The Canterbury Tales has an interesting premise. A group of travelers on a pilgrimage agree to tell each other stories along the journey to the destination where they intended to worship. The travelers come from every walk of society- from Knight to nun to merchant. The stories must teach or be entertaining. Either way each must affect the listeners and not just bore them.
Chaucer’s endeavor is to teach doctrine, “all that is written is written for our doctrine.” And he will use each of the characters to tell stories from their vantage points. This could be incredible a middle ages Symposium refreshing the speeches of love (or other high values) from Plato’s work 1000 years before. And it starts well enough. The knight begins with a tale of honor and love. And then it proceeds to confirm what we always suspected. Us humans always laugh at a fart joke. And in rhyme no less.
The surprising part is not the crass jokes about bodily functions or the irreverent stories of adultery. The surprising part is the staying power of such trash. The ancient plays of the Greeks were full of it (the comedies, not the tragedies). And a 1000 years later, within the context of a trek to worship God, Chaucer can’t help himself succumbing to the shock jock ways.
The more things change the more they stay the same. Even though some may bemoan the gutter mouths of the comedians and wish it were like it used to be. There is no clean “like it used to be”. The clean are the exception not the rule.
This is not a defense of scatological humor and dirty jokes. Just an acknowledgement that it has always been here and the temptation to wallow in it is ever present. And also to give a warning that they drag you down and pull your thinking like gravity. Whereas I was lifted to read some of the Tales about nobility or philosophy (The Knight’s or the Parson) . When I stumbled upon the story of the Miller or the Reeve I was dragged down. Dumber for the effort.
And the astounding thing about this is that Chaucer seemed to feel sorry about what he did. The last page of the book is an apology and an acknowledgement of his sins.
Wherefore I beseech you meekly, for the mercy of God, that you pray for me that Christ have mercy on me and forgive me my sins; [1085] and namely of my translations and compositions of worldly vanities…
As though he acknowledges, he soiled his shoes walking in the stories he shouldn’t have. I can almost see him with pen in hand thinking, “I shouldn’t write this down but boy am I gonna get a laugh.”