Warrior Morality | Fulmen Quarterly

Warrior Morality

Jack R. Parnell

Summer, 2024

Introduction

It is only natural that our highest moral aspirations are inseparable from our basest vices. The very depredations inflicted by our untempered impulses, in fact, motivate us to envision a measure of nobility, and to pursue that instead. It was no doubt the savagery of the first tribal tyrants that swelled the empathetic instinct. The oppressed, recognizing the suffering of others who shared their lot, found a single purpose in undoing it. Conflict is often the only means to relieve the pressure of despotism. The first war of ethics then, was their battle for liberation, and our first codes of behavior were the memorial they built to honor that victory. Those across history who have survived war evidently understood that while conflict can never be taken off the table, it can be contained by the respect one must maintain for another, as warriors. So it was that for the warrior castes—despite the martial nature of the arts which defined them—vice became more brutal, and virtue became more noble.

Because the warrior castes mediate the boundary between times of war, and times of peace, the martial ethos of a given culture tends to permeate the society in which it originated. It becomes the highest bar of virtue. Examples include concepts like arete for the Greeks, or bushido for the Japanese. Of particular note for the present discussion are the codes of chivalry, which, in some form or other, influenced the behavior of much of Europe for the better part of a millennia. For scholars it remains debatable when exactly the chivalric code was most influential, and indeed, it proves troublesome to lay out all the tenants of the code even for a given place, or time. That there even was an “age of chivalry” at all has become a matter of fashionable question for the sort of academic who assumes a man cannot reasonably venerate one thing, yet only achieve another. It should be no surprise then, that it is impossible to pinpoint the precise moment of origin for the chivalric tradition. Its foundation, as with all highest principles, lay in myth.

Rise and Fall of Chivalry

Chivalry is an anglicized derivation of the French chevalerie, the plural of chevalier which describes a man of enough rank and means to outfit himself for horse-mounted combat. This etymology suits the concept, as the notion of the chivalric ideal is inseparable from the image of Europe’s elite equestrian soldiery. In the aftermath of the fall of the Roman empire, there was an enormous vacuum politically, culturally and militarily which were filled in novel ways. The Roman reliance upon the precision machine of its heavy infantry and its ability to hire local auxilia to resolve any gaps in strategy, was difficult to replicate. The warlords in Europe, or the nobility rather, as the difference is usually down to how long one has been in charge, lacked the infrastructure and means to rally large numbers of professional soldiers or mercenaries. Instead, the bulk of a force would be made up of levied soldiers with only the upper echelons of society having the time and resources to specialize as warriors. As a result, a lord’s retainers were prized for their abilities in war, for their arms, for their armor, for their horses, and their training—each of which embodied an intensive outlay of wealth and land. Rulers were encouraged in-turn to create a noble class, paid in land (coin was rare). This class made up the backbone of their armies, and served to animate the levies. The result was that an extremely elite cadre of high-society became the spoke around which much of European society turned.

The fluid political situation of feudal Europe, especially in those early days near the dawn of the first millennium, created an environment of shifting alliances and of near constant conflict. Even in the rare cases that a war wasn’t on, raiding and border skirmishes were a constant threat. Because the average scale nation state was considerably reduced, the nearest foeman was also often a cultural compatriot—a relation in spirit if not as well in blood. The maintenance of bloodlines across national borders together with intermarriage commonly made the bond all the more literal. Because of these circumstances, a relatively small caste of highly capable men were uniquely positioned to understand and to respect one-another both in united cause and in cross purpose. It was fertile ground for the conceptual development of a creed, which transcended band, clan, and nation. It encompassed their entire way of life. The seeds of such a code were buried well before the fall of Rome. Religious and military life were deeply interwoven, and cults such as that of Sol Invictus, and the Mithraic mysteries enjoyed wide followings in the Roman armed forces. Likewise, numerous warrior cults and martial ideologies—Celtic and Germanic iterations, for example—were also subsumed into the broader cultural tide that became European Christendom. The attitudes and principles of their participants did not fade away at the end of empire, nor were they eclipsed by the meeker, pacifistic tenants of Christianity. Even as the star of Christianity rose in Europe, spirituality remained the medium by which a higher standard of conduct was to be maintained among the newly-reformed warrior caste. It was out of this spiritual and ideological turmoil, butted roughly against the realities of war, that the idea of the knight itself arose.

There is in war a natural desire to disdain your foe. To be so far at odds, an enemy must have done you some grievous harm, or else behaved monstrously. Yet, also in war there is, against any real, meaningful foe, a strong pressure to respect the capabilities of your enemies. To do less invites your own destruction at the hands of an under-esteemed antagonist. Attainment of a high martial expertise is a matter of many long hours’ work, and represents the honing of a state of mind over years. When you are matched in maneuver and strength of arms, you recognize in moments how alike you are to your opposition, at least in some vital way. Chivalric codes are born out of this reflexivity, as brothers-in-arms pursuing common glory. A reverence for the prowess of an enemy adds immediately to the glory of overcoming him, or else, softens the blow of dying at his hand. The meeting of empathy and self-service—with the added influence of Christian forbearance and charity—furnished European knights with the impetus of chivalry.

Early Medieval knighthood arose in two legendary courts, that of Charlemagne and his Paladins, and that of Arthur and his knights of the round table. Though the former significantly less mythical than the latter, each was held up as exemplary of noble ethos. The Carolingian Cycle and the Historia Regum Britanniae both play out the activities of these courts in the late 7th century, but were themselves put to record centuries later. So it was that each generation of knighthood measured themselves against the previous age, and found themselves wanting compared to the mythical exploits of their forebears. The tenants that compose the ideals of chivalry are not universal, and no book of rules has survived in tact. All that remains to us, and likely to many generations of knights even in those early days, are the stories of laudable actions and damnable knavery which preceded them. In sifting the histories, French historian Léon Gautier was able to distill his findings into what he supposed were the 10 commandments of Chivalry, which follow.

Thou shalt believe all that the Church teaches and thou shalt observe all its directions.
Thou shalt defend the Church.
Thou shalt respect all weaknesses, and shalt constitute thyself the defender of them.
Thou shalt love the country in which thou wast born.
Thou shalt not recoil before thine enemy.
Thou shalt make war against the infidel without cessation and without mercy.
Thou shalt perform scrupulously thy feudal duties, if they be not contrary to the laws of God.
Thou shalt never lie, and shalt remain faithful to thy pledged word.
Thou shalt be generous, and give largesse to everyone.
Thou shalt be everywhere and always the champion of the Right and the Good against Injustice and Evil.

There are several common currents here. Bravery and unflinching duty are natural to the warrior ethos, but, many of these items extend beyond virtues of particular martial utility. Namely, defending the weak, charity, and the requirement to stand against injustice. What we have in this creed is a commingling of warrior attitudes together with other attitudes that make for a most amenable peace. Consider this passage from La Chanson de Rolandas translated by Léonce Rabillon:

CCLXXXIV.

Both knights leap on the earth, and, quick as light, Stand face to face.—Strong, fiery Pinabel And Tierri for each other seek. Their steeds Are fled.—But their gold-hilted swords they wield; And on the helms of steel they shower such blows As rashed the thongs. Loudly the knights lament, And Carle exclaims:—"Show thou the right, O God!"

Cried Pinabel:—"Tierri, surrender thou! Thy vassal I will be in faith and love, And to thy pleasure will I yield my wealth; But let the King forgive Count Ganelon!" Tierri replied:—"Thy offers all are vain; Vile treason were it such a pact to make; But God shall judge us and make plain the right."

Then Tierri spake:—"I hold thee, Pinabel, As Baron true, great, strong, of handsome mold; Thy peers acknowledge thee as valiant knight; Well, let this combat cease, between the King And thee a covenant I will strive to make. On Ganelon such justice shall be done That future ages shall record the doom." They grasp again their swords and hew Each other's gold-encrusted helm with rage So rash that sparkling fires spurt through the air. No power will now disjoint the combatants: The death of one can only close the strife.

We see that even in the heart of a duel to the death, the two knights’ first thoughts were of honoring one another, and exchanging offers of generosity and magnanimity. They do not shy from their duty or their loyalties but nor do they thoughtlessly seek war or conflict, this is the great virtue of chivalry. Not because adhering to notions of chivalry will avoid conflict, but because it centers conflict upon the greater spiritual ills that afflict us rather than in areas furthering our vices. As a warrior ethos it strove to confine the costs of war to those places of cultural fiction which can make it inevitable, and see to it that the weighty price could buy something more than martial gains.

Of course, as with any moral system, even those most dedicated adherents could fall short of chivalric virtue, much less the inevitable blaggards with no interest in moral works, spiritual cowards who lack the will to enact their convictions and two faced sorts who profess virtue and set about vice. Such humane disparities, which afflict all our best aspirations, has lead some historians to conclude that an age of chivalric virtue never existed. Rather, that it is simply nostalgia for an unreal past; fodder for poets as chastisement for their apathetic and self-serving contemporaries.

However, such a circumstance doesn’t seem to render chivalric virtue any more nebulous than another sort. Materialistic cynicism of that type misunderstands an often unspoken tenant, which is core to the ethos. That is to say, the purpose of a tradition of veneration trained on a bygone era, in which legends were made by nobler men. The figures of such a tradition provision a rule, against which to to measure oneself, which in-turn instills a sense of heritable duty that weighs more than an abstraction of law. Including a passage from the song of Roland, rather than an historical account, is intentional. The legend reveals to the individual some higher aspiration, in his own time, on his own terms—it is not legislated to him whether he likes it or not. The structure of morality, then, is not an implacable stone edifice, but a great tree with its roots in the past; its trunk comprises those meritorious acts put down in legend, and the present moment is lofted among the leaves that waver in the winds of choice.

Because access to the corridors of power demands proximity, what intrigue grows up around the powerful was inevitably intermingled—court politics and notions of chivalric behavior overlapping. We see this already in Léon Gautier’s distillation: The importance of feudal duty thrice articulated in nation, lord, and bond. A warrior ethos will always be, first, one that serves, because aimless violence is unjustifiable. Of course, the word knight itself means servant in its older formulations. The more unusual condition is that the high culture of courtly life will be governed in such detail by a code formulated among, or at least for, its fighters. As martial utility was so important to achieve and maintain status, for many centuries knighthood was an essential feature of nobility. This extended even to noncombatants. The priesthood of the Christian faith was closely interwoven with chivalric ideals, and notions of courtly love featured in chivalric literature included contemplation of the feminine ideal. Status then, became somewhat inseparable from chivalric attitudes, or at least from the appearance of them. Knighthood and nobility came to mean much the same thing with few exceptions. Eventually, the code of chivalry, rather than a standard created to bring order among warriors who proved capable or dead in the post-Roman chaos, was just one more expectation of the noble class.

As the ages turned in Europe, the influence and stability of nations naturally grew larger as power became more consolidated in general. The outlay and irregularity of maintaining individual knights as elite troops who managed their own efforts and logistics was outmoded (once again) by the convenience and standardization of full time professional soldiers and mercenaries. Knights went from the decisive component of any army, to a central one, until eventually the knight was absorbed and dissolved into national armies comprising full-time professional soldiers. Concurrently, the nature of nobility was changing. The more entrenched monarchs with more established bureaucracies were able to pay in coin rather than in land. Immediately, the pressure for the noble class to overlap with knighthood, or even with soldiery in general, was dramatically reduced. Of course, the need for the ruling classes to be present in command and control of military structures remained, but, now the highest echelons of society were no longer by any means synonymous with the people who would be responsible for the prosecution of war. Knighthood was diminished to little more than a title of political expedience, no longer a station of martial import.

The Warrior Ethos

In markets and on battlefields circumstances can change quickly, and dramatically. The motivations and the ideals, especially of a crowd—much less a nation—are considerably less mutable. The influence of chivalric ideas and court manners went well beyond those who would ever actually attend a court, royal or otherwise. The romantic ideas of noble behaviors were transmitted down through the classes and propagated between merchant and peasant classes. The image of virtue was, and is to a great extent even now, chivalric knighthood. And so, many people who might never seek service in arms, nevertheless live according to a moral code based in the ethics of the warrior caste. One particular holdover of that moral system is the practice of dueling.

The notion that single combat between champions might avoid a battle, and allow two rulers to settle a conflict with out great mortal cost to their subjects, is unfortunately wishful. If there is enough motive to move a kingdom to war, the death of one man is unlikely to set the matter aside. However, the practice of single combat before a battle was widespread, and served as a means to achieve great fame by defeating a worthy foe before two hosts of your peers. The ensuing victories and defeats could set the tone for the coming conflict, and perhaps, deal a telling blow to the morale of one side or the other. The point of worthiness is pivotal here, as it demands a recognition of rank and prowess between foes; an inevitable respect, which is earned only in contest. However, trial by combat could be a successful means of reducing bloodshed when two knights, and by extension their retinues, were at odds. What is most just becomes a complicated question when resolution between the aggrieved and accused might involve a mortal skirmish between warbands. In such a case, a disaster was almost ensured—especially if the men involved would both otherwise fight under the same banner, or, if raid and counter-raid could be the first sparks of open war. That the result would be observed and respected was a matter of honor, according to chivalric tradition. Violence in its noblest form is that by which greater harm is averted. We see exactly this mentality put to paper, in Yvain’s legendary duel with Gawain in Chrétien DeTroyes' "Yvain,” reproduced here at some length for the reader’s interest:

“...For they strike each other violently, not with the fiat of the swords, but with the edge, and they deal such blows with the pommels upon the nose-guards and upon the neck, forehead and cheeks, that they are all marked black and blue where the blood collects beneath the skin. And their hauberks are so torn, and their shields so broken in pieces, that neither one escaped without wounds…

…They fight so long that the day draws on to night, while their arms grow weary and their bodies sore, and the hot, boiling blood flows from many a spot and trickles down beneath their hauberks: they are in such distress that it is no wonder if they wish to rest. Then both withdraw to rest themselves, each thinking within himself that, however long he has had to wait, he now at last has met his match. For some time they thus seek repose, without daring to resume the fight…

..."I am Yvain, who love you more than any man in the whole wide world, for you have always been fond of me and shown me honour in every court. But I wish to make you such amends and do you such honour in this affair that I will confess myself to have been defeated." "Will you do so much for my sake?" my gentle lord Gawain asks him; "surely I should be presumptuous to accept any such amends from you. This honour shall never be claimed as mine, but it shall be yours, to whom I resign it." "Ah, fair sire, do not speak so. For that could never be. I am so wounded and exhausted that I cannot endure more." "Surely, you have no cause to be concerned." his friend and companion replies; "but for my part, I am defeated and overcome; I say it not as a compliment; for there is no stranger in the world, to whom I would not say as much, rather than receive any more blows…"

This poetic account, naturally idealized, nonetheless reveals what is perhaps the deepest hope at the heart of the chivalric code: That in the crucible of combat our differences are transformed into mutual esteem, and result in a peace which could never have been born without the fire.

The hope of all fathers, surely, that their sons should not know war. And so, if the very concept of European nobility was martial at its core, how could it be maintained in the following ages by generations who were ignorant of war? In sterilized environs where society is removed from contest, those savage forces which necessitate empathy are at their lowest ebb. Or at least, it’s gentry are given their greatest remove from it. Empathy will always be a higher motive, but it is nearly impossible to inflict without the threat of physical engagement looming nearby. When you have had your mettle tested, when you expend yourself and are matched, there is a mutual understanding formed (a brotherhood, even) which is unlike any other. The purely pragmatic attitude of ‘knowing thy enemy,’ wary of his skill and wise to his wiles, can very naturally become respect, unalloyed. The catalyst for that transformation are the humane codes of honor to which both belligerents adhere. Thus the warrior ethos stands in the way of unbridled and irresponsible hatred; against the inhumane—the enemy made alien. The warrior ethos fosters a certain understanding, that even at odds, all are struggling at once toward humane ends. The raw, unshielded emotion drawn out by physical confrontation runs directly opposed to the duplicity and veiled intent that typifies social games, in the halls of power—where an enemy, seemingly inept, can destroy your reputation without ever having to meet your eye. It cannot be bourne. The children of an old warrior culture which has been long-removed from the real costs of conflict so often come to view the reputation as the prime concern.

Dueling

Absent the battlefield (or even the tourney ground) the means to prove oneself—in strength of conviction, in courage—withers away. And yet the cultural drive to do so remains undiminished. That drive festers. It becomes insecurity; the fragile pride of character that confuses criticism and shame for slight and intent to wound. Such a character becomes, to borrow the term from Nietzsche, full of “consideration;” it refuses to be besmirched. In a broad stroke, the courtly manner and outward shell of chivalry shrank from charity, from duty, or even from protecting the weak. It sloughed off, in many ways and in many cases, leaving behind only self-involvement.

By the Victorian Era, the European gentry appears shackled by a certain ignorance so easily fostered in places which come to enjoy comfort and position. There is an ease-of-living which can certainly seduce one away from the experiences of his fellows, on account of some metropolitan social distance. The foundation of understanding that arose from the common weight of conflict on the warrior nobility was, in that era, gone. They did not need to respect one another, they did not even need to know one another. Rather, they regarded one another at a curated distance, interacting instead with sterile and hypocritical silhouettes that populated the puppet shows to which the courtly manner was reduced. All that remained was the desire for an unsmudged reputation, and the uninfringed word.

Young men of that age, often harboring confused senses of duty, challenged each other over a cross remark, a refusal of hospitality, or casual disbelief. The ensuing duel served neither the weak, nor the poor, nor the nation, nor the lord—but rather only the vanity of an individual’s reputation. Chivalric ideals are, by this time, largely excised culturally. Indeed, a system which tempers violence toward its greatest utility materially and spiritually was debased into vainglorious senseless bloodshed. A thousand years after the exploits of Charlemagne and his paladins, the remnants of their legend had been made into a burden by a society which misunderstood its lessons.

By the late 18th century most code duellos, that is, the laws under which a duel was carried out, were mostly devoted to avoiding the duel, providing opportunity for the regress of grievance and encouraging the seconds to seek every opportunity to find common ground and so avert the duel. The Royal Code of Honor by Joseph Hamilton written in 1829 elaborates on every point at which the duel might be averted and opens thus:

“Honor's not captious, nor dispos'd to fight, But, seeks to shun what's wrong, and do what's right."

I. No duel can be considered justifiable, which can be declined with honor, therefore, an appeal to arms should always be the last resource."

In fact, the first ten articles of the code enumerated by Hamilton outline the circumstances of offense which cannot acceptable cause a challenge, or when it would be more dishonorable to accept one. For instance:

“IX. Professional gentlemen, on whose energies or talents, the lives, fortunes, or reputation of their clients may depend, can never justify their fighting duels, without making a full, and timely surrender of their trusts”

Further articles present the particular duty of the deulist’s seconds to seek between themselves every possible aversion of the duel. Of particular note:

“XXIV. When bosom friends, fathers of large, or unprovided families, or very inexperienced youths are about to fight, the Seconds must be doubly justified in their solicitude for reconciliation.

LVIII. When the quarrel shall have terminated, the Seconds should remind the friends and relatives of the combatants, that the slightest indiscretion in their conversation on the subject, may renew the breach, and render a second meeting fatal.”

All of these articles, so concerned with reputational insecurity in a courtly manner, describe, very broadly, a sense of cultural exhaustion. In this time, the romance and the legend has entirely receded into the background, and the only material that remains is a sheepish fixation on personal reputation: The vain shadow of chivalric glory divorced from all its ennobling quality. There is something perhaps to be said for the character tested and the conviction required, to be called to compete honorably in a duel, as a mote of the crucible that produced the chivalric ethos. However the custom of dueling as a matter of individual vainglory is discussed by scholars in exhausted terms—a culture creeping about on tiptoe, unsure of how to divest themselves of a perilous heirloom; a treasure the use of which is not so much bygone as it is unintelligible. This Anecdote is included in Hamilton’s Code Duello as well:

“Major Dawson, with whose courage and good humour we are familiar, was challenged by a brother officer of equal rank, for merely pressing him to take another goblet; and General Barry was challenged by a Captain Smith, for refusing to take wine with him at dinner in a steam packet. The General in vain attempted to excuse himself, by declaring that wine invariably made him sick at sea. Dr. Dodd says, " I have known a challenge sent to a person for going out of the room abruptly, and leaving a man of honour in the midst of a dissertation." We could name a thousand instances like those, which remind us of the quarrel between Viola and Sir Andrew Ague, in which the latter says, " You broke my head for nothing;" and Viola replies, "You drew your sword upon me without cause."

What ignorance that allowed the growth of this viler form of bloodshed transposed on the nobler, chivalric pursuit is the inevitable consequence of seeking to undertake the works of a warrior-of-old without understanding his motives. The traditions passed down to us cannot survive in part, nor can they be transplanted carelessly without careful attention paid to the motives and environs which fostered them. So it was, alienated from history in a manner most modern, that the gentlemen of Western Europe mired themselves in the aesthetic of their ancestors, parading themselves in a manner of martial costume, which their ancestors fought so desperately to avoid. Not violence, but rather, the purposelessness of it.

end.

CCLXXXIV.

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