I first began thinking about the violence of Beowulf during the early days of the occupation of Iraq. Like many Americans, I had been bewildered by our government's efforts to persuade us that going to war was the right thing to do. Each casus belli—that Iraq was developing nuclear, chemical or biological weapons, that it was collaborating with Al Qaeda, that it was somehow linked to the attacks of September 11, 2001, that it was failing to co-operate with United Nations inspectors—had in its turn been discredited. Further, there had been credible predictions of excessive costs, sectarian strife, and high casualties (especially among Iraqi civilians). Yet war had been a certainty: our leaders clearly wanted it, and they were determined to have it. As I watched the predicted and entirely avoidable disaster unfold, I had no answer for the question: why were we in Iraq?

Thinking about the causes of the Iraq war led me to think about the violence of Beowulf in ways that I had never done before. I had often asked my students questions like ‘why does Beowulf go to Denmark?’ and ‘why does he fight the dragon?’ which always led to stimulating discussions; but I had never asked the same questions of such minor characters as Hengest and Thryth or addressed the broader question of what drove the violence of this violent culture.