Is King Arthur to blame for the confusion about chivalry and simping?
In the last issue, I contrasted the chivalrous, dragon-killing knight with the hopeless loverboy simp in decorative armor, for those who confuse the two. True chivalry has nothing to do with simping; it is a martial code rather than a romantic one; it carries romantic implications, but never encourages the kind of weakness that leads men to sacrifice their dignity in exchange for a woman’s favor.
With that said, it’s easy to see how the misunderstanding came about. This essay will try to address some historical developments that led to the confusion, and particularly Arthur’s role.
Leon Gautier, the scholar of chivalry, says yes—it is largely Arthur’s fault. Or more specifically: it is the fault of Arthurianism, which probably has more to do with Lancelot than with Arthur.
Gautier distinguishes English chivalry (focusing on the adventures of Arthur’s knights) and its French counterpart (telling the stories of Charlemagne and his paladins). The French/Carolingian variety is, for Gautier, hardier and superior. It had to be. Necessity demanded it. With an existential threat of the Saracen just to the south, Charlemagne and Roland and company had no room for complacency; a fight was always on the horizon. Arthur’s knights had no such urgency. As soon as they subdued the rebellious elements and established order in the realm, emphasis shifted largely to romance and the knights became champions of noble ladies.
Fond as I am of the Round Table, these complaints ring true. “The romance of the Round Table,” Gautier writes, “spread amongst us the taste for a less wild but also a less manly chivalry. The elegancies of love in them occupied the place formally reserved for the brutality of war and the spirit of adventure in them extinguished the spirit of the crusades.”
This is the paradoxical advantage that a ferocious enemy bestows. He brings out the best in us.
Perhaps this point is yet another example of the cycle of civilization: hard times create strong men, strong men create good times, good times create weak men, weak men create hard times, and so on. Arthurianism show the problems that good times inflicts on otherwise brave knights, who mostly have nothing better to do than ride the countryside looking for damsels to save. Gautier’s dismissal of such romances is devastating:
“Sensual and light, witty and delicate, descriptive and charming, these pleasing romances are never masculine, and become too often effeminate and effeminating. They sing always, or almost always, the same theme. By lovely pastures clothed with beautiful flowers, the air full of birds, a young knight proceeds in search of the unknown, and through a series of adventures whose only fault is that they resemble one another somewhat too closely.”
Such romances lend themselves to a silliness or frivolity that is not present in the French songs. It is Arthurian and not Carolingian chivalry that gave Miguel de Cervantes so much to satire.
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, though it is an exceptional poem,exemplifies how Arthurianism spells a sort of decadence. After the rowdiness of the Green Knight’s arrival at Camelot and his challenge to the Knights of the Round Table, the poem takes a decidedly courtly turn. The poet tells us in just a few lines that Gawain’s martial exploits on the journey to the Green Chapel were wild and colorful—battles against serpents, wolves, bears, giants, wild men of the woods, and more. But these are not the stories the poet wishes to tell: “So many were the wonders he wandered among,” the poet writes, “that to tell what the tenth part with tax my wits.” Instead, the reader is shown the drama of Gawain the courtly houseguest.
Gautier notes that this tremendous departure from the tragedy of Charlemagne’s rearguard at Roncesvalles is a departure favored by the ladies. Courtly and romantic chivalry is womankind’s preferred version of chivalry. It is also the kind of chivalry that destroys kingdoms. The larger theme of the Arthurian saga is the destruction of Arthur’s great kingdom at the hands of romance gone awry. And yet we love that part which destroys kingdoms.
Arthur’s knights, for the most part, are not exactly simps, but they prepare us for that development, especially as technology and industrialization make individual prowess increasingly less important. Mounted warriors become mere gentleman. The knight in shining armor becomes a metaphor. Fast-forward a few centuries and we are liable to forget that chivalry ever had anything to do with prowess.
Complicated History, Uncomplicated Answer
There’s much more to say on this topic. Christopher Dawson, for instance, has an incredible chapter on how the “cult of courtesy” was an Islamic importation into Europe and very much in tension with the chivalry that had its highest expression in the efforts to reclaim the Holy Lands. My aim here was simply to present one overly generalized account of how we got into this mess, reducing the most excellent masculine code ever devised to a simplistic and uninspiring romantic disposition.
The solution to our problem is pretty straightforward: return to prowess.
The great historical reformers of chivalry have hammered this theme. Joan of Arc and Geoffroi de Charny found the armies of France in a sorry state, thanks in large part, Gautier writes, to an obsession with Arthurianism. Contrary to what the revisionists have tried to do with her, Joan of Arc was no protofeminist seeking to redefine gender roles; she was God’s messenger, sent to inspire the men of her country to return to true chivalry. And when Charny, himself a legendary knight, wrote his classic manual on chivalry, his emphasis was clear: get back to prowess. “He who does more is worth more,” Charny repeats several times.
So it is with us today. We need to become men capable of doing more.