It is universally acknowledged by people on all sides of our yawning political divide that contemporary Western leaders are, to put it mildly, lacking. They are lacking in prudence, lacking in wisdom, lacking in character. Many politicians do not see their offices as formative responsibilities, but as ‘platforms’ for their own aggrandizement, as Yuval Levin has acutely observed in his excellent 2020 book, A Time to Build.
But even though we agree on many of our criticisms of contemporary politicians, it is not easy to come to conclusions about how we ought to move forward. We recognize much of our garden is rotted, but we do not know how to turn it into fertilizer for a healthier, more flourishing future. Discussions of our political culture quickly turn from meaningful criticism to partisan finger-pointing. This leaves little opportunity to think constructively about how Western politics might begin to heal.
When we find ourselves at an impasse, it can, I think, be very helpful to look to great figures from history for guidance. This is not because we think we can simply re-create the past, nor should we want to. God has placed each one of us in a particular position and moment in history to “redeem the time.” And yet, part of our nature as temporal beings is the capacity to learn from those who have come before us, whether famous or unknown, powerful or oppressed. Today, I submit, we could learn a thing or two about cultivating political culture from a universally-known but rarely studied figure, Charles the Great, or Charlemagne, by considering two near-contemporary biographies of him that are often published together, that of Einhard and that of the delightfully named Notker the Stammerer.
Is Charlemagne a ‘great man’ of history?
Before looking to these books for political lessons, we should consider some criticism leveled against them. Both Notker’s work and Einhard’s, it is argued, uncritically trumpet Charlemagne and his accomplishments. In an age that is uncomfortable with the idea of heroes—particularly male, Western ones—it is not surprising that this kind of criticism is commonplace. The books, the argument goes, lionize a deeply flawed figure, and reading them contributes to an overly simplistic understanding of history, one that sees ‘great men’ at the center of world change.
Critics argue, then, that these works minimize some of Charlemagne’s faults; for instance, his poor treatment of Desiderata—whose marriage to Charlamagne was annulled a year after it was celebrated—is not dwelt on. This is, in my judgement, true, and it is something any Christian reader is likely to note without the help of modern criticism. But the purpose of history, as Einhard and Notker write it, is not merely to relay data. These two authors are not interested in just providing readers with facts and figures. Instead, they wish to hold up Charlemagne as a model of what the Christian leader can be: pious, kind, and generous toward the poor.
It may then be objected that the effect of this is the same: the books merely lift up a straight, white, able-bodied ‘cisgender’ male as the powerful and virtuous exemplar of good leadership in need of no assistance. But this is precisely what they do not do! When a Christian like Einhard or Notker writes of a figure like Charlemagne, he is never pretending that his subject is faultless. Each author is acutely aware that every man is tainted by original sin and his own personal sins and stands in need of grace. A Christian ruler, they implicitly hold, is not a ‘great man’ who ‘makes history.’ Instead, he is but a channel of divine love, and even then only sporadically, imperfectly, and in spite of himself. Charlemagne played (and arguably continues to play) a crucial role in European, Western, and even world history, but he has played this role just as any good actor does: under the direction of a Director who sees far more widely than he ever could.
Liberal education, poverty, and nobility in Notker
With this point made, let us turn to the texts themselves. The first biography of the Emperor Charlemagne to which we turn our attention, Notker’s Gesta Caroli Magni (The Deeds of Charles the Great) was composed in the late 800s, about sixty years after its subject’s death in 814. It consists of two parts, the first focusing on Charlemagne’s character (especially his religious piety) and the second concerning his military exploits. Loosely structured, the work reads more like a series of anecdotes than a contemporary biography, but it excels in this mode.
While many writers have tackled the military aspect of this book, I am struck by how it discusses Charlemagne’s attitude towards education and the poor. Many have heard of the ‘Carolingian renaissance’ ushered in under Charlemagne’s rule, and for good reason. Literature, scholarship, iconography, architecture, and so many other things that make up a high culture flourished. This was in no small part because of Charlemagne’s encouragement. We owe a debt to Charlemagne and his scholars to this day. To pick perhaps a dramatic example, in the words of 20th century Oxford tutor and Harvard professor H.W. Garrod,
The debt of literature to the Carolingian copying-schools may be best brought home to us by a very simple consideration. If we set aside Catullus, Tibullus, Propertius and Silius Italicus, together with the tragedies of Seneca and parts of Statius and Claudian, we owe the preservation of practically the whole of Latin poetry to the schools at the time of Charlemagne. These same scholars have preserved to us, except for Varro, Tacitus and Apuleius, practically the whole of the prose literature of Rome.
As if Charlemagne’s financial and bureaucratic support were not enough, the new Holy Roman Emperor himself studied the liberal arts under the tutelage of Blessed Alcuin of York, at least to the extent that this was feasible on top of his military, political, and personal duties. Despite beginning his studies too late to ever become a great reader, Charlemagne loved the great books and had (perhaps unsurprisingly) particular affection for St. Augustine’s City of God. His statesmanship was profoundly informed by the education he received from Blessed Alcuin. This enabled his mastery of political rhetoric and helped him to become conversant in several languages and particularly excellent in spoken Latin.
Notker’s work portrays Charlemagne as a clear-sighted man who recognized not only the value of liberal education, but also the need for long-term character formation. Education without moral formation is ultimately a sounding gong, as we see from our well-credentialed leaders of today. This focus on moral development is well-illustrated by my favorite part of Notker’s biography, the story of a composition contest that Charlemagne judged. The Emperor sponsored the foundation of schools, and these schools made liberal education accessible to rich and poor; those with material wealth subsidized the education of gifted students from impoverished homes. A group of students were once given the task of presenting some of their compositions to the Emperor, both prose works and poetry. Charlemagne patiently listened, but by the end it had become apparent to him that the compositions by the poorer boys (the ‘scholarship kids’) were the result of much harder work than those of the rich, supposedly well-brought-up students. The Emperor then separated the two groups and thanked the poor children. He told them to continue in their good work, and that if they did, he would “give you bishoprics and fine monasteries, and you will always be honored in my sight.” He then rebuked the wealthy students for their sloth, indolence, and lack of respect for their teachers and the parents paying their tuition fees. “But you young nobles,” he said, “you, the pleasure-loving and dandified sons of my leaders, who trust in your high birth and your wealth, and care not a straw for my command or for your own advancement, you have neglected the pursuit of learning and have indulged yourselves in time-wasting follies and in the childish sport of fine living and idleness.”
Whether or not this anecdote really occurred as reported, it provides us with a lesson for the slow work of healing our political culture. It is a clear reminder that we must encourage those who earnestly dedicate themselves to good works, regardless of their background. At the same time, it provides another message: those of us who attempt to sit on our laurels are falling into foolishness. This is true whether you are the head of state or a kindergarten teacher. To prevent future generations from falling into this temptation, our institutions must work to form men and women of character who apply themselves to the tasks set before them. This is a lesson that sorely needs to be heeded, not just by our public leaders, but by those who are tasked with raising and educating the young.
Foreign relations in Einhard
The second text, Einhard’s Vita Karoli Magni (“Life of Charles the Great”), was likely written quite soon after Charlemagne’s passing. The most striking aspect of the work is what an intimate, personal portrayal of Charlemagne it gives. Its author, Einhard, held a relatively high position at the Emperor’s court, and he thus provides us with a compelling and even personal picture of him. Divided into five parts, the work considers the Emperor from numerous angles, from military and political to personal and religious. While I could easily draw many different lessons from the text, there is one aspect of Einhard’s characterization of Charles that sticks out to me as useful in our contemporary climate: his attitude towards foreigners, refugees, and alien customs.
Charlemagne is remembered, among many other things, as a leader who attempted to live out his faith in the public sphere. Sometimes this task is simple for someone in his position to implement, e.g., financially supporting the construction of churches, providing for the poor, seeking the counsel of priests and consecrated religious. But other issues are not so simple for the Christian leader, and, as Galyna Peregrin has eloquently reminded us, immigration is one of them.
Christ is extremely clear throughout the Gospels that it is the duty of each and every Christian to welcome the stranger and provide for the needs of the refugee. St. Paul goes so far as to tell us that, in God’s grace, “There is neither Jew nor Greek: there is neither bond nor free: there is neither male nor female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Christians are to think nothing of our differences, instead welcoming each person as the beloved child of God he is.
Yet at the same time, Christ recognizes the legitimacy of hierarchy and political rule, rule which is predicated upon the division of groups of people from one another. He identifies Himself unequivocally as an Israelite and a Jew even as He transcends these boundaries. The Jewish people are repeatedly told by God and the prophets over the course of the Old Testament that they must separate themselves from other peoples and nations. The prophets teach the Jewish people time and again that they must not adopt foreign customs or allow such customs to be integrated into the practices and laws given by the one true God. Though Christ has fulfilled the old law and abolished the previous obligations to, for instance, keep kosher or be circumcised, at the same time He has established a new law of love that we must pass on to our children unadulterated by the allures of paganism. This is quite a difficult task to accomplish in a religiously, politically, and culturally diverse place. How, then, is the Christian leader to comport himself towards foreigners, refugees, and foreign customs?
Charlemagne’s approach, it seems to me, is quite a powerful one. Einhard makes much of how welcoming the Emperor was at all times to people from all places and cultures. He would provide them with good food, comfortable places to lay their head, and genuine attentiveness. This was clearly his way of living out Christ’s injunction to welcome the stranger. At the same time, he was fiercely defensive of his lands’ ways of doing things. For instance, despite his great capacity for speaking other languages, he insisted that monasteries in his lands made use of native names. They could, of course, learn from those who do things differently, not least of all the ancients, but they should not abandon the traditional practices that had served their monasteries and their lands so well.
It may seem like an overly simple way to put it, but to Charlemagne’s mind there was all the difference in the world between a human being and a foreign custom. A human being is a person who is, regardless of any exterior features, called to eternal loving relationship with the God who has created all reality. Foreign customs, on the other hand, may be good or bad for their own people, but they should be considered cautiously and at a distance as there is no telling what impact their integration could have on one’s own ways of life.
Today, Western leaders seem to be increasingly divided into two opposing and extreme camps on the issue of immigration. One side, correctly perceiving the threats to our civilization posed by mass-migration, too often fails to recognize the human beings who are in need of compassion. The other side, acknowledging the need to care for the stranger, attempts to suppress their own local cultures and lift up foreign customs above all else, ultimately harming both members of the native culture and the newcomers who would benefit from the stability of a healthy culture and way of life. Einhard’s account of Charlemagne reminds us of the Christian third way: simultaneous love of persons and protection of culture.
There will never be a perfect leader other than Christ, and Charlemagne would be the first to admit this. And yet, the Emperor’s life and character, as is presented to us by Einhard and Notker the Stammerer, are an example of Christian leadership that stand in contradiction to all the failings of our age. Let us avail ourselves of this example and pray that our leaders do as well.
