Communication Challenges in the Crusade Period: A Survey

Abstract

Considering communication as an analytical category provides new insights into crusading history. This paper investigates two main aspects, namely, (1) Papal propaganda campaigns, and (2) the communication challenges inherent in the development of the crusades and the Latin East. Both fields combined offer additional perspectives of the crusades while hinting at a twofold failure: vis-à-vis the European audiences, who throughout the thirteenth century were no longer receptive to the traditional papal message. Second, the almost complete lack of communication initiatives that could have facilitated a more fluent interchange across the Mediterranean and perhaps also retard if not obstruct the collapse of the Latin settlements Outremer. From a communication perspective, therefore, the papal policy encapsulated not only a propaganda fiasco but possibly also a communication blackout.

1. Introduction

The status of the medieval papacy was conditioned, inter alia, by the popes’ ability to maintain a fluent communication with the faithful, their leaders in particular. In face of the fragmentation that characterized the feudal system, medieval pontiffs had therefore to strengthen their leadership within the social order, which they defined as Societas Christiana. As such, it was the Christian faith and the popes’ status as Vicars of Christ (Matt. XVI: 18–19; John XXI: 17) that substantiated its existence and goals (Kempf 1994, pp. 173–75; Maccarrone 1940, passim).

Papal influence expanded beyond rhetorical theology and paved the way for sociopolitical movements, such as the Peace of God and the Gregorian Reform. Both developments were closely connected and indicate a level of fluent communication between the pope—at the head and the clergy—and the laity by the Central Middle Ages (McKinney 1930, pp. 181–206; Young 2021, pp. 28–55; Howe 2016, pp. 13–48; Menache 1990, pp. 41–50). The crusades are considered another example of papal leadership and its unprecedented propaganda success in medieval society and are often taught as such in communication studies programs.

Deeper investigation of the crusades from a communication perspective, however, leads to more complex interpretations. It is the thesis of this paper that considering communication as an analytical category provides new insights into crusading history. It investigated two main aspects:

(1) Papal propaganda campaigns, and

(2) The communication challenges inherent in the development of the crusades and the Latin East.

Both fields combined offer additional perspectives of the crusades decline at the Late Middle Ages.

2. Papal Propaganda Campaigns1

Pope Urban II launched the First Crusade at the Council of Clermont (27 November 1095), where the ideological fundaments of the military pilgrimage overseas, its recruitment pool and targets were established. Unfortunately, as claimed by Joshua Prawer, it is “a historical irony” that the original apostolic homily was not preserved (Prawer 1963, p. 82). Indeed, available historical records were produced about ten years after the council, perhaps reflecting some of Urban’s original designs but also the unprecedented success of the First Crusade. Yet, the various surviving versions reflect common themes, which may clarify the fundamental papal goals. These almost certainly included the liberation of the Holy Land and the defense of pilgrims on their route to Jerusalem while safeguarding Eastern Christians, both of them suffering under the Muslim yoke (Carleton Munro 1906, pp. 231–42; Strack 2012, pp. 3–45; Maier 2018, pp. 333–46). According to Robert of Rheims—who was present at the council and wrote one of the most widely-read histories of the First Crusade (Russo 2002, pp. 651–91; trans. Sweetenham 2005, pp. 28–68)—the pope was appealing to a specific audience, mainly, French knights:

Frenchmen … men chosen by and beloved of God … it is to you that we address our sermon … Disturbing news has emerged from Jerusalem and the city of Constantinople … that the race of Persians, a foreign people and a people rejected by God … has invaded the land of those Christians …. May the deeds of your ancestors move you and spur your souls to manly courage …. And most especially let the Holy Sepulcher of Our Lord the Redeemer move you—in the power as it is of foul races—and the holy places now abused and sacrilegiously defiled by their filthy practices …

(Robert of Reims 1844, p. 730; trans. Sweetenham 2005, pp. 79–80).2

Urban clarified his purpose in his letter to the faithful in Bologna (19 September 1096), while clearly establishing strict criteria for enrollment:

But we do not allow either clerics or monks to go unless they have permission from their bishops and abbots. Bishops should also be careful not to allow their parishioners to go without the advice and foreknowledge of the clergy. You must also see to it that young married men do not rashly set out on such a long journey without the agreement of their wives ….

(Hagenmeyer 1901, pp. 137–38; trans. Riley Smith and Riley Smith 1981, p. 39)

The papal letter is all the more relevant for being addressed to Bologna, the first European University—alma mater studiorum—and an important center of legal studies at the time. The pope once and again emphasized the military nature of the forthcoming expedition, which consequently excluded the participation of the clergy and other social classes:

We have heard that some of you want to set out with the knights who are making for Jerusalem … This is the right kind of sacrifice, but it is planned by the wrong kind of person. For we were stimulating the minds of knights to go on this expedition, since they might be able to retrain the savagery of the Saracens by their arms and restore the Christians to their former freedom ….

(Hagenmeyer 1901, pp. 137–38; trans. Riley Smith and Riley Smith 1981, p. 39; Villads Jensen 2018, pp. 83–98)

Urban’s call, however, quickly expanded beyond the French knighthood and within a few months the apostolic plans for a Gesta Dei per Francos turned into an overall Holy War of Christendom as a whole. Although it is quite difficult to quantify and classify the participation in the First Crusade (1096–1099), it is clear that it involved all social strata, regardless of gender, age, occupation, and/or military skills (Bull 2008, pp. 99–104; Tyerman 1992, p. 18; Kostick 2008, pp. 287–300; Kedar 1972, pp. 267–79). Indeed, Urban’s demonization of the Muslims (Othman 2014, pp. 89–106), and his evocation of most venerated holy places transcended fragmented feudal structures; it further created a pan-European Christian movement for the first time in medieval history. According to Jonathan Riley Smith, the unprecedented positive reaction resulted inter alia from Urban’s association of the war “with the most charismatic of all traditional penances, the pilgrimage to Jerusalem” (Riley Smith 1997, p. 52; 1993, p. 16).

Contemporary chroniclers were aware of the extraordinary response to Urban II’s call, and considered its circulation speed a divinely inspired miracle:

How many of various ages and abilities and stations in life took crosses and committed themselves to pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulcher! The news of that revered council spread throughout every country, and the story of its important decision reached the ears of kings and princes. It touched a chord, and more than 300,000 decided to go on pilgrimage and took action to carry out their vow insofar as God had given them the ability …” ….

(Robert of Reims 1844, p. 730; trans. Sweetenham 2005, p. 83)

Furthermore,

When it was God’s will and pleasure to free the Holy Sepulcher … from the power of the pagans and to open the way to Christians desiring to travel there for the redemption of their souls, he showed many signs, powers, prodigies and portents to sharpen the minds of Christians so that they should want to hurry there.

(Historia peregrinorum 1844, p. 173)

“The many signs, powers, prodigies and portents” achieved their purpose since by the month of December, i.e., only one month after the Council of Clermont, the pope could rightly assume that “it is widely known … [that] we imposed on them the obligation to undertake such a military enterprise for the remission of all their sins (emphasis mine)” (Hagenmeyer 1901, pp. 136–37; trans. Riley Smith and Riley Smith 1981, p. 38; Somerville 2019, pp. 331–35; Chevedden 2013, pp. 1–46). Urban himself promoted the Holy War in the areas surrounding Angers, Tours, and Limoges (Cowdrey 1970, pp. 177–88). Peter the Hermit complemented the papal efforts in urbes et municipia (Blake and Morris 1985, pp. 79–107), thus turning medieval cities into a focal point for crusader preaching and recruitment (Orderici Vitalis historiae ecclesiasticae 1855, p. 478).

The question, however, remains as to whether the widespread attraction of the First Crusade should be regarded as a result of papal propaganda alone. Noteworthy in this regard is that neither the papal call to a Holy War against the Muslims nor the indulgences were unprecedented. On the contrary, they both were consistent with papal policy, at least since the pontificate of Gregory VII (1073–1085). Indeed, the servus servorum Dei had planned to support the Byzantine Empire against the Seljūk Turks, while he had also emphasized the brutality and malevolence of the enemies of the Cross. In the papal terms:

“…a race of pagans has strongly prevailed against the Christian empire and with pitiable cruelty has already almost up to the walls of the city of Constantinople laid waste and with tyrannical violence has seized everything; it has slaughtered like cattle (quasi pecudes) many thousands of Christians …”

Gregory had further appealed not only to the religious feelings but also to the sense of Christian solidarity of his addressees “… if we love God and acknowledge ourselves to be Christians, we must deeply grieve for the pitiable plight of so great an empire and for so great a carnage of Christians” (1 March 1074) (Gregory VII 1074, col. 329; trans. Cowdrey 2002, p. 55).

Urban II’s call from Clermont a few years later was therefore consistent with Gregory VII’s aims, while strengthening the apostolic connection between warfare and salvation (Asbridge 2010, p. 38; Cowdrey 1982, p. 40; Lathan 2011, pp. 223–43). Beyond the changing political circumstances—especially, Gregory VII’s unstable political status—his failure to mobilize Christendom as opposed to Urban II’s ostensible success was perhaps due also to a shift in emphasis. Urban’s priority focused on the Holy War against the Christians’ enemy and its threat, and the resulting liberation of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. The Eastern Christians and the Byzantine Empire were therefore relegated to the margins of papal strategy (Chevedden 2005, pp. 265–68; 2008, pp. 181–200).

Nevertheless, the Holy War declared by both Gregory VII and Urban II overseas was actually manipulated at the service of apostolic political interests in Europe. Indeed, the crusades were an important tool to achieve the much-desired preeminence of the Vicar of Christ over the anointed kings of Christendom, the Holy Roman Emperor at their head (Throop 1975, p. 4; Watt 1964, pp. 179–317; Tierney 1965, pp. 227–45). The absence of monarchs in the First Crusade and, concurrently, Urban’s banning of the clergy from participating in the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, were both undoubtedly connected. Vis-à-vis the kings’ reservations concerning papal monarchical plans, stood the indispensability of the clergy’s presence in Europe for achieving the opposite goals. As claimed by Paul Chevedden: “Once the recovery of the lost lands of Christendom became a stated objective of a newly emancipated papacy, attempts to achieve this political purpose were put into effect and crusading was born” (Chevedden 2005, p. 277; Cowdrey 1998, pp. 459–66, 481–86; 1982, pp. 27–40).

The widespread support of the First Crusade in eleventh-century Christendom does not therefore indicate the contemporaries’ identification with papal political goals. For the most part, indeed, these remained either hidden from the faithful and/or limited to the ongoing Investiture Conflict between the rex et sacerdos. Beyond religious zeal, it is reasonable to assume that the extensive support for the First Crusade was also the result of socioeconomic developments, first and foremost demographic growth and the consequent search for additional economic markets (Barthélemy and White 1996, pp. 196–223; Greif 1991, pp. 459–62). The papal call for the liberation of the Holy Sepulcher, indeed, coincided with an ongoing process of socioeconomic change, which involved large parts of the European population. Both goals—the liberation of the Holy Land and the pursuit of new markets for a growing population—were not contradictory but complemented each other. Together, they ensured the success of the papal propaganda campaign and, consequently, of the First Crusade.

The wide response to Urban II’s call further reflects deeply-rooted ideas, symbols, and expectations, which the papacy tried but did not always succeed in channeling into a military French enterprise against the Muslims in the Holy Land, conducted by a specifically targeted social class (Menache and Cohen 1986, pp. 52–62). Indeed, contemporary reactions to Urban’s call either at the cognitive, emotional, and/or practical levels differed from the pope’s recruitment program and its guiding principles. The heterogeneous composition of the mob that thronged to join the crusade, furthermore, did differ if not contradict the papal plans of a gesta Dei per Francos. Moreover, the systematic massacre of Jews that accompanied the People’s Crusade (1096), is the starkest expression of the distortion between the disorganized mob surging toward the “land of milk and honey”, and the original papal vision for the crusade. It moreover ran counter to both the Augustinian principle of testes fidei—which tolerated the inferior Jewish status in Christendom as irrefutable proof of Christian supremacy—and the ecclesiastical opposition to anti-Jewish riots that could easily degenerate into sociopolitical anarchy (Harkins 2008, pp. 35–40; Menache 1985a, pp. 351–74). The outbreak of anti-Jewish uprisings during the First Crusade was not unique but characterized the first stages of the Third Crusade in England, as well (Stacey 1999, pp. 233–51; Birkett 2018, pp. 23–61). The high clergy repeated attempts to defend the Jews, while putting their own lives and possessions in jeopardy, provides additional proof of the crusaders’ independent actions, which sometimes opposed ecclesiastical policy. This paradox justifies further analysis of the purported propaganda success of the First Crusade.

According to Harold Lasswell’s classic analysis of the effects of propaganda, the First Crusade provides a clear proof of propaganda effectiveness: Urban II’s call for the crusade convinced “the meanest as well as the keenest intelligence” and turned into latent public opinion within the society it aimed to influence (Lasswell 1971a, p. 195; 1971b, pp. 84–99; Laughey 2007, pp. 7–28). However, as against Lasswell’s chain of communication that assumes a total conductance between sender and receiver, the First Crusade and some of the following crusades as well, exemplify a modified conductance between the sender (the pope) and the receivers (the faithful) while the pope’s original aims were modified and sometimes completely changed (McOuail and Windahl 1993, p. 14). One should also take into consideration the existence of intermediators in the deliverance and propagation, but eventually also the adaptation and interpretation of the crusade message (Defining Propaganda II 1944) (www.historians) (accessed on 8 March 2022). Members of the lower clergy as well as itinerant preachers, for example, undoubtedly played an important if not decisive role in the Hatred of the Jew, which was part and parcel of the First Crusade.

Notwithstanding the modified conductance from papal original plans, the success of the First Crusade in the eyes of its contemporaries was considerable. Indeed, the first Christian expedition Outremer established the nuclei of viable states, mainly, the Frankish Kingdom of Jerusalem, the County of Edessa, the Principality of Antioch, and (later) the County of Tripoli (France 1970, pp. 276–308). These territorial achievements further influenced the massive response to the Second Crusade (1147–1150), as well (Phillips 2007, pp. 37–99). The achievements of the First Crusade eventually became part and parcel of Western culture and myths, while enriching its sociopolitical, symbolic, and terminological thesaurus up to this very day (Menache and Gutwein 2002, pp. 385–400). The following consecutive failures in the battlefield, however, had opposite consequences, thus neutralizing if not boycotting the immediate effects of papal propaganda.

The deteriorating situation Outremer was vividly expressed in a letter from Conrad of Montferrat—ruler of the Kingdom of Jerusalem as consort to Queen Isabella I—to Baldwin, Archbishop of Canterbury, two years after the traumatic Christian downfall at the Horns of Hattin (Kedar 1992, pp. 190–207; Hamblin 1992, pp. 228–38):

The holy city of Jerusalem, despoiled of its worshippers, is to be mourned and lamented. As a consequence of their sins, its inhabitants have been placed under tribute to Saladin, and, having paid the capitation tax, are driven far from the kingdom. The walls of Jerusalem are bereft of their hermit occupants. God has stood back as if from the defilement of our evil, and Mohammed has taken over; where Christ was prayed to day and night at the appointed hours, now Mohammed is praised with uplifted voice.

(Ralph of Diceto 1865, pp. 60–62; trans. Edbury 1998, pp. 168–69)

By the force of circumstances, the expectations of “a land flowing with milk and honey” (Ex. III: 8) were gradually being replaced by the ominous Biblical warning of “a land that eateth up the inhabitants thereof” (Num. XIII: 32). In other words, the biblical mythical image of the Holy Land, which served as a main stimulus in the First and Second Crusades, was gradually replaced by another, more cruel but still more real image of the Levant, with all the violence and suffering that characterized the crusaders’ experience there. Such a change undoubtedly undermined the former unconditioned support of the papal plans and paved the way for more accurate and still more critical attitudes. Thomas Agni of Lentini, papal legate and Bishop of Bethlehem, could therefore sadly conclude:

We have turned a deaf ear to the tribulations suffered by the cities of the eastern regions from afar and from so near that they seemed to come from the other side of the wall. Fear and paralysis have blunted our sense and those of our children (1 March 1260).

(Menkonis Chronicon 1874, p. 547; trans. Barber and Bate 2010, pp. 153–54)

The crusaders’ repeated calls for assistance usually encountered a positive response from the Apostolic See—against the growing indifference of the laity (R.H.G.F, 1968, p. 640; Cartulaire general de l’Ordre des Hospitallers 1906, nos. 1536, 1543, 1554, 1572, 1631, 1633). It would be rather redundant here to detail the papal continuous but still abortive attempts to mobilize Western rulers. The hesitant attitude of most Christian princes, indeed, was conditioned by their own immediate political and economic interests in Europe (Cartulaire general de l’Ordre des Hospitallers 1906, no. 4157; Riley Smith 2012, pp. 37–38). In most cases, especially in France and England—both countries being a vital factor in the crusades—the royal crusader vow was manipulated as an important if not unique means to replenish the royal deteriorating treasure (Lunt 1939, passim; Menache 1985b, pp. 193–208).

Besides the utilitarian attitudes of Christian rulers, the growing indifference toward the Holy Land throughout the thirteenth century had multiple causes. Georges de Lagarde had successfully pointed at this process (Lagarde 1956, vol. 1, passim). The laicization and secularization of urban populations embraced all fields of life and left its mark on the prevailing hesitant if not antagonistic attitudes to the crusades. (Strayer 1940, pp. 76–86; Chevedden 2013, p. 46). The changing historical reality—which included a better knowledge of the Levant and the Muslims—further encouraged more realistic attitudes toward the Holy Land instead of the mythical beliefs of former generations.

The papacy itself, rather paradoxically, contributed to the deterioration of the sacred halo that accompanied early crusades. Although the definition of the crusades as a” Holy War proclaimed by the pope in the name of God” (Riley Smith and Riley Smith 1981, p. 1; Riley Smith 2016, pp. 9–28; 2014, pp. 1–23) did not restrict the crusades to any enterprise in the Holy Land against the Moslems, the First Crusade did create these links in actual practice. The Christian victories on the battlefield, furthermore, were perceived as irrefutable proof of Christ’s blessing of the first Christian enterprise overseas, since:

… each faithful soul had no leadership but that of God alone, while he saw himself as God’s companion-at-arms and did not doubt that God went before him, by whose will and inspiration he had started out and with whom he would rejoice as his consolation when he was in difficulties.

(Guibert of Nogent 1844, pp. 123–25; trans. Huygens 1996, p. 56)

Thirteenth-century popes, however, were not fully aware of the growing gap between prevalent expectations and actual practice, nor took the necessary actions to avoid the resulting disappointment with regard the crusades and, consequently, the indifference, even the failure of their propaganda campaigns. On the contrary, the realpolitik characteristic of Western European rulers permeated apostolic policy as well, while turning the crusade into an effective tool to be used against political adversaries and the so-called heretical movements in Europe (Housley 1982, pp. 193–208; Barber 2001, pp. 45–55). Whatever its results in actual practice, the realpolitik of the Vicar of Christ further strengthened the growing criticism of the crusades, the papacy, and all other relevant ecclesiastical sectors. Moreover, the repeated reversals on the battlefield further brought about the first seeds of suspicions with regard papal policy as a whole. The main advocate of the Second Crusade, Bernard of Clairvaux, shared with Pope Eugene III his frustration in light of the crucial failures in the battlefield:

Surely they are saying among the nations, Where is their God? No wonder. The sons of the Church and those who are counted as Christians have been overthrown in the desert, slain by the sword or consumed by hunger … we have promised good things and you see there is disorder, so that it looks as though we have gone into this business rashly without stopping to think … But perhaps our contemporaries say, ‘How can we know that what you say is truly inspired by the Lord? What proof can you give us to make us believe in you?’ I have no answer to their questions; they must spare my embarrassment ….

(Bernard of Clairvaux 1963, vol. 3, pp. 410–13; trans. Riley Smith and Riley Smith 1981, pp. 62–63; Ordman 2015, pp. 113–40)

The confusion and mortification alluded to by St. Bernard resulted from the disappointing results of the Second Crusade, the undertaking of which the Cistercian abbot had so vehemently preached a few years earlier. The intermittent defeats in the Levant further stimulated doubts and even suspicions about whether the crusades were indeed inspired by an Almighty God or by the greed and ambitions of human beings, the Vicar of Christ at their head. The Second Crusade’s failure to recover Edessa thus prompted a process of dissociation between God’s hidden designs and the earthly goals voiced by His vicar, who was not yet considered immune to error and miscalculation (Tierney 1972, passim; Parisoli 1999, pp. 143–64). Furthermore, the continuous failure to defend and maintain the achievements of the First Crusade raised difficult questions such as Why would Christ withhold victory from the Christian armies and, instead, favor the Moslems, whose terrible crimes were by then mythicized? The most common ecclesiastical response of peccatis nostris exigentibus (required by our own sins), unsuccessfully tried to transfer the guilt from the pope, the unquestionable leader of the crusades, to his sinful flock, especially those living Outremer.

The Apostolic See tried to neutralize the growing criticism with the same argumentation that had served Urban II’s purposes so well. Faithful to this policy, Pope Innocent III proclaimed at the beginning of his pontificate (Post miserabile, 13 August 1198),

After the wretched fall of the kingdom of Jerusalem, after the lamentable slaughter of the people of Christendom, after the deplorable invasion of that land on which the feet of Christ had stood … the Apostolic See, alarmed at the awful recurrence of disasters so unfortunate, was struck with agonizing grief … Still the Apostolic See cries aloud, and she raises her voices like a trumpet, trying to arouse the nations of Christendom to fight the battles of Christ and to revenge the injuries done to him crucified.

(Chronica magistri Rogeri de Hovedone 1871, vol. 4, p. 70; trans. Bird et al. 2013, pp. 31–37)

Papal rhetoric, however, did not bring about the so-expected liberation of Jerusalem nor did it renew the massive reactions aroused in Clermont. On the contrary: the Venetians exploited the crusaders’ financial shortage and deviated the Fourth Crusade to the conquest of the Christian city of Zara (24 November 1202), and of Constantinople (13 April 1204), thus provisionally bringing the end to the Eastern Roman Empire (Madden 1993, pp. 441–68; Angold 2015, pp. 75–110). Although the realpolitik of Venice fighting for its economic markets was in open contrast to the Children’s ideological crusades a few years later (Raedts 1977, pp. 279–323; Dickson 2008, passim) neither crusade reached the Holy Land nor received apostolic approval. Both expeditions thus exemplify not only the polarity of the late crusades but also the relegation of the Apostolic See to a marginal position, at the very most. Both crusades further demonstrate the growing gap between the Apostolic See and the flourishing cities with their commercial interests, on the one hand, and the ecclesiastical failure to provide the spiritual and practical guidance that the increasing population was looking for, on the other.

The Holy See did sometimes enjoy the consequences at the short range, for example, following the Venetian victory in Constantinople and the consequent emergence of the Latin Empire of Constantinople (1204–1261). Still, Venetian achievements were not only provisory, but they also brought about the complete deterioration of the already problematic relationship with the Eastern Christians and the much-desired reunion with the Orthodox Church (Charanis 1952, pp. 123–34; Neocleous 2010, pp. 253–74). In parallel, the growing ecclesiastical administration alienated an increasing number of urban populations from the clergy, thus facilitating their passage to heterodoxy if not heresy.

The challenging experiences of the Fourth and the Children Crusades did not however put an end to apostolic crusader zeal. Toward the end of its pontificate, at the Fourth Lateran Council (1215), Pope Innocent III still tried to enlist Christendom to the Fifth Crusade (Quia maior, 19–29 April 1213):

Because at this time there is a more compelling urgency than there has ever been before to help the Holy Land in her great need … For it was entirely in the power of almighty God, if he had so wished, to prevent that land from being handed over into hostile hands … since nothing can resist His will. He has granted them an opportunity to win salvation, nay more, a means of salvation so that those who fight faithfully for him will be crowned in happiness by him, but those who refuse to pay him the servant’s service that then owe him in a crisis of such great urgency will justly deserve to suffer a sentence of damnation on the Last Day of severe judgment … So rouse yourselves, most beloved sons, transforming your quarrels and rivalries, brother against brother, into associations of peace and affection; gird yourself for the service of the Crucified, not hesitating to risk your possessions and your persons for Him ….

(Tangl 1929, pp. 88–97; trans. Riley Smith and Riley Smith 1981, pp. 119–21; Bird 2004, pp. 23–47)

Although expressed in feudal vocabulary to facilitate its reception, papal exhortations failed over and over again to arouse massive support. The failure of papal propaganda was undoubtedly due to the change of attitudes towards the Holy Land and the emergence of a more secular, worldly society. The Fourth Crusade—also called “unholy crusade” (Godfrey 1980, passim)—reflects in this regard the growing impact of politico-economic factors among urban populations. Western Kings were well aware of the changing climate of opinion while developing a more selective propaganda at home. Thus, the Maccabees, with all the glory of victorious soldiers, replaced the former halo of the Holy Land, which by the thirteenth century lost much of its mythical halo (Menache 1980, pp. 55–65; ead., 1983, pp. 85–97).

The growing criticism of the crusades was also targeted against other ecclesiastical institutions, such as the Military Orders, the very existence of which was in the near past identified with the most heroic defense of the Holy Land. The same knights who only a century earlier have been regarded as the milites Christi par excellence, ready to sacrifice their lives and possessions in the Holy War against the Moslems (Bernard of Clairvaux 1963, vol. 3, pp. 205–39; Bulst-Thiele 1992, pp. 57–65), became associated with vicious pride and worldly avarice (Matthew Paris 1883, vol. 2, pp. 144–45; William of Tyre 1986, pp. 553–55; Menache 1982, pp. 135–47; Barber 1984, pp. 27–38).

The unceasing defeats in the battlefield further strengthened the Muslims’ mockery of the many weaknesses and lack of initiative of the Christian God “who … is asleep”, (de Bastard 1974, pp. 356–59) while the balance of power between Jesus and Mohamed gradually shifted in favor of the latter. Austore d’Aurillac, a poet from Southern France, did not hesitate to criticize the designs of Providence, which seemed to have allowed, if not favored, King Louis IX’s defeats in Egypt (Battle of Faraskur, 6 April 1250) (Richard 1983, pp. 217–54, 531–69; Le Goff 1996, pp. 356–59). Austore even went a step further and hinted at the possibility that some faithful would embrace Mohammed and Islam in light of this outrageous injustice (Jeanroy 1907, pp. 81–82). Contemporary chroniclers, as well, referred to the widespread disappointment with King Louis IX crusades, while casting the obsessive struggle of the papacy against Emperor Frederick II in Europe as the main cause of the Christian defeats overseas (Matthew Paris 1883, vol. 5, pp. 172–73). At a time when the “Holy War” flourished in the Continent at the service of papal interests rather than in the Holy Land against the Muslims, Guillem Fabre, a citizen from Narbonne, could therefore conclude:

He who is our head, placed to govern our faith, merits even greater blame. In fact, although the greater part of the known world obeys him, he did not command a crusade against the perfidious wretches who hold the Holy Land before the present discord occurred and before the world became bad; for [if he had done this] I believe that all the great who maintain hatred would now be there [in the Holy Land] doing good.

(Throop 1975, p. 64)

Moreover, shortly after the fall of Arsuf at the hands of Sultan Baybars (late March 1265), the Templar knight Ricaut Bonomel expressed in dark colors the sense of frustration and disappointment common to many of those who had sacrificed much of their personal profit for the Holy Land:

• Anger and grief are entrenched in my heart
• So that I am almost ready to kill myself
• Or abandon the cross that I had taken
• In honor of the One who was put on the cross;
• For neither cross nor faith bring me succor or protection
• Against those felon Turks, God curse them!
• On the contrary, from what one can see,
• God wants to support them to our detriment ….
• So, he is really mad who wages war against the Turks
• Since Jesus Christ does not oppose them;
• … And every day they defeat us here,
• Since God, who used to be vigilant, is asleep,
• Mohamed is operating with all his might,
• … For here the Turks have dominated us,
• Captured, defeated and sold us for cash.
(de Bastard 1974, pp. 356–59; trans. Barber and Bate 2002, pp. 232–33)

The deteriorating situation overseas appears over and again in thirteenth-century reports. Humbert of Romans, the Minister-General of the Dominican Order and, as such, a high officer in the ecclesiastical hierarchy, was well aware of his contemporaries’ reservations not only about papal policy but also about the crusades in general, while asked:

… [W]hat is the use of this attack upon the Saracens? For they are not roused to conversion by it, but rather are provoked against the Christian faith. When we are victorious and have killed them, moreover, we send them to hell, which seems to be against the law of charity. Also when we gain their lands we do not occupy them as colonists, because our countrymen do not want to stay in these regions, and so there seems to be no spiritual, corporeal, or temporal benefits from this sort of fighting.

(Humbert of Romans 1635, p. 196; trans. Siberry 1985, p. 208)

Other contemporaries emphasized the inherent contradiction between the blood-letting of the crusades and Christ’s pursuit of peace (Tyerman 2012, passim). Notwithstanding the continuous but still abortive papal efforts to renew the crusades after the fall of crusader Acre (Petersen 2000, pp. 262–319), Dante Alighieri could therefore sarcastically refer to “the Holy Land, which seems to have slipped from the pope’s memory” (Dante Alighieri 2002, v. 125–26; Menache 1997, pp. 101–28).

The papacy’s inability to reinvigorate the crusades and, ultimately, the fall of crusader Acre on 28 May 1291, reflect the final collapse of apostolic plans (Bird et al. 2013, pp. 475–86). It is rather doubtful if the many projects De recuperatione Terrae Sanctae—which most of them did not materialize—could balance the decline of papal leadership (Housley 2006, pp. 277–307; Schein 1991, pp. 269–70). As claimed by Palmer Throop, “as long as the pope could organize public opinion in the interest of the Holy Land, his power was superior to that of temporal rulers” (Throop 1975, p. 4). Conversely, the decline of the crusades was parallel to the regression of papal leadership up until the exile in Avignon, the “Babylonian Exile of the Papacy” (Peterson 2002, pp. 127–47).

3. Communication Challenges3

The deteriorating impact of papal propaganda justifies a reconsideration of available communication channels and their weight in the development of the crusades. The considerable mobilization to the First Crusade hints at the effectiveness of contemporary communication channels by which the papal message spread throughout Christendom. The question therefore remains whether the same communication channels were suitable for implementing a challenging enterprise overseas, as well.

The crusades, indeed, required most efficient communication channels to maintain a steady contact with those who departed for the Holy Land. The heterogeneous character of the crusaders turned this purpose into a difficult, if not impossible mission. Fulcher of Chartres—himself a participant in the First Crusade and the author of the eagerly quoted A History to the Expedition to Jerusalem, 1095–1127 (Giese 1987, pp. 62–115; Polat 2018, pp. 149–60)—expresses the euphoria common to the early pilgrims to Jerusalem:

And whoever heard of such a mixture of languages in one army? There were present Franks, Flemings, Frisians, Gauls, Allobroges, Lotharingians, Alemanni, Bavarians, Normans, English, Scots, Aquitanians, Italians, Dacians, Apulians, Iberians, Britons, Greeks, and Armenians. If any Briton or Teuton wishes to question me, I could neither reply nor understand.

(Fulcher of Chartres 1844, pp. 336–37; trans. Ryan 1967, pp. 271–72)

During the crusade period, however, a magnanimous God seems to have lifted the biblical myth of the Tower of Babel (Gen. XI: 1–9), and those who departed for the Holy Land eventually joined together as brothers in arms:

Consider, I pray, and reflect how in our time God has transformed the Occident into the Orient. For we who were Occidentals have now become Orientals. He who was a Roman or a Frank has in this land been made into a Galilean, or a Palestinian […]. We have already forgotten the places of our birth […]. Words of different languages have become common property known to each nationality, and mutual faith unites those who are ignorant of their descent […]. He who was born a stranger is now as one born here; he who was born an alien has become as a native.

(Fulcher of Chartres 1844, pp. 336–37; trans. Ryan 1967, pp. 271–72)

Notwithstanding Fulcher’s enthusiastic, though fantastical description, linguistic barriers did not disappear but characterized instead much of the crusade period. Indeed, twelfth-century chroniclers recognized the “diversity of nations, customs, and languages” among those who restored Christian rule to Lisbon (25 October 1147) (De expugnatione Lyxbonensi 1936, p. 52; Phillips 2000, pp. 123–41; Forey 2004, pp. 1–13).

Linguistic diversity had a direct effect on preaching, the main propaganda channel at the disposal of the Church (Bird 2016, pp. 27–47). The Cistercian abbot Bernard of Clairvaux, for example, preached the Second Crusade in the urban centers of France, Lothringia, Flanders, and Germany (1146–1147) (Pranger 2007, pp. 33–40; Skottki 2017, pp. 236–72). Although Bernard was able to preach only in French and Latin, his German listeners were captivated by the zeal and force of the abbot’s sermons as if they had been delivered in their own tongue. When linguistic barriers disappeared, as in Vézelay, Bernard’s preaching aroused such enthusiasm that he had to tear up his clothing to meet the crowd’s demand for crosses (Claster 2009, p. 147; Phillips 2001, p. 20; Pedry 2013, pp. 1–24). Similarly, Archdeacon Gerard of Wales preached the Third Crusade (1188–1192) in Latin to Welsh people, who had absolutely no knowledge of the ecclesiastical language. He further declared that preaching was less dependent upon its content and more on its emotive appeal (Bartlett 1983, pp. 598–613; Richter 1973, pp. 379–90; Flahiff 1947, pp. 162–88). Mass weeping and the manifestation of miracles were considered irrefutable proof of success (Oliver of Paderborn 1894, pp. 285–86; trans. Riley Smith and Riley Smith 1981, pp. 135–36, 162–64). The widespread success of both Bernard of Clairvaux and Gerard of Wales makes it clear that beyond linguistic skills, body language and mass suggestion played a crucial role in the medieval public. Indeed, the need to enter into a dialogue with their contemporaries and elicit an immediate, active response—i.e., taking the crusader vow while departing for the Holy Land—encouraged preachers to use multiple techniques to arouse visceral reactions, such as loud shouting, songs (mostly in the vernacular), bells, processions, public prayers, ornaments, and gestures (Paul 2010, pp. 534–66; Rubenstein 2016, pp. 113–35).

Beyond the many communication challenges across Europe, the crusades presented Christendom with the imperative to face the long, treacherous distances between Europe and the Levant. The slowness of transmission critically affected communication and its effectiveness. The Second Crusade schedule highlights the many delays that affected the interaction between the two shores of the Mediterranean (Roche and Moller 2015, passim; Ruby Wagner 2013, pp. 322–40). According to Archbishop William of Tyre, “when the city of Edessa was captured—at the hands of ‘Imad al-Din Zengi, ruler of Mosul and Aleppo, on 25 December 1144—the news of the ominous disaster was carried by rumors (Rosnow 1988, pp. 12–28; Caplow 1947, pp. 298–302) throughout the entire West” (William of Tyre 1986, pp. 739–40; trans. Atwater Babcock and Krey 1943, p. 163; Annales Herbipolenses 1902, cols. 4–5). However, messengers from Antioch formally delivered the distressing news to the pope only almost one year later. Eugenius III reacted immediately, issuing bulls calling for the Second Crusade (“Quantum predecessores”, 1 December 1145) (Rassow 1924, pp. 302–5; Fonnesber-Schmidt and Jotischky 2018, passim). The pope repeated his call three months later, probably because the original letters were lost and did not reach their destinations. Carried by monastic messengers, the subsequent epistles arrived relatively fast in England, Denmark, Tournai, the Low Countries, Flanders, and Lisieux. Eugene III also wrote about his crusade project to Emperor Manuel, who replied in August 1146 and again in March 1147 (Grosse 1991, pp. 87–90). Still, the Christian armies left Europe by April 1147, almost eighteen months after the papal call and two and a half years after the fall of Edessa (William of Tyre 1986, p. 326; Constable 1953, pp. 213–79; Phillips 2007, p. 37; 1996, pp. 77–99; Marvin 2018, pp. 29–49). Similar delays characterized the Third Crusade, as well (Birkett 2018, pp. 23–61).

The considerable delay in communication transmission appears to be the rule rather than the exemption. The news of Emperor Henry V’s death and his succession by Lothar only reached Jerusalem by means of pilgrims almost one year later, on 11 April 1126, Easter day (Fulcher of Chartres 1844, vol. 3, p. 480; Macht 2004, pp. 22–25). Similarly, the news of Frederick I’s death in Asia Minor (10 June 1190) reached Germany after four months (Chroust 1928, col. 92; Hiestand 1991, pp. 51–58).

While the average crusader could cope with the lack of smooth communication, the Latin leaders required up-to-date reports and even more crucially, the delivery of manpower and supplies. However, Christendom was usually slow to respond, if responded at all, to the urgent needs of the Latin East, jeopardizing the already fragile cohesion between the two shores of the Mediterranean (Barber 1992, pp. 314–26; Pryor 1988, pp. 128–41). The long delays in communication further justified, even dictated, independent policies, since it was impossible to rely on timely responses and even less on resupplies from Europe. The communication perspective thus calls for a reconsideration of the colonial relationship considered to prevail between the West and the Crusader States, whose rulers had no choice but to act, and more often to react autonomously (Prawer 1972, p. 524; Ellemblum 2007, p. 304).

The continuous use of traditional communication channels thus hints at the conservative approach of Christendom—the papacy at its head—which could hardly meet the challenging needs of the Christian population Outremer. Regular mail services, moreover, like those operating in the neighboring Muslim States and Byzantium, remained completely alien to the crusaders (Silverstein 2007, pp. 77–88; MacKay 1999, passim). In light of the absence of new communication channels, available letters hint at the timeframe connection between the Latin East and Christendom. Patriarch Daibert of Jerusalem, for example, referred in early February 1100 to a letter from Henry of Castella and John Michael, written to his predecessor approximately three months earlier, in November 1099 (RRR 22, 18). News of the Templar Master Gerard of Ridefort’s death on 8 October 1189 reached Rome by 11 January 1190 (RRR 1269). Similarly, the Temple preceptor’s report on the losses at Hattin (3–4 July 1187) inspired Gregory VIII’s encyclical Audita tremendi, dated 24 October 1187, and a lost letter of Clement III the following year (RRR 1233; Smith 2018, pp. 63–101). It is therefore reasonable to conclude that letter exchange across the Mediterranean took at least between two and three months.

Sometimes, however, the delay was much longer: A letter bearing the seal of Patriarch Evremar of Jerusalem dated 3 April 1104 took until 17 November of the same year to reach Lambert, Bishop of Arras (RRR 73). Pope Alexander III urged the prelates and Christian rulers to help the Templars on 22 February and, again, on 12 April 1180, following their request dated 29 August 1179—between six and eight months earlier (RRR 1044). King Louis VII of France referred to the Bishop of Nablus’s appeal for contributions from earlier that year in his letter dated 28 August 1170.

Hostile conditions, the danger that letters might be stolen, and frequent accidents along the route, led to the parallel use of multiple messengers despite the possibility of repetition. Prior Guido of La Grande Chartreuse, in his letter to Master Hugh of the Temple (c. 1129), specifically mentions that he is sending copies of the same letter by two separate messengers:

We send you this letter by two different messengers in case some impediment should prevent one of them reaching you—which heaven forbid. We ask you to have the letter read to all the brothers.

(RRR 281; trans. Barber and Bate 2002, p. 215)

Similarly, Stephen of Blois referred to the possibility of repetition in his moving letter to his wife Adele (Epistulae et chartae 1901, pp. 138–40; trans. Barber and Bate 2002, p. 15; Brundage 1960, pp. 380–95; Parsons 2018, p. 3). Worse still, writers and recipients were aware of the risk that their messages might be stolen and sometimes also falsified (Constable 1988, pp. 11–37; Hoegel and Bartoli 2015, passim). Besides, some letters attributed to the First Crusade actually proved to be forgeries, produced by twelfth century monks to promote the Holy War overseas (Smith 2020, pp. 484–501; 2017, pp. 133–69).

Although letter exchange across short distances—e.g., between Byzantium, Antioch, Jerusalem, and Acre—was relatively efficient, it could be unsuccessful crossing the Mediterranean (Mayer 1978, pp. 175–92; Rubin 2018, pp. 15–46). The maritime journey between Christendom and the Latin East was relatively short—from fifteen to twenty-five days with favorable winds—but only during specific seasons, from late March to late October (Mollat 1967, pp. 345–59; Pryor 1982, pp. 9–27, 103–25; 2008, pp. 87–152). Moreover, sailing in the Mediterranean proved more than once to become a dreadful experience. Geoffrey of Donjon, Master of the Hospital, referred in his letter to the prior in England to a ship that wrecked off the coast of Tripoli, causing the death of Theobald, Bishop Acre, and many brothers (1201). He further emphasized that since then no ship has managed to make the crossing because the unusual force of winds and storms (Cartulaire général de l’Ordre des Hospitallers 1894, vol. 2, no. 1131). James of Vitry, Bishop Acre, further exemplifies in his letter to the Parisian Masters (1216–1217), the many perils awaiting those who dare to face the threats of Neptune:

… a terribly dangerous event happened to us: another ship suddenly bore down on us at speed and if it had collided with us one or both of the ships would surely have been dashed to pieces. We were unable to turn aside because of a nearby rock; and so either we had to allow ourselves to be rammed by the other ship or else we had to dash our ship on the rock. And there arose a great cry from everybody; and there was heard crying and weeping, and people confessing their sins in both ships …

Although in this particular case both ships “almost miraculously … escaped undamaged through the grace of God”, providence was not always at the crusaders’ side. James further tells that in his way from Tripoli to Cyprus he has to postpone his plans since “no favorable wind blew for fifteen days” (Huygens 2000, pp. 501–2; trans. Barber and Bate 2002, pp. 99–100). Considering the precarious geopolitical conditions, climatic and unexpected conditions thus posed additional difficulties in the missions and the messengers’ schedule, (RRR 880) hindering still more the communication flow between the Latin East and Europe. The surviving testimonies of the many perils experienced on the route eastwards and for the lucky ones, their joy upon arriving safe and sound in the Holy Land, thus acquire all the relevance of authentic evidence (RRR 18, 482, 486, 1148, and 1286). Although the crusaders sometimes embraced the Muslim practice of carrier pigeons (Edgington 1985, pp. 167–75), the avian messengers could hardly be expected to provide fluent communication across the Mediterranean.

Communication problems thus became a constant concern for the population Outremer, especially their leaders. In his letter to Archbishop Henry of Reims (May 1169), King Amalric refers to his continuous efforts to send a suitable delegation to Christendom. After the ship carrying the first delegation sank, the king had to appoint a new suitable delegation. The Archbishop of Tyre, the Bishop of Banias, and Hospitaller Knights thus replaced the members of the first mission, namely, the Patriarch of Jerusalem, the Archbishop of Caesarea, the Bishop of Acre, Hospitallers and Templars (RRR 837, 847). The high dignitaries selected for both missions evidenced the king’s desire to entrust the royal task to most reliable messengers, and to his reluctance to rely on written messages alone that could be intercepted and/or falsified.

The careful selection of messengers reflects a most important feature in message transmission between the Latin East and Christendom, mainly, the combination of written and oral channels. Along with their original duty as couriers, indeed, messengers orally transmitted pieces or even large amounts of information (RRR 708–9, 890, 927, 1260; Stock 2012, pp. 299–313; Crosby 1936, pp. 88–93; Hill 1946, pp. 315–28). In his letter to the Catholic prelates and laymen in the German region (May or June 1100), Patriarch Daibert of Jerusalem formally declared that:

… we would have written at length on the amazingly great miracles and countless blessings which the generous goodness of God frequently showered on the army of Jerusalem on its journey and in the capture of the holy city of Jerusalem, but the practiced eloquence of brother Arnulf, who was there to see and hear everything, will provide you with a full chronological account of events if you are kind enough to lend him an ear.

(RRR 28; trans. Barber and Bate 2002, p. 37)

Arnulf of Chocques was undoubtedly well-qualified to fulfil his mission, being the former chaplain of Robert of Normandy, papal legate in the First Crusade, elected Patriarch of Jerusalem (1099, 1112–1115, 1116–1118), and eventually, also Archdeacon (1099–1112), and Chancellor of the Kingdom (1099–1118) (Foreville 1955, pp. 377–90).

Available correspondence further reflects the recurrent military-political crises in the Holy Land. Not surprisingly, they encouraged dramatic and more frequent appeals to the pope and other leaders of Christendom, especially the kings of France. The King of Jerusalem, the Masters of the Military Orders, and some members of the high clergy wrote fifteen letters to King Louis VII starting in April 1163, appealing for the Gesta Dei per Francos and, more specifically, for the personal involvement of the Most Christian King in the Holy Christian War Outremer. The number of addressees increased in parallel to critical situations requiring decisive solutions, such as Saladin’s advance in the Latin East. The Grand Commander and the Preceptor of the Temple wrote a series of letters (July–August 1187 to January 1188) to Pope Urban III, Philip II of France, Henry II of England, Philip of Alsace, and the Western knights describing the traumatic defeat at the Battle of Hattin and the resulting execution of 230 Templars (RRR 1229, 1233–36, 1245; Gesta Regis Henrici 1867, pp. 13–14; Chronica magistri Rogeri de Houedene 1869, pp. 346–47; Jackson 1980, pp. 481–513; Mayer 1982, pp. 721–39).

“Emergency pleas” from the Latin East accompanied the advance of the Mongol hordes later on, as well (RRR 3158; Barber 1994, p. 156; Richard 1969, pp. 45–57; Jackson 1980, pp. 481–513).4 The Master of the Temple wrote to the Order officials about the Mongol advance and the fall of Aleppo and Damascus, which brought about a large number of refugees (4 March 1260) (Annales Monasterii de Burton 1864, pp. 491–95; Amitai 1987, pp. 236–55). Thomas also complained about the distressing incidents of letters being stolen (RRR 3170, 708). In the light of the critical situation and the many dangers on the route eastwards, the papal legate and Bishop of Bethlehem advised pious women to exchange their crusade vows into financial contributions to the Church, instead of departing for dangerous pilgrimages to the Holy Land (RRR 3169).

To conclude, the success of the First Crusade reflects, inter alia, the papal ability to be receptive to its contemporaries’ needs, in terms of time and space. As time went by, however, the papacy failed to adapt its message and means to a changing world. The Holy War of a united Christendom did not suit the needs of the emerging territorial states nor the process of secularization that involved urban populations, the main recruitment foci for the crusades. The papacy thus failed to both adapt its message in a changing Christendom and, further, adjust traditional communication channels to meet the growing needs of the Latin population Outremer. The failure therefore was twofold: first and foremost, vis-à-vis the European audiences, who were no longer receptive to the traditional papal message; second and no less important, the almost complete lack of communication initiatives that could have facilitated a fluent interchange across the Mediterranean and perhaps also slow down if not obstruct the collapse of Outremer. One may therefore conclude that the successes of the First Crusade notwithstanding, the development of the crusades encapsulated not only a propaganda fiasco but possibly also a communication blackout.