Christians are right...but which ones?

Roland is convinced that Christianity is the true religion and all others are false. The whole Chanson de Roland echoes his conviction. At first, it might seem that Roland is referring to a monolithic Christianity, i.e. one that is uniform in theology and unified in culture. To go further, he believes in the Christianity of the Franks, also known as Latin Christianity. What, then is his attitude (and by extension, the rest of the Franks) to other non-western, or non-Frankish Christians?

Sharon Kinoshita addresses this issue in her article, “Pagans are wrong and Christians are right”. Since the Franks depicted in La Chanson de Roland have more in common with the Crusaders than with the Franks of Charlemange’s era, their understanding of eastern Christianity is as misinformed as their understanding of Islam. Referring to Greek and Armenian Christians in the east, Kinoshita says, “In some ways, the westerners found their eastern coreligionists as strange as the Muslim enemy they had come to fight” (8). It was cultural and ethic differences, rather than theological ones, that caused the Franks to regard their brother Christians in the east as “the other”. Though the Franks may not have cast them in the same light as the idolatrous pagans, they did not consider them as fitting in the scheme of the Latin church. It seems, then, that the Franks were more concerned with the superiority of their national identity, then with the truth of their faith.

Of course, this is not far removed from the present day. Many Catholics, Protestants, and Orthodox war with one another (whether in theological debate or in outright violence) while condemning other religions as false. Cultural identity is as important to them as it was to the Franks. And cultural identity, more so than theology, shapes their view of the world and “the other”. Christians may be right, but which ones?

Pious knights

What religion meant for these knights? Religion was their way for salvation, the perfect excuse to kill and to sack Saracens, of course... but did they actually know something about Christ, God or anything? The Bible was in Latin, but even in vernacular languages, most of the people were illiterate, even among nobility. They probably knew about Trinity and they probably knew something about Jesus v.e. his miracles. However, it is improbable the knew about deep theological questions or the about the meaning of their own believes.

It is actually amazing that those kind of people, with their very undetermined faith, were absolutely certain to be in the right side. They did not need to actually know the meaning of their believes, but only they needed to know that they were right.

Priest were also part of this status quo. They did not want to enlighten the knights, but to put them to fight to some other people, like the Saracens, and to avoid them to fight between themselves. In that way they turned Christianity in to an hieratic religion, and knowledge was reserved only for God himself and his clergy.

The only possible result of that way of thinking is the creation of blind certainty of being right only because somebody else said so, and beginning to get used to stop thinking by oneself. Rightness or wrongness is not any more an issue that requires analysis and thinking, but the result of certain interpretation of of a book written in mysterious language by a god ans told by a privileged class of priests.

Is it possible to see that kind of faith nowadays? 

Would Roland have understood a pluralistic world?

While reading our secondary text for this week, I found myself wondering if it would have mattered to the medieval European Christians if they had truly understood the faith of their Muslim enemies. In the eyes of a Crusader, does it truly make a difference if the opposing forces are pagan or monotheistic?

In a society that sees itself as the rightful descendants of martyrs and apostles preparing for the end of the world and the world-wide reign of Christianity, their enemies will automatically and necessarily be defined not what they are, but what they are not. Since they are not Christians, regardless of the particulars of their religious practice, they are, to Roland and his comrades, the evil Other and to be treated as such. This is not an epic that allows for a range of acceptable belief systems, but rather a story that traffics purely in good/bad, us/them, light/dark, Christian/Saracen binaries. While it is interesting and illuminating to see how the categories of Muslim and pagan were repeatedly blended, I wonder if the author of The Song of Roland wouldn't consider it besides the points.

(Obviously, it is a given that the Muslims of this time period - as well as our own- would probably prefer not to be conflated with pagans, sorcerers and the Antichrist, but they are not given much of a choice in this text.)

Others Together

Within the first lais of The Song of Roland a religious distinction is made between King Marsile and King Charles. King Marsile “does not love god,” which almost immediately makes King Marsile and his followers “others.” As the text continues, the pagan men are described on many occasions in dark terms, ie. “blacker than ink (1933)”. This imagery seems to dehumanize the “other” and move him toward the monstrous, thus underscoring King Charles and Christianity as relatively positive.

Interestingly, there appears to be another significant “other” portrayed in this text. It seems that Oliver is an “other” when contrasted with Roland; he is a necessary counterpart. When Oliver urges Roland to blow his horn, Oliver provides a challenge that highlights Roland’s courage and nobility. Shortly after, the poet attributes their disagreement to their differing inclinations “Roland is brave and Oliver is wise; both are marvelous vassals. (1093-1094)” Oliver, unlike King Marsile and his men, is described in honorable terms and therefore can be viewed as a sort of civilized “other.”

When taking both types of “others” into consideration neither prevail on their own. Oliver is killed during battle, and Charlemagne wins the battle. In this case, neither variation of “other” can adequately relay morals or values alone. The “others” appear to be used as a device to emphasize the value of a counterpart.

Triumph over the Mind and Spirit

The Song of Roland seizes upon conversion as an opportunity to triumph over pagans, not just in killing them (triumph through death) but also is asserting that their truth of God and eternity is correct (triumph through life?). And when asked which is worse, to be beaten in death or beaten – perhaps more accurately, captured – in life, Roland definitely leans toward the greater victory being in the one that lasts (infinitely) longer.

The Archbishop Turpin is praised for two skills: that of battle and that of conversion. Roland himself praises the more highly (placing it last of his eulogy before a final blessing) that “Since the apostles there was never such a prophet / For maintaining the faith and winning men over” (v. 2255-2256). Previous to this point we have witnessed Turpin slay countless pagans in battle, but it is this quality that Roland ultimately praises, as if to say that it is far more worthy of praise than mere victory in battle.

The conversion of Bramimonde, perhaps appropriately, begins with the defeat of her husband in battle. She despairs of her gods (which the poet completely inaccurately names as Muhammad, Turvagant and Apollo – but who ever said that medieval Christians had a completely accurate view of Islam?), casting her idols into ditches and otherwise defacing them on pp. 110-111. The emir, Baligant, makes the same transition during his fight with Charlemagne – he “begins to realize / That he is wrong and Charlemagne is right” (v. 3553-3554). It seems that victory in the physical realm is only a stepping stone to victory in the spiritual realm. On the next page (p. 143) the emir attempts to assert feudal lordship by urging Charles to give in and become his vassal, but Charlemagne responds by urging Baligant to give in and accept Christianity, showing that Charlemagne values spiritual dominance over feudal (or martial) conquest.

As the clinching point for his victory, rather than forcibly baptizing Bramimonde along with the hundred thousand pagans left in Saragossa, Charlemagne decides that she will be persuaded to convert. “She will be taken as a captive to fair France; / The king wishes her to become a convert through love” (v. 3673-3674). What he intends is something more than a triumph over someone in battle (through killing them) or a triumph over someone’s free will (by forcing them to be baptized). It is a triumph over the mind and spirit and the ultimate vindication that he is in the right. And indeed, the poem cannot be complete until the last page whereon Bramimonde “has heard so many sermons and parables” (v. 3979) that she desires Christianity actively, not just as an alternative to death. It is the last line of the contained story (before a final epilogue-esque bit about Charlemagne) that “She is a Christian, convinced of the truth” (v. 3987) – this is the symbolic victory Glyn Burgess speaks of in the Introduction, and it is vastly more cathartic to the end of the story than the less than satisfactory (due to the loss of Roland) actual, physical victory over paganism.

Roland's Resident Evil

Going back to “The Song of Roland” had for me something shocking. The description of the fight against this enemy, the whole picture presented by the author has some grotesque quality, even for the standards of some contemporary Hollywood films.

All that blood makes us think in movies like “Resident Evil”, in where this very beautiful girl –actually the only reason to watch the movie –kills lots of people in a feast of violence. I saw half of the first of those productions. The girl is beautiful indeed, but she is not beautiful enough to make me see the entire movie. In the film, all that violence has a perfectly moral justification: the people whom the girl kills are not actually humans, not anymore. They were infected by a virus and now they are just vicious animals or demons, and also if they bite somebody, he or she becomes one of them!

“Roland” and his friends are in a position very similar to Milla Jovovich’s in her own plot. They are fighting a resident evil. Saracens are not just conquerors; Christian knights and kings were involved in conquest wars between themselves, but that was totally different. It was just a change of administration of some land. However, Saracens were idolaters who worship Apollo and idols inhabited by demons; so ultimately, they were worshiper of the Devil himself.

There was no point in saying that Muslims actually are forbidden to create a realistic sculpture even for decorative purposes only. The authors of those times only understood two alternatives: Christian or Pagan. If you were not a Christian you were a Pagan, and Pagans are idolaters who are condemned to hell and they also can condemn your own soul if you become one of them – Jews were a complex third alternative, but Jews didn’t want to spread Judaism and maybe that was something in their favor. Muslims wanted to spread the Islam, so they wanted to convert Christians into Muslims.

For the medieval zeitgeist, that was as bad as or even worse than the zombies of Milla Jovovich’s film. A Christian converted to Islam did not only changed his o her status or loyalties, but also condemned him or herself for the eternity! And condemned people could also bring God’s anger to a land under the shape of bad crops, plagues and in unimaginable ways.

The war against Pagans-Saracens was a holy war. It did not matter if they were the followers of Mohamed and the worshipers of Allah, or the followers of Apollo, or the disciples of the Devil. For medieval Europeans, those were just one and exactly the same thing, and details were irrelevant.

The salvation of the soul was in jeopardy, and that was more important than actual life itself.

Roland killing Saracens was more beautiful for them than Milla Jovovich killing zombies for some of us. The difference was that Saracens were a clear and present danger for Christians and not just a weird fantasy. His violence was saint and a true Christian virtue. Luckily, those Christian virtues remain in the middle ages… do they?

Names in The Lais of Marie de France

I was intrigued by today's class discussion regarding the absence of names for the female characters in Marie's lais. It's especially intriguing given the historical and literary interest in Marie's own name and the absence of information regarding anything other than a first name that may or may not be the right name. Following Bloch's discussion of language and sexual jealousy in our reading for this week, I wonder if Marie consciously (or subconsciously) aligned the mastery of women with the mastery of language and, finding that total mastery is impossible, sought to indicate that by giving us a glaring textual gap as represented by the absence of women's names.

I will say, at the onset, that Prof. Wenthe's comment in class today that the absence of women's names could indicate the interchangeability of women in medieval times is both persuasive and, perhaps, likely. But, again following Bloch, if we are meant to read ourselves in the text, to even supplant the writer, then I find myself automatically trying to make Marie more of a feminist, or a proto-feminist, than good sense would probably allow. So I'll apologize for that in advance.

Bloch argues that sexual jealousy is analogous to Marie's fear of misappropriation, that just as "Marie is deviled by the linguistic duplicity of words, no matter how finely they are assembled, are unfaithful, they betray" (45), so are the husbands also aware of the potential duplicity of their wives - they may be both faithful or adulterous. Such suspicion translates into a desire to control or master - to lock into a tower, say - but Marie, from the onset, admits that she cannot totally master language. She states in the Prologue that the reader has a role to play in the acquisition of meaning, that meaning is something that happens in the space between the text and reader and not inherent in the words themselves. She cannot master language just as many of the husbands cannot control their wives. The absence of a name, the absence of a fixed meaning, could suggest to the reader that total mastery and control of anything, really, is impossible. The women, while not fixed in a name, are, concurrently, also not mastered. They are not mastered through language nor through their husbands' actions.

Admittedly, not being fixed in a name could just mean that you are expendable or interchangeable, which just takes us back to Prof. Wenthe's comment in class, but it could also mean that they, in some fashion, escape certain forms of mastery and control.

Bisclavret--Monsters All

I agree with and am also troubled by Leslie Sconduto's interesting reading that the Bisclavret's violence in the end are pardoned because they are signs of knighthood. I agree with Sconduto that Bisclavret is a tale of fidelity. Feudal bonds seem to exceed romantic bonds. In the end the story could be read as righteous revenge of a heroic knight. However, this reading is troubling because the narrative does not give much insight to the perspective of the wife. That is, the story would sound entirely different if told from the wife's perspective. If explained, her actions could seem understandable, reasonable, even sympathetic, because they could be read as a Medieval way of divorcing her husband. I don't know if I completely agree with Sconduto that Marie de France seems to side with Bisclavret by the end of the story. The act of biting off the wife's nose is violent, and the punishment of inherited noselessness is extreme. Even if it's true that Bisclavret is acting according to his knightly honor, when I read the story, the ending made me question Bisclavret's "rightness."

All that leads to: if we pit Bisclavret and his wife against each other (and indeed, they are antagonists within the story), they both monsterize the other. That is, Bisclavret is a werewolf, but not a monster in the eyes of the King's court. He is, in fact, honorable and loved. The wife sees him as monstrous, and thus the story acures. The same with the wife: Bisclavret bites off her nose, and monstrizes her in the views of the public (which is arguably the King's court, since it holds popular sway). The noseless features might or might not seem monstrous to the wife and her family, since it is so common within the family that it could be seen as common. Also, the narrative sides with Bisclavret (disregarding the ambiguity in the end as I've mentioned), and therefore antagonizes the wife and monsterizes her.

Both Bisclavret and the wife experience physical alterations. Both are cruel to each other. They're both monsters, whether the readers recognize their particular monstrosity depends on the tale is told. (This thesis seems sweeping, but I will end here for now.)

Marie de France in the Garden of Eden

The flesh and blood woman of Medieval Europe was often viewed as an evil temptress, ready to lead men into folly, as Eve did to Adam in the Garden of Eden, according to a selection by Angela Jane Weisl in Violence Against Women in Medieval Texts. With their social status so diminished, it can be argued that they are the largest group of “others” of their era.

But Marie de France flouts and perhaps parodies these notions in many of her Lais. In her stories, central female characters are often revered for their beauty. Love-struck knights eagerly served and attended to them. Even the maiden character in Guigemar, is portrayed as wise, as it is she who sets aside extra food for Guigemar and who urges him and his lady to proclaim their love for each other.

A striking religion-based example of this contrast between the real perceptions of women and Marie de France's portrayals came in Yonec, when the lady tells the knight she will only love him if can prove he believes in God. He complies and recounts the Garden of Eden. In his version of the story, however, Eve is not faulted.

He says: “I do believe in the Creator who set us free from the sorrow in which our ancestor Adam put us by biting the bitter apple.”

The lady, it goes without saying, accepts his entreaties.

Locking your wife in a tower...

is apparently less effective than you might think.

I was struck in my reading by the two instances of beautiful young wives being stowed away from society by their husbands so they would not be seen by other men who would seduce them. In both Guigemar and Yonec, the initial captivity of the women is seen as an inevitable byproduct of their unhappy marriages: the lord in Guigemar is old, and “all old men are jealous and hate to be cuckolded” (46), while the rich old man in Yonec locks his lady in a tower to “watch over her” (86). Both women are given limited female companionship and some access to religion in their prisons, but little else. Their beauty and sexuality, though attractive, is also threatening to their husbands, who believe they must physically contain it in order to control their households.

Given the social conventions and views of female sexuality at the time, I expected the men who safeguarded their wives’ chastity and Christianity to be seen as the heroes, the non-monstrous figures. Instead, Marie de France seems to ask us to sympathize with these women and their lovers, despite their association with the supernatural, either through ever-bleeding wounds and prophecies, or transforming into birds. The lover in Yonec is even implicitly granted to the woman in response to her prayer, implying that their affair, though technically adultery, is sanctioned by God. The lines between the monstrous and the divine in both these tales seem decidedly blurry.

One final note: both of these women end up escaping their imprisonment shockingly easily. Why did the woman in Yonec not jump out the window earlier in her seven year captivity? Sure, it was a high jump, but she does it so easily when motivated. Is seems the sexual female is not only easily (though understandably, seduced, even within captivity, but also impossible to truly contain, tower, or no tower.

Who the monster was, anyway?

For a society based in oaths and rites, Marie appears extremely liberal when it is time to talk about love. Nothing can stop it. Bisclavert appears as an exception: Bisclavert’s wife simply stops loving him when she is aware that he is a werewolf… but she is not a Noble woman, or at least not noble enough. She is practical and cares about small details, like where her husband hides his clothes during his werewolf phase… small things; an occupation for small persons? Other characters are noble, tragic. Love in aristocratic hearts is always pure, their strategies and subterfuges appear always justified. Bisclavert´s wife is just a cheater who brings condemnation not only to her, but to her children and for several generations. Meanwhile, Yonec’s mother remains without sin, even thou she carries the baby of her affair to her marriage, and the adult son becomes the killer of his stepfather; the legitimate husband of her mother. They have different rights because they are different people, and their passions are made of a different matter. The mysterious knight who is the father of Yorec has the even the right to become a hawk using of course some kind of (always heretic) magic, and Bisclavert is the victim of a “condition”. This “condition” does not change or even touch the nobility of his inner nature. Ultimately he is beyond of this kind of “small things” and becomes the poodle version of the werewolf: the king’s personal “poodle”.

Marie de France is liberal with love, but only if the lovers are aristocratic, pretty and young. Is this only an ornament to please the listeners of the lais? It reveals some exclusive and excluding point of view of a group that nowadays we should call a class? Who is really the other? The guy affected by his werewolf “condition”? Or is the woman that cannot sustain her love because her lack of sensibility to the noble qualities of her husband? Is the monster the knight who is capable of taking the hawk’s shape? Or is the old and jealous old husband?

Personally, I think the monster is always the other; in this case, the most opposite character to the one that the reader or the listener can identify him or herself with...

The Werewolf: Man's Best Friend

If any creature can be associated with the monstrous, it is the werewolf. Marie de France begins her lai, Bisclavret, with a classic, even stereotypical description of the shapeshifter: “A werewolf is a ferocious beast which, when possessed by this madness, devours men, causes great damage, and dwells in vast forests.” Yet the werewolf in this lai does not inspire fear or terror. In fact, unlike modern werewolf mythology, which is permeated with tragedy and despair, this story has a happy ending, at least for the werewolf. His wife and her lover, both who despised and betrayed him, are the ones who have a miserable end. Again contradictory to contemporary werewolf lore, Bisclavret remains intelligent, lucid, and in control of himself. His appeal to the king results not only in the king’s pardon, but in the king’s love, friendship, and protection. He becomes the king's companion, following him everywhere like a faithful dog. Even though Bisclavret’s appearance is frightening and bestial, everyone seems to overlook this to see his better, interior qualities. His attacks are justified by the onlookers, who see monstrosity in the victims rather than the attacker. And with good reason. No one in the story (and most likely neither the reader nor the author) pities the wife whose nose is bitten off. Bisclavret’s popularity only increases when he is restored to his human form. But even if he had remained a werewolf, no one, especially the king, would have loved him less. The werewolf is no longer a ravenous, indiscriminate killing machine, but a loyal, affectionate, and chivalrous man-beast. Metaphorically he is transformed, even redeemed, in this story. Much in the same way the scarlet letter became a badge of honor for Hester Prim, so the werewolf “curse” proves to be a misnomer. The werewolf, at least in this story, is no monster: he is man’s best friend.

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