight;”1 a line from the classic lullaby referencing Gwenllian of Wales. How did a warrior queen turn into a children’s lullaby, and what became of her legacy? Gwenllian Ferch Gruffydd, more commonly referred to as “Gwenllian of Wales,” has a very limited number of sources detailing her life and accomplishments, and even fewer willing to acknowledge what a truly inspirational woman she was. Quite a few, as we will discuss, simplify, diminish, or transform her entirely into something she was not, based on information they do not 1

Claire Polin, “Observations on the Ap Huw Manuscript,” in Music & Letters. Oxford University Press, 1979, 296-304.

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have. Gwenllian was born in 1100 A.D and later married the prince of Deheubarth to become Princess Consort of Deheubarth. She gave birth to four sons, the lords Morgan, Maelgwyn, Maredudd, and Rhys, who aided her and her husband’s fight for Welsh independence, even after her death. Gwenllian’s legacy is often recounted in relation to her famous battle against Norman forces near Kidwelly Castle in 1136. Her husband was away at the time, so Gwenllian herself gathered up an army and acted as general and strategist. She divided the small army into two, in hopes of catching the enemy by surprise, but was betrayed by one of her generals. Gerald of Wales wrote how she rode forth at the head of an army, “like some second Penthesilea, queen of the Amazons.”2 He is the only source “to note the role of Gwenllian, who led an army to war against the lordship of Kidwelly in 1136 and was killed on the battlefield.”3 Gwenllian ultimately lost the battle at the cost of her own and her son Morgan’s lives. Gerald of Wales further ventures to suggest Gwenllian was the “sole Welsh woman known from surviving records to have entered the martial arena, and her reasons are obscure.”4 It could be argued that perhaps her reasons were just as obvious as her husband’s and those of other Welsh leaders in the interest of protecting their lands and people. 9 Her story seems eerily familiar to a much earlier heroine, the legendary Boudica, who likewise fought against invaders and assembled her very own army. It is unclear how much Gwenllian’s memory could have been borrowed from Boudica’s; yet the familiarities are uncanny. Both were left without their husbands and raised an army to fight against their invaders with their children in tow. Each lost the battle, and the accounts of their deaths remain unclear. They were also described similarly; Gwenllian resembled an Amazonian warrior, whereas Dio Cassius described Boudica, “in stature she was very tall, in appearance most terrifying, in the glance of her eye most fierce, and her voice was harsh; a great mass of the tawniest hair fell to her hips.”5 Gwenllian and Boudica were powerful women whose stories were used to inspire others, and their stories may likely have become intertwined. Boudica’s story was a mix of varying accounts, and like her, some stories of Gwenllian are not as positive as Gerald of Wales’s account. Philip Warner claimed Gwenllian was “scarcely a fighter for freedom. While living in the woods with her husband she caused endless trouble by bringing reprisals on to the innocent, as Robin Hoods’ often do.”6 Gwenllian and her husband stole from their invaders and gave what they stole to the poor, and while the parallel to the well-known character is obvious, it does not diminish her character or credibility. Instead, this connection gives further thought to what a hero she must have been for the children whose homes were being invaded at the time and who would hear her tale in lullabies for generations. Unfortunately, this is not an independent impression of Gwenllian and her husband. Philip Warner’s Famous Welsh Battles also names Gwenllian and her husband as “guerillas”7 and claims that Welshmen, centuries after Gwenllian’s death, would “go to war crying ‘Revenge for Gwenllian’ without any idea of who Gwenllian might have been.”8 This paints an image of Gwenllian as a reckless and weak individual, with a legacy lost to a simple

Kari Maund, The Welsh Kings: Warriors, Warlords and Princes (The History Press, 2006). Johns, “Gerald of Wales, Nest, Gender and Power”, 49-82. 4 Maund, The Welsh Kings: Warriors, Warlords and Princes. 5 Dio Cassius, Roman History (Harvard University Press, 1914). 6 Philip Warner, Famous Welsh Battles (Barnes & Noble Publishing, 1997). 7 Warner, Famous Welsh Battles. 8 Warner, Famous Welsh Battles. 3

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battle cry with no history or deeper meaning. The description of Gwenllian and her husband as “Robin Hoods’”9 was not an individual thought as they were also referenced as being “like a Welsh Robin Hood and Maid Marion.”10 It is very interesting how Rosie Serdiville and John Sadler, authors of Knights11, chose to give Gwenllian this “Maid Marion”12 title, while referring to her husband as the inspiring hero of the story, as if she was simply his devoted wife with no role herself. The very same source fondly addresses Gwenllian, her husband, and their army as “the young lovers with their diehard followers.”13 They appear to be leaning into a “Romeo and Juliet” narrative in which Gwenllian is remembered as a supporting character and not the hero. This contrasts with the views of those living during Gwenllian’s fight and were greatly influenced by her actions. Gwenllian’s death might not have closely impacted those who cried out her name during battle, but it did inspire her son, Lord Rhys. By 1150, he succeeded in “seizing almost the whole of Ystrad Tywi and much of Dyfed…also took possession of Ceredigion.”14 Gwenllian’s brothers also “picked up the torch and drove the invaders back from numerous strongholds”15 after her death. Additionally, it is recorded that Gwenllian’s father and husband sought revenge against the Norman forces. Eventually, after two hundred years, the Normans did succeed in taking over Wales, but they were met with great resistance from many Welshmen, including Gwenllian and her family. Thus, providing evidence of what a vital role she played. 10 Gwenllian’s impact was legendary in her role for the freedom of her country, but also as a fighter. As a female leader of an army in a male-dominated military world, she faced many challenges, especially with her husbands’ absence. She, her husband, and their followers “led an often difficult existence…”16 This ties back into her resemblance to Boudica as a fighter who was also underestimated by the Roman male forces she opposed. Similarly, like Boudica, Gwenllian’s story and legend have been mythologized over the years. An area north of Kidwelly became known as “Maes Gwenllian (“the field of Gwenllian”), and a spring is said to have miraculously welled up on the spot where she died.” 17 This battle site named after Gwenllian “even until recently” is “suggestive of the longevity of her significance in local memory.”18 Even now, Gwenllian is remembered through a traditional Welsh lullaby, which vaguely hints at her history. One line reads “All Gwalia shudders at the Norman blow”19 perhaps referencing her famous battle at Kidwelly. But it appears as though her history has been buried deep in the Welsh past, where her feats are surmised into one defining loss. The things that are mentioned seem either irrelevant or sexist. Sources say she was “strikingly beautiful”20 but also that she only attacked because “her ‘army’ became restless at her husband’s long absence”21. In that very statement, the author chose to belittle her army as though it barely counted as one, or it was not even hers. The bias against women that Gwenllian faced as a military leader persists in modern times and continues to face it in her records. Another example is that she shares her title, 9

Warner, Famous Welsh Battles. Rosie Serdiville and John Sadler, Knights (Rosen Publishing Group, 2018). 11 Serdiville and Sadler, Knights. 12 Serdiville and Sadler, Knights. 13 Serdiville and Sadler, Knights. 14 John Davies, A History of Wales (The Penguin Press, 1993). 15 Serdiville and Sadler, Knights. 16 Serdiville and Sadler, Knights. 17 Serdiville and Sadler, Knights. 18 Johns, “Gerald of Wales, Nest, Gender and Power”, 49-82. 19 Polin, “Observations on the Ap Huw Manuscript,” 296-304. 20 Warner, Famous Welsh Battles. 10

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“Gwenllian of Wales,” with another woman born only around one hundred years later, who also had an important role in Welsh history. This makes it even harder for each of these women to receive the recognition they rightfully deserve. 11 Gwenllian Ferch Gruffydd, Gwenllian of Wales, was an accomplished woman and army leader who fought against forces attempting to invade her country and was a prominent figure of Welsh history. What remains of her legacy is her alleged burial site, a lullaby, her name carried into battle, and several different accounts of who she might have been. Likely, she will never receive the full recognition that a man would for what she did, at least not without some authors attempting to diminish her accomplishments. However, for those who look closer, they will find an inspiring leader in one of the few female warriors of the medieval British Isles.

Warner, Famous Welsh Battles.

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Politics and Procreation: Evolution of the English Monarchy During the Protestant Reformation Audrey Houle Audrey J. Houle is a recent graduate who majored in Exercise Science, with a Pre-Physical Therapy track. She is now enrolled in the Doctor of Physical Therapy program at Virginia Commonwealth University and is expected to graduate in 2029. While she could have researched any topic relating to Medieval Europe, she ultimately chose the Tudor Dynasty because she wanted to explore how politics and religion intersect. The deeper she dug, the more surprises she found, which made her want to uncover more and draw connections. To Audrey, the most fulfilling part of her undergraduate research has been seeing all her work come to fruition and producing a meaningful contribution to academia. During the research process, Dr. Allen has given Audrey a lot of freedom to explore topics that interest her, while continually challenging her to dig deeper and critically analyze evidence. As stated by Audrey, “Her guidance has helped me to not only ask complex questions, but to be the one to uncover the answers and feel confident in approaching research.” With a STEM-related major, she has grown used to reading and synthesizing research papers and scientific literature, but now she gets to be on the other end and shares what she has learned. Abstract This paper examines how the Protestant Reformation influenced English royal marriage through theological development and monarchical application. In medieval Catholic doctrine, marriage was a Holy Sacrament, with procreation as its core purpose, and it was regulated by papal law. At the same time, celibacy was elevated to be considered the most devout to God. Reformed thinking challenged this framework, elevating and redefining marriage as a political contract while maintaining an emphasis on passing religion across generations. By tracing theological shifts in procreation and marital legitimacy, the study analyzes how Tudor monarchs implemented religious reform to create political strength, dynastic stability, and royal legitimacy. Through case studies of Henry VII, Henry VIII, Edward VI, Mary I, and Elizabeth I, this paper shows how each monarch uniquely experienced the Protestant Reformation and identifies themes in how they used, manipulated, or resisted religious reform to achieve their personal and political goals. Ultimately, the monarchs’ political agendas and need for an heir shaped the course of the Protestant Reformation more than theological differences influenced royal policy.

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Protestant Reformation was a time of major change in England during the Medieval and Early Modern Eras. Before the Reformation, England remained a leading Catholic power in Europe; however, throughout the Tudor dynasty, policy and practice shifted as Protestantism gained traction and became dominant. This paper explores how the Protestant Reformation challenged Medieval Catholic teachings on marriage and how this shift affected the views and marital practices of the English monarchy as it moved into the Early Modern Era. Additionally, this analysis will focus on the idea of procreation and examine how attitudes towards marriage as a means of raising children influenced decisions of partner selection and the necessity to marry. In medieval Catholicism, marriage was considered a Holy Sacrament symbolic of Jesus’ relationship with the church, and with this came a particular emphasis on procreation.1 For example, Hildegard, a prominent twelfth century abbess, gave the comparison “as Adam and Eve were one flesh, so now also a man and a woman become one flesh in a union of holy love for the multiplication of the human race.”2 Additionally, canon laws prevented marriage between Christians and non-Christians, a method that ensured that Catholics would pass down their religious beliefs generationally, and annulments for dissolution could only be granted by the Pope. Though Catholicism seemed “pro-marriage” with procreation as the recognized purpose, this was often overshadowed by the Church's idealization of celibacy and spiritual purity. The Catholic Church emphasized these ideals through another Sacrament, the call to Holy Orders, which was especially esteemed during this period. Therefore, those who were able to remain celibate carried greater respect and were considered more devout to God.3 Reformed theology in the early 1500s challenged this idea. Stemming from what he viewed as corruption and failures in the Roman Catholic Church, Martin Luther left monastic life, critiqued the church, and outlined a new theology in his writings. He dedicated an entire piece to reform in marriage, “The Estate of Marriage,” which challenged traditional Catholic views and proposed new, Biblically rooted doctrine. His ideas continued to show respect to the celibate life; however, no longer elevated it in the same way that Roman Catholics did. Rather, Luther elevated marriage and procreation by writing: But the greatest good in married life, that which makes all suffering and labor worthwhile, is that God grants offspring and commands that they be brought up to worship and serve him. In all the world this is the noblest and most precious work, because to God there can be nothing dearer than the salvation of souls…Most certainly father and mother are apostles, bishops, and priests to their children, for it is they who make them acquainted with the gospel.4 The comparison of parents to these religious figures and childrearing as “the noblest and most precious work” was culturally significant in a time when having sexual relations was considered sinful, and celibacy was so valued. This new view placed marriage as “the noblest and most essential of the three estates (household, church, and state) that God had ordained for the governance of the earthly kingdom”5 and was supported by God’s divine ordinance to “be

1 Hildegard of Bingen, “Know the Way,” in The Medieval Reader, ed. Norman F. Cantor (HarperCollins Publishers, 1994) 225-229. 2 Hildegard, “Know the Way,” 225. 3 Saskia Lettmaier, “Marriage Law and the Reformation,” Law and History Review 35, no. 2 (2017): 461– 510. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0738248017000104. 4 Martin Luther, “The Estate of Marriage (1522),” in Martin Luther’s Basic Theological Writings, ed. Timothy E. Lull and William R. Russell (Fortress Press, 2005), 162.

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fruitful and multiply,”6 thus spreading faith through children. This put children at the center of marriage. If children were the center, then, Luther argued, having an impotent spouse meant there was never a true marriage in God’s sight, thus deeming remarriage permissible. He also supported dissolution of marriages and divorce in specific cases in which one partner was unfit for marriage or refused to perform marital duties.7 The English later supported this with “The Thirty-Nine Articles,” which both removed matrimony as a sacrament and gave marital powers to the king and civil courts rather than the Catholic Church.8 With marriage no longer a sacrament, it became an earthly contract, taking on a social and legal framework. As a result, questions about marital validity and dissolution were no longer determined by sacramental theology alone. Still, state legal structures could address separation, annulment, and remarriage in a broader legal context. 2 While several other doctrinal changes occurred during the Protestant Reformation, such as the allowance of clerical marriages and the rejection of Catholic impediments to marriage, these had a lesser impact on the monarchy and will not be a focus of this paper.9 Together, the Catholic and Protestant views of marriage were seen in the rulers of the Tudor dynasty. During this dynasty, the year of 1533 marked when the Protestant Reformation was given credit for taking off in England, and each subsequent ruler utilized or challenged it throughout their reign. King Henry VII reigned from 1485 to 1509 and is the only ruler of the dynasty who lived entirely before the Protestant Reformation. As the first Tudor ruler, he sought to cultivate peace and establish a secure dynasty. His marriage to Elizabeth of York proved a strong political move to unify the Houses of York and Lancaster. His marriage can also be viewed in terms of his Catholic faith. At this time, marriage was still considered a sacrament in England, and Henry only ever had one wife, never to remarry despite his wife’s death. He also recognized the importance of producing an heir, which can be viewed through the lens of Catholic procreation; however, his need to stabilize the monarchy and produce dynastic legitimacy may have been the greater driving factor. In doing so, Henry’s success as a ruler provided the foundation for his son, Henry VIII, to gain power and influence, which he used to incite religious transformation in England.10 King Henry VIII’s reign was a prime example of the relationship between the Protestant Reformation and the English monarchy, as he converted religions and changed legislation accordingly. However, before this transition, he followed suit with his father as a Catholic ruler and even wrote a best-selling anti-Reformation book. This put him in high esteem with the church, with Thomas Wolsey giving the following remarks during a speech: [I]t was beautiful to hear with what exultation the Pope and Cardinals broke out into the praises of Henry, declaring that no one could have devised a better antidote to the poison of heresy, and that Henry had with great eloquence completely refuted Luther by reason, Scripture and the authority of the Fathers… Henry should henceforth be called “Defender of the Faith,” and ordered a bull to be sent, which Wolsey now presents.11

Lettmaier, “Marriage Law and Reformation,” 447. Luther, “The Estate of Marriage,” 148. 7 Luther, “The Estate of Marriage”, 150-156. 8 “The Thirty Nine Articles, 1571, 1662” (Internet Modern History Sourcebook, 1998), https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/mod/1571-39articles.asp. 9 Luther, “The Estate of Marriage,” 147-164. 10 “Henry VII (r.1485-1509),” The Royal Household, accessed April 15, 2025, https://www.royal.uk/henry-vii. 6

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The title “Defender of the Faith” was not lasting, however, as Henry later turned against papal authority and broke from the Roman Catholic Church in 1533. Henry’s marriage to his brother Arthur’s widow, Catherine of Aragon, was granted by the papal dispensation of Pope Julius, with Catherine claiming that her marriage to Arthur had never been consummated. During her marriage to Henry, however, Catherine failed to provide a son. The lack of a male heir, along with the fact that he had fallen in love with Anne Boleyn, led Henry to seek an annulment from Pope Clement VII, arguing that Catherine had consummated her marriage with Arthur. To grant the annulment would not only be admitting to error in the papacy, but it would also incite the reprisal of the King of Spain and Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, who happened to be Catherine’s nephew. This put Clement in a precarious position, as doing so could lead Charles to undermine his papal authority; thus he ultimately denied Henry’s request.123 Determined to succeed, Thomas Cromwell, Lord Chancellor and Henry’s top advisor, sought Parliament’s support and introduced a series of acts that reduced papal authority. These actions led to England’s break from the Roman Catholic Church and the declaration of the king as head of the Church of England, Anglicana Ecclesia.13 Breaking from Catholicism and adopting Protestantism had several implications for marriage in England. Secular authorities assumed control over marriage as Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, usurped papal authority by granting Henry’s divorce and remarriage, and arguing that “it was indispensable for the Pope to license any such marriages.”14 Additionally, marriage was no longer viewed as a sacred sacrament and instead was understood as an Earthly union, enabling Henry to pursue his desired divorces and remarriages more easily. The rest of Henry’s marriages were driven by the need to procreate and avoid a succession crisis, which guided Henry in his marriage decisions during the rest of his reign.15 These changes made it apparent that King Henry’s decisions were justified by political necessity while also being supported by Protestant critiques of the Roman Catholic Church and papal overreach. King Henry VIII only had one son, Edward VI. To secure the continuation of England’s religious transformation and anti-papal ideology, Henry ensured that Protestant tutors educated and raised Edward.16 As Henry’s only legitimate son, Edward became king at nine years old in 1547. Due to his age, Edward’s advisors directed much of the legislation; however, Edward remained a strong Protestant, and Protestantism continued to spread and develop in England. Because his father had converted to Protestantism, most of the advisors Edward appointed likely shared this belief. During his reign, the Book of Common Prayer was published, effectively eliminating several past Catholic practices and further separating the Church of England from the Roman Catholic Church.17 4 11

Thomas Wolsey speech, “Henry VIII: October 1521, 11-20,” in Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, Henry VIII, Volume 3, 1519-1523, ed. J. S. Brewer (Her Majesties Stationary Offices, London, 1867), https://www.britishhistory.ac.uk/letters-papers-hen8/vol3/pp692-709. 12 Michael J Garcia, “Clement VII,” EBSCO, 2022, https://www.ebsco.com/research-starters/history/clement-vii. 13 “Henry VIII (r.1509-1547),” The Royal Household, accessed April 15, 2025, https://www.royal.uk/henry-viii. 14 Thomas Cranmer, “Letter of Thomas Cranmer on Henry VIII's divorce, 1533” (Internet Modern History Sourcebook, 1996), https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/source/cramner-hen8.asp. 15 “Henry VIII (r.1509-1547),” The Royal Household. 16 “Henry VIII (r.1509-1547),” The Royal Household. 17 “Edward VI (r.1547-1553),” The Royal Household, accessed April 15, 2025, https://www.royal.uk/edward-vi. 18 Amanda Wrenn Allen, “Milton’s Marriage Theology and Early Modern English Kings” in Anglican and Episcopal History 86, no. 3 (2017): 287-308.

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Due to both his short reign and his age, Edward VI never married or had children. Reigning from 1547-1553, Edward died at only 15 years old. During his reign, Edward was advised to eventually marry and was taught by Martin Bucer, who dedicated his treatise “On Divorce” to the young king. This writing is valuable in gaining insight into the religious and marital views of those close to the monarchs during this time of change. In it, he used Henry VIII’s marriages as examples to learn from. While Bucer agreed with Henry’s divorces, he did not always agree with the reasoning behind them. For example, he did not agree to divorce Catherine of Aragon due to a lack of a male heir; however, he did acknowledge that it was permissible given the lack of love in the relationship as Henry pursued another woman. Additionally, he acknowledged that marriage was no longer a sacrament and was not controlled by the Pope; thus, divorce was allowed, with emphasis on reconciliation when possible. Overall, his letter taught the young king to use “marriage as a means of strengthening England, as well as fixing his own happiness,” while valuing the need to secure a Protestant political alliance, and recognizing the importance of procreation specifically for the royal line.18 Without Edward having any children, Henry VIII’s first daughter, Mary I, became the next monarch in England. Her mother, Catherine of Aragon, was a Catholic woman who raised Mary as such. During Edward’s reign, Mary continued to practice her faith. Her short reign from 1553 to 1558 was marked by her intense efforts to restore England to Catholicism, ironically, earning her the nickname “Bloody Mary” for her persecution of Protestants under the Heresy Acts. She also reinstated papal authority and the Catholic Mass.19 To carry on her reforms, Mary wished to marry and have children so as to leave a Roman Catholic heir.20 Her decision to marry Philip II of Spain would secure Catholic ties and political alliances, but was met with great opposition from Parliament and the people.21 Ultimately, Mary told Parliament “she would choose as God inspired her”22 and proceeded with the unpopular marriage; however, she failed to have a child. Without an heir, Mary I’s efforts to reverse the Protestant surge proved only temporary, showing that procreation remained essential to maintaining religious security. This left the throne to the last remaining child of Henry VIII, and thus Elizabeth I began her reign in 1558, returning England to Protestantism. In 1588, she led the English navy to fight and defeat the Spanish Armada. The Armada was led by Phillip II in an attempt to restore Catholicism and claim the throne, which he believed belonged to him through his marriage to Mary I.23 Elizabeth’s success over Phillip proved her political strength and validated her right to the throne; thus, Protestantism remained in England. This event, however, raised concerns as to whom the queen would marry, with the suggestion that she marry an Englishman. This would ensure he acted in the country’s best interest and increased the chances he was Protestant. When Elizabeth proposed marrying Alençon, a Catholic Frenchman, she was met with political opposition so strong it made marriage infeasible. Throughout her long reign, Elizabeth never married, though her singleness was not an indication of a return to Catholic ideals of celibacy.24 On the contrary, she remained open to the possibility of marriage should it be “more beneficial to the realm” and ordained by God, while her Protestant views on marriage removed sacramental pressure and afforded her greater autonomy.25 The “Thirty Nine Articles” formally established

David Loades, Mary Tudor: A Life (BooKey, 1988), 7-14, https://cdn.bookey.app/files/pdf/book/en/mary-tudor-bydavid-loades.pdf. 20 “Mary I (r.1553-1558),” The Royal Household, accessed April 15, 2025, https://www.royal.uk/mary-i. 21 Loades, Mary Tudor: A Life, 16-17. 22 “Mary I (r.1553-1558),” The Royal Household. 23 “Elizabeth I (r.1558-1603),” The Royal Household, accessed April 15, 2025, https://www.royal.uk/elizabeth-i.

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this understanding and reinforced her decision by making the king head of ecclesiastic and civil law 26 Overall, Elizabeth I was well liked, despite being the end of the dynasty, due to her responsiveness and dedication to England. While she could have married for her own pleasure, she listened to her people and to Parliament, promising to do what was best for the kingdom. This earned her the nickname “Mother England,” which encompasses her nurturing and selfless reign.27 5 The rulers of the Tudor dynasty all had very different experiences and encounters with marriage. Although the English monarchy and the Protestant Reformation did not exist in an exclusive bubble, with other factors such as economic, social, and political forces influencing marriage decisions, their interaction appears throughout the Tudor dynasty and the evolution of religion. A clear example of this was evident in Henry VIII, as he converted from Catholicism to Protestantism for the sake of divorce and producing an heir. These Protestant ideals and the need to pass them down through procreation were stressed in the reign of Edward VI and Elizabeth I, causing partner selection to be an important decision. Procreation was even important for Mary I, whose failure to have children led to the inability to pass on Catholicism to the next ruler and throughout England. Ultimately, the monarchy’s need to procreate may have influenced the trajectory of the Protestant Reformation more than the Protestant Reformation influenced the monarchy. Monarchs tended to prioritize their political agendas and used reformed thought as a means to achieve their goals. Henry sought divorce and remarriage and used Protestant thinking to change the laws to achieve it, thus initiating the Reformation in England. Mary I sought to reinstate Catholicism, passing the Heresy Act and making changes in the church that set back the Reformation. Elizabeth I needed to justify her singlehood and passed “The Thirty-Nine Articles” to remove marriage as a sacrament, progressing Protestantism further. Mary I exemplifies how the Protestant Reformation did not cause rulers to change their beliefs and also showed that procreation carried a similar weight among Protestant and Catholic rulers. Therefore, religious doctrine and evolution were tools that were molded and shaped to best serve the marriages of the reigning monarch.

24 Jacquline Vanoutte, “Queen and Country?: Female Monarchs and Feminized Nations in Elizabethan Political Pamphlets” in Elizabeth I: Always Her Own Free Woman, ed. Carole Levin, Jo Eldridge Carney, and Debra Barrett-Graves (Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2003), 10-18. 25 Elizabeth I to Parliament, “Queen Elizabeth's Response to the Parliament's Request She Marry,” in The Word of a Prince: A Life of Elizabeth I, ed. Maria Perry (Boydell Press, 1996), 99-100. 26 “The Thirty-Nine Articles” 27 Jacquline Vanoutte, “Queen and Country?,” 7-14.

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From Clerical Marriage to Clerical Celibacy in the Roman Catholic Church Gianna Kocur Gianna Kocur is a junior double majoring in Dance and Health & Wellness, with a minor in psychology. After graduation, she plans to begin her master’s in occupational therapy. Her interest in the transition from clerical celibacy in the Roman Catholic Church began with her familiarity with the church's traditions and expanded as she researched reasons for the shift. At the time she wrote, she enrolled in a course that explored medieval history. Gianna found the topic fascinating and wanted to develop a deeper understanding of one aspect of marriage during this period. More specifically, how it related to marriage among Roman Catholic Clergy. Gianna said the most fulfilling part of this undergraduate research was engaging in the process of answering her questions. As stated by Gianna, “The process was gratifying as I expanded my knowledge base and explored a niche topic.” Gianna’s mentor, Dr. Amanda Allen, taught her honors course, Marriage, Divorce, and Singlehood. Before the course, she understood little about medieval history. Still, through engaging lectures, fascinating readings, and creative activities, Dr. Allen sparked her interest in marital policies and practices during that period. She thanks Dr. Allen for her continued guidance throughout this process. Abstract This paper presents a historical look at the transition from permissible clerical marriage to mandated clerical celibacy in the Roman Catholic Church and the varied reasons for the shift that continue to shape expectations for clerical celibacy today. Several historical sources show how church leaders, beginning in the fourth century and continuing through the Middle Ages, viewed clerical marriage as a threat to the church's well-being. Financial concerns over land ownership, medieval definitions of manhood, and theological beliefs about sacramental sanctity shaped this viewpoint. Despite widespread opposition to policies of clerical celibacy and accusations of anti-biblical practices brought forth during the Protestant Reformation by prominent figures such as Martin Luther, John Calvin, and Desiderius Erasmus, the church leadership continued to enact policies prohibiting clerical marriage and threatening violators with removal from the priesthood. The paper concludes by reflecting on current beliefs about clerical celibacy and the possibility of change as the church faces a shortage of priests.

For more than 2000 years, men called by God have entered the Roman Catholic priesthood. Began by a group of uneducated and unassuming men, the Roman Catholic Church grew into a significant institution led by a succession of popes and bishops who, by power and authority and through Scripture and tradition, established the doctrine and mandates for Church members, including the religious clergy. The mandate of priestly celibacy evolved, with local churches in the early medieval period forbidding married priests to engage in 30

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sexual intimacy when a priest’s marriage was considered invalid. Using historical sources, this paper will provide varied reasons for the celibacy mandate; detail the Church hierarchy’s response to priestly illicit affairs and illegitimate sons in the medieval period; and present the writings of Protestant Reformation leaders demanding reinstitution of clerical marriage in the Roman Catholic Church. Multiple reasons can be asserted for the shift from clerical marriage to clerical celibacy. In the early years of the Church, biblical narrative suggests that male leaders, including the twelve apostles selected by Jesus Christ, were free to marry. Paul, a prominent disciple of Jesus Christ and prolific author of many New Testament letters, stated that the apostles and brothers of the Lord have the right to take a believing wife.1 Later in the same letter to the Corinthian people, Paul celebrated his singlehood since it allowed him to solely focus on establishing and strengthening the Christian Church; however, Paul did not forbid marriage for the leaders of the Church; rather, he reserved it for those men who lacked the self-control that celibacy required.2 Just a few hundred years later, three Church councils composed of popes and bishops debated the idea of clerical marriage. At the Council of Elvira in 305 AD, it was decided to “forbid the bishops, the priests, and the deacons, i.e. all the clerics engaged in service at the altar, to have (sexual) relations with their wives and procreate children; should anyone do so, let him be excluded from the honor of the clergy.”3 In the minds of these men, sexual relations made the priest impure and unworthy to lead the Holy Mass and the Sacraments. This belief was reinforced at the Council of Ancyra (314 AD) and the Council of Neocaesarea (315 AD) with the statement that a married priest “shall be removed from the ranks of the clergy.”4 Future councils, most notably the Council of Nicea in 325 AD, went so far as to list who could be in residence with a priest, specifically a mother, a sister, or an aunt.5 The reasons for clerical celibacy were made clear in a statement from the Council of Carthage in 397: “what your holiness has regulated in justice, we confirm because it is worthy of the priesthood and pleasing to God.”6 Basically, performing the Sacraments, including the consecration of the bread and wine, were in opposition to a man in a sexual relationship, even a monogamous one, and this belief was credited to God.7 It is certainly difficult to argue with God, so the Roman Catholic Church leaders throughout Europe continued to assert the doctrine of clerical celibacy. However, it was not until the Second Council of Lateran in 1139 AD that clerical celibacy was enforced with the threat of removal from the priesthood.8 The reasons given mirrored those of earlier councils in that sexual relationships with a woman made a priest impure and unable to offer the Sacraments. We also decree that those in the orders of subdeacon or above who have taken wives or concubines are to be deprived of their position and ecclesiastical benefice. For since they ought to be in fact temples of God, vessels of the Lord and sanctuaries of the Holy Spirit, it is unbecoming that they give themselves up to marriage and impurity.9 17 Other reasons beyond straightforward theology explain why the Roman Catholic Church forbade priestly marriage. During the medieval period of the Church’s growth, power was often tied to land ownership and related wealth. If a priest were to marry and bear a son, the land owned by the priest under the control of the Church would be passed down to the son. By forbidding marriage and parenthood, the Church could retain ownership of the land. As the

“Second Lateran Council – 1139 A.D.” 1139. Papal Encyclicals. April 2, 1139. www.papalencyclicalsonline.net. Russ Petrus, “Futurechurch – Welcome,” Future Church, Accessed April 20, 2025, https://futurechurch.org/. 11 Jennifer D. Thibodeaux, The Manly Priest: Clerical Celibacy, Masculinity (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015). 12 Jennifer D. Thibodeaux, The Manly Priest: Clerical Celibacy, Masculinity (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015). 13 1 Corinthians 7:9, New International Version. 14 Emily Kittell-Queller, “Priests’ Wives and Concubines in Medieval Europe,” emilyk-q.weebly.com. 10

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Church spread throughout Europe, often for political power and wealth, clerical celibacy reduced the threat these newly converted dynasties posed to the monarchy. This is why many priests in the medieval period were effectively the bureaucracy of these kingdoms; literate, knowledgeable in law, economics and politics, they were of great service to these kings. In return for services rendered, kings would convert themselves and their kingdoms to Christianity. But because of the significant political and bureaucratic power that priests could wield in these newly converted principalities, it was critical that they not be seen as threats, and to accomplish this the Church enforced celibacy. Thus, any children that a priest might father could never be legitimized, and thus could not inherit property or title. 10 The financial stability and growth of the Church were certainly considerations when discussions of clerical celibacy took place. The impetus for the Roman campaign against clerical marriages appears to have been twofold: the preservation of ritual purity and the prevention of priestly lineages. The goal of preventing priestly lineage aligned with the goal of church control. Although the policy aimed to help priests focus more on ecclesiastical duties, it also enabled the Church to control the wealth clerics amassed through their various religious activities, contributing to the institution's growing power.11 A final reason for promoting clerical celibacy in the Roman Catholic Church is connected to the goal of masculinity in the medieval period. A “leaking body” was seen as un-masculine and in conflict with the desired image of a strong male priest. In the Middle Ages, many religious men equated leaking bodies with feminized bodies. Thus, bodies that produced nocturnal emissions, menstruated, ejaculated, or bled after childbirth were seen as contaminating and feminine. Sexual behavior marked the fathers as effeminate men in the eyes of celibate reformers: softened men who were sexually dominated by women.12 The disciple Paul in the first century acknowledged that clerical marriage was more desirable than the sin of fornication.13 Despite this, the leaders of the Roman Catholic Church, beginning in 1139 at the Second Council of Lateran, allowed for no exceptions to the rules of forbidden marriage and clerical celibacy. A priest could not be married, but this did not stop some from having sexual relationships outside of marriage and often illegitimate children. Given all of that, it’s pretty unsurprising that the 12th-century ban on clerical marriage didn’t have much practical effect. In most places, all that really happened was that priests continued to live with women as though they were married. While this was technically concubinage and fornication, most priests and their parishes ignored what the higher-ups had to say and continued to do things the way they had previously. Though they weren’t technically married, many of these concubines held much of the same status in the villages as a priest’s wife would.1418 The Church’s response changed over time, along with views of masculinity in the twelfth century. Support of clerical marriage was replaced with the viewpoint that celibacy was indeed the epitome of masculinity. Historical records from the late medieval Catalan society in Spain, France, and Italy show that priests who fathered illegitimate sons were allowed to marry. Illegitimate sons were often offered positions in the Church since they would not inherit wealth

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from their father, often receiving a papal dispensation to enter the priesthood. Despite the view at this time that clerical celibacy was the pinnacle of masculinity, priestly cohabitation was not uncommon and often ignored by parishioners if the priest was a successful and devoted Church leader.15 Opposition to the practices and teachings of the Roman Catholic Church increased significantly in the early sixteenth century. Martin Luther, a Roman Catholic monk and writer, was excommunicated for refusing to retract his writings opposing Church practices. He eventually married a former nun and took his pen to point out the biblical proclamation of God’s command for marriage and what he viewed as the hypocrisy and sin of unmarried clergy who instead were secretly involved with women:19 Therefore, priests, monks, and nuns are duty-bound to forsake their vows whenever they find that God’s ordinance to produce seed and to multiply is powerful and strong within them. They have no power by any authority, law, command, or vow to hinder this which God has created within them. If they do hinder it, however, you may be sure that they will not remain pure but inevitably besmirch themselves with secret sins or fornication. They are simply incapable of resisting the word and ordinance of God within them. Matters will take their course as God has ordained.16 Luther pointed out that the vows of holy orders could not unsex a man.17 He went so far as to call the life of celibate priests and nuns “wretched,” “un-Christian,” “immoral,” “pernicious,” “invalid,” and “in opposition to God’s command to ‘Be fruitful and multiply’”. Even women who gave birth outside of marriage were more pleasing in the sight of God.18 At the same time that priestly celibacy was under attack by Luther, Jean Calvin shared his own writings that opposed the mandates of the Catholic Church. He argued that if the apostles had wives, and the disciple Paul was aware of this, why should priests be forbidden to marry? “For if they do not heed the apostles (they are accustomed sometimes to treat them with outright contempt), please, then, what will they do with all the ancient fathers, who certainly not only tolerated marriage in the order of bishops but also approved it?”19 Calvin viewed the command for priestly celibacy as a power move. “For there are always superstitious little fellows who dream up something new to win admiration for themselves.”20 Calvin also criticized Sir Thomas More, a devout Catholic, prominent lawyer, and Lord High Chancellor of England during the reign of King Henry VIII. More, a married layman in the Catholic Church, argued against Luther’s declaration regarding clerical

15 Michelle Armstrong-Partida, Concubinage, Illegitimacy and Fatherhood: Urban Masculinity in Late-medieval Barcelona, Gender & History, no.1 (March 2019), pp:195–219. 16 Timothy F. Lull, and William R. Russell, eds. Martin Luther’s Basic Theological Writings, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2012), 147-164. 17 Timothy F. Lull, and William R. Russell, “Basic Theological Writings” 147-164. 18 Timothy F. Lull, and William R. Russell, “Basic Theological Writings” 147-164. 19 Jean Calvin, “Means of Grace: Holy Catholic Church,” in Calvin: Institutes of the Christian Religion, ed. John T. McNeill (SCM Press, 1961), 1250-1253. 20 Jean Calvin, “Means of Grace: Holy Catholic Church,” in Calvin: Institutes of the Christian Religion, ed. John T. McNeill (SCM Press, 1961), 1250-1253. 21 Jean Calvin, “Means of Grace: Holy Catholic Church,” 1250-1253. 22 Jean Calvin, “Means of Grace: Holy Catholic Churchv” 1250-1253.

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celibacy. Calvin referred to More as “the principal literary attack dog in the procelibacy campaign.”21 “Generally, however, he eschewed reasoned theological and historical argument in favor of slander and vulgarity.”22 John Hooper, a sixteenth century proponent of the Protestant Reformation, wrote, “St. Paul doth plainly say that the forbidding of marriage is the doctrine of devils, therefore it is not judged that the marriage of priests, bishops, or any other ministers of the church, shall be unlawful, but that the same is both holy and agreeable to God’s word.”23 Desiderius Erasmus of Rotterdam, the illegitimate son of a Roman Catholic priest and his housekeeper, born in 1466, was forbidden to marry due to his illegitimacy. As a contemporary of Thomas More and Martin Luther, he became a priest and remained devoted to the Catholic faith throughout his life. Although Erasmus did not overtly oppose clerical celibacy, he implied in “In Praise of Marriage” that strict celibacy rules for priests were not aligned with the true spirit of Christianity.24 In Learning Virginity: Erasmus’ Ideal of Christian Marriage, Alan Reese states that “It is a commonplace in Erasmian scholarship to note that Erasmus wrote frequently in praise of Christian marriage and dared to suggest that celibacy be not mandatory for all priests and monks.”25 He quotes Erasmus as writing, “[Since] neither God nor nature does anything without purpose, then why did nature assign us these members and add these incitements and this power of reproduction, if celibacy is to be considered praiseworthy?... Since everything else has been designed with a purpose.20 It hardly seems probable that in this one matter alone nature was asleep. I have no patience with those who say that sexual excitement is shameful and that venereal stimuli have their origin not in nature, but in sin. Nothing is so far from the truth. As if marriage, whose function cannot be fulfilled without these incitements, did not rise above blame...Finally, we defile by our imagination what of its own nature is fair and holy. If we were willing to evaluate things not according to the opinion of the crowd, but according to nature itself, how is it less repulsive to eat, chew, digest, evacuate, and sleep after the fashion of dumb animals, than to enjoy lawful and permitted carnal relations?... Let the swarms of monks and virgins exalt their own rule of life as they will, let them boast as much as they like of their liturgical functions and their acts of worship, in which they excel all others; the holiest kind of life is wedlock, purely and chastely observed.26 Erasmus spoke boldly in opposition to clerical celibacy, equating sexual relations in marriage to natural human functions of digestion and sleep. Despite writing in opposition to mandates of clerical celibacy, Erasmus remained devoted to the Catholic priesthood until his death. It appears as though the writings of Luther, Calvin, and Erasmus did not change policies, as clerical celibacy continues today in the Roman Catholic Church. Although clerical celibacy is part of the job description, it continues to be debated by Catholic leaders and lay people, especially in this time of priest shortages. In a 2023 interview, Pope Francis said: 23

Eric Josef Carlson, “Clerical Marriage and the English Reformation,” Journal of British Studies 31, no. 1 (1992): 1-31. Alan W. Reese, Learning Virginity: Erasmus’ Ideal of Christian Marriage, Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, T. 57, No. 3 (1995), 551-567. 25 Alan W. Reese, “Learning Virginity,” 551-567. 26 Alan W. Reese, Learning Virginity: Erasmus’ Ideal of Christian Marriage, Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, t. 57, no. 3 (1995)551-567. 24

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There is no contradiction for a priest to marry. Celibacy in the Western Church is a temporary prescription: I do not know if it is settled in one way or another, but it is temporary in this sense. It is not eternal like priestly ordination, which is forever, whether you like it or not. Whether you leave or not is another matter, but it is forever. On the other hand, celibacy is a discipline.2721 Statements from Church leaders that question the requirement of clerical celibacy are certain to divide faithful followers of the Catholic faith. The pastoral responsibilities of Roman Catholic priests are vast and, according to some, do not allow time for a family. There are, however, married Roman Catholic priests, including those who converted from the Byzantine rite as a married priest into the Roman rite and are allowed to serve as married priests in the Roman Catholic Church. While Protestants rely solely on the Bible for their belief systems, the Roman Catholic Church incorporates 2000 years of tradition along with the authority of the Bible to establish and promote doctrine and policies. A catechism that is based on both Scripture and tradition leaves just tiny cracks for change in the 21st century, just as it experienced change in the Middle Ages.

27 “Papal Encyclicals Online,” Catholicsource Message, last modified April 16, 2025 (GMT + 10) https://www.papalencyclicals.net

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Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go: How Mortality Leads to Sacrifice Abby Lawson Abby Lawson is a rising junior at High Point University. She's majoring in English with a minor in Creative Writing and Religion. After graduation, she plans to earn a PhD in Literature and become a professor. Since freshman year, she's had a special fascination with Ishiguro after studying both him and Margaret Atwood in a Modern Authors class.

Abstract This essay will highlight how, in his novel Never Let Me Go, Ishiguro explores the theme of how mortality forces sacrifice by making each of his main characters – Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy – sacrifice something dear to them for what they deem greater purposes. It also shows how this theme of sacrifice shifts from personal to global proportions through ethical quandaries about offering clones as sacrifices to save the human population. Through these topics, Ishiguro subtly explores and questions the intrinsic motivations that drive humans to leave things behind for pursuits deemed more admirable. When Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy reunite on the fishing boat, and when Miss Emily reveals the truth about Hailsham, Ishiguro shows how something dear to each of them is left behind as the old world was. These scenes are examples of how Ishiguro shows that human mortality comes with the cost of running out of time. The constraints mortality places on humanity are a theme Ishiguro explores in many of his other works, and the question remains: how do we decide what to sacrifice?

Nobel-winning author Kazuo Ishiguro explores a reality where the world has succeeded in making clones solely to harvest their organs to cure diseases in his novel Never Let Me Go. Throughout the story, Ishiguro explores sacrifice by emphasizing that mortality leaves little time to achieve everything one wants in a lifetime. So, a choice must be made about what matters most and what must be left behind. The sacrifices the three protagonists make regarding their relationships with each other are even more potent when juxtaposed with their shortened lifespans as clones. Through looking at Kathy’s dedication to caring, Ruth’s inability to be idle, and Tommy’s insecure complacency, it is also seen that what each holds to be important is influenced by the culture they live in and the purpose they live for.

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Though there is no doubt that this novel could be dissected through a science-centered ethical lens, on the whole, Ishiguro takes what could’ve been an overly scientific novel and strips it back to focus on the issue of mortality. The scientific context provides only a strong backdrop for him to explore the confines time puts on humanity. In relation to the book’s emphasis on mortality, Ishiguro says in an interview, “I was more interested in the questions, when you know that this [death] is a backdrop to your life, what things become important, what things really matter?” (Searchlight Pictures, 0:49 – 0:57). Embedded in these questions is the inherent choice that mortality imposes upon humanity. That’s to say, if someone chooses one thing, they are inevitably leaving something else behind in pursuit of what they’re going after. When reflecting upon her past, the novel’s narrator, Kathy, found her relationships – romantic and not – to be what consistently mattered to her, but also what became most damaged over the course of her life. She says, “I lost Ruth, then I lost Tommy, but I won’t lose my memories of them” (Ishiguro 286). It could be argued that the whole novel is a sort of elegy, honoring the twisted but strong ties that held Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy together. In a chapter from Kazuo Ishiguro and Ethics, it is proposed that “Towards the end of their lives, Kathy, Ruth and Tommy are, each in their own way, committed to making amends for the past and spending their remaining time and energy in protecting and cherishing what they prize most” (Colombino 112). For the three protagonists, what they ultimately prize most is each other; however, they realize too late in their brief lives that they can’t afford to sacrifice their bonds when their bodies are already being offered as sacrifices to cure the world. For Kathy, choosing to become and remain a carer meant that almost everything else in her life was sidelined, because the job was not only demanding but also required her to move continuously from care center to care center. As the novel opens, she says, “I’ve been a carer now for over eleven years” (Ishiguro 3). We learn later that her caring this long meant she’s lasted longer than most peers she grew up with; however, it cannot be argued that her life as a carer was any easier than her friends who had already started their organ donations. Soon before her death, when Ruth points out how they’re all supposed to be donating, Kathy replies by saying, “I get to see a lot as a carer. An awful lot” (Ishiguro 226). Her despondent tone here suggests how taxing being a carer is and foreshadows what follows. For Kathy, the emotional baggage that comes with the job won’t get any lighter. At the end of the novel, she watches the two people dearest to her die while she continues caring. She left behind what might’ve been the easier route to take so she could continue working an admirable job. But not only did she live past those she loved most – she also chose to be the one to take care of them up until their last moments. When Kathy reflects upon Ruth’s death, she says, “I stayed beside her like that for as long as they let me, three hours, maybe longer” (Ishiguro 236). This insistence on staying by Ruth’s side stems from a sort of need to make up lost time, and the same goes for how Kathy clings to Tommy until he won’t let her anymore. After tensions between the three of them reached a climax at the cottages, Kathy chose to start training to become a carer. Reflecting, Kathy says, “It never occurred to me that our lives, until then so closely interwoven, could unravel and separate over a thing like that…It wasn’t long after that I made my decision” (Ishiguro 197, 202). Kathy chose to leave them behind to become a carer, and it wasn’t until years after the Cottages that they ever saw each other again when both Ruth and Tommy started donating. Regarding Kathy’s dedication to caring, Colombino says, “Her ability to endure suffering over and over again in her long service is what makes her paradoxically strong” (113114). But this commendable ability to begin and keep caring for as long as she did meant she had to sacrifice time with Ruth and Tommy from their already short lives. 37

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For Ruth, the allure of fitting in and excelling wherever she found herself became a goal that gave her something to strive for amidst the chaos and looming donations the clones faced at Hailsham and the Cottages. During their time at these two places, Ruth left behind, or at least damaged, her friendship with Kathy for her relationship with Tommy. She also left both of them behind at some points to impress the veterans at the Cottages. During their trip to Norfolk, Kathy paints a picture of how “Ruth, who was seated in the middle, leaned forward…and began talking to the two veterans. She did this in a way that meant Tommy and I, on either side of her, couldn’t hear anything they were saying” (Ishiguro 147). During this whole trip, Ruth did things to impress the veterans, Chrissie and Rodney, who would subsequently leave Tommy and Kathy out. Still, after having been her friend for so long, Kathy says, “Ruth believed, at some level, she was doing all this on behalf of us all” (Ishiguro 130). This is the first instance we see that Ruth needed something to believe in and work for, even when she knew deep down what she was doing wasn’t right. This shows that her inability to be idle served as a defense mechanism for dealing with her future. After she and Tommy started donating, Ruth takes their final reunion as a time to make amends, saying, “‘I’d like you to forgive me, but I don’t expect you to…I kept you and Tommy apart…That was the worst thing I did’” (Ishiguro 232). This admission of guilt proves that Ruth knew she was sacrificing Tommy and Kathy’s relationships – and in turn her own relationship with the two of them – for personal gain. But like Kathy’s dedication to caring, the relationships Ruth chose to sacrifice did not keep the trio apart for their entire lives; they just cost them precious chunks of time together. When reflecting over whether Ruth would’ve wanted to see how things turned out, regarding the nonexistence of deferrals for himself and Kathy, Tommy points out that “She always wanted to believe in things…I think it’s best the way it happened” (Ishiguro 284). Ruth needed to believe in the possibility of finding the one she was cloned from, in her relationship with Tommy, and that if she worked hard enough to be the best she could be, she could distract herself from her fate. Ishiguro calls this novel a “Metaphor for the unchanging universal human condition” (Faber Books, 0:34 – 0:40), and Ruth's knowledge of mortality forces her to sacrifice time with those she loves most. For Tommy, the way he conducts his life until its end stems from a sort of complacency rooted in insecurity. As a young boy at Hailsham, he was bullied for his tantrums and his art. Then the one person who believed in him – Miss Lucy – told him she’d been wrong about the importance of creativity. These events lead him to stay with Ruth as a fallback, and even at the Cottages, when he starts trying to make art, he does so in secret because of his insecurity. When discussing Tommy and his animal drawings, Sloan says, “He, however, also manages here, as he does elsewhere, to intuit the brutal reality of his passivity, his coded inability to rebel, and s ensures that his creations will be capable of resisting similar fates” (Sloan 165). In other words, Tommy makes his imaginary animals capable of standing up for themselves because he can’t seem to do it himself. His inability to leave Ruth for Kathy, though he isn’t actively doing much, is a passive way of sacrificing his time with the one he truly loves. Only near the end of his life does he realize time moves too quickly to make such sacrifices. He says: I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold onto each other, holding on as hard as they can, but in the end it’s just too much. The current’s too strong. They’ve got to let go, drift apart. That’s how I think it is with us. It’s a shame, Kath, because we’ve loved each other all our lives. But in the end, we can’t stay together forever. (Ishiguro 282) He's right because, in the end, his insecurity led him to push her away one last time. He states, “‘I suppose you’re right, Kath. You are a really good carer. You’d be the perfect one for me too 38

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if you weren’t you” (Ishiguro 282). In his final moments, he doesn’t want her to see him in his dying condition, so he sacrifices their final moments together for a solitary conclusion to his life, which stems from the insecurity that’s plagued him since childhood. Despite their individual decisions, it is ultimately the new world that forces these characters to separate. So, even though Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy all made decisions during their lives that made them sacrifice some aspects of their relationships, it was really the purposes they were created to fulfill that made them have to let go of each other. During their time at Hailsham and the Cottages, the reality of the world in which they were living felt far-fetched. Even in the few years before Ruth dies, and Kathy and Tommy find Madame, there is a sort of naïve hope present among them; however, once Miss Emily forces them to open their eyes to their inescapable fate, they realize how important their relationships are. When Kathy and Tommy are listening to Miss Emily, they are told, “However uncomfortable people were about your existence, their overwhelming concern was that their own children, their spouses, their parents, their friends, did not die from cancer, motor neuron disease, heart disease” (Ishiguro 263). In pursuit of something admirable, just as Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy had been, the culture of the world decided it necessary to sacrifice the clones to cure their own diseases. Kathy threw herself into caring, Ruth busied herself with possibilities, and Tommy avoided thinking about the dire aspects of the future – all distractions that were forced upon them by mortality and, in turn, made them sacrifice their time together. Though slightly different, the fear of mortality that the humans in the story held was what forced them to sacrifice the clones in the first place. The world as a whole chose a better life for itself over contemplating the complex ethical issues of organ farming from clones. Ishiguro creates a world in which none of the characters are able to hold on to what they want. Some, mainly the adults who believed in Hailsham, found the life of donating and dying a cruel and unfair ending for the clones. When talking to Madame for the last time, she recalls an early interaction with Kathy, saying, “I saw a little girl, her eyes tightly closed, holding to her breast the old kind world, one that she knew in her heart could not remain, and she was holding it and pleading, never to let her go” (Ishiguro 272). This was not really what Kathy had been doing that day. In her mind, she’d been daydreaming about holding a fake baby to her chest. But Madame saw a reflection of the things she’s seen sacrificed for this new world to arrive, and she was struck by it. Kathy never knew any better – none of the Hailsham students did – so they didn’t know much about this old world Madame was mourning. But, in a way, both Kathy and Madame were holding on to something they knew they couldn’t keep. The idea of unwanted freedom is uniquely woven along the idea of sacrifice in Never Let Me Go. In the book Kazuo Ishiguro: Contemporary Critical, they comment on this idea, saying, “As a request for everlasting captivity, Ishiguro’s title Never Let Me Go (2005) provokes a question about why we might not only accept but actually beseech our own confinement” (Matthews and Groes 91). The picture used to strengthen this article is the one described in the paragraph above: Kathy clinging to the child and Madame seeing it as a metaphor for the greater state of the world. Regarding this picture, it says that “Some of the contradiction, or the paradox of unwanted freedom, is revealed in both of these interpretations, since in each case the captor is imaged as the captive” (Matthews and Groes 92). The way Kathy sees it, she is a mother afraid of her baby letting go. Madame sees it as Kathy being afraid the old world will let her go. So, both hand themselves over into willing captivity to things they do not yet want to sacrifice. The whole idea of unwanted freedom shows what freedom can cost and leave behind. Never wanting to let go of the old world, which is arguably less advanced but possibly more humane than the 39

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new, just shows how people often don’t choose to willingly sacrifice anything at all. With this in mind, the sacrifices they’re forced to make in light of their mortality are clearly not comfortable ones. When talking about Ruth making her last gesture of giving Madame’s address to Kathy and Tommy, Colombino argues that “She is finally able to conceive a form of immortality for herself in the continuing existence of those she cherishes” (112). This same idea could be expanded to a wider scale by arguing that some sacrifices made before death can create a form of immortality because of their positive impact on the world. Kathy cared for her donors; Ruth did her best to set Tommy and Kathy up with the best life; and Tommy gave up some of his life with Kathy to positively impact his time with Ruth. These small, kind acts of defiance against the timeline of death run alongside the novel's sense of running out of time. The concept of sacrifice becomes even more potent in these circumstances. In a recent interview with Ishiguro celebrating the 20th anniversary of Never Let Me Go, he states, “The book is really about the fact that we cannot escape our mortality and that we, each of us, have only a short, limited time to be alive and be with each other” (Faber Books, 1:45 – 1:56). This theme of coming to terms with death is one Ishiguro is no stranger to, as both The Remains of the Day and Klara and the Sun touch on how sacrifice and mortality go hand in hand. Stevens sacrificed love for the sake of professional dignity until he realized most of his life was gone, Klara sacrificed the P-E-G Nine liquid in her head in hopes of saving Josie from what could’ve been a terminal illness, and as previously discussed, Never Let Me Go illustrates the consequential sacrifices of mortality on both macro and micro scales through looking at the general cultural state of the world as well as individual relationships that were affected. In many of his novels, Ishiguro has explored the constraints mortality puts on those tied to it, and asked his readers to question what’s really worth sacrificing.

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Works Cited Colombino, Laura. “Not at Home in the World: Longing for the Possible and Caring for the Other in Never Let Me Go.” Kazuo Ishiguro and Ethics, Routledge, 2024. Faber Books, “Kazuo Ishiguro on the most timeless lessons from Never Let Me Go,” YouTube, 13 March 2025, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DgB3WS1vDek. Ishiguro, Kazuo. Never Let Me Go. Vintage International, 2006. Matthews, Sean, and Sebastian Groes. “Controlling Time: Never Let Me Go.” Kazuo Ishiguro: Contemporary Critical Perspectives, Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 2010. Searchlight Pictures, “Never Let Me Go Featurette – Exploring the Story,” YouTube, 22 September 2010, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o7Es5-nhZWo. Sloan, Peter. “Empathy and the Ethics of Posthuman Reading in Never Let Me Go.” Kazuo Ishiguro, edited by Kristian Shaw, Manchester University Press, 2023, pp. 146-169.

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Evolution of Women’s Healthcare from the Medieval to Early Modern Era Caitlin McCray Caitlin McCray is a Senior at High Point University, studying in both Biology and Psychology. Once graduated, she hopes to pursue medical school. She became especially interested in medieval women’s health while taking Dr. Allen’s Marriage, Divorce, and Singlehood in Medieval and Early Modern Europe course, which enlightened Caitlin on the many misconceptions we hold regarding the medicine and technology of that time period. Caitlin was fascinated by the number and variety of documented treatments from the medieval and early modern periods. To Caitlin, the most fulfilling part of doing undergraduate research was getting to achieve a deeper level of expertise in a topic that she was passionate about. She especially enjoyed discovering the works of other researchers who have dedicated their careers to furthering the field of medieval women’s health. She gives her gratitude to her mentor and professor, Dr. Allen, for inspiring her to write this paper. She states that “Dr. Allen’s passion for what she researches and teaches is contagious, and working with her has allowed me to explore a topic I would likely not get a chance to in any other of my classes.” Abstract The evolution of women’s healthcare has seen dramatic changes in terms of available treatments and medical providers. From the twelfth to the sixteenth century, female providers managed most aspects of women’s medicine, including menstruation, conception, and pregnancy. During this time, key figures such as Hildegard of Bingen and Trota of Salerno influenced women’s medicine with their writings, which cataloged various women’s health conditions and treatments. Hildegard’s Physica and Trota’s Trotula served as the foremost sources in women’s medicine for most of the medieval period. Female practitioners referred to these texts as needed to supplement knowledge passed down informally over generations. The end of the Middle Ages saw a shift in focus to required licensures for all practitioners, challenging this standard. Female healthcare providers were disproportionately affected, as women were prohibited from obtaining formal degrees. Medical leagues began to take legal action against unlicensed female physicians, forcing them to see patients in secret or discontinue their practices altogether. This change coincided with an increase in male practitioners in women’s health, as well as an emergence of new literature focused on gynecological and obstetrical procedures. More medical writings from male authors, as well as the rediscovery of Hippocratic texts on gynecology, served to legitimize the field in the eyes of male physicians. By the end of the Middle Ages, women had been relegated to mostly assisting positions, and men served as the primary authority in women’s healthcare.

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Between the twelfth and sixteenth centuries, the medical field, and more specifically, women’s healthcare, experienced drastic changes, both in terms of available treatments and who administered them. Throughout most of the medieval period, women handled many aspects of gynecology and women’s health. Some of the most well-known medical writings from this time come from female practitioners, including Hildegard of Bingen and Trota of Salerno. Yet the early modern era ushered in a wave of male dominance in women’s healthcare. This phenomenon, which historian Monica H. Green calls “the masculinization of women’s medicine,” reflected changing societal values regarding authority, education, and the qualifications of medical professionals.1 Although the medieval period is commonly referred to as the “Dark Ages,” a term that suggests a lack of advancement, many works of science and medicine were produced in Europe. Hildegard of Bingen, a key figure in Germany, cataloged many of the treatments she used as a medical practitioner. Hildegard was a religious mystic who also wrote music and poetry and devoted much of her time to writing on various topics. Aside from her spiritual writings, Hildegard documented her knowledge of medicine and human anatomy. One of her largest works, Physica (1158), is a collection of nine books focusing on plants and their medical applications.2 These writings are extensive; one book, titled Plants, contains over two hundred herbal remedies for a variety of health problems, from dog bites to headaches. For each remedy, Hildegard included information about the herb’s medicinal qualities —whether the treatment was hot, cold, wet, or dry. These inherent qualities were crucial for practitioners to know, as they believed they must balance the opposing qualities of the illness in a person’s body. For example, a wet illness required a dry treatment, and vice versa. In women’s medicine, many remedies in Physica target fertility and childbirth. However, Hildegard did not pin all issues of fertility on the woman, a misconception held by some of that time. Instead, she offered solutions for both men and women to improve fertility. For instance, Hildegard offered suggestions for men struggling with reduced fertility due to age: If a male’s semen has dried up so that he lacks semen in his old age, let him put houseleek in goat’s milk for a long time until it is steeped completely with that milk. Then cook it in the same milk, adding some eggs, so it is nourishing. Then let him eat it for either three or five days, and the strength of his semen will return for begetting and will flourish for offspring.3 This acknowledgment that both partners could be the source of infertility demonstrates Hildegard’s accurate understanding of reproduction and anatomy. Along with treatments to increase fertility, Hildegard also documented plants, such as goatsbeard and arum, that would induce spontaneous abortion. Although she outwardly presented this information as a warning, it is evident that some women used it to purposefully end their pregnancies.4 What Hildegard’s true intentions were with including abortifacient plants in her texts cannot be fully determined, but it certainly offered women some choice with their family planning.

Monica H. Green, Making Women’s Medicine Masculine: The Rise of Male Authority in Pre-Modern Gynaecology (Oxford University Press, 2008), ix. 2 Hildegard of Bingen, Hildegard’s Healing Plants: From her Medieval Classic Physica, trans. Bruce W. Hozeski (Beacon Press, 2001), xi-xii. 3 Bingen, Healing Plants, 33-46. 4 Ailie Westbrook, “The Woman Thing: Gynecological Cures in Medieval Danish Medical Manuscripts,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 32, no. 3 (2023): 383-385, https://muse.jhu.edu/article/906799.

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Around the same time that Hildegard was compiling her list of medicinal treatments, a league of female practitioners was gaining success throughout Italy. The city of Salerno, in particular, was a hub for medical education, where many of these women learned and practiced.5 This eventually became the birthplace of the foremost medieval text on women’s health, the Trotula (ca. 1100-1200). The authorship of the Trotula remains debated, but the most common name associated with the text is the mysterious Trota of Salerno.6 Little is known about Trota, and some even argue that the name represents multiple women rather than just one. However, regardless of Trota’s true identity, she was credited as a key figure and authority on women’s health at the time. The Trotula has three main sections: “On the Conditions of Women,” “On Treatments for Women,” and “On Women’s Cosmetics.” Trota is primarily associated with the second of these, a thorough list of remedies for women’s issues. Some of these problems include inducing and preventing menstruation, conception, difficult delivery, stillbirth, postpartum bleeding, and lactation difficulties.7 Like Hildegard’s Physica, many of these treatments that were targeted specifically toward women focus on fertility and birth. In addition, like Physica, Trotula also suggests that infertility can be a male issue: “[i]f conception is impeded because of the fault of the man, either this comes about from a defect of the spirit impelling the seed, or from a defect of spermatic humidity, or from a defect of heat.”8 Throughout the medieval and early modern era, the greatest pressure to conceive often fell on women. Hence, a medical text as extensive as the Trotula, making these claims, took a powerful stance. Having children was an important part of marriages for all ranks and classes, but women in royal marriages faced an added stressor: securing the next generation for the throne. This would sometimes lead them to seek outside medical advice for a ‘cure’, even if the problem originated with the man. One of the most famous instances of fertility issues in medieval marriages was Anne of Bohemia. Throughout her twelve-year marriage to King Richard II, she consulted with and received various fertility treatments from multiple practitioners and apothecaries.9 Their marriage was generally seen as a happy one, and their fertility issues were not due to a lack of trying. In one of her letters, Anne wrote to her half-brother, Wenceslas IV, about her overall happiness and hopes for a child: We thus describe our position to your highness as lacking nothing that could be desired, except that we write grieving that still we are not rejoicing in our puerperio, but, concerning this, hope of health works in the near future, if the Lord permits.10 However, the Trotula itself was not the principal text on women’s health in England during Anne’s time, and another medical writing, titled ‘The Sickness of Women’, which borrowed much of its content from Trotula, was commonly referred to for fertility issues. The physicians responsible for Anne’s treatment likely consulted writings such as this, along with other documents describing herbal medicine. Surviving bills show that Anne was prescribed a variety 5

The Trotula: An English Translation of the Medieval Compendium of Women’s Medicine, trans. Monica H. Green (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), xi-xi, 87. 6 The Trotula, 9-12. 7 The Trotula, 19-36. 8 The Trotula, 129. 9 Kristen L. Geaman, “Anne of Bohemia and Her Struggle to Conceive,” Social History of Medicine 29, no. 2 (2016): 224-236, https://doi.org/10.1093/shm/hku072m. 10 Kristen L Geaman, “A Personal Letter Written by Anne of Bohemia,” The English Historical Review 128, no. 534 (2013): 1092, http://www.jstor.org/stable/24474670.

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of these remedies in the year leading up to her death. Some of the plants and treatments Anne purchased include coriander (promotes regular menstruation), spikenard (eliminates uterine tumors), and trifera magna (aids conception).11 In their desperation, Anne and Richard also went on religious pilgrimages in hopes that their saints would increase their luck. One highlight of these journeys was their visit to Our Lady of Walsingham in Norfolk. This shrine, dedicated to the Virgin Mary, was associated with childbirth and was a frequent stop for women on fertility-related pilgrimages.12 Despite their efforts, Anne unfortunately died at the age of twenty-eight without any children. However, Anne certainly left a legacy; she was beloved by her husband and kingdom, and her story is important in the timeline of women’s healthcare, as her medical bills provide insight into some of the fertility treatments available during the medieval period. In addition to the discussion of what treatments were available for women, another consideration must be made: who practiced in the field of women’s healthcare? For most of the Middle Ages, the majority of women’s medicine was administered by female practitioners. Midwives and herbalists were typically the primary authority for issues related to pregnancy, childbirth, and child-rearing. Since literacy rates among women were low and they were barred in many places from pursuing higher education, much of the knowledge surrounding women’s healthcare was passed from woman to woman throughout generations.13 Male practitioners occasionally stepped in when there were severe complications during birth or a surgeon was needed, but for the most part men stayed out of women’s healthcare. This was the case for a few reasons. Firstly, many male physicians simply lacked knowledge of female anatomy and physiology. For those fortunate enough to receive a formal education in medicine, gynecology as an area of study was not emphasized. Of the texts that licensed male practitioners would have referred to, there is a clear divide in the language used to describe procedures specific to women and those applied to both sexes. An example of this can be seen in the writings of Archimattheus, a male doctor who practiced from the mid-to-late twelfth century. For unisex treatments, Archimattheus used first-person wording, ‘we’, to describe the procedures. However, for gynecological procedures, he switched to more passive verbiage, “the treatment necessarily involving an application to the genital region.” 14 Noticeably, there were no mentions of male physicians providing hands-on treatments to patients for gynecological issues within most medical texts during the medieval period. This is likely because a male physician interacting with female genitalia, even in a medical context, would have been considered lustful and a sexual encounter, something to be avoided. Due to this, in many instances where a male practitioner did have a female patient, he would delegate hands-on gynecological procedures to a midwife.15

Geaman, “Struggle to Conceive,” 232-235. Geaman, “Struggle to Conceive,” 235-236. 13 Green, Rise of Male Authority, 36-42. 14 Green, Rise of Male Authority, 58-60. 15 Green, Rise of Male Authority, 58-61 12

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Figure 1. Midwives caring for a woman who has just given birth; the fire warms her baby.16 Despite the supposed impurity surrounding male practitioners treating female patients, the sixteenth century saw a major shift in this view, accompanied by an increase of men working in women’s medicine. At this point, “Trotula had long since disappeared from the pantheon of gynecological authorities acknowledged by northern Italian physicians” and a new wave of maleauthored medical texts became the primary sources for the treatment of women’s issues. 17 Two such writings include Muscio’s Gynecology and Albucasis’s Surgery, which focused on obstetrics and gynecology. Along with this, Hippocrates’ corpus of gynecological texts was rediscovered and used to legitimize the study of women’s health as a medical discipline. As Monica H. Green describes it: In the act of creating or re-creating these ancient roots of gynecology, sixteenth-century physicians were able not simply to sever themselves from the more embarrassing aspects of their scholastic medieval past (including all associations with the ‘secrets of women’

Miniature of the birth of St Edmund, from Lydgate’s Lives of SS Edmund and Fremund, England, c.1434– 1439. BL Harley MS 2278, f.13v 17

Green, Rise of Male Authority, 246-248.

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traditions); they were able to secure this ancient field’s respectability as a masculine endeavor.18 As a result, midwives' authority declined, and they were pushed into more subordinate roles under male supervision. Where they were once discouraged, men now sought greater knowledge of, and involvement in, women’s healthcare.

Figure 2. A male surgeon performing a cesarean.19 However, this greater involvement came at a cost for some women; as men were learning more about feminine health, they were also assuming more control over their wives’ reproductive care. As men entered a previously female-dominated field, licensure also increased. Throughout most of the Middle Ages, midwives and other female practitioners most commonly 18

Green, Rise of Male Authority, 248. Medieval depiction of Caesarean birth. c. 1473-1476. (Image from the British Library, Royal MS 16 G VIII f.32r, via Wikimedia Commons. Public Domain.) 19

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learned through word of mouth. As such, most did not hold official licenses to practice medicine. For most communities and patients, this was not an issue, and they viewed access to any type of healer as a privilege. Between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries, Europe began to prioritize higher education and formal training for all practitioners.20 While this did not specifically target female physicians, it affected them most strongly; women still did not have access to university degrees. This had repercussions not only for physicians but for their patients as well. Female practitioners who had excelled for years and were beloved by their patients were now being taken to court over their lack of a license.21 One example is Perretta Petone, a Parisian female doctor who practiced in the early fifteenth century. Although Perretta had practiced medicine successfully for years, she was targeted because she was unlicensed. After she was jailed, the Paris royal tribunal heard her case, where they questioned and berated her. The tribunal declared that Perretta lacked medical knowledge and was illiterate as well. She was ordered to stop practicing medicine immediately, despite her patients’ pleas. In the end, this ruling did little to affect Perretta’s business; she likely continued working with her patients for years afterward. However, it did signify an attack on previous medical standards, something that disproportionately affected women.22 In our modern age, obstetrics and gynecology are two of the very few medical subfields that are female-dominated.23 For this reason, the workforce providing women’s health care in the Middle Ages more closely resembles the modern day. During the medieval era, women managed much of women’s medicine, both in medical writing and patient care. For these practitioners, primary healing methods involved plant and herbal remedies, typically administered through a holistic viewpoint (i.e., reproductive health affected all areas of the body). The early modern era brought a drastic reversal, with an increase in male physicians in the field. However, much of their work relied on that of their female predecessors. Further, medieval female practitioners’ work continues to impact current-day women’s health; the treatments and writings created by these women served as stepping stones toward modern solutions.

Green, Rise of Male Authority, 24-26. Green, Rise of Male Authority, 1-4. 22 Green, Rise of Male Authority, 22-26. 23 Brendan Murphy, “These physician specialties have the biggest gender imbalances,” American Medical Association, January 9, 2024, https://www.ama-assn.org/medical-students/specialty-profiles/these-physicianspecialties-have-biggest-gender-imbalances. 21

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Inviting the Writer Back into Academic Writing Madison Molis Madison Molis is a junior Honors Scholar at High Point University, where she is majoring in English with minors in Legal Studies and Public & Professional Writing on the prelaw track. She has published one article and has presented her scholarly work at multiple academic conferences, reflecting her passion for literary analysis and the craft of writing. She currently serves as Vice President of the English Club, an Honors Writing Advisor, and a member of Sigma Tau Delta, the International English Honor Society. These literary and writing-related roles reflect her commitment to using writing to connect ideas, experiences, and people. Abstract In many writing classrooms, students learn early on that academic credibility depends on keeping themselves out of their work. Personal voice is often treated as informal or distracting, reinforcing the idea that writers must erase their experiences to sound “academic.” This essay challenges that assumption by arguing that personal writing strengthens academic work rather than weakening it. Drawing on scholarship from Writing Studies – including Peter Elbow, David Bartholomae, Rebecca Mlynarczyk, and Mary Stewart, to name a few – this essay examines how the divide between personal and academic writing has been constructed and why it continues to shape writing instruction. Through rhetorical analysis and pedagogical research, I argue that integrating lived experience enhances clarity, critical engagement, and transparency by helping readers understand the writer’s relationship to their subject. Rather than compromising rigor, personal writing furthers deeper thinking, stronger arguments, and greater investment in the writing process. Ultimately, this essay calls for an expanded understanding of what counts as “academic” writing – one that invites reflection, narrative, and voice as essential rhetorical tools to restore authenticity in academic pieces.

sit in any college writing class long enough, and you’ll find a common rule repeated: keep yourself out of the academic paper. Personal stories are seen as distractions and informal confessions. And yet, experience is what shapes how we interpret everything – making it impossible for students to truly leave themselves at the door of academia. This mindset of needing to avoid the “I” in an academic paper out of fear it will sound unprofessional is both outdated and impractical. The misconception that personal writing weakens academic credibility persists in writing instruction today, even though research has disproven it. Research on personal writing in academic spaces often argues that students should keep themselves out of their papers to maintain objectivity. However, I argue that personal writing strengthens academic work because drawing from lived experience makes writing more honest and effective. Expanding

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what counts as “academic” empowers students to write with confidence and helps educators build classrooms that value voice over rigid conformity. In Bad Ideas About Writing, Rodrigo Joseph Rodríguez’s “Leave Yourself Out of Your Writing” and Kimberly N. Parker’s “Response: Never Use ‘I’” already challenge the belief that the personal has no place in academic work. Both chapters argue that student voice and identity are integral to meaningful learning and genuine academic expression. My essay builds on their ideas but deviates by extending this conversation to show that personal writing – whether through narrative, reflection, or the use of “I” – is not only appropriate in academic spaces but essential to writing that is authentic, critical, and intellectually engaged. In this essay, I define personal writing as writing that draws from the writer’s lived experiences, values, emotions, and perspectives to explore and make meaning of ideas. Academic spaces, in contrast, refer to contexts such as school essays, scholarly research papers, and published academic articles – forms traditionally expected to stay impersonal. My rebuttal challenges the assumption that these two modes must remain separate. Instead, I argue that personal writing – fluid, reflective, and even nonlinear – belongs in academic essays as an essential rhetorical element that turns academic writing from rigid to compelling. The goal is not to erase classic formality, but to expand what counts as academic. For decades, Writing Studies has been shaped by the myth that academic writing must maintain objectivity and detachment from the author to be seen as credible. This fantasy of neutrality, rooted in Enlightenment ideals of rationality, has long positioned personal expression as unprofessional or unserious. Peter Elbow and David Bartholomae, two of the most influential figures in the field of writing studies, have had an ongoing debate about the place of personal writing in academic discourse: Elbow was an advocate for free expression and believed that personal writing helps students discover authenticity and confidence in their work (Elbow, Everyone Can Write), while Bartholomae argued that students must learn to adopt the traditional conventions and language of the academic community to truly participate in it (Bartholomae, “Inventing the University”). Elbow’s emphasis on expression offers a perspective the field can still learn from, even as Bartholomae’s insights into academic conventions remain important. The tensions Elbow and Bartholomae describe translate directly into the rules students are expected to follow in academic writing. Students are taught early on, typically in first-year college writing courses, to erase their voices and write in a certain structure to meet the requirement of sounding “academic.” The assumption that personal writing is inherently unprofessional or unserious has persisted because it seems safer and easier – easier to grade, easier to standardize, easier to compare to other pieces of work, and easier to understand. In reality, the writer’s relation to the subject matter is one of the most valuable tools for giving the piece substance and true meaning. As Mlynarczyk explains, the divide between personal and academic writing has long been overstated: “If students – especially basic writing students – are to acquire academic language in a meaningful, powerful way, the emphasis on exploring ideas in personal, expressive language cannot be neglected” (9). Meaningful academic language develops most powerfully when students can explore ideas through personal writing. The tension between expression and convention has shaped writing instruction for decades, but it also opens the door for revising what counts as “academic.” Recognizing the value of personal voice is the first step toward reframing writing as a space for understanding and reflection, rather than an attempt to sound removed. While many writing classrooms continue to resist personal voice, other academic fields already acknowledge that complete objectivity is impossible—though often in limited ways. For 50

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example, scientific research commonly requires conflict-of-interest statements, while qualitative research integrates the researcher’s perspective into the research process. Personal writing does not weaken academic work: it strengthens it. This creates transparency between writer and reader, helping the audience better understand the “why” behind the rhetorical strategies used. When students weave their experiences into their essays and share parts of their identities and values, they produce work that is not only more engaging for the reader, but also more critical and self-aware. Stewart argues that "telling a personal story can help your reader understand why you are writing about the topic you have chosen, and why you have come to care so deeply about it" (165). Objectivity is not compromised by integrating the personal; rather, acknowledging one’s own perspective reinforces the argument’s integrity. Writing that integrates personality leads to enhanced reflection and demonstrates how knowledge and understanding are constructed through certain lived experiences: "Instructors appear to have realized that this type of imaginative personal writing (which widens the narrower concept of personal narrative writing) helps novices to engage productively, because personally, with the ideas, facts, and perspectives they encounter" (Gottschalk 7). Arguably, some of the most compelling academic work stems from moments of intersection between personal and intellectual ties: where emotion and analysis meet in unison. When students write about subjects they genuinely care about, their arguments gain clarity, purpose, and emotional resonance (Hegbloom et al. 18). Even students who don’t naturally enjoy writing become more engaged when they can connect the work to something meaningful. Ignoring this connection through “strict academic writing” limits the writer and the work. If writing is meant to inform, entertain, express, and persuade (Wardle and Downs), then it cannot thoroughly do so without the personal. Students should not be asked to separate themselves from their work; instead, they should be encouraged to use their life experiences as a foundation for their writing and analysis. As Hegbloom et al. emphasize, genuine learning and effective writing depend on personal investment; students write best when they feel connected to their work: Faculty should recognize the emotional and personal investment students must make to engage in the practices that lead to good writing. Not only do students report the importance of a personal connection to writing as significant to writing success, but this personal connection can also influence a student's willingness to devote the necessary time to engage in prewriting activities and to seek out additional feedback from faculty and peers. (Hegbloom et al. 18) The argument is clear: encourage students to lean on their identities and experiences and write from where they currently stand. When students are told to remove themselves from their writing, they are taught to distrust their own voices – a loss that dulls authenticity long after the classroom. Instructors can make space for personal writing by inviting reflection in assignments, allowing flexible voice and form, and valuing discovery over mere conformity. True academic writing should not demand the erasure of the self, but should invite the writer in. It is time to let the bad idea that writers should “keep themselves out of the paper” finally end. Holding onto this belief continues to push students into rigid, impersonal writing practices that limit their growth and disconnect them from meaningful learning. Writing instructors and institutions must take responsibility for shifting this culture by designing assignments that value reflection and make voice part of academic rigor. Teachers can begin by asking themselves what knowledge becomes possible when students are allowed to acknowledge where they stand. Students, too, can participate by noticing when they feel pressured to disappear from their own 51

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writing and by challenging that expectation. Moving forward, we should treat personal writing not as an intrusion on academic work, but as a path toward deeper understanding, stronger arguments, and a more honest relationship to the work produced. Nothing about academic work improves when students are asked to erase themselves. The next step is clear: invite the writer back into the writing. Further Reading If this essay sparked your curiosity about how personal voice and lived experiences shape academic writing, the following texts dig deeper into those ideas from a range of scholars and educators. Peter Elbow’s Everyone Can Write expands on the idea that authentic writing begins with personal voice and expression. Elbow encourages writers to trust intuition and emotion, arguing that clarity and critical insight often grow out of personal engagement rather than intellectual detachment. In Teaching to Transgress, bell hooks explores education as a practice of freedom, advocating for classrooms that value emotion, identity, and lived experience as fundamental forms of knowledge. Her perspective reinforces how personal writing can transform academic works into places of genuine connection and critical awareness. Malea Powell’s “Blood and Scholarship: One Mixed-Blood’s Story” merges personal narrative with academic reflection to question how identity and heritage shape scholarly understanding. Powell demonstrates that scholarly work grounded in lived experience is both credible and insightful, proving that personal storytelling strengthens rather than undermines academic authority. Elizabeth Wardle and Doug Downs’s Writing About Writing redefines how writing is taught, emphasizing that it is a flexible, rhetorical pursuit that varies across contexts, rather than a rigid formula. Their work encourages students to reflect on their own writing practices and recognize how personal perspective influences academic choices. Finally, Jacqueline Jones Royster’s “When the First Voice You Hear Is Not Your Own” argues that academic discourse often marginalizes personal and cultural identity, urging scholars to listen to and respect diverse voices. Royster’s call for inclusivity aligns directly with the argument that personal writing enriches academic spaces by expanding whose knowledge is heard and understood.

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Works Cited Bartholomae, David. “Inventing the University.” Journal of Basic Writing, 1986. Elbow, Peter. Everyone Can Write: Essays Toward a Hopeful Theory of Writing and Teaching Writing. Oxford UP, 2000. Gottschalk, Katherine. “Writing from Experience: The Evolving Roles of Personal Writing.” Across the Disciplines, vol. 8, 2011, https://wac.colostate.edu/docs/atd/articles/gottschalk2011.pdf. Hegbloom, Mark, et al. “Student Voices on Writing.” Across the Disciplines, vol. 14, no. 2, 2017, https://wac.colostate.edu/docs/atd/articles/hegbloometal2017.pdf. Miller, Christopher, Kelsey Weisse, and Amanda Hughes. “The Influence of Direct Personal Experience on Disciplinary Instructors Designing WAC Assignments.” Across the Disciplines, vol. 18, no. 1–2, 2022, https://wac.colostate.edu/docs/atd/volume18/milleretal.pdf. Mlynarczyk, Rebecca Williams. “Personal and Academic Writing: Revisiting the Debate.” Journal of Basic Writing, vol. 25, no. 1, 2006, pp. 4–23, https://wac.colostate.edu/docs/jbw/v25n1/mlynarczyk.pdf. Parker, Kimberly N. "Response: Never Use 'I.'" Bad Ideas About Writing, edited by Cheryl E. Ball and Drew M. Loewe, 2017, pp. 134–38. Rodríguez, Rodrigo Joseph. "Leave Yourself Out of Your Writing." Bad Ideas About Writing, edited by Cheryl E. Ball and Drew M. Loewe, 2017, pp. 131–33. Stewart, Mary. “Weaving Personal Experience into Academic Writing.” Writing Spaces: Readings on Writing, vol. 3, edited by Dana Driscoll, Mary Stewart, and Matthew Vetter, WAC Clearinghouse, 2020, pp. 154–165, https://wac.colostate.edu/docs/books/writingspaces3/stewart.pdf. Wardle, Elizabeth, and Doug Downs. Writing About Writing: A College Reader. 2nd ed., Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2014.

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Edmund Pevensie and the Recovery of Romantic Innocence Ellison Soto Ellison Soto is a first-year student at High Point University, majoring in English with a minor in Event Management. After being prompted to examine C.S. Lewis's The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, she found renewed enthusiasm for exploring the thematic connections in a story she grew up reading. Viewing it through a more academic lens was especially compelling, as it allowed Ellison to uncover unexpected connections between the text and the work of a sophisticated Romantic poet like William Wordsworth. Following Ellison’s studies at High Point University, she plans to continue her education and attend law school in North Carolina. As a freshman, learning to closely inspect, scrutinize, and revise her work has been especially fulfilling, helping her grow not only as a writer but also as a critical thinker. Undergraduate research has not only deepened her passion for writing, but also given Ellison skills she can intentionally shape, challenge, and refine to communicate complex ideas and purpose. Ellison credits her mentor, Dr. Carlson, for igniting her excitement about pursuing a degree in English. She states, “His passion for the subject is striking, and his enthusiasm quickly became contagious, shifting my mindset from viewing English as merely a subject I felt confident in, to one I feel genuinely excited to continue pursuing.” Through his encouragement in thoughtful discussions, Dr. Carlson has taught Ellison to pause, reflect, and engage more deeply with texts, fostering a level of critical thinking that has been transformative for Ellison’s academic growth. Abstract This essay addresses how C.S. Lewis utilizes Edmund Pevensie’s character in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe as a means to explore the interplay between Christian allegory and Romantic ideals in children’s literature. Particularly those associated with William Wordsworth’s notions of childhood innocence. By focusing on Edmund and his recovery of imaginative trust, Lewis blends Romantic philosophy with Christian conceptions of sin and restoration. Rather than treating redemption as purely spiritual, the essay shows that Edmund’s transformation depends on recovering imaginative vision and trust in Narnia's natural order. Edmund is framed as an anti-Romantic figure whose skepticism and pride contrast with his sister Lucy’s imaginative faith; the essay places Lewis’s narrative within a Romantic viewpoint that values childhood innocence as a source of truth. Ultimately, this analysis suggests that Lewis presents moral renewal as dependent on restoring imagination, highlighting the Romantic influence on both children’s literature and Edmund’s character development.

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Most readers recognize C.S. Lewis’s Christian beliefs and retelling of Christ’s death and resurrection in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Less frequently acknowledged, however, is how Lewis’s depiction of childhood in the novel is deeply shaped by Romantic thought, particularly the philosophy of William Wordsworth. While this influence is most apparent in characters like Lucy, C.S. Lewis presents a complex transformation in Edmund Pevensie—one that reflects not just Christian forgiveness, but the recovery of Romantic innocence. Within Narnia's magical landscape, Edmund sheds his cynicism, reconnects with nature, and reclaims the childlike innocence Romanticism idealizes. From the moment Lucy Pevensie enters Narnia through an enchanted wardrobe, readers can immediately interpret that she embodies Romantic ideals. She sees the captivating world around her with an unparalleled openness, promptly willing to believe in the magic without hesitation or fear. When she tries to share her discovery with her siblings, Edmund openly dismisses her, expressing, "there she goes again. What’s the matter with her?" (Lewis 45). Despite having surreptitiously traveled there himself and knowing Narnia is real, he denies her claims in prideful dismissal of her wonder and paints her as irrational. Lucy’s imagination and faith allow her to see Narnia's truth as a realm where nature is part of the divine, while Edmund insists on cynicism, scorning her as “all nonsense” (Lewis 45). Lewis outlines this opposition between Lucy and Edmund carefully to highlight Edmund’s distance from Romantic ideals. His ridicule of her story goes beyond sibling rivalry; his interactions reveal an intrinsic opposition to the imagination and emotional acceptance Lucy represents. In mocking her, he also aligns himself with the more rational, dismissive mindset often associated with adults who have lost their imaginative vision. His repudiation of Narnia doesn’t stem from genuine doubt but from a desire to belittle. Romantic thinkers, such as William Wordsworth, portray childhood as an idyllic stage in life in which “heaven lies about us” (“Ode” line 66). Lewis mirrors this idea of divine innocence as he portrays a Romantic child in Lucy, then provides contrast with an anti-Romantic child like Edmund. From this initial interaction, Edmund positions himself not only against her but against the very Romantic virtues Lewis elevates throughout the story. Furthermore, Edmund’s disconnection with nature and Romanticism is most apparent when the children come across the Robin that leads them to Mr. Beaver. In Narnia, the sentient animals illustrate how nature itself can be alive with guidance and meaning to those who approach it with faith, while remaining incomprehensible to those who do not. True to this spirit, when the Robin invites the children to follow him, Lucy instinctively responds without uncertainty, just as she did in her first encounter with Mr. Tumnus. In contrast, Edmund is the only one of his siblings to voice apprehension, asking, “How do we know which side that bird is on? Why shouldn’t it be leading us into a trap?” (Lewis 61). This immediate suspicion comes from more than thoughtful caution; it stems from his inability to imagine animals as trustworthy allies or to see nature as a guide. Wordsworth urges readers to “Let nature be your teacher,” yet Edmund seems to reject this principle, dismissing the idea that nature carries authenticity (“Tables” line 16). Edmund’s choices, from poking at Lucy to betraying his siblings, serve as deliberate rejections of goodness. He doesn’t stumble into these choices—instead, he consciously chooses pride and desire to guide his actions. As a result, Edmund grows increasingly distant from his siblings, and his self-serving choices reinforce the imaginative blindness that prevents him from seeing Narnia through a Romantic lens. Yet Lewis makes it clear that Edmund’s story is not one of personal failure but a deeper commentary on universal human shortcomings. His refusal to accept something so ordinary as a source of authority marks him as estranged from the natural world and innocence itself. The 55

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distrust established at the novel's beginning through these interactions then foreshadows his attraction to the White Witch and her malicious promises, whose barren winter landscape— described with “deep drifts of snow” and “fallen tree-trunks”—contrasts with the vitality of nature (Lewis 90). By aligning himself with the White Witch, whose power relies on manipulation and contrasts with Aslan and the Robin’s organic authority, Edmund solidifies his role as the anti-Romantic figure who cannot accept the guidance of nature or the innocence of faith. In this way, the Robin and the White Witch are a dichotomy of Romantic symbolism— authentic nature versus corrupt influence. Edmund’s loyalty to the White Witch, however, fades when her true nature is revealed, and he finds himself imprisoned and poorly treated. Through this disillusionment, he begins to notice nature's beauty and respond to its spiritual influence. This awareness is evident when the snowy landscape of Narnia starts to melt and return to its previous state, in which Edmunds observes “a sound even more delicious than the sound of the water…within five minutes the whole wood was ringing with birds’ music” (Lewis 121), a moment that mirrors his own emotional awakening. Furthermore, when he is reunited with his siblings, Lucy immediately describes him as “looking like his real self again” (Lewis 180), suggesting that his renewed sensitivity to nature reflects a reclamation of his earlier, more innocent self. Edmund’s subsequent redemption through Aslan’s sacrifice on the Stone Table can therefore be read not only as a religious allegory of Jesus’ crucifixion, but also as a restoration of Romantic vision. His eventual acceptance of the Narnian creatures’ help reflects a newfound openness to nature that indicates the Romantic conviction of wonder and imagination. Ultimately, Lewis uses Edmund’s character development to fuse the framework of Christianity with the ideals of Romanticism. Edmund’s repeated moments of doubt underscore Lewis’s intention for the character—Edmund is a fallen human figure, set apart from his siblings by his tendency toward sinful desires and innate mistrust. In the end, Christian redemption and Romantic philosophy converge as Lewis successfully develops the argument that reconciliation with the natural order and faith are synonymous. Therefore, transformation is not only a Christian promise but a Romantic one; the shift is attainable through sacrifice, recovery of innocence, faith, and connection with nature.

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Works Cited Lewis, C. S. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Harper, 2000. Wordsworth, William. “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood.” The Norton Anthology of English Literature: Shorter 11th Edition, Volume 2, edited by Stephen Greenblatt et al., W.W. Norton & Company, 2024, pp. 187–193. Wordsworth, William. “The Tables Turned.” The Norton Anthology of English Literature: Shorter 11th Edition, Volume 2, edited by Stephen Greenblatt et al., W.W. Norton & Company, 2024, pp. 138–139.

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Wyatt Earp as Detective, Sam Spade as Cowboy, and the Evolution of American Masculinity Finnegan Twomey Finnegan Twomey is a third-year English major with a minor in Philosophy. Curious about the parallels between Western and detective fiction, Finnegan developed his idea after watching The Maltese Falcon and My Darling Clementine. To him, the most fulfilling part of his undergraduate research was that it gave him a way to channel his creative energy into a subject he genuinely cared about. As Finnegan quotes, “It’s a gratifying experience to have control over where my academic exploits might allow me to explore, given the opportunity.” Finnegan also expresses gratitude for his mentor, Dr. Carlson, who played a pivotal role in helping him narrow his focus and revise the work once the preliminary draft was done. To end, though Finnegan’s post-grad plans are still in flux, he knows he wants to use the skills he has learned to pursue his passion for the world of English. Abstract Literature and film scholars have often noted the parallels between hard-boiled detective fiction and the American Western. However, less research has examined the roots of the two genres to see how closely the protagonists of each type of story fulfill the same function. This essay argues that the protagonist of a Western story can be aptly described as a hard-boiled detective, and vice versa for the protagonist of a hard-boiled detective story. This is accomplished through a comparison of two iconic pieces of media, Dashiell Hammett’s novel, The Maltese Falcon, and John Ford’s film, My Darling Clementine. The protagonists of each story, Sam Spade and Wyatt Earp, are juxtaposed to show how similar they are while acknowledging their differences. To explore their distinctiveness, the essay examines how each protagonist marks a shift in the portrayal of ideal American masculinity in the fifteen years between the release of Hammett’s 1930 novel and Ford’s 1946 film, specifically contrasting how Spade and Earp interact with the women in their lives.

Throughout U.S.A. history, certain character archetypes in fiction have been quintessentially American at their core. Many examples exist, but perhaps the two that best defined American masculinity at the peak of its influence were the hard-boiled detective and the Wild West hero. Here, I will delve into two specific instances of each archetype: Wyatt Earp’s portrayal in John Ford’s 1946 film My Darling Clementine and Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett. I will argue that these two stories share the same plot structure, supporting the claim that Wyatt Earp can be viewed as a detective and Sam Spade as a cowboy. I will also examine how these portrayals reflect the evolution of idyllic 58

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American masculinity from a post-World War I setting (Hammett’s 1930 novel) to a Cold War setting (Ford’s 1946 film). To talk about the interplay between the American figures, the hard-boiled detective and the Western hero, it must first be established how often the two genres are similarly structured. To do this, the article “The Detective Film as Myth: The Maltese Falcon and Sam Spade” by Stephen F. Bauer, Leon Balter, and Winslow Hunt offers some key characteristics of the hardboiled detective story, and once those characteristics are established, it will become evident how similar the American detective is to the Western protagonist. To start, they go over how crucial it is “that the American detective is almost a criminal” (Bauer et al., 278), and when talking of the detective figure, they elaborate that “They all walk alone and go it alone, [they are] outcasts functioning on the borders of conventional society and in an atmosphere of moral ambiguity” (Bauer et al., 278). When looking at those two quotes, it is important to note the idea that if the label of “the American detective” (Bauer et al., 278) is simply swapped for the Western lawman role that Wyatt Earp embodies, the statements hold just as true. In fact, later in the text when Bauer and colleagues go on to list quintessential groups of American figures together later in the text, they put “The cowboy, the gunfighter, the gangster, [and] the private eye” (Bauer et al., 278) all in the same category as being truly American. It is no secret that throughout history, detective fiction and Western stories have held similar parallels, but the extent to which that is true is often underappreciated. In fact, it could easily be argued that John Ford’s film My Darling Clementine is, at its core, a detective story. In their article, Bauer and company also provide a summarization of the most basic rule that a detective plot follows, saying that “the detective story has a very simple structure. A crime has been committed, and the detective seeks out a criminal” (Bauer et al., 276). When you place the narrative of Ford’s film in this context, the similarities are astonishingly evident. The crux of the entire plot of the movie comes when Wyatt’s brother, James, is murdered by a mysterious person while watching over their herd of cattle. Truly, the only reason Earp reluctantly steps into his role as town marshal (and, in turn, investigator) is to find out who killed his brother and get revenge for his death. Yes, the murder takes a backseat through the middle of the film as tensions rise between Earp and Tombstone outlaw Doc Holliday, but the plot accelerates again with a clue Earp discovers himself. In other words, Earp plays the role of the detective and solves the murder, which is the catalyst for the entire plot, through finding a clue and subsequently assigning blame. That clue is the cross that Doc Holliday’s lover wears on a necklace, and after interrogating her, Earp was able to deduce who killed his brother, James. The resolution after this diverges from a classical detective story, as Earp and company take justice into their own hands, leading to the shootout at the OK Corral. Still, it is not so different from the resolution of a hardboiled detective novel. In My Darling Clementine, Earp may not play the traditional detective role on the surface, but at its core, the film is a detective story set in the Wild West. By the same token, Sam Spade plays a role very similar to Wyatt Earp in his own story, Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon. The classic traits of a Western protagonist are strikingly applicable to Spade. He seems to be an agent for good, but his methods are sometimes morally dubious. He regularly operates outside of the strictest regulations of the law. He also often resorts to violence to gain the upper hand and is a very effective fighter. Really, the only trait of the Western protagonist that doesn’t also embody Sam Spade to a T is that he seems to have an aversion to using guns. Still, his own fists prove to be more than worthy as weapons in the violent instances that do occur in The Maltese Falcon. To tie the two even further together, Spade’s story takes place in the more modernized Wild West, i.e., San Francisco, where he must 59

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administer his own brand of justice to ultimately prevail. James K. Folsom states in his article "‘Western’ Themes and Western Films” that “The Western… is not so much true to the facts of American Western history as a mirror image of modern American life” (Folsom 197). Hammett’s novel effectively accomplishes just that, and the only deviation from a traditional Western setting is that the city of San Francisco is meant to seem more civilized on the surface than Tombstone did in its time. Sam Spade may not be a true gun-toting cowboy of the West, but he plays a very similar role to that of Wyatt Earp’s Western protagonist. Evidently, Sam Spade and Wyatt Earp fulfill similar functions in their respective stories. They are quintessential American heroes, characters meant to be the ideal portrayal of what it means to be truly masculine. However, they are not the same character, and their portrayals of masculinity differ in important ways. Obviously, there are many reasons for this. One of the main ones is the historical context of the American political environment when each story was released. Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon was published in 1930, after World War I ended and before the main conflict of World War II took off. By contrast, Henry Fonda’s portrayal of Wyatt Earp in My Darling Clementine was released in 1946, at the height of Cold War tensions. The ideal American man largely shifts in response to the major conflicts he faces in his time and age. In accordance with that principle, Spade and Earp reflect their own time periods. One of the key differences between these time periods is how each representation of the American man by Hammett and Ford portrays their heroes regarding the women around them. Hammett goes to vast lengths to show exactly how Spade views the women in his story. After all, he has two different romantic interests, Iva Archer and Brigid O’Shaughnessy, and that’s not to mention the platonic loyalty of his devoted secretary Effie Perine. The key difference between Earp and Spade is that Spade rejects the women who pine over him. Yes, it’s heavily implied that Spade becomes physically involved with Brigid O’Shaughnessy, as they kiss to conclude chapter nine, and to open chapter 10 it is stated that “at his side Brigid O’Shaughnessy’s breathing had the utter regularity of sleep” (Hammett 90), meaning that they spent at least one night in each other’s company. Additionally, his sexual history with Iva Archer is openly stated and is an important element of his characterization. However, the key to understanding Spade’s masculinity is that he lets the women pine over him and, in the very end, invariably rejects any sort of commitment towards them. One of the most important quotes that Spade has in the novel comes in his repeated use of the phrase “I won’t play the sap for you” (Hammett 212). Spade is a hard-boiled reflection of his time period, and his supreme control over the women enamored with him reflects the ideals of the American man of the time. By contrast, although written just fifteen years later, Wyatt Earp displays almost the exact inverse of Spade’s philosophy throughout most of his story. He is actively the one pining over a desirable woman, as can be most notably seen when he acts smitten with Clementine Carter when she first arrives. He does treat another female character of decided sexual nature with disdain in the form of his actions towards Chihuahua, who is described as Doc Holliday’s girl. Still, it’s established very early on that there has never been any romantic intention between Earp and the Mexican prostitute. From their first interaction, it’s clear that Earp is attracted to Clementine. Still, the man that Clementine is interested in is her former lover, Doc Holliday, confining the love-struck Earp to the sidelines. Earp and Clementine eventually confess their romantic feelings, and though the end of the film might seem like a moment when Earp reverts to a role similar to Sam Spade, the opposite is true. After the shootout, it’s true that he does resign as marshal of Tombstone and leaves Clementine behind. This might be read as turning his back 60

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on the seductive woman figure. Still, I believe that the distinction between his motivation and Spade’s motivation for doing so marks a clear difference in their ideas of masculinity. Spade not only leaves Brigid, but allows her to take the fall for him. The reason he turns his back on her is that he is self-sufficient and doesn’t need her in his life. In stark contrast, the motivation for Earp leaving Clementine is out of grief for his dead brother and is an effort to protect her from himself. Earp has brought only pain and death to those who stay by his side, and by leaving Clementine, he essentially sacrifices his happiness so that she might have hers. The titular character of the film is Clementine, not Earp, because she is what’s truly important to the Western lawman. Spade and Earp may seem to have committed the same act of abandonment, but their intentions differ. In all actuality, Spade’s is a choice rooted in utter selfishness, and Earp’s is a decision made from love and true self-sacrifice. The manliest thing for an American male to do in Spade’s time was to be completely independent and closed off. Needing nothing from anybody and yet still being the person everyone looked towards to save them in times of crisis. In just fifteen short years, the golden standard of American masculinity shifted completely in the opposite direction. In Earp’s time, it was viewed as heroic (and thus masculine) to ensure the security of a man’s loved ones, and Earp abandons his own happiness to do just that. The stark shift from complete selfishness to self-sacrifice is blatant, and comparing Spade and Earp reveals the moral shift the U.S. underwent during this short period of turmoil. The political discourse in the U.S. as Cold War tensions ramped up was one based on extreme binaries: masculinity and femininity, hardness and toughness. As K.A. Cuordileone states in their article “‘Politics in an Age of Anxiety’: Cold War Political Culture and the Crisis in American Masculinity, 1949-1960”, as the tensions of the Cold War increased, they gave rise to a “political culture that put a new premium on hard masculine toughness and rendered anything less than that soft and feminine and, as such, a real or potential threat to the security of the nation” (Cuordileone 516). The main difference between World War I and the Cold War on the home front in the United States was that paranoia ran far more rampant during Cold War tensions. The enemy wasn’t a far-off nation in Europe; it was the ideology of communism, and ideology could prey on any common citizen's life. In World War I, men were asked to become soldiers and ship off to the other side of the world to fight real, tangible enemies. They had to leave their loved ones behind to become truly heroic, and thus Sam Spade’s abandonment of the women in his life can be viewed as heroic in the context of World War I. However, as the Cold War escalated, the U.S. prioritized national security. If men were “soft” (Cuordileone 516), or didn’t exhibit the masculine toughness that a “hard” (Cuordileone 516), truly American man would show, they were viewed not only as feminine but as true threats to the security of the nation. In other words, the responsibility of the American man in these times was the security of the lives of others. Therefore, in the context of the Cold War, Wyatt Earp’s self-sacrifice to ensure the security of the people of Tombstone, especially at the behest of his own happiness, is the pinnacle of the “hard” (Cuordileone 516) mental toughness that men were supposed to strive for. Though these stories were put out just fifteen years apart from each other, the ideal of masculinity that men were supposed to strive for in both Spade’s and Earp’s times changed drastically, and that drastic change came in accordance with the outside conflicts that the U.S. had to face. It is commonly accepted that the earliest Westerns (for the Western story does predate the earliest hard-boiled detective story) had a marked influence on hard-boiled American detective stories. However, at the same time, later Westerns, like John Ford’s My Darling Clementine, were influenced by many of the features of early hard-boiled detective stories. After all, at its 61

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deepest level, Ford’s film is driven by a detective plot, and although he is not a private investigator, Wyatt Earp plays a role that fulfills a function very similar to Sam Spade’s. Being arguably the two most iconic American figures, the Western hero and the hard-boiled detective, one can be sure that the heroes in two of the most prominent works of their respective genres are emblematic of the American ideal of masculinity in their times. In just fifteen short years, while some of the main tenets of manliness remained the same, that idea of American masculinity was flipped on its head.

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Works Cited Bauer, Stephen F., et al. “The Detective Film as Myth: The Maltese Falcon and Sam Spade.” American Imago, vol. 35, no. 3, 1978, pp. 275–96. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/26303277. Accessed 3 Dec. 2025. Cuordileone, K. A. “‘Politics in an Age of Anxiety’: Cold War Political Culture and the Crisis in American Masculinity, 1949-1960.” The Journal of American History, vol. 87, no. 2, 2000, pp. 515–45. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/2568762. Accessed 12 Apr. 2026. Folsom, James K. “‘Western’ Themes and Western Films.” Western American Literature, vol. 2, no. 3, 1967, pp. 195–203. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/43017231. Accessed 3 Dec. 2025. Hammett, Dashiell. The Maltese Falcon. New York: Grosset & Dunlap Publishers, 1930. 20th Century Fox; [presented by] Darryl F. Zanuck; produced by Samuel G. Engel; screenplay by Samuel G. Engel and Winston Miller; directed by John Ford. John Ford's My Darling Clementine. 20th Century Fox Home Entertainment, 2003.