"The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason"
About this Quote
Eliot captures the peril of spiritual pride in Murder in the Cathedral. Set in 1170 Canterbury, Thomas Becket faces four tempters: pleasure, power, compromise, and, finally, the promise of martyrdom crowned by glory. After resisting worldly enticements, he sees the subtlest snare: to embrace a noble act not for God or truth, but for the intoxication of being seen as noble.
The line crystallizes a Christian ethics of intention that runs from Augustine to Aquinas: the moral worth of an act depends not only on what one does, but why. When the will bends toward self, even righteousness can become vanity. That is treason because it betrays the allegiance owed to the highest good; it trades obedience for self-exaltation, corrupting the inward core while preserving an outwardly spotless form. Doing the right deed for the wrong reason turns virtue into a tool of ego, a counterfeit currency that looks like moral wealth but devalues the very good it purchases.
Written in 1935, as Eliot leaned into his Anglo-Catholic commitments and revived verse drama for a modern audience, the play treats Becket as a mirror for contemporary life. Ambition often borrows the language of service. To do justice for applause, to speak truth to burnish a brand, to give alms for reputation: the deed may be right, yet the actor betrays the good by turning it into a means. The final temptation is so dangerous because it arrives disguised as virtue and can forever confuse the conscience that yields to it.
Becket’s escape is a purifying renunciation: he chooses to accept death without calculation, relinquishing both safety and the prestige of sainthood. Eliot suggests that integrity requires not only correct actions but a continual conversion of motive, a stripping away of self-interest until love of the good stands alone. Only then does the right deed remain truly right.
The line crystallizes a Christian ethics of intention that runs from Augustine to Aquinas: the moral worth of an act depends not only on what one does, but why. When the will bends toward self, even righteousness can become vanity. That is treason because it betrays the allegiance owed to the highest good; it trades obedience for self-exaltation, corrupting the inward core while preserving an outwardly spotless form. Doing the right deed for the wrong reason turns virtue into a tool of ego, a counterfeit currency that looks like moral wealth but devalues the very good it purchases.
Written in 1935, as Eliot leaned into his Anglo-Catholic commitments and revived verse drama for a modern audience, the play treats Becket as a mirror for contemporary life. Ambition often borrows the language of service. To do justice for applause, to speak truth to burnish a brand, to give alms for reputation: the deed may be right, yet the actor betrays the good by turning it into a means. The final temptation is so dangerous because it arrives disguised as virtue and can forever confuse the conscience that yields to it.
Becket’s escape is a purifying renunciation: he chooses to accept death without calculation, relinquishing both safety and the prestige of sainthood. Eliot suggests that integrity requires not only correct actions but a continual conversion of motive, a stripping away of self-interest until love of the good stands alone. Only then does the right deed remain truly right.
Quote Details
| Topic | Ethics & Morality |
|---|---|
| Source | Murder in the Cathedral (play), T. S. Eliot, 1935 — line appears in Act II of the play. |
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