Church, State, and Christian Society at the Time of the Investiture Contest

Tellenbach, Gerd.  Church, State, and Christian Society at the Time of the Investiture Contest, tr. R.F. Bennett. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 1948.

Rather than the narrow conception of the Investiture Contest as that of the European nobility trying to maintain their dominance over churches, abbeys, and monasteries within their domains, Gerd Tellenbach argues that the real battle was over the correct relationship between Church and State in the Christian world.  This more nuanced view requires a more detailed understanding of the historical origins of the Catholic Church’s hierarchy, of the spread of monasticism, the rise of European monasticism, and efforts to eliminate corruption in the Church.  By addressing these issues, Tellenbach is able to present a coherent and comprehensive examination of both sides of the conflict over the proper ordering of the relationship between Church and State throughout Christendom.  As important as Tellenbach’s argument and evidence are, his work provides a look at other critical issues facing historians in all fields and eras.

Early on in Church, State, and Christian Society, Tellenbach stresses the need to understand terms and philosophies in the way that they were understood in the location and era studied.  Tellenbach’s key example is the definition of “freedom”.  In contrast to the modern American conception of freedom as the right to live without interference from the government or churches, Tellenbach argues that Medieval Christians defined freedom as freedom from passions, desires, and sins through their subjection to Christ.  In this, they follow the tradition of Stoic philosophy of the Roman imperial period, in which freedom was also defined as the state of being free from passions in order to make rational decisions, enabling the individual to live a moral life (pg. 5).

Tellenbach deploys this as the foundation of his discussion of the historical background of the Medieval Church, but this issue is important for other historians.  Unless historians understand past societies on their own terms, the inevitable problem of applying presentist definitions and attitudes them prevents historians from developing a useful picture of the past.  In this example, “freedom” has radically different meanings for modern Americans and medieval Europeans.  The gulf between these meanings may lead the careless to greatly misinterpret medieval sources.

When discussing Leo IX’s understanding of canonical election, Tellenbach makes another critical argument for caution in the historical profession.  He contends that while Leo gathered many opponents of monarchical domination of the Church to his papal court, it is not fair to claim that they were waiting for an opportune moment to put their ideas into effect.  Tellenbach bases this assertion on the belief that we cannot know what other people are thinking with any certainty barring concrete evidence (pg. 101).  This is a key point, as it is all too easy for historians to imply that they understand the motivating factors of individuals or societies even when they do not have records of their opinions or beliefs.

This makes finding or arguing causation or motive for complex events difficult.  My personal research interests require me to attempt determine what individual soldiers were thinking or feeling while witnessing, committing, or reporting atrocities.  It is impossible to do so with any certainty unless those individuals have left written records or testified in court regarding their motives.  Even if these responses exist, I’m left with a conundrum: is self-reporting trustworthy, or if it is not precisely contemporaneous with the actual “crime” is the soldier reporting what he later convinced himself happened?  Tellenbach illustrates this in his discussion of the Lotharingian schools of law, in which he argues the difficulty of attributing ideas or agendas even to larger groups of people, or even in defining who they actually were.

The Rise of Western Christendom

Brown, Peter.  The Rise of Western Christendom, 2^nd Edition.  Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2008.

In an extensive revision to his 1996 work, Peter Brown attempts a synthesis of the growth of Christianity in the Mediterranean world, and the radical changes it underwent over the course of almost a century.  Rather than limit his work to a discussion of Western Europe, Brown examines the spread of Christianity from the British Isles to China.  The breadth of the coverage is surprising, as are the reasons and motives Brown attributes as explanations for changes in theology.

The strength of Brown’s work is the presentation of Christianity as an organic, changing, and, sometimes, extremely local religion that served the distinct needs and mindsets of local inhabitants.  He does this by moving the focus of the discussion away from the province of the papal hierarchy in Rome to the dispersed localities of individual practitioners.  These local practices are labeled micro-Christendoms, and included Ireland’s unique practices, the development of a unique Armenian monophysite doctrine, and the theology of the Axumite Church.  In addition to these examples of Christian diversity, Brown pays special attention to the devolution of Christian religious practice from a formal Church supervised doctrine to a kind of folk Christianity brought on by the withdrawal of clergy and “Romanized” elites from beyond the Danube at the retraction of the Roman Empire.

Although Popes play a diminished role on Brown’s estimation, he still argues that the heroes of Christian theology such as Augustine, Bede, Benedict, and Columbanus provided important theological grounds for Christianity’ growth and evolution in late antiquity and early medieval Europe.  The self-conscious diversity thus presented provides a refreshing break from the idea of Christianity dominated by individual great thinkers and a rigid papal bureaucracy.  The depiction of a highly individualized and variegated Christianity also provides a useful counter to the idea of a monolithic Church that ruthlessly stamped out heresy and competing ideologies until the advent of the Reformation.

However, there are some troubling issues to contend with in Brown’s narrative.  Early on, he argues that “barbarian” influences on the Roman Empire were not of a destructive nature because peoples on both sides of the frontier shared common culture with barbarians striving to become Romanized, and Romans adopting some cultural and behavioral aspects of nomadic peoples.  Roman military weakness is blamed on civil wars, with little attention given to Arther Ferrill’s counter-argument that the settling of barbarian peoples in enclaves within the boundaries of the Empire under their own laws and rules led to a lessening of discipline in the Roman legions, and a resulting gradual decline in their martial effectiveness.  Similarly, when discussing the spread of Christianity among Scandinavian peoples, Brown ignores the resistance of Scandinavian noble women to the new religion. In contrast, James Reston, Jr., argued that they believed that they would lose their rights as rulers and independent political figures as soon as they adopted Christianity or it became dominant in their locales.

While Brown makes a persuasive argument that deserves additional attention, his inability or refusal to deal with these important issues weakened its affect.  Rather than ignoring or brushing these counter-arguments aside, they should be addressed head-on to more clearly illustrate why they do not matter to his thesis, or how other evidence contradicts them.  Barbarian peoples did Romanize, and Romans became more like their neighbors, but Brown ignores the potential effects on security and stability presented by contact between Romans and Germans.  His refusal to address this issue calls his thesis that the change in the European economy was a retraction rather than a fall of Empire into question, and with it, much of his understanding of the spread of Christianity in Europe.

Before the Mast: Naval Ratings of the Nineteenth Century

Baynham, Henry.  Before the Mast: Naval Ratings of the Nineteenth Century.  London: Hutchinson and Company, 1971.  217 pp. Introduction, note on sources, naval chronology, illustrations, list of nautical terms, index.

In this sequel to From the Lower Deck, Henry Baynham strives to examine how the sailors of the Royal Navy adapted to service during the post-Napoleonic era.  After the peace of 1815, the Navy reduced its manpower from a height of 145,000 to only 19,000 men, who adapted to new roles and new dangers.[i]  Baynham argues that the sailors who served in the “New Navy” not only served in different roles than they had in the “Old Navy”, but they became a significantly different breed of men: more educated, less rough, and less unified than their earlier counterparts.  Before the Mast is Baynham’s effort to show the Royal Navy of the nineteenth century “as the sailors saw it”.[ii]

The change in the type of men who became sailors was due to many factors, not the least the end of the Press Gang.  This ended the conscription of merchant sailors at sea and ashore, leaving the only conscripts in the Royal Navy those unfortunates sentenced to serve time by a judge, and the boys of the Marine Society.[iii]  These changes produced new recruiting challenges for ships’ Captains, but the new volunteer force developed over the next thirty-five years into a cohort of long-serving enlisted men.  By the 1850’s, most sailors enlisted for multi-year stints followed by a pension after twenty-one years of active service.[iv]  By this time, most sailors joined the service as boys after years of formal training, developing a new kind of professionalism and esprit de corps.

The Royal Navy of the Pax Britannica undertook a wide variety of missions, including anti-slavery patrols off West Africa and in the Persian Gulf, explorations of the poles, surveying the Pacific Ocean, and fighting ashore in a manner reminiscent of the U.S. Navy’s Naval Construction Battalions of World War II in the Crimea.  Despite changes in mission and the end of conscription, the legacy of the Old Navy remained, including the punishment of Flogging Round the Fleet, in which the condemned was flogged on each ship of the fleet until they reached their total sentence. Flogging fell into disuse only in stages, first being removed from the authority of the Captain, then disappearing from the list of peacetime punishments in 1870, and finally completely abolished in 1879.

A major and continuing source of discontent among enlisted sailors of the Royal Navy through the 1860’s was lack of liberty ashore.  Baynham’s primary dissenting voice regarding the positive changes in the Navy was John Tilling, serving on the Leander on the South American station.  The crew of the Leander endured illness, desertions, lack of shore leave, and harsh discipline reminiscent of the Napoleonic Wars.  Tillman at least eight floggings of men sentenced by courts martial during his time on the South American station.[v]  Most of the sentences on the Leander were for the crime of desertion.  Baynham asserts that the number of such punishments on Tillman’s ship was unusual for the Navy of the 1860’s, which records indicate only occurred for about 1.5% of offenses in the fleet.[vi]  Tillman’s vessel was also unusual in that the crew mutinied over lack of shore leave and the harsh shipboard discipline.  Despite Admiralty orders requiring that sailors not be kept aboard for more than three months without leave, many of the crew had not been ashore in sixteen months.[vii]

Other sailors provide a happier view of their service, but point to several items as necessary improvements for discipline and shipboard happiness.  Drinking represented a significant contributor to breakdowns in discipline, leading the Admiralty to reduce rum rations throughout the century.[viii]  While some sailors opposed this change, others like Sam Noble and Tom Holman were disciples of the temperance movements, and John Beechervaise noted improved discipline and fewer accidents as the ration decreased.[ix]  Similarly, relaxing of rules for shore leave reduced desertion, particularly when men were able to visit family and friends between cruises. 

Since Before the Mast focuses on enlisted men, Baynham predominantly relies on the letters and journals of seaman and petty officers.  Although he found some of these documents in archives or as works published by former sailors, many came from a novel source.  These include the anonymous pamphlet Seaman of the Royal Navy, A View from the Lower Deck by One who Knows, which Baynham contrasts with the more positive autobiographies of Sam Noble and Tom Holman.  To gather additional material, Baynham resorted to the novel approach of publishing a letter in the Daily Express asking the public for assistance in locating recollections from family records.  In this way, he obtained a large number of letters and journals that might otherwise have gone undiscovered.[x] 

In areas not covered by the recollections of the Bluejackets, Baynham fills in gaps by resorting to descriptions of events and voyages provided by officers and other witnesses.  One exemplary episode is his use of Captain (later Rear Admiral) Frederick Beechey’s account of his voyage north of the Bering Strait, which Baynham supplements with the accounts of John Beechervaise, Quartermaster in HMS Blossom.  The Crimean War is an especially unusual event for Baynham since no first-hand accounts written by members of the Naval Brigade survive despite its valiant efforts at Sebastopol and other battlefields.  To make up this lack, Baynham utilizes letters written by an anonymous member of the Rifle Brigade who fought alongside the sailors, providing a ground-level view of the Royal Navy in a “dismounted” role.[xi]

Despite the extensive use of primary sources, Baynham provides none of the footnotes, endnotes, or bibliography that Historians rely upon in evaluating research.  This lack indicates that Before the Mast occupies the middle ground between scholarly and popular work.  While avoiding excess patriotism in his accounts, portraying both the positive and negative aspects of life, including drunkenness, in the Royal Navy, Baynham nonetheless portrays the common sailor as an inventive, diligent, and reliable sort the British public can be proud to remember.

---

[i] Henry Baynham. Before the Mast: Naval Ratings of the Nineteenth Century (London: Hutchinson and Company, 1978), 13.

[ii] Ibid, 18.

[iii] Ibid, 13.

[iv] Ibid, 14.

[v] Ibid, 121.

[vi] Ibid, 123.

[vii] Ibid, 127.

[viii] Ibid, 112.

[ix] Ibid, 155.

[x] Ibid, 10.

[xi] Ibid, 87.

Gunpowder and Galleys

Guilmartin, John Francis. Gunpowder & Galleys: Changing Technology and Mediterranean Warfare at Sea in the 16th Century. London: Conway Maritime Press, 2003. 352 pp. Preface, acknowledgements, photographs, maps, appendices, bibliography, index. $36.25 hardcover, ISBN 1-85177-954-1. 

While the war galley was the dominant naval vessel in the Mediterranean Sea during through the sixteenth century, the great naval commanders of the age were not able to use it to establish dominance over other nations. Modern naval historians and strategists view this as evidence of incompetence, timidity, or treason on the part of commanders like Genoa’s Andrea Doria and Spain’s Don Juan, and are unable to explain the sterling reputations of these figures, or to explain why their contemporaries declared seemingly indecisive battles as great victories. In Gunpowder & Galleys: Changing Technology and Mediterranean Warfare at Sea in the 16th Century, John Francis Guilmartin contends that the failing is not with the sixteenth leaders of galley fleets, but with naval historians blinded by the nineteenth century theories of Alfred Thayer Mahan, which continue to dominate naval strategy in the twenty-first century.

Writing in 1880s, Mahan argued that the proper target of a nation’s navy was the enemy’s fleet. After defeating the opposing navy, it would then be free to destroy or capture the enemy’s merchant vessels, and blockade its ports, starving it into submission. Mahan’s thesis survived changes in naval technology from sail to the nuclear age, and continues to so dominate naval strategy that naval historians have great difficulty divorcing themselves from it to look at historical naval practices from the perspective of their practitioners. Guilmartin’s goal is two-fold: to illustrate the fallacy of applying Mahanian naval strategy to environments alien to it, and to illustrate why galleys remained dominant throughout the Mediterranean for so long after the development of effective gunpowder artillery. This approach allows him to illustrate why the great naval engagements of the sixteenth century Mediterranean – Prevesa, Malta, Djerbe, and Lepanto played out in the manner they did, and in the case of Lepanto, why they were decisive in the long-term.

The basis for Guilmartin’s argument lies in the realities of galley design, and the limitations and benefits they provide in the relatively calm waters of the Mediterranean. Relying on human muscle to derive propulsive and combat power, galleys required regular stops for provisioning. While a single vessel could simply beach on the coast to find fresh water or even meat, the locations capable of providing water or food for fleets of fifty vessels were few and well known. This radically restricted the operating radius of fleets of galleys to no further than they could row or sail in two weeks. It also prevented galley fleets from maintain close blockades of ports and entrances to the Mediterranean for long stretches of time. These two facts are the core of Guilmartin’s assault on the use of Mahanian theory as a model for galley warfare. Galleys quite simply were not capable of maintaining the dominance of the sea required to choke off an enemy’s trade even if its fleet could be destroyed.

The economic basis of galley warfare in the sixteenth century also tends to limit the utility of Mahanian thought as means of analysis. Unlike the national navies from the eighteenth century on, sixteenth century galleys were frequently operated by individual contractors seeking profit as much as glory. This meant galley captain’s goal was not so much to destroy the enemy, as it was to capture the ship, crew, and any cargo. This economic goal influenced combat tactics as much as armaments did. Heavy rams disappeared from the prows of galleys, replaced by cannon, beaks, and boarding platforms. Cannon were used primarily for anti-personnel fire at the moment of boarding, not as a means to sink the vessel.

These realities of galley warfare dictated an environment of commerce raiding and anti-piracy actions. Large fleet actions came only when nations sought to capture bases for themselves, as at Prevesa, when Christian forces met an Ottoman fleet in order to prevent it from threatening Corfu or taking additional territory on the Dalmatian coast. Guilmartin uses Prevesa as a means to illustrate the problems with Mahanian theory in the Mediterranean context, but also to illustrate what he calls the inherently amphibious nature of galley warfare of the sixteenth century. At Prevesa, the Ottoman fleet under Barbarossa waited under the protection of shore guns and a narrow outlet from the Gulf of Prevesa to the Mediterranean. If the Christians forced their way through in small groups, they would be unable to form in line to fight, and the Ottoman galleys would destroy them as they entered the Gulf. The shore guns prevented the Christian fleet from gaining the same advantage if the Ottomans sallied forth, as the emerging fleet would wait under the protection of the batteries while forming up. This forced Andrea Doria to attempt to capture the Castle dominating the entrance to the Gulf of Prevesa. This effort failed, and when the Christian fleet withdrew for logistical reasons, Barbarossa attacked with galleys crewed by well-fed and rested rowers.

Using Prevesa as the starting point for a detailed discussion of galley warfare in the Mediterranean, Guilmartin launches into discussions of the design of galleys, crew requirements and training, the development of naval artillery, and the evolution of personal gunpowder weapons. He contends that social, cultural, and economic factors play a large role in the design of galleys, how they were armed, and how they were crewed. Gunpowder and Galleys follows to evolution of galleys through the sixteenth century to what Guilmartin describes as the peak of galley warfare at Lepanto in 1571. Contemporary sources hail this clear victory of Christian forces as a turning point in the contest for the Mediterranean between the Ottomans and the Holy League, but it is difficult for Mahan oriented historians to understand why since no territory changed hands and the Ottoman fleet returned to threaten Christian territories the next year.

Guilmartin provides the social and cultural detail necessary to understand the form of the disaster for the Ottomans, and why full-rigged sailing vessels of North Atlantic design came to dominate the seventeenth century. As the sixteenth century progressed and cannon became more available, galleys carried increasing amounts of gunpowder-based ordnance. The result was that galleys became larger, requiring more rowers and more men at arms for boarding operations. The larger crews reduced the operating range of fleets even further, placing an increased emphasis on capturing fortified ports for galleys to use for provisioning.

Lepanto is decisive not only for its illustration of the utility of large amounts of naval artillery fired obliquely by Venetian galleasses, but for its long-term impact on the makeup of both Ottoman and Western forces. Ottoman men at arms still favored the accurate and powerful composite bow, while Christian forces, particularly Spanish forces increasingly relied on arquebuses and muskets. When thousands of carefully trained Ottoman archers were killed at Lepanto, it took a generation to replace them. Spain, relying as it did on gunpowder weapons could train replacements in a matter of weeks if they had the money to do so. Guilmartin contends that the increasing availability of both cannon and musketry radically altered the nature of naval combat, forcing the adoption of increasingly large vessels, which eliminated the dominance of oar-powered galleys.

In order to make this argument, Guilmartin relies on primary sources, supplemented with key secondary sources that provide special insight into the nature of oared vessels and the Mediterranean region. Most prominent are Braudel’s The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II and Admiral W.L. Rodgers’ 1937 study of the performance of U.S. Navy racing cutters. While Braudel provides critical details regarding the Mediterranean social and economic issues, Rodgers’ research illustrates the performance envelope of both galleys and oarsmen. These two works inform Guilmartin’s understanding of the environment Mediterranean navies operated in, as well as the nature of galley operations, and provide the context needed to understand the results of the battles he describes.

Finally, Gunpowder and Galleys contains six appendices devoted to discussions of the development of firearms, ballistics characteristics of cannon, construction of naval artillery, and the crew complements of an average Spanish galley that enhance his argument, and allow readers to further evaluate his use of evidence. Like the rest of the work, the appendices are carefully documented for the benefit of naval historians. If for nothing else, Gunpowder and Galleys is useful for the comprehensive bibliography of primary and secondary sources devoted to sixteenth century galley warfare.

Understanding Chivalry as a Historic Phenomenon

The word “chivalry” evokes a powerful emotional response from both historians and the public.  The most common image is that of the medieval knight on horseback in mail armor, colorful surcoat, bearing a shield blazoned with heraldic symbols, and wielding a heavy lance couched against his side while charging the enemy.  This image of martial prowess frequently accompanies vague notions of a code of honor or romantic inclinations, which require the knight to defend the honor of ladies, to be honest and generous, and to act with “honor”.  Historians have equally muddled conceptions of chivalry and its role in European history from the Eleventh centuries on, arguing over when it became a widespread conception, when it fell into disuse, and the relative importance of chivalry’s martial, religious, and courtly overtones.  When and how chivalry declined is a contentious issue – at stake is whether its lofty ideals were abandoned almost immediately, or persist to the present day.

Chivalry is difficult to define.  The common working definition contains three elements that inform each other: the military expertise of medieval heavy cavalry, the social group dedicated to military service as heavy cavalry, and the codes of conduct and courtly behavior associated with this social group.[i]  Jeremy duQuesnay Adams contends that American and British historians focus on the first and third definitions of chivalry, but that French historians place higher emphasis on the first and second definitions of chivalry, dropping the third meaning from serious consideration. 

Three classic works illustrate the change in the historiography of chivalry after 1884.  Leon Gautier insisted that chivalry was an ideal of Christian military service rather than an institution.[ii]  The chivalric ideal resulted from the combination of the ancient Germanic coming of age ceremony described by Tacitus and the moral value assigned by the Medieval Church, an argument echoed by Richard Barber over a century later.[iii]  This chivalric ideal developed into an eighth sacrament of the Medieval Church with its own virtues and unique set of commandments, resulting in a brotherhood of equals among all knights.[iv]

During the Interwar period, French and English historians reinterpreted chivalry as the medieval system of knighthood and associated codes of conduct rather than an ideal of Christian military service, and extended its duration to include the fifteenth century.[v]  Relying on literary sources, Johan Huizinga contended that by the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, chivalry decayed as both an institution and ideal.  Despite warrior classes’ universal need for a masculine ideal of perfection that embraces combat, honor, and romantic love, chivalry was merely a screen to justify violence and selfishness.  As the ideal faltered over time, the screening pageantry became more excessive and ridiculous.[vi] 

Raymond Lincoln Kilgore expands this theme, arguing that French literature clearly shows increasingly ludicrous displays of chivalric fancy.  Kilgore finds the seeds of chivalric decay almost to the origin of the ideal itself, which grew from a merely military and feudal cult of honor to become the “noble” code of gentlemanly behavior.  The Church’s use of chivalry as a form of religious ordination made the ideal even more difficult to achieve.[vii]  The chivalric ideal quickly faltered, with material gain replacing religion as a motivating factor in the knightly ethos, as illustrated by the sack of Byzantium during the Fourth Crusade.

Huizinga and Kilgore argue that by the fourteenth century, chivalry was little more than an excessive system of courtly etiquette, which included contests involving grandiose displays of politeness, vows, and formal challenges.  Relying on displays such as Edward III’s challenge to Philippe de Valois for the crown of France, Kilgore argues that empty vows and challenges are the prime indicator of the decadence of late medieval chivalry.  The purpose of the elaborate charade was to allow participants to avoid the reality of war, political intrigues, and the corruption of the Medieval Church.[viii]  Malcolm Vale agrees with these earlier interpretations, contending that while chivalry did have a role in creating the laws of war and international law, its primary value was as a collective dream with a strong ethical component continuing as late as the fifteenth century.[ix]

The work of Georges Duby provides a prominent example of postwar French development in the social history of chivalry.  Relying on social science methodology with etymology as a primary analytical tool, Duby traces changes in the words miles and nobilis, used to describe both warriors and members of the French nobility, from the tenth through thirteenth centuries.  The first use of miles to indicate knighthood appears in 971 A.D.  By 1032 A.D. miles is becoming a substitute for vassus and fidelis, indicating that the mounted warriors indicated by miles are becoming the loyal vassals of French lords.[x]  When Urban II proclaimed the First Crusade at the end of the eleventh century, the highest nobles describe themselves as miles, using the word to describe entire family groups, retaining the word nobilis to describe aristocratic non-combatants.  Duby argues that the use of a common title and adoption of common social values by high and low nobility indicates a flattening of social differences.[xi]

The development of the knightly class of feudal society dominated the postwar discussion of chivalry among French historians, creating two competing understandings of the development of the chivalric class.  The Germanists, who argue that the class evolved from Merovingian and Roman sources of nobility, and the Romanists, who argue that chivalry was the creation of new men whose primary qualification was ability for combat.  These schools find a common interpretive framework in Duby’s depiction of the chivalric social class as a combination of older nobility and warriors emerging from the lower levels of society.[xii] 

In the last quarter of the twentieth century, historians challenged Huizinga’s and Kilgore’s theses of chivalry’s decay and decadence.  In 1974, John Barnie contended that modern historians who found its values incomprehensible, and were familiar with clerical and romantic texts rather than the mentalite of its practitioners misunderstood chivalry.[xiii]  Rejecting Huizinga and Kilgore’s assertions that the discrepancy between the battlefield behavior of knights and the codes found in treatises is evidence of decline and decay of the chivalric ideal, Barnie argues that their argument is based on the misplaced assumption that actual military behavior had to precisely align with Church doctrine and fictional descriptions.[xiv]  Despite the difficulty in living up to the extremes of the chivalric ideal, each generation has its exemplars of chivalry who accomplished just that – Godfrey of Bouillon, St. Louis, and Henry of Gosmont, Duke of Lancaster.  This last example shows that even in the fourteenth century, the upper reaches of the English nobility took the traditional codes of chivalry seriously, as Henry of Gosmont fought to defend the faith as a Crusader in Lithuania, Cyprus, and Rhodes.  Young knights scrambled to serve under Henry due to his reputation as a dedicated Crusading figure rather than his success during the Hundred Years War.[xv]

Rather than focusing on romantic literature, Barnie believes that fourteenth century tracts on war provide a better idea of the eclectic chivalry practiced in the field.  Their discussions of rules of just war, points of honor, and strategy are not evidence of a decline in chivalry, but an example of the pragmatic use of chivalric ideals.[xvi]  When evaluated through the lens of honor provided by this evidence, excesses such as the Black Prince hosting the captured King John of France after the Battle of Poitiers and serving him at a banquet due to his higher rank, become part of the ideal of chivalry rather than a symptom of decadence or decay.[xvii]

Social historian Maurice Keen moved away from analyzing words and literary usage to focus on the pragmatic reasons for the three accepted aspects of chivalry, arguing that the military and social aspects of chivalry needed each other.[xviii]  The key question in Keen’s interpretation is whether chivalry was ever more than just the social forms that its detractors claim.  He contends that even during the Middle Ages, people used the word chivalry with multiple meanings and nuances.  In different settings, chivalry referred to: a body of cavalry, orders of knighthood, a social class, or the ideal code of behavior for all three.[xix]

Keen examines three medieval works on knighthood, including the anonymous Orderne de chevalerie of the first half of the thirteenth century, Ramon Lull’s Libre de ordre de cavarleria of the fourteenth century, and Geoffroi de Charny’s mid-fourteenth century Livre de chevalerie to track changes in the ethos of chivalry.  All three works rely heavily on the Christian symbolism of knighthood, but espouse an expanding array of chivalric virtues.  Where the Orderne touts the premier importance of loyalty and virtue, Lull adds avoiding pride and idleness to the virtues, and the duties of defending the Church, training sons to knighthood, and pursuing criminals.  Charny provides the most comprehensive vision of chivalry, equating the order of chivalry with religious vocation.[xx]

Beyond reviewing the changing ideals demonstrated by these manuals, Keen examines the technology of warfare to find social reasons for the development of chivalry.  He finds this in the Chanson de Roland and the Bayeaux Tapestry.  The Chanson de Roland, dated between 1100-1300 A.D. depicts the earliest known cavalry charge using couched lances, while the Bayeaux Tapestry, a rendering of the Battle of Hastings in 1066 A.D., illustrates four methods of using spears while mounted.[xxi]  The new method of using the lance drove the development of chivalry in France and elsewhere.  This fighting method, pioneered by the Normans was not widespread until after 1140 A.D.[xxii]

Using the heavy couched lance rather than the lighter spear radically altered the equipment cavalrymen required for fighting and surviving.  Heavy mail hauberks, helms, improved saddles, additional horses, and retainers to care for it were expensive.  In France, knights and petty nobility needed the access to the wealth of the greater nobility, who needed the knights to serve as elite troops and officers because of the constant warfare among themselves.  The seigneurial courts where the knights gathered with the greater nobility were the sources of the chivalric ideals of courtly and battlefield behavior found in treatises on knighthood.  The diaspora of French knights to England, Italy, Spain, and the Holy Land during the eleventh and twelfth centuries rapidly spread these ideals throughout Europe.[xxiii]

Having provided a concrete explanation for the secular development and later religious cooption of chivalry, Keen addresses the Huizinga school’s assertion that by fourteenth century it had fallen into decay and decline.  War dominated European life in this era in the same way it had in the tenth and eleventh centuries, ensuring that society focused on martial themes.  Determining whether the chivalric practices of European nobility were decadent requires more than an examination of apparent excess in literary sources, but also analysis of the risks taken on by this social class.[xxiv] 

Although battles between armies were rare during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, when they occurred the losing side suffered extraordinary casualties.  At Poitiers (1356), Courtrai (1302), and Halidon Hill (1333) approximately 40% of the losing force died in combat.  The casualties were almost exclusively men from the chivalric order – knights and squires.[xxv]  Beyond risk in the field, chivalric ideals played important social and political roles.  Men at arms equipped themselves at high cost – a single warhorse costing the equivalent of half a years’ wages – and provided their own training.  Nobles also used their chivalric lifestyles to attract and retain their own followers who accompanied them on campaign in the service of their lords.[xxvi]  Even the drive for individual distinction served a social purpose in this milieu – the chance of enhanced social status encouraged young men of the chivalric order to pursue martial skills that society needed them to possess.

These truths lead Keen to argue that Huizinga, Kilgore, and Vale are wrong in their assertion that chivalry was declining and decadent during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.[xxvii]  Relying on romantic literature, Jennifer R. Goodman extends Keen’s argument into the Age of Discovery, arguing that rather than disappearing during the fifteenth century, chivalric ideals drove European exploration into the seventeenth century.[xxviii]  She finds a deep connection between the Medieval chivalric ideal in the literature surrounding Marco Polo, Henry the Navigator, and Cortes.  Evidence for chivalry as a contributing factor to exploration include Henry the Navigator’s planned Crusade to North Africa and Bartolome de las Casas’ suggestion for a chivalric order to reform the behavior of conquistadors.[xxix]

Goodman asserts that Huizinga and other detractors of late Medieval and Renaissance chivalry do so in order to preserve the Renaissance as a distinct period from the Middle Ages, drawing on Petrarch’s designation of the Renaissance period as a rebirth of culture.  Huizinga needed chivalry to decline in order to support his greater thesis – that the Middle Ages are on the wane before the dawning of the Renaissance.  To achieve this, Goodman argues, required Huizinga to ignore the primary evidence that tournaments and other chivalric activities continue into the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.[xxx]

Chivalry is an important concept beyond the confines of France, England, and Spain.  The German incarnation of the chivalric ideal differed significantly from the rest of Europe.  During the tenth and eleventh centuries, the Holy Roman Empire needed servants as administrators, leading to the development of unfree “serf-knights” based on the castellan.  These imperial servants labored under many of the same restrictions as French and English serfs, not having the right to change their allegiance or dispose of their lands.  Providing both administrative and military service, the serf-knights gained power and prestige based on their ties to their feudal lords.  Because they were unable to switch allegiances, German serf-knights were more trusted than their French counterparts, and acted as a source of stability for their lords.  German knighthood did not gain social awareness of itself until the twelfth century.[xxxi]

Moorish Spain also developed a unique chivalry, which flourished during the eleventh century.  In contrast to the French model, Moorish knights did not develop a distinctive outward style, having no heraldry or tournaments.  Moorish chivalry included ideals of military prowess and honor, and developed its own distinctive doctrines of chivalric love based on Islam.  The teachings of Mohammed and the fundamental opposition of sexes inherent in Islam provide the basis of both Muslim polygamy and chivalric love.  Like Christian chivalric codes, Muslim codes emphasized charity, generosity, and fearlessness.[xxxii]

Finally, chivalry was not a uniquely European or Mediterranean conception.  China’s knight-errant, or yu-hsia, was not an exact analogue to the Christian or Muslim chivalric knight, but it remains a useful analytical tool for examining the similarities and difference between Eastern and Western cultures.  Appearing during the period of the Warring States between 403-221 B.C., the knights-errant took justice into their own hands, generally in an altruistic fashion, as a reaction to the chaos of the period.[xxxiii]

Unlike the European knight, the Chinese knight-errant had no ties to established religion.  Instead, they stood in opposition to the dominant Confucian ideal by extending their concepts of duty and honor to cover both family and strangers.  Rather than fulfilling only the strict requirements of “yi”, the knights-errant extended it to mean doing more than strictly necessary to fulfill the bounds of honor.  Where Confucians valued moderation and solidarity, the yu-hsia, leaned toward extremism and freedom.[xxxiv]

There is significant debate over the social class of the Chinese knights-errant.  One view holds that they did not constitute a class, but were only independent men who acted chivalrously, while others argue that they were unemployed artisans that became soldiers, or that they represent a segment of Chinese society located between the nobility and serfs.  Regardless of social status, the yu-hsia had neither lands to support them, nor feudal obligations to superiors.

The historical and cultural debate over the meaning and reality of chivalry continues.  Recent works examine the relationship between chivalry and development of military professionalism, the role of chivalry in American popular culture, and the influence of chivalry on the American Civil War.  Twenty-first century military science fiction continues to draw on the imagery and language of chivalry, with the main character of John Ringo’s The Last Centurion claiming that he and his fellow soldiers conceive of themselves as “paladins” during their military service.  Clearly, the influence of the chivalric ideal continues to echo in the modern world.

---

[i] Adams, Jeremy duQuesnay “Modern Views of Chivalry, 1884-1984,” The Study of Chivalry: Resources and Practices, eds. Howell Chickering and Thomas Seiler (New York: Simon and Schuster 1988), 41-89.

[ii] Adams, 46.

[iii] Barber, Richard. The Knight and Chivalry, revised edition (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1995), 4.

[iv] Adams, 47.

[v] Adams, 50.

[vi] Ibid, 52.

[vii] Kilgore, Raymond Lincoln. The Decline of Chivalry as Shown in French Literature of the Late Middle Ages (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1937), 4.

[viii] Kilgore, 9-11.

[ix] Vale, Malcolm. War and Chivalry: Warfare and Aristocratic Culture in England, France, and Burgundy at the nd of the Middle Ages (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1981), 8-10.

[x] Duby, Georges. The Chivalrous Society trans. Cynthia Poston. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977), 158.

[xi] Ibid, 161.

[xii] Adams, 56. Duby, 167.

[xiii] Barnie, John. War in Medieval English Society: Social Values in the Hundred Years War, 1337-1399 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1974), 56.

[xiv] Ibid, 57-58.

[xv] Ibid, 59.

[xvi] Ibid, 67.

[xvii] Ibid, 79-82.

[xviii] Adams, 71.

[xix] Keen, Maurice. Chivalry (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984), 2.

[xx] Ibid, 6-12.

[xxi] Ibid, 26-28.

[xxii] Barber, 6-7.

[xxiii] Ibid, 28.

[xxiv] Ibid, 219.

[xxv] Ibid, 222.

[xxvi] Keen, 224-226.

[xxvii] Ibid, 237.

[xxviii] Goodman, Jennifer R. Chivalry and Exploration, 1298-1630 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1998), 4-5.

[xxix] Goodman, 22.

[xxx] Ibid, 18-20.

[xxxi] Keen, 34-37.

[xxxii] Burckhardt, Titus. Moorish Culture in Spain, trans. Alisa Jaffa (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1972), 93-94, 108.

[xxxiii] Lin, James J. Y. The Chinese Knight-Errant (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967), 1.

[xxxiv] Ibid, 8.

Religion, Chivalry, and the American Experience in Vietnam

Despite the prevailing image of the modern American soldier as a dedicated professional bound by a code of behavior, the United States Army and Marine Corps continue to struggle with the reality of war crimes against civilians and combatants alike.  Explanations for the breakdowns in discipline war crimes represent focus on the dehumanization of the enemy, training to obey orders without question, frustration at the inability to engage the enemy in set-piece battles, and the desire for vengeance.  One factor missing from explanations for the continued occurrence of war crimes is that of religious difference between the perpetrators of war crimes and of their targets.  The issue of religion is multifaceted, having roles of self and group identification and as a belief system.  Both facets may play a significant role in the likelihood of individual soldiers’ involvement in war crimes against civilians.

Examining the responses of American paratroopers, William Cockerham and Lawrence Cohen argue that soldiers most committed to the military, soldiers who receive the most training designed to instill blind obedience, and soldiers from rural areas or the American South were most likely to obey an illegal order, even after Lt. William Calley’s conviction for failing to refuse the illegal orders of his commanding officer at My Lai.  Despite a high correlation of these factors and a soldiers’ willingness to obey an illegal order, Cockerham and Cohen acknowledge enough variance in attitude among the soldiers of the United States Army regarding illegal orders that there are obviously other factors involved.  Personal religious beliefs of the soldiers are an obvious variable missing from their study.[i]

Michael Bernhardt’s testimony before the Peers Commission regarding the My Lai Massacre provides additional insight into the social and behavioral sources of war crimes.  Bernhardt testified that the soldiers at My Lai viewed the Vietnamese as less than human due to cultural differences, and an inability to communicate.[ii]  Charlie Company’s soldiers learned these values through their experiences in Vietnam, through the tutelage of their commanding officer Ernst Medina, and through their preparatory training.  They were taught that the Vietnamese were less than human, culturally and biologically less valuable than Americans, one soldier reports, “throughout training they emphasized the animalness of the Vietnamese.  They were sub-human we were told.  We could do anything we wanted to them when we got there.”[iii]  The profoundly negative feeling found in these statements had far reaching effects, not only in terms of war crimes, but also in the ability to select soldiers or Marines for missions.  Bing West contends that when the Marine Corps created the first experimental Combined Action Platoon, which relied on close cooperation between Marines and local village militias, personnel selection was a problem.  General Lewis W. Walt insisted that the unit consists only of Marines who interacted well with Vietnamese, but surveys showed that at least forty percent of Marines actively disliked them.  The problem was particularly acute among junior officers and NCOs that led small units.[iv] 

When combined with Patricia Hill’s promotion of religion as an analytical tool for the cultural approach to diplomatic history at the state level this provides insight into how and why the analysis of the social and cultural bases for war crimes should include a systematic analysis of the religious views of private soldiers and their leaders.  If the missionary family origins of the leaders of the Cold War State Department influenced how they managed Cold War relations, religion might certainly exert an effect on the actions and perceptions of soldiers in combat.[v]

The work of social scientists into measuring religiosity and its affects on American attitudes and behaviors provide an entrée for evaluating it in the historical context.  James D. Davidson argues that different types of religious beliefs have a direct relationship to the individual’s conduct.  Religious belief fell into two categories, vertical belief which focuses on the transcendent aspects of belief and humanity’s place in that order, and horizontal belief which focuses on relationships with people.  Davidson found that individuals exhibiting a high level of vertical belief were most likely to derive comfort from their faith, while those exhibiting high levels of horizontal belief were most likely to become socially active due to religious belief.[vi]

The question, then, is what role does religion play in the likelihood soldiers will commit atrocities.  If religious variance plays a role is the primary motivating factor one of identification of civilians as “other” due to religious identification, or does religious belief itself provide the motivating factor?  Based on Michael Barnhardt’s testimony, it is reasonable to assume that group identification is the primary religious factor in creating the dehumanization necessary for soldiers to commit atrocities.  However, research into the complex relationship between religiosity and prejudice demonstrates a significantly more complex phenomenon at work.

The relationship between religiosity and prejudice, hence dehumanization of “enemy” civilians, is poorly understood.  Measuring religiosity is problematic.  How the variables “religiosity” and “prejudice” are defined and used in research instruments create wide-ranging variance in results, resulting in reports of positive relationships between religiosity and prejudice, negative relationships between religiosity and prejudice, or varied relationships between the two.[vii]  By using narrowly defined measures of both religiosity and prejudice and measuring each independently, Cygnar, Noel, and Jacobson, found that three standard measures of religiosity – orthodoxy, ritual, and knowledge – did not have a statistically significant relationship with indicators of prejudice.  However, two other standard measures of religiosity – fanaticism and importance – bore a significant relationship to expressions of prejudice.[viii]  It appears, then, that a definite relationship between religiosity and prejudice exists.  The relationship between these two factors is not definitive.  The variance between measures of religiosity and measures of prejudice clearly shows that individuals defined as religious are not a homogenous group.  Further, the manner in which measures are defined may influence the interpretation of results – religiosity follows the present theology, meaning that both the outward display of religion and the content of belief must be part of any analysis.[ix]

Ronald Palosari, who served in the infamous Americal Division from 1967 to 1968, reported atrocities performed by soldiers of that division based on the perceived religious beliefs of the enemy.  In an incident recounted during his testimony at the controversial Winter Soldier Investigation in 1971, Palosari claimed that members of the Civilian Independent Defense Group had cut an ear off a dead North Vietnamese Army soldier.  Their rationale was that of the commonly understood stereotype of trophy gathering, but because they believed “that according to Buddhism, unless your body is complete, you cannot go wherever it is that the Buddhists go to after they die.”[x]  The soldiers witnessing the grotesque task thought that it was humorous and manly to take part is the desecration of the enemy fallen.

The source of this anecdote raises serious concerns about the reliability and availability of information about the motives, especially religious motives, of the perpetrators of war crimes.  The controversy surrounding the Winter Soldier Investigation continues, as political opponents regularly argue that military authorities were unable to verify that the atrocities reported occurred, and that at least one organizer did not actually serve in Vietnam.  Winter Soldier detractors also argue that Senator John Kerry and other participants did not provide documentation of the crimes they witnessed or performed.[xi]

Sources for this research present other challenges.  Foremost among these is that information about participation and motivation for participation or reporting war crimes is usually self-reported.  This means relying on testimony potentially tainted by political motivations, such as that in the Winter Soldier Investigations, testimony before courts-martial or Congressional committee used to deflect or cast blame on others, or unwillingness to candidly discuss events for personal and professional reasons.  It is also possible that sources do not fully understand or remember their motivations in the heat of the moment.  Collections of letters from soldiers and Marines serving in Vietnam come under editorial pressure to present the conflict in a way that will not risk the displeasure of the primary market for such literature – veterans and their families.

Religious language does appear in these sources, however, providing a tantalizing glimpse of both religious identity and belief played a significant role for those serving in Vietnam.  Chief Warrant Officer Anthony De Angelis wrote to his wife that, “I’m sorry but I don’t know how it happened, but I lost the Saint Christopher medal you gave me; it must have come loose from the chain.  I feel real bad about it….”[xii] Similarly, Sergeant Charlie B. Dickey wrote to his wife in 1969 saying, “If the Lord decides He wants me with Him, I want you to know that I go into battle with a clear conscience and a very satisfied mind.”[xiii]  CS1 James C. Kline, a U.S. Navy Petty Officer, wrote to his seven year-old son to explain why he is fighting halfway around the world in specifically religious terms.  After asking him to faithfully keep the Ten Commandments, Kline writes,

“Jesus had a cross to bear and all of us over here have our cross to bear.  We may falter but must carry the load ourselves as Jesus did, but we can all on him anytime the load gets too heavy or we need help.  There are a lot of fathers here that are making their sacrifice so that their sons and you may have a free country to grow up in – to have the right to worship as you choose and to make yourself as you see fit.”[xiv]

Kline’s missive defines the war as both religious and ideological in nature, illustrating the role of religious belief in the motivations of some of the men serving in the conflict.  However, it does not provide insight into his behavior, or that of others, on the battlefield.

Enlisting in 1966, Barry Romo believed he was fighting to save Vietnamese Catholics from Communists, who he believed were the “new Nazis in the world.”[xv]  Joining the Marines allowed him to demonstrate his manhood, earn money for college, and fulfill his religious duty.  Marine Corps Sergeant Greg Moody similarly felt religious conviction in his experience of the war.  Writing back to his pastor, Dr. James L. Pleitz, Moody wrote:

“The Americans have taken for granted their wonderful freedom, which is a dream to the Vietnamese people here.  With God’s willingness and his protection, when I return home I will treasure my freedom I have been blessed with along with the Lord’s mercy and kindness he has bestowed upon our nation.”[xvi]

Moody also asked his pastor for assistance in understanding the Buddhist majority of Vietnam, referring to Jeremiah 20:2, discussing the ways of the heathen.  Moody’s belief is such that he not only turns to religion for solace, but also to explain the world.  Sergeant David L. Glading echoed Moody’s need for answers about Vietnam when he wrote to his girlfriend in 1969 wondering what the point of the war was, saying that he wonders “what God thinks about the whole situation.”  He is careful to state that he is not antiwar or a “longhair”, that he loves God and Country, but that it would be simpler, easier to have fought a world war to defend America.[xvii]

           

Soldiers involved in atrocities sometimes viewed the aftermath in explicitly religious terms.  When Paul Meadlo, a veteran of the My Lai Massacre, stepped on a landmine the following day, losing a foot, he believed that God was punishing him for My Lai.  After the incident, other soldiers heard Meadlo tell platoon leader Lieutenant William Calley that “God will punish you for what you made me do.”[xviii]  Long after the war veterans that participated in war crimes, as did W.D. Ehrhart, who killed an unarmed elderly woman fleeing from American soldiers and participated in a gang rape, wondered if his post-war tendency toward violence in personal relationships was a form of punishment, telling a friend:

“I think the stuff I did in Vietnam has left me-well, like something inside of me got broken and isn’t ever going to get better….If I believed in God, I’d think it was some kind of divine retribution for all the murder and mayhem.”[xix]

Other soldiers found that their experience in Vietnam drove them away from their faith.  When Joe Urgo returned from Vietnam on Christmas Eve in 1968, he immediately attended midnight mass with his family.  When the priest spoke only of divine grace, Urgo became angry that the suffering he ignored the real suffering in the world, and left the Church entirely.[xx]

Tying the historical concept of chivalry, and hence the fateful combination of honor, masculinity, and religion into the question of war crimes in Vietnam is challenging, but perhaps also the key to creating and understanding of any potential relationship between religion and war crimes in the conflict.  After the Gulf of Tonkin incident in August 1964, Georgia Senator Richard Russell contended, “Our national honor is at stake.  We cannot and will not shrink from defending it.”[xxi]  The problem with Vietnam and other conflicts with a large component of irregular warfare is that it cannot fulfill traditional Western understandings of honorable combat in which two equal forces face each other in decisive battle. 

Marine Corps General Robert E. Cushman, commander of I Corps in Vietnam complained that defensive fighting was not in the Marines’ makeup, arguing that  Marines digging in to defend were “like antichrists at Vespers”.  He contended that in the field where Army units would dig in, Marine units should not because training did not focus on constructing field works.  Instead, he believed Marines should focus more on the “fatal gesture” than mere survival.[xxii]  Marine leaders like Cushman fantasized about the glory of the frontal assault and the romance of “a line of determined men firing short bursts from the hip as they advanced on the enemy at a stately walk.”[xxiii]

The frustration being unable to come to grips with the enemy is the most frequent reason American soldiers gave for committing atrocities – the enemy did not play fair.  While the regular soldiers of the North Vietnamese Army fought in formation and with discipline, the more common opponent for American soldiers were the Viet Cong guerillas that used stealth, sniping, and booby traps.[xxiv]  The feeling that the main enemy was unknowable comes clearly from W.D. Ehrhart, whose poetry acts as a kind of catharsis.

It’s practically impossible

To tell civilians

From the Vietcong.

Nobody wears uniforms.

They all talk

The same language,

(and you couldn’t understand them

even if they didn’t.

They tape grenades

Inside their clothes,

And carry satchel charges

In their market baskets

Even their women fight;

And young boys,

And girls.

It’s practically impossible

To tell civilians

From the Vietcong;

After awhile.

You quit trying.[xxv]

Michael Barnhardt, who was a member of the infantry company responsible for the My Lai massacre, agreed with Ehrhart’s sentiment when he testified “There is a lot of frustration that is among the men over there, and these frustrations cannot be directed at those responsible for them, and so, they’re directed at what they can be directed at.  In other words, sort of making a whipping boy out of the South Vietnamese population.”[xxvi]   Some soldiers were also bewildered by the hatred and fear they saw in the eyes of the people they were there to protect.  When Bobby Muller arrived in South Vietnam, he thought of himself as “a hero and a liberator.”  He surprised by the civilian reaction to American soldiers, that his units was harassed everywhere it went, and by the lack of fighting spirit in the Army of the Republic of Vietnam, where the enemy was implacable.[xxvii]  With these issues in mind, Western concepts of Chivalry may be exactly the analytical tool required to assess any potential correlation between religion and war crimes in Vietnam.

An apparent connection between Late Medieval chivalric notions of service in war and combat emerges in how World War II veterans, who fought a great Crusade against dictators and tyrants, portrayed war to their children.  Many taught sons that going to fight in Vietnam was their opportunity to become a man, to participate in an epic battle against evil.  Rather than merely an individual issue, these men turned participating in Vietnam a matter of “duty, obligation, and honor” that made going to war “a matter of moral debt.”[xxviii]  Even in individuals not professing strong religious beliefs, these ideals bear a religious overtone that mirrors that of an earlier age.

Not only were chivalric knights required to fight in the proper, honorable manner, against opponents of equal social rank and skill, but also they included a specifically religious code of conduct in their belief system.  The brotherly equality of equals was as embedded in the chivalric code, as it is in American culture, which soldiers in Vietnam would carry with them.[xxix]  The rite of passage and award of arms associated with Medieval knighthood may find its modern equivalent in graduation from Basic Military Training or other, more advanced schools of arms in the United States military.  This may be particularly true of the Marine Corps, which deliberately pursues an image of valor and honor in public media, and adopted the motto “Semper Fidelis” – Always Faithful to enshrine its ideals of service.

General Cushman’s comments on the Marine Corps’ ethos of combat particularly evoke the chivalric ideal of heavy, close, aggressive combat between equals.  His description of the stately walk of disciplined ranks advancing into the onslaught of enemy fire with grim determination calls to mind the charge of the heavy armored French knight.  Cushman’s rejection of defensive fighting and fortifications echoes the charge of French knights against the dismounted English at Poitiers.  Like the French, Cushman wanted his Marines to strike the lethal blow – safer tactics were left to lesser beings.

In this conception of honor and chivalry lays a potential danger for American troops.  By only acknowledging enemies that fight according to their rules, those that favor them, as equals deserving respect, soldiers and Marines cast all of those defined as other into a category, which deserved no respect or quarter.  W.D. Erhhart and Michael Barnhardt described the mechanism that created this scenario – all Vietnamese became the enemy, and those who did not wear uniforms or fight “fairly” lost the protections of the laws of war.

One significant challenge to the comparison of American troops’ behavior in Vietnam and that of Medieval knights is that of forms of etiquette toward each other and toward women.  Incidents of “fragging”, in which enlisted men attacked officers and NCOs fall outside the apparent code of honor implied by the use of chivalry as an analytical tool.  Reports of rape and treatment of prostitutes also seem to fail outside the chivalric ideal.  How then to reconcile this gap in behavior and code of honor?

A solution is to argue that the modern incarnation of the chivalric ideal in the American context extends only to the proper forms of combat as force on force without deception.  However, this understanding ignores the class content of Medieval chivalry.  Its dictates only applied to members of equivalent social class – the nobility.  When soldiers defined the vast majority of the Vietnamese populace as sub-human, they lost the protections a code of chivalry such as that of the Medieval knighthood afforded.  That meant that the women and girls raped at My Lai by members of the Americal Division fell outside the protections of normal soldierly codes of conduct toward civilians – they were not only associated with the enemy Other, but with an enemy that did not follow the accepted rules of honorable combat, and one defined as sub-human.  In this way, behavior that many observers believed fell outside the context of the laws of war and soldierly honor falls within the realm of earlier understandings of proper warfare.

The connection between these two analytical concepts: religion and chivalry become clear by comparing Geoffroi de Charny and Charles B. Dickey.  Charny, writing in the fourteenth century argued that knighthood was akin to a religious vocation, in which the knight undertook Holy Orders in service to God, and should go into battle with a clear conscience in order to be prepared to meet his maker.[xxx]  Writing from Vietnam, Dickey avers to go into battle ready to meet his fate if God so chooses, confident that he is following the correct course.

Despite the difficulties in coming to grips with the effects, if religious identity and belief on the actions of individual soldiers and Marines, it is clear that a relationship exists.  Due to the vagaries of individual human nature, however, how religious belief and identity manifest in battlefield behavior remains hard to ascertain.  More sources of information and more precise analytical tools focused on determining religiosity are needed in order to find patterns of behavior that may be generalizable across populations.

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[i] William C. Cockerham and Lawrence E. Cohen. “Obedience to Orders: Issues of Morality and Legality in Combat among U.S. Paratroops,” Social Forces 58, No. 4 (1980), 1272.

[ii] James S. Olson and Randy Roberts. My Lai: A Brief History with Documents (Boston, Bedford St. Martins, 1998), 50.

[iii] Lloyd Lewis. The Tainted War: Culture and Identity in Vietnam War Narratives (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1985), 57.

[iv] Bing West. The Village: Fifteen Walked In.  Eight Walked Out. (New York: Pocket Books, 2003), 13.

[v] Patricia, R. Hill. “Commentary: Religion as a Category of Diplomatic Analysis,” Diplomatic History 24, no. 4 (2000), 634.

[vi] James D. Davidson. “Religious Belief as an Independent Variable,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 11, no. 11 (1972), 73.

[vii] Thomas E. Cygnar, Donald L. Noel, and Cardell K. Jacobson. “Religiosity and Prejudice: An Interdimensional Analysis,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 16, no. 2 (1977), 183.

[viii] Cygnar, Noel, and Jacobson, “Religiosity and Prejudice,” 186.

[ix] Cygnar, Noel, and Jacobson, “Religiosity and Prejudice,” 188.

[x] Winter Soldier Investigation, “Americal, Part 1.” 28 January 1999, 13 April 2009 < http://www2.iath.virginia.edu/sixties/HTML_docs/Resources/Primary/Winter_Soldier/WS_49_Americal.html>.

[xi] Edward Epstein, “ 'Winter Soldier' testimony still fuels discontent

Bitterness lingers over young Kerry's Senate appearance,” San Francisco Chronicle 17 October 2004, 13 April 2009 < http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/chronicle/archive/2004/10/17/ING3Q98R2J1.DTL>.

[xii] Bill Adler. Letters from Vietnam (New York, Random House Publishing, 2003), 16.

[xiii] Adler, Letters from Vietnam, 84.

[xiv] Adler, Letters from Vietnam, 150.

[xv] Richard Stacewicz, ed. Winter Soldiers: An Oral History of the Vietnam Veterans Against the War (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1997), 34.

[xvi] Adler, Letters from Vietnam, 204.

[xvii] Adler, Letters from Vietnam, 226.

[xviii] Robert Jay Lifton. Home From the War: Vietnam Veterans: Neither Victims nor Executioners (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1973), 57.

[xix] William H. Becker. “Spiritual Struggle and Resistance to It: The Case of Vietnam Veterans,” Journal of Law and Religion 13, no. 1 (1999), 95.

[xx] Stacewicz, 127.

[xxi] Leo Braudy. From Chivalry to Terrorism (New York, Alfred A Knopf, 2003), 528.

[xxii] Lloyd B. Lewis. The Tainted War: Culture and Identity in Vietnam War Narratives (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1985), 29.

[xxiii] Lewis, The Tainted War, 29.

[xxiv] Richard Burks Verrone and Laura M. Calkins. Voices from Vietnam (Devon, UK: David & Charles, 2005), 96.

[xxv] W.D. Ehrhart. Unaccustomed Mercy: Soldier-Poets of the Vietnam War (Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 1989), 57.

[xxvi] Olson and Roberts, My Lai, 50.

[xxvii] Kim Willenson. The Bad War: An Oral History of the Vietnam War (New York: New American Library, 1987), 113.

[xxviii] Lewis, 45.

[xxix] Jeremy duQuesnay Adams. “Modern Views of Chivalry, 1884-1984,” The Study of Chivalry: Resources and Practices, eds. Howell Chickering and Thomas Seiler (New York: Simon and Schuster 1988), 41-89.

[xxx] Keen, Maurice. Chivalry (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984), 6-12.