Did St. George Exist?
And why did he hurt that poor dragon?
Historians have an unfortunate habit of killing the best stories in their search for the truth. Truth is divine. Historical truth is important. But a good story is a treasure, and a brave soldier venturing forth the slay the dragon and save the princess is just about the best and oldest story there is. It has deep roots in the rich, primal soil of our psyches. It tells us something vital that we need to know.
The apocryphal Chesterton quote1 has it exactly right: “Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.”
And let’s not even talk about the biologists who might tells us dragons don’t exist. Obviously, they exist, or where did all the stories come from? Check and mate, Richard Dawkins.
The great, long-revered Saint George, therefore, has a bit of a modern publicity problem. Many English are embarrassed he’s their patron. St. George’s Day is supposed to be an English St Andrew’s (Scotland) or St Patrick’s (Ireland) Day: a day of ethnic pride. If you search online you’ll find plenty of articles either celebrating or bemoaning the idea of national pride with St. George at the center, with globalists and nationalists lining up on opposite sides either trying to disavow or reclaim England for St. George. The more thoughtful suggest a new patron saint needs to be found because, they claim, George didn’t exist (he certainly did) or his story is mostly fake (a word modernists use to tell us they don’t understand folklore, myth, and legend).
But George was a great man who lived and died for a cause. The greatness of his act set ripples in history like a stone cast into the water–as those rings get further from the stone, they grow larger and larger. That’s what happened to George and his mighty legend, yet at the core is that stone, and like that stone rejected by the builder, it is become the cornerstone to one of mankind’s greatest achievements: the mighty and enduring story.
What We Know
What we really know about a man called George can be written on a single index card, but it was enough to set off a remarkable chain of developments.
With some authority, we can say that George lived at the end of the 3rd century, was a Christian, probably from Cappadocia, suffered death in Lydda during the Diocletian persecutions, and developed an early cult that attained a notable level of popularity.
This early devotion to George suggests miracles accomplished at his shrines, and perhaps a martyr account that struck people as worthy of veneration. From there, the devotions grew and spread as new hagiographies were written embellishing his story, until by the Middle Ages he was highly venerated and considered one of the Fourteen Holy Helpers. His dates might be 280 to 303, and a death in his early 20s seems plausible.
Those are the hard facts, to the best of our knowledge. What do they tell us, knowing what we already do of his times?
They tell us that a man stood firm for Christ, and died for his belief when he could have recanted and chosen life. Before we come to any other heroic deed, we have already identified a man performing an act that God himself called a sign of no greater love: laying down his life. His name, and the names of all those who seeded the earth with their blood, deserves to be etched in history, which is why the Roman Martyrology records them. There is this laconic note for April 23:
THE birthday of St. George, whose illustrious martyrdom is honored by the Church of God among the combats of other crowned martyrs. (Martyrologium Romanum)
In the Acta Sanctorum (AS) entry for “S. Georgio Megalo-Martyre” (an Eastern title for “Great Martyr”), the Bollandists cite early veneration and consecration of churches to him by the Fourth Century as proof of his historical existence and martyrdom, but do not consider other facts of his life reliable. The Bollandists themselves found a fragment of his life in a 5th century palimpsest. Given the early date, this may have more historical weight than they allow, but its extravagant torments and miracles do lend themselves to skepticism.
The Tomb of St. George is located today in Lod, adjacent to the Great Mosque of Lod. The church is rebuilt from a Crusader-era original, which itself was built atop a Byzantine shrine dating to the 5th century
The Elaboration of a Story
Tradition places George in a respected family from Cappadocia, baptized there in a monastery, with a mother named Polychronia from Lydda. Other stories cast him as a member of Diocletian’s Praetorian Guard, promoted to tribune by the Emperor himself. When Diocletian began his notorious persecutions, the stories continue, George allegedly rebuked him to his face, and was thus subjected to a variety of elaborate tortures before finally being beheaded. This tradition is too fanciful to credit, and lacks contemporary evidence.
Some stories tell of his objection, as a soldier, to the destruction of churches, or his refusal to honor the boundary god Terminus. The Terminalia, a festival of Terminus, was held on February 23rd, a date sometimes associated with Georgian festivals. Nicomedia is also given as a place of death, but this tradition has little to recommend it.
Eusebius mentions that the onset of the Diocletian persecutions was accompanied by the posting of flyers ordering the destruction of churches, burning of all texts, and general outlawing of Christianity. He claims one brave man ripped down a flyer, and was subsequently tortured and killed.
Eusebius does not name the man, but he is traditionally identified with St. George due to complex reasons I’ll leave for a footnote.2 This tradition seems plausible, and if in fact the figure who tore down the flyers was a Roman soldier, it would explain his role as patron saint of soldiers. It also would have been a bold and public enough act to drive the rapid spread of his cult.
Early church inscriptions place his death at Lydda (Lod, Israel today), which tallies with a canon from 494 by Pope Gelasius I (Decretum Gelasianum), citing George as worthy of veneration. Gelasius is interesting because he condemns a Passion of Georgius as apocryphal, and has this to say about some lives of saints:
… according to old custom by the greatest caution they are not read in the holy Roman church, because the names of those who wrote are not properly known and separate from unbelievers and idiots or the accounts are thought less attached to the order of events than they should have been; for instance the accounts of Cyricus and Julitta, like Georgius and the sufferings of others like these which appear to have been composed by heretics. On account of this, as it was said, so that no pretext for casual mockery can arise, they are not read in the holy Roman church. However we venerate together with the aforesaid church all the martyrs and their glorious sufferings, which are better known to God than to men, with every devotion
Other Georges are often confused with our George. The reliably-wrong Edward Gibbon bafflingly conflates him with the Arian heretic George of Cappadocia, proving that a fine prose style does not always go hand-in-hand with sound reasoning. The AS mentions, in passing, a Bishop George of Alexandria who is also confused with the saint.
None of these stories really amount to anything,3 but show us how much material is floating around attached to the name “George,” which may account for some of the more lively hagiographies about him. Many have tried to disentangle the traditions, with Hippolyte Delehate (Les Legendes Grecques…) typical in expressing his frustration over la masse confuse des textes a hundred years ago. Honestly, I’m confused right now.
The earliest narratives describe a saint who was martyred and resurrected by the Archangel Michael many times. This particular story includes a vision of Jesus telling him he would be martyred for seven years, repeatedly killed and brought back to life. It also says we was cut into pieces, burned, buried, and resurrected. One of his executions, which may be borrowed from another George, involved having 60 nails driven into his head.
Intriguing Hints in Far-Flung Places
Accounts of George answering prayers appear from Gregory of Tours by the 6th century in Gaul. One curious sideroad of Georgiana comes to us from Adomnan (624–704), Abbot of Iona Abbey and author of the life of St. Columba. A Frankish bishop names Arculf shipwrecked in Scotland, and while there regaled Adomnan with the story of his pilgrimage to the Holy Land around 670. The resulting work, De Locis Sanctis is a treasure trove of information, and includes one of the oldest maps of Jerusalem, its age exceeded only by the mosaic Madaba Map in Jordan. In the course of his story, he mentioned a highly venerated saint named George and located his monument in Lydda.
This George, per Arculf, was a confessor rather than a martyr, and a monumental pillar was a devotional site. George was viciously tortured at the pillar, which bore the imprint of his hands and was later carved with his likeness. Aculf relates an eyewitness story about a soldier who promised to honor the saint if he should survive his upcoming military campaigns. The soldier later returns safely from war and lays gold equal to the value of his fine horse at the statue in thanksgiving. This version marks the first appearance of the story in the British Isles, and shows an early connection to the military and equestrian patronages that continue as part of George’s bailiwick.
The prolific Aelfric of Eynsham (English abbot, b. 955), a brilliant stylist in Old English, tells a vivid tale of George in his Lives of the Saints (996). He opens with “Heretics have written falsehoods in their books about the holy man who is called George. Now will we tell you that which is true about him, that their error may not secretly harm any one.” The story that unfolds, however, contains none of the familiar elements, and aside from a few names could be story of any saint who is subjected to a variety of elaborate tortures, responds with miracles, converts others, and ultimately succumbs. The mention of heretics suggests that the condemned text of the Passion was known to him.
The next part of George’s explosion in popularity was thanks to the Crusaders, who learned of this saint, by now associated with soldiers and equestrians, on their campaigns to the Holy Land. They adopted him as their own, and devotion exploded after the assault on Antioch in 1098. The crusader armies prayed for his intercession in a desperate fight against the Saracens in which all hope seemed lost. Suddenly, there came a vision of thundering hosts led by Sts. Demetrius and George. William of Malmsbury describes it thus in his Chronicle:
They imagined, moreover, that they saw the ancient martyrs, who had formerly been soldiers,and who had gained eternal remuneration by their death, I allude to George and Demetrius, hastily approaching with upraised banner from the mountainous districts, hurling darts against the enemy, but assisting the Franks. Nor is it to be denied, that the martyrs did assist the Christians, as the angels formerly did the Maccabees, fighting for the self-same cause.
George was also reportedly seen leading the hosts at Jerusalem. During the Third Crusade, Richard’s rear-guard was attacked on the road from Acre in 1191. It seemed to be a lost cause until a soldier shouted for the help of St. George, and others took up his name as a battle cry, ultimately defeating the attacking Saracens. For England and Saint George would become a rallying cry for soldiers.
George became so popular that it lead to his feast day, April 23, becoming a major locus of festivals throughout the land, resulting in a large and interesting body of folklore and practices.
But this post grows long already, so let’s get to the dragon already.
About That Dragon
Folklorist Christina Hole calls the dragon story a “late-comer” to traditions about George, noting that a victorious fight with a monster is common in both pagan and Christian literature, and that this free-floating myth wasn’t assigned to George until a prologue was attached in the 12th century to the Passion of George. (The same Passion condemned by Pope Gelasius.)
There is a common store of dragon lore from which many similar stories draw, but “hero saves woman from monster” is so general that it can hardly even be called a motif: it’s an archetype. The most familiar, of course, is Perseus and Andromeda, which is also one of the earliest, and later saintly dragon stories echo some of its elements. It hardly bears saying, but the dragon, in Christianity, stands for the devil, evil, sin, and other things that must be defeated.
There are many, many tributaries that flow into the various elements of Saint George and the Dragon in all its versions. For example, the iconography that developed for St. George recasts the Thracian horseman image in a Christian context.
Maybe one day I’ll follow some of those tributaries back to their headwaters, but today, I just want to conclude with the most familiar of all tellings, which comes to us from St. Jacobus and the Golden Legend. It is clearly built on Prologue of the Greek Miracula, but develops it in several ways. The incredible popularity of the Golden Legend in the Middle Ages ensured that this version of the story would have an influence on literature, art, hagiography that lasted centuries.
And so we find the city of Silena in Libya, beset by a pestilential dragon, which comes forth from the nearby swamps to breathe its killing vapors upon the innocent populace. In order to keep it at bay, the people offer it two sheep a day, keeping it fed and peaceful.
Soon, however, they run out of sheep, and the dragon returns to bring its disease-causing breath to the city. And so the people choose to sacrifice their own children to it, providing their sons and daughters by lot, with no one excluded from the drawing.
One day, the lot falls to the king’s daughter, and when he offers money for another to take her place, the people express outrage, and threaten to burn the palace and the royal family. The king asks for eight days to mourn his daughter, and when the time comes, dressed her in royal robes, weeps for her in a scene of much pathos, and sends her forth, weeping, to meet her fate.
By chance, she meets the knight George on her way, and he inquires why she weeps. After warning him away, she explains her predicament. George replies, '“Do not be afraid, daughter, because I will help you in the name of Christ.”
Afraid for his life, she tells him to flee, but at the moment the dragon emerges from the water. George mounts his horse, makes the sign of the cross, and attacks, hurling his spear at the great beast.
The creature falls, but is not killed, so George tells the girl to throw her girdle around its neck, and not to be afraid. After she leashes it, the beast becomes like a tame dog, and follows her back to the city with George.
The people begin to flee in fear, but George says, “Do not be afraid, for the Lord sent me to you for this, that I should liberate you from the punishments inflicted by the dragon. Only believe in Christ. If every one of you is baptized, I will kill this serpent.”
That day, 20,000 people are baptized, and George draws his sword and slays the beast. In his honor, the king builds a great altar, from which a lively spring gushes forth, healing all those who drink its waters. The king offers George all his money, but the knight insists it all be given to the poor.
He instructs the king on four final points: build and care for God’s churches, make his priests live honorable lives, pray the divine offices, and care for the poor. At that, George kisses the ground, mounts his horse, and continues on his way.
Or did he?:
George in the Liturgy, East and West
COLLECT
Extolling your might, O Lord,
we humbly implore you,
that, as Saint George imitated the Passion of the Lord,
so he may lend us ready help in our weakness.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, for ever and ever.
Apolytikion: Fourth Tone
Liberator of captives, defender of the poor, physician of the sick, and champion of kings, O trophy-bearer, Great Martyr George, intercede with Christ God that our souls be saved.4
Troparion to Saint George
You were bound for good deeds, O martyr of Christ: George; by faith you conquered the torturer’s godlessness. You were offered as a sacrifice pleasing to God; thus, you received the crown of victory. Through your intercessions, forgiveness of sins is granted to all.
Kontakion to Saint George
God raised you as his own gardener, O George, for you have gathered for yourself the sheaves of virtue. Having sown in tears, you now reap with joy; you shed your blood in combat and won Christ as your crown. Through your intercessions, forgiveness of sins is granted to all.
From a homily by St. Peter Damian
Saint George was a man who abandoned one army for another: he gave up the rank of tribune to enlist as a soldier for Christ. Eager to encounter the enemy, he first stripped away his worldly wealth by giving all he had to the poor. Then, free and unencumbered, bearing the shield of faith, he plunged into the thick of the battle, an ardent soldier for Christ.
Clearly what he did serves to teach us a valuable lesson: if we are afraid to strip ourselves of our worldly possessions, then we are unfit to make a strong defense of the faith.
As for Saint George, he was consumed with the fire of the Holy Spirit. Armed with the invincible standard of the cross, he did battle with an evil king and acquitted himself so well that, in vanquishing the king, he overcame the prince of all wicked spirits, and encouraged other soldiers of Christ to perform brave deeds in his cause.
Of course, the supreme invisible arbiter was there, who sometimes permits evil men to prevail so that his will may be accomplished. And although he surrendered the body of his martyr into the hands of murderers, yet he continued to take care of his soul, which was supported by the unshakable defense of its faith.
Dear brothers, let us not only admire the courage of this fighter in heaven’s army but follow his example. Let us be inspired to strive for the reward of heavenly glory, keeping in mind his example, so that we will not be swayed from our path, though the world seduce us with its smiles or try to terrify us with naked threats of its trials and tribulations.
My friend Jeff Miller caught this error after I published. Chesterton never said it.
In the 19th century, a panegyric by St. Demetrius, also an early martyr, was discovered. In it, he tells the story of tearing down the flyer about one “Nestor,” called The Victor, who was a personal friend of Demetrius. “Nestor the Victor” is traditionally identified with St. George, who is called “Victor” is early Greek liturgical texts. Demetrius would also be martyred in the same persecutions.
In one of the more deranged takes, an entry in The Standard Dictionary of Folklore (Ed., Maria Leach), dismisses him as a “synthetic saint,” and claims his story is simply a retelling of Perseus and Andromeda mixed with Syrian fertility cults. His status as a patron of women trying to conceive, the writer claims, is due to prolific Catholic priests at Georgian shrines acting as the “puissant saint incarnate” and impregnating Syrian women.
Adapted from The Synaxarion: The Lives of the Saints of the Orthodox Church, Vol. 4, compiled by Hieromonk Makarios of Simonos Petra and translated from the French by Mother Maria Rule and Mother Joanna Burton (Chalkidike, Greece: Holy Convent of the Annunciation of Our Lady, 2003) pp. 494–499.
It seems the loudest “academics” are just dilettantes who haven’t a clue. And sadly people take what they say as truth. Look at the so-called biblical scholars of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. They have made themselves obsolete by explaining away the divinity of Christ. People don’t die for nice guys who say nice things.
Great post! And how intriguing that George is connected to the archangel Michael in connection with his multiple resurrections, but not, I guess, with Michael fighting the Dragon in Revelation?
I preach at a church a few times a year that has a splending etching of Michael fighting the Dragon on its glass doors. I thought of that while reading about George fighting his!