#Knight is THE male gender in medieval literature. Well Knight and or Warrior

[breitzbachbea]

Once more, Robert is the guy who is strapped into and trapped in the ideals of what society considers masculinity and it is tied to violence and Empire. And Charlie the outsider to society, the troublemaker who freed himself from all and any expectations and damn, once that process really picked up, no one can touch this Fairy Prince, to whom disapproval of the textbook guys is life blood.

[dwellordream]

“In his seminal work The Civilizing Process, vol. 1 ([1939] 1978) and vol. 2 ([1939] 1982), Norbert Elias has convincingly argued that loyalty towards the emerging courts was achieved through a ‘civilizing process’ requiring a curtailment and repression of certain impulses, drives, and behaviours and the cultivation of others. It would seem that a deftly executed ideological manoeuvre brought together the mercenary knights, the Christian Church, and the emerging monarchs. 

The principal aim of the early medieval courtly literature and moral-political philosophy was to address those of ‘noble blood’ and teach them to maintain their loyalty towards the Church and the monarchy through the adoption and practice of a new behavioural court ethic based on the restraint of violence and brutish self-interest. Understandably, the warrior-knights did not adopt these new values of restraint without considerable resistance. Although the early courtesy literature represented the ideal knight as a caring and noble individual, he was, in reality, a fighter quite at ease with acts of extreme cruelty. 

Elias explains this lack of emotional restraint as the consequence of long periods in which no central authorities possessed the laws and networks of control necessary for the limitation and monopolization of violence. He, therefore, associates the rise of ‘mutual consideration’ between citizens with the rise of a central state capable of legislating the control of violence: Once the monopoly of physical power has passed to central authorities, not every strong man can afford the pleasure of physical attack. This is now reserved to those few legitimized by the central authority (e.g. the police against the criminal), and to larger numbers only in exceptional times of war or revolution, in the socially legitimized struggle against internal or external enemies. ([1939] 1978:201–2) 

This pressing need for restraint becomes even more understandable when one takes into account the volatile emotionalism of medieval populations. Medieval men and women were given to vacillating between joy and anger at the slightest provocation (Huizinga [1924] 1972). Such sudden mood swings were not restricted to conflict over territory but also permeated daily relationships between men and women. Beatings and rapes of women were not uncommon in a society in which women were supposed to defer to the authority of the military male (Luchaire 1902:374–9). Georges Duby (1981) also observes in his comprehensive study of the institutionalization of marriage in the Middle Ages that rape was not an uncommon occurrence, even in noble households (281).

Similarly, Elias points to the considerable mistrust and distancing that existed between the genders in early court circles: a man’s place was on the military field while a woman’s domain was restricted to her ‘ornamented chambers’ ([1939] 1982:80). The medieval courtesy project thus had to temper conflict between warriors residing at court as well as between the warriors and the women of court. Such a fragile public and private security was further threatened by a medieval worldview given to categorizing everything as either ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ ‘wicked’ or ‘virtuous.’ 

Such extremities of reaction were common, predisposing strangers to look upon one another with considerable suspicion. So, the project of establishing a workable code of civility capable of controlling an otherwise emotive population originated in the courts of the monarchs, where it became possible to adopt refined (non-aggressive) codes of behaviour in a relatively privileged and protected environment where cautious trust could be established through carefully cultivated alliances. The restraints imposed by the earliest courtesy writers on the warriors who joined the new courts served to temper their aggression by assigning to the warriors certain moral qualities and obligations supposedly not within the reach or comprehension of the common population. 

In effect, the warrior was invited to dismount and enter the halls of court and abide by its protocols while remaining ready to take up his sword whenever required in the name of king and God. The warriors accepted this ‘partial gentrification’ because the life of a solitary knight was no longer viable; their loss of independence was compensated for by the status conferred on them by the new elitist courtesy codes. Ecclesiastical rationalizations of social differentiation increased as clerics formed alliances with courts needing legitimacy and stability. 

Most medieval courtesy documents concentrated not on whether a strong monarchy was a worthy form of government, but on how the monarch and his entourage should maintain their distinction in relation to the rest of the population so as to be considered morally (and divinely) worthy of their privileges. The rationalization of power changed from the veneration of superior brute force to the veneration of force tempered by virtuous being and bearing; an aristocratic ‘personality’ and ‘body’ were in the making. 

For many centuries, this carefully designed comportment would remain the basis for distinction, separating those who were seen as exemplary members of society from those considered of lesser moral and social worth. The social construction of this culture of courtesy, considerably dependent on the guidance of the Church, was facilitated by the daring claims of infallibility made by Church leaders. The genesis of the absolutist state is partially located in such theological supremacy. Although St Augustine had made the egalitarian promise that even the Bishop of Rome could be charged on counts of heresy if his pronouncements were found unsound, the medieval popes established a new curia given to making absolute statements regarding doctrine and Church policy (DeRosa 1988). 

This adoption of a theology based on strict dogma seemed to coincide with the mentality of the times. The passage from the year 999 to the year 1000 terrified many because it had been predicted in the New Testament Book of Revelations (chapter 20) that, following a thousand years of Christianity, the devil would be let loose for a while. Expecting a cataclysmic upheaval, many prepared for the year 1000 with strong feelings of doom. A considerable amount of optimism was released when the devil did not appear at the turn of the millennium. And with this new hope came a strong need for social certainty.

 In his seminal work, Medieval Civilization, Jacques LeGoff ([1964] 1988) explains that this need for certitude predisposed people to look to the Church for guidance and accept its call for unity and obedience: It was a material and moral insecurity, for which, according to the Church, there was only one remedy: to rely on the solidarity of the group, of the communities of which one formed a part, and to avoid breaching this solidarity by ambition and derogation ... Nothing that could be proposed was certain, except what had been vouchsafed for in the past ...The supreme authority was scripture, and, with it, the Fathers of the Church. (325–6) 

Pope Gregory VII, a Tuscan who ascended to the papacy in 1078, responded to this need for moral certitude by making further claims of infallibility for the Church. Gregory argued that a priest did not need an emperor to seek God’s forgiveness; an emperor, on the other hand, despite all his military might, needed a priest to plead for God’s mercy on his behalf. Such theological supremacy was formalized by a change in the title given to the pope. While prior to Gregory the popes had been known as ‘the Vicars of St Peter,’ following Gregory’s example they took to referring to themselves as the ‘Vicars of Christ,’ placing themselves on a level of prestige equal to if not greater than that assigned to kings (DeRosa 1988:78–80). 

Pope Innocent III, who came to power in 1198, went far enough to declare that only the Church received the soul of God; the world of monarchs was simply a temporal domain vulnerable to the sins of the material world. Innocent’s ultimate act of absolute theological authority was to declare that the Church was the central diocese of all Christianity and that every bishop was henceforth to be under the authority of the pope, who was to be considered the ‘universal bishop.’ At the Fourth Council in 1215, he passed decrees establishing a vertical hierarchical order proceeding up into the office of the Holy See. 

One of his decrees stated that every Catholic had to confess his sins to his local priest at least once a year; this commandment now gave special powers to priests, who acquired the ability to intercede with God on behalf of a person (as well as interceding in a person’s life on behalf of God) (91–5). All members of the Church, including the nobility, became reliant on the clergy for guidance. LeGoff ([1964] 1988) explains that one of the effects of medieval theology was the joining of physical valour and moral virtue. The Christian hero became the one with the most impressive exploits. 

And, sometimes, the moral goodness of his exploits became associated with his potential for going to the limits of human endurance, thereby explaining why the Christian monks of the epoch were called ‘the athletes of Christ’ (341–2). Extreme asceticism and self-mortification, combined with intense Christian scholarship, turned monasticism into a major force of the epoch. This monastic spirit is very much embedded in the English legend of King Arthur and the Holy Grail as well as the later French versions of the tale. The discipline and commitment required of the knight-champion is of messianic proportions: the knight must rise above his desires and abandon an inauthentic life in favour of spiritual wisdom. 

It is one of the most profound efforts in the history of Western civilization to recapture a long-lost union between nature and human action. So it would not be an exaggeration to say that the clerics became the spiritual architects of the new courts, not only out of a desire for power and influence, but also out of a need to create a mentality that would preserve Christian spirituality in civil society. Their role as emissaries helped them form a buffer zone between the monarch and his outlying estates, thereby investing them with the means and power to integrate canon law in courtly affairs. 

The old Roman rules of good behaviour were revisited in many of the courtesy books of the Middle Ages. As early as the fourth century, St Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, had instructed priests to show modesty and shame (verecundia) in all their dealings (1984:131–2). In De ordine palatii, Archbishop Hincmar of Reims had similarly set down what he considered to be the function of the court and the responsibilities of its members. He called it a scola, or school. He did not mean this in terms of an ordinary school (scolastici) but in terms of a community of highly evolved men capable of teaching the younger members of court through their own disciplined behaviour (disciplina id est correctio) ([c. 806–82] 1885). 

Similar admonitions to clerics were handed down in the twelfth century from Petrus Alfonsi (On Clerical Discipline) and St Victor (On the Education of Novices) (Nicholls 1985:16, 36–8). Thus, the behavioural codes of ‘restraint’ and ‘self-discipline’ that had for centuries been followed in the monastic orders were now injected into court culture. The role of the cleric as dispenser of knowledge, discipline, and virtue caused a marked change in the function of monastic scholars, who were now brought into the courts and given the duty of developing administrative systems. 

This regale sacerdotium (royal priesthood) transferred knowledge gained through religious textual scholarship to the business of the court and the training of court members. The instruction it dispensed followed the established Platonic curriculum, treating the humanities and sciences as mutually inclusive expressions of divinity. A strong emphasis was, therefore, placed on the transformation of knowledge into virtue. The ‘beauty of proper bearing’ (Gratia decoris) became as valued as the actual knowledge possessed by a person. 

This new valuation of ‘manners’ and ‘the presentation of self’ stood in contrast to the old Aristotelian tradition that valued the content of an argument for its own sake. This new development was, in effect, the birth of ‘style,’ an important element in the later development of etiquette, a practice that would eventually provoke the ire of many Puritanical Christian moralists. Based on the trivium, the new scholasticism focused heavily on literary texts and the spiritual lessons that could be extracted from them. This reliance on the spiritual functions of knowledge led to a high valuation of personality and mannerisms as symbols of ‘goodness’ and ‘nobility.’ 

Lineage and title no longer provided sufficient assurance that a nobleman or a noblewoman would also be of noble spirit. Nor was victory on the battlefi eld any longer considered a complete measure of a person’s moral worth. As important as the biography and military accomplishments of an aristocrat was his or her ability to behave in noble ways. The new curial curriculum attempted to form a well-rounded individual through the transmission of certain qualities that included discipline and restraint (disciplina), eloquence (urbanitas), the harmonization of the attractive and the virtuous (kalogathia), and an overall courteous demeanour (curialitas) that encompassed a variety of talents, including poise, humour, and humility (Jaegar 1965:127–75). 

Also considered important was the ability to have a sensitive heart; nobles were urged to be the opposite of peasants, who were considered crude, heartless, and unable to become worldly. The worship of the ‘established’ and the ‘traditional’ provided (intentionally or not) a perfect environment for the cultivation of a peasant class governed by respect for precedent and ready to accept the idea that the existence of a ‘noble class’ was divinely ordained and, therefore, unalterable. It also permitted the clergy to control the nobility to a certain extent by regularly citing excerpts from ‘authoritative’ Christian texts. 

Clerics developed the ability to rationalize their own involvement in worldly affairs by linking statesmanship with religious and moral virtue (LeGoff [1964] 1988:326). It is understandable, therefore, that the early medieval courtesy tracts echoed Cicero’s De Officiis and Orator and Aristotle’s essays on the golden mean. The common recurring theme in this courtesy literature was the Judeo-Christian polarity between good and evil and the wise ruler’s ability to tell one from the other. Cicero (1967) had expressed this golden mean as a coming together of various streams of thought and action: 

Goodness as a whole arises from any one of four sources: it is to be found, first, in wisdom, which is the perception and knowledge of truth; secondly, in justice, which consists in preserving a fair relationship between men, giving to each his due and keeping one’s word; thirdly in the greatness and strength of a courageous and invisible mind; and fourthly in observing that due order and sense of proportion in all words and actions which makes for moderation and reasonableness. (15–17) 

Cicero’s ideas are found in many medieval courtesy tracts, including Ramon Lull’s The Book of the Order of Chivalry ([c. 1300] 1902), an important early medieval courtesy document that argued for a court culture that would be governed by qualities of justice, clemency, and peacemaking. Moderation, prudence, love of justice, and valour became the ideals of the new courtly personality. Modesty (modestus) became the cardinal virtue because it signified humility before a more superior divine being. 

Two of the virtues, however, required contradictory sentiments: prudence required a calculating and cunning spirit, while valour asked of the knight that he be as spiritual as he was fierce. So, at its inception, courtesy was not simply a prescription for a set of mannerisms. It also consisted of a complex series of patterns of emotional restraint and disciplinary practices intended to hold back aggression and bring forth in its place behavioural regimes that were classified as noble virtues. A courteous person had to desist from doing and saying certain things while practising and expressing others. 

What we now consider simple politeness and friendliness were not sufficient in these courtly circles. There were also moral obligations. The term noblesse oblige refers to the duties of a noble person who was not allowed to adopt the mannerisms and vacillating attitudes attributed to the coarse peasant. In fact, what marked the European courtly culture was the coupling of the contemplative and the active to produce a refined and worldly personality. This powerful ideology of differentiation was amply reflected in the literature of the period in which the peasant with some freehold land was frequently referred to as a vilein. 

Although the Roman root of the word was villa (a settlement of land), it took on derogatory connotations in post-Roman feudal society. The ‘vile’ peasant was seen to possess the crudity, the ingratitude, and the whole panoply of baser qualities opposed to courtly behavioural values. While court ideologues eventually conceded that noble birth did not automatically produce a noble soul, the personality of the peasant was considered set at birth. Boethius (c. 1149–52) wrote of the peasant: ‘Whoever teaches an ass to play the harp uselessly wastes his effort. It is just so with you, vilein: I have taught you utterly in vain’ (cited in Burnley 1998:90). 

The vilein was viewed to be lacking the tender heart and sensitivity required of the courtier, hopelessly unable to free himself from rusticity (rusticas). Even as late as the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, many courtesy book writers warned that the lessons they dispensed were not to fall into the hands of the commoners. Such elitist conceptions of nobility did not escape the criticism of monastic ideologues. In Contra clericos aulicos (c. 1072), Peter Damian attacked the obsessions of the new curial writers, accusing them of putting fancy names to old vices by sanctioning ambition under the guise of urbanity and submission under the pretence of modesty. 

Additional objections came from the court of Henry II in England: court critics John of Salisbury, Nigel Wireker, and Walter Map considered the curialis a corrupting rather than ennobling ethic. Certainly, some of the behavioural characteristics imposed on courtiers did not sit well with early Christian writings. Two of these were the talents of hilaritas or iocunditas, the ability to display humour and gaiety in the most trying circumstances. These social graces did not accord with a Biblical passage in Ecclesiastes 7.5 that pronounced: ‘Gaiety dwells in the heart of the fool.’ 

These protests notwithstanding, adaptability in the face of adversity became the prime strength of the successful courtier. Such resilience was maintained through a balanced use of courtesy and charm. Hilaritas and iocunditas assured a discreet way out of the most troublesome situations – the art of the pointed understatement was perfected during this courtly age. Combined with prudence, these above qualities helped the courtier advance through the highly competitive and treacherous hierarchy at court. The clerics who tried to temper the medieval world might have failed to bring about a certain sense of order in the courts had Christianity not warned of a judgment in the afterlife. 

Even William the Conqueror, who was known for never hesitating to cut down anyone who stood in the way of his ambitions, is purported to have confessed on his deathbed to a monk from his own Abbaye-aux-hommes. The dying monarch asked the monk to pray for divine mercy on his behalf. So, although outright communalism was not sought in the courtesy writings, the spiritual demands made of rulers had a tempering effect on outright barbaric violence. Left to their own devices and customs, pagan rulers might have produced quite a different (and perhaps more violent) social system.”

- Benet Davetian, “From Barbarism to Courtly Manners.” in Civility: A Cultural History