I have had the privilege over the years to teach literature to high school students. I particularly enjoy teaching medieval literature. I come away from those years far richer than I come into them. One of the works we always read is the Song of Roland, a French ballad of chivalry written probably around the First Crusade. It provides a wonderful gateway into discussing the ideal of chivalry, where it succeeded and failed during the Middle Ages, and why it matters today.
Chivalry at its basic level is simply a code of life that defines the proper actions and responsibilities toward friend and foe, man and woman, rich and poor. It includes areas such as society, manners, justice, war. The Medieval concept of chivalry, at least in its best moments, attempted to take those virtues that are objectively defined by the revealed character of God and apply them to the various circumstances and relationships of life.
If you think back to the knightly code of medieval Europe, it would have been of the utmost importance not only for you to live by a certain code, but also to be able to rely upon those around you to live by the same code. Friendship was built upon a mutual understanding of loyalty and trust. Enemies knew the rules of engagement on the battlefield. Women knew what a gentleman looked like. Men knew what a lady looked like. Not that there weren’t imposters running about, but they were imposters because there was a standard to deceptively imitate.
The cultural prophets of the past few generations have proclaimed that chivalry is dead. I don’t exactly know what form of chivalry has been killed, and I’m not interested in simply resurrecting some structure of the past. We do not necessarily need a well-developed chivalric code. But as Christians, we need to seriously consider again what a virtuous society looks like.
While virtue may deal with personal character, it is expressed communally. Virtue creates the fabric of life together. Therefore, several early medieval writers, such as the venerable Bede, called discretion the “mother of all the virtues.” Such discretion involves judging the proper expression of the other virtues within a particular context that maintains the integrity of those other virtues. Let me explain.
For a person to act a certain way in one situation would be courageous. To act in a similar manner in another situation would be brash and impulsive. For a person to extend mercy in one case would be truly merciful. To extend what appears to be mercy in another case would be foolhardy, condoning, or even cowardly. It is discretion that enables us to know the difference.
Think of all the ways we are called to honor others. I honor my wife in a way that is unique to how I honor all other women. The way I honor my mother now at 46 looks different than how I was called to honor her when I was 5, 12, or even 18. Discretion allows the virtue of honor to extend beyond good intentions to actually bestowing it tangibly upon another.
What does it look like to love my enemies, not in the abstract, but on the various battlefields of life? There are battlefields of nations, battlefields of ideas, battlefields of truth, and battlefields of personal conflict. All require a particular response in order to express the virtue of love. When does patience become passivity? When does honest speech become a spark that sets forests ablaze?
Because of the great rebellion of Adam and his descendents against God, we live in a world that by its very nature spoils virtue and subverts social norms. A world that was created for unity and harmony has the seeds of autonomy and discord permeating the soil of men’s hearts. The medievals understood the fallenness of man and felt the need for an explicit, societal code of honor. In contrast, many today are content to emphasize vague principles of love and respect.
However, the moral foundations that support our current cultural building project are extremely unstable even on a calm day. Add to it the stormy winds of #MeToo, Black Lives Matter, LGBTQ, or Trumpism, and you quickly find Christians walking timidly through a field of landmines. Love, respect, tolerance, empathy, mercy, justice, equality, etc. are all handled with uncertainty. When Jesus stated, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” the people responded, “Who is my neighbor?” Now they would ask, “What do you mean by love?”
The answer to this is a return to our mother virtue. A virtuous life must become a robust, unapologetic, catholic way of life; a liturgical dance for the everyday moments. These are not the days of standing by the punch bowl with our hands in our pockets looking unsure of what we’re supposed to be doing while the world dances on into oblivion. You fight a culture of death with a culture bursting at the seams with life.
So we learn how to sing and dance together. We learn how to eat together. We learn how to be a good friend, how to marry and raise children. We learn how to respect the wisdom of the old and invest in the strength of the young. We learn how to bestow greater honor on the weak. We learn how to hate the sin and love the sinner. We learn how to live peaceably in an increasingly hostile world. “Therefore, if anyone cleanses himself from what is dishonorable, he will be a vessel for honorable use, set apart as holy, useful to the master of the house, ready for every good work.” (2 Timothy 2:21)
