Thomas Becket lived in the 12th century where he was Archbishop of Canterbury and close personal friend and advisor to King Henry II of England (husband, for a time, of Eleanor of Aquitaine–their story is dramatized in The Lion in Winter).

But here was the rub: King Henry wanted to have as much unfettered power to do exactly as he wished and to control the power of as many people as necessary or possible. He was a ruler, not unlike some contemporary ones, who would not abide any system of checks or balances on his power.

Then along came Henry’s friend, Thomas. And when Rome elevated Thomas elevated to the Archbishopric of Canterbury (remember, this was pre-Reformation England), Thomas took seriously his vow to be the primary leader of the Church in (not “of”) England and to carry out his official acts in line with directives from Rome. 

Now Henry had previously tried to tie Thomas closer to him through making him England’s Chancellor. However, when the Pope named Thomas as archbishop, Thomas resigned his position as Chancellor–in other words, Thomas took the step to remove any potential conflicts of interest in favor of the Church. Moreover, Thomas subsequently flexed his ecclesiastical authority whenever push came to shove, and Henry found himself stymied and unable to get everything his own way.

So one day, apparently, Henry lamented aloud how much easier life would be without Thomas being a thorn in his side. And, although Henry repeatedly insisted that he never intended for this to happen, four of his strongmen took his lament as if the King had explicitly said, “Go and kill Thomas.” This they did, and the murdered Thomas subsequently became a martyred saint that we commemorate on the date of his death, December 29th.

This murder was dramatized by T. S. Eliot in 1935, in his work, Murder in the Cathedral. In this play, Thomas–aware of his impending assassination–struggles with how attractive it would be to die (since it was clear he was about to be killed, anyhow) as a martyr for the faith, rather than as simply another impediment to the king. In Eliot’s play, Thomas wrestles with how beguiling the pull toward aggrandizing his imminent death is, and how un-saintlike the desire is to exit in self-glorification, even in God’s name, is.

So for your consideration, Eliot’s haunting couplet, placed in Thomas’s mouth:

The last temptation is the greatest treason
To do the right deed for the wrong reason.

Murder in the Cathedral, Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1935, p. 43.