‘migrations’, be it by people or by motifs. In order to understand how this artistic exchange occurred during the crusades, individual objects need to be more thoroughly researched than has been the case so far.
For various reasons, the church of the Holy Sepulchre provides a perfect example for such research. As the most distinguished Christian structure of the entire region, it belongs to a group of structures that have been intensively researched, but further insights are needed. Even a simple study of the materials from which the church is built offers more preserved building components than 225
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can be found in other buildings, whether clerical or secular. The density of historical materials is relevant here, too. Although the actual archival sources for all the buildings of the Kingdom of Jerusalem have been lost almost in their entirety, there are a large number of other historical sources that pertain to the church of the Holy Sepulchre. However, the rivalries between the denominations that are in possession of parts of the church have, until now, delayed and sometimes even prevented systematic study of these sources.21 Meanwhile, the history of research itself has become a part of the archaeological–historical research
– that is, evaluation of the restorations and investigation of the last 200 years. Here we will recover a great deal of information on the ancient building.
It is necessary to utilise the methods of research concerning the history of architecture in a more systematic manner than that adopted by earlier generations of scholars. The only halfway-reliable study of the ancient nucleus of the church of the Holy Sepulchre was carried out during a restoration in the 1960s.22 Similar studies for the medieval building phases are lacking. With the aid of an investigation into the building techniques, stonemasonry, samples of mortar and so on, and by utilising the latest scientific methods, a more sophisticated chronology of the sequence of the building structures might be obtained.
The church of the Holy Sepulchre is closely connected to its neighbouring structures. Due to subsequent Islamic construction projects, these buildings are intertwined now more than ever before. After the recapture of the city by Saladin in 1187, several Islamic institutions within the quarter of the church of the Holy Sepulchre became immediate neighbours of both the church and the convents. In order to understand the compound of the church of the Holy Sepulchre better within historical chronology it is necessary also to set our sights on the neighbouring buildings. This refers especially to the south side of the area where the hospital of the Knights of St John was erected during the twelfth century. The development of both institutions, the Augustinian clergy of the church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Order of the Knights of St John around the hospital, suggests that the two compounds were closely connected and started to diverge in their development only later in the twelfth century. It is very probable that both constructions – the hospital and the church – were handled by the same crew. If that proves to be true, it gives further investigations a stronger basis: there are more material remains and the historical tradition is closer knit. Through this, there is a better chance of establishing a more detailed chronology, and we might gain more insights into the building sequence and further facts about the construction crews.
A clue to understanding this complex building in its historical development can be found in front of the south façade of the church of the Holy Sepulchre. Here the church and the hospital of the Knights of St John collide; here there were paths to both buildings; here the largest rebuilding activity took place to erect the entryways that can still be traced today. The façade of the church, the chapels on both sides and the entry area to the hospital offer a wealth of material to be examined. Once that has been done, it might be possible to establish a clear 226
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building sequence; to discover which building techniques were used; to understand how the building components were designated in historical sources. All of this might shed light on the events in Jerusalem during the time of the crusades.
As it is, we can already use the insights available to us to address the theme of artistic interaction between occident and orient. Here, the evidence of the church of the Holy Sepulchre points to a western-orientated tradition until the middle of the twelfth century, when more local influences came to the fore. And while the direct evidence for a crude transference of the Gothic style from the Near East to the west has recently been called into question, the under-reported examples of recreations of the architecture of the holy places in Europe and the distinct career of the sculptor of Plampied demonstrate that there was a significant interchange of architectural culture in both directions.
Notes
1 Regarding the church of the Holy Sepulchre, in brief, see Klaus Bieberstein and Bloedhorn Hanswulf, Jerusalem. Grundzüge der Baugeschichte vom Chalkolithikum bis zur Frühzeit der osmanischen Herrschaft, Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients (TAVO), Reihe B, 100, 3, Wiesbaden: L. Reichert, 1994; Jürgen Krüger, Die Grabeskirche zu Jerusalem. Geschichte – Gestalt – Bedeutung, Regensburg: Schnell und Steiner, 2000; see also Denys Pringle, The Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem: A Corpus. Vol. III: Jerusalem, 4, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007, III.3–72.
2 Krüger, Die Grabeskirche zu Jerusalem, pp. 39–60.
3 Heinz Halm, Die Kalifen von Kairo. Die Fatimiden in Ägypten 973–1074, München: C.H. Beck, 2003, pp. 217–26. Compare with the Berlin conference ‘Conflict Management 1000 Years Ago: The Destruction of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem in the Year of 1009’, Berlin, September 24–6, 2009.
4 Krüger, Die Grabeskirche zu Jerusalem, pp. 77–80.
5 Robert Ousterhout, ‘Rebuilding the Temple: Constantine Monomachus and the Holy Sepulchre’, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 48, 1989, 66–78.
6 Krüger, Die Grabeskirche zu Jerusalem, pp. 83–153.
7 Robert Ousterhout, ‘Architecture as Relic and the Construction of Sanctity: The Stones of the Holy Sepulchre’, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 62, 2003, 4–23.
8 Ousterhout, ‘Rebuilding the Temple’ and ‘Architecture as Relic’; Krüger, Die Grabeskirche zu Jerusalem, pp. 83–153, 223–28.
9 Krüger, Die Grabeskirche zu Jerusalem, p. 90.
10 The groundbreaking initiative was provided by Arnold Esch, ‘Spolien. Zur Wiederverwendung antiker Baustücke und Skulpturen im mittelalterlichen Italien’, Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 51, 1969, 1–64. This work, designated by the author as a minor article, has yet to be surpassed in the clarity of its message.
11 To be distinguished from the building epoch of the thirteenth century when the hall for communion was finished with arches, see Jürgen Krüger, ‘Der Abendmahlssaal in Jerusalem zur Zeit der Kreuzzüge’, Römische Quartalschrift 92, 1997, 229–47.
12 Krüger, Die Grabeskirche zu Jerusalem, p. 97.
13 Krüger, Die Grabeskirche zu Jerusalem, pp. 111–17.
14 For paintings within the kingdom, see Gustav Kühnel, Wall Painting in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, Frankfurter Forschungen zur Kunst 14, Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1986.
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15 Jaroslav Folda, The Nazareth Capitals and the Crusader Shrine of the Annunciation, Monographs on the Fine Arts 42 , University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1988; Jürgen Krüger, ‘I capitelli di Nazareth: una nuova proposta di ricostruzione’, in M.S.C. Mariani (ed.), Il cammino di Gerusalemme. Atti del II Convegno Internazionale di Studio (Bari–Brindisi–Trani, 18–22 maggio 1999), a cura di Maria Stella Calò Mariani, Rotte mediterranee della cultura, 2, Bari: M. Adda, 2002, II.223–32, with additional literature.
16 The argument, presented by Nurith Keenan Kedar, which suggests the reversal of the sequence of the capitals, placing the piece in Plampied towards the end, appears contrived to me, since it requires a single capital in a finished building to have been exchanged decades later. There is
no indication whatsoever of such an occurrence. This argument, recently voiced, would cause the complete evaluation of the architecture in the Holy Land to be turned upside down: it would mean that a mature artisan left Palestine (after assignments in Nazareth and Jerusalem) in order to continue to work in France. For reasons inherent to the particular buildings, this conclusion cannot be justified.
17 Zeev Goldmann, Akko in the time of the Crusades: The Convent of the Order of St John (2nd edn), Haifa: Government Tourist Office, Municiplaity of Akko and the Old Akko Development Office, 1994.
18 The final results of the excavations have not yet been published, but see, provisionally, Eliezer Stern, ‘La commanderie de l’Ordre des Hospitaliers à Acre’, Bulletin monumental 164, 2006, 53–60.
19 The first significant contribution to this topic was presented in the small brochure by Gustav Dalman, Das Grab Christi in Deutschland, Studien über christliche Denkmäler 14, Leipzig: Dieterich, 1922. A paper dedicated to the idea of ‘architectural copy’ was the pioneering article by Richard Krautheimer in 1942 which can be read in a more recent edition that contains supplementary current epilogues: Richard Krautheimer,
‘Einführung zu einer Ikonographie der mittelalterlichen Architektur’, in Richard Krautheimer, Ausgewählte Aufsätze zur europäischen Kunstgeschichte, Köln: Dumont, 1988 [1942], 142–97. Regarding the Holy Sepulchre, see also the thorough, although not exhaustive, study by Martin Biddle, Das Grab Christi. Neutestamentliche Quellen, historische und archäologische Forschungen, überraschende Erkenntnisse, Biblische Archäologie und Zeitgeschichte 5, Gießen: Brunnen, 1998.
20 Regarding the Rhine Hessian turrets, see Hartmut Hofrichter, Steinerne Kirchturmbekrönungen in der ehemaligen Diözese Worms, Eltville: Aug, 1984. More recent results are presented by Hans-Jürgen Kotzur, Das Rätsel der rheinhessischen
‘Heidentürme’, Mainz: Schmidt, 2003 [= Lebendiges Rheinland-Pfalz 40, 2003, fasc.
III–IV].
21 For the history of research into the church of the Holy Sepulchre, see Krüger, Die Grabeskirche zu Jerusalem, pp. 13–23.
22 V.C. Corbo, Il Santo Sepolcro di Gerusalemme. Aspetti archeologici dalle origini al periodo crociato (SBF Coll. Maior, 29), 2, Jerusalem: Franciscan Print. Press, 1982. See also the discussion by Renate Rosenthal-Heginbottom in Jahrbuch fuer Antike und Christentum 29, 1986, 213–18.
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P E A C E M A K I N G
Perceptions and practices in
the medieval Latin East
Yvonne Friedman
The prevailing perception of the 1096 to 1291 era as one of Holy War, with peace far removed from the adversaries’ thoughts, is not entirely accurate. In fact, this epoch of Holy War was punctuated by interludes of peace, as indicated by the approximately 120 treaties mentioned in the historical sources. Although crusader society in the East and its diverse Muslim enemies never achieved a lasting peace, the intermittent ceasefires or treaties reached over this period enabled a fragile cohabitation that endured for two centuries. The entry into such agreements required bridging differing conceptions of peace and the lack of shared language and peacemaking mechanisms.
I begin by examining the disparate conceptions of peace in Muslim and crusader society. I then consider the factors that encouraged or discouraged the parties involved from engaging in negotiations for a ceasefire or peace treaty and the influence of the shifting balance of power on peace initiatives. Finally, I address issues of mutual acculturation in the stages of peacemaking: how the sides developed a shared verbal and nonverbal language of peacemaking contacts in the arena of the Latin East, as implemented through diplomacy, gesture and formal agreements.
Peace was an ideal goal in both medieval Islamic and Western Christian thought. The aspiration to world peace, however, did not contradict the concept or practice of using military force against antagonists. Conceived of in Islam as resulting from a definitive victory that would bring a just solution to current situations, peace was therefore based on just war. In Christianity, peace was an inherent part of an eschatological vision of the world. Yet, both Islam and Western Christianity founded institutions aimed at the destruction of their enemies – in Islam, the jihad; and in Christianity, the crusade – thus making war a religious imperative. Both medieval societies, however, displayed a dichotomy between ideology and practice with respect to war and peace. It was the loopholes between the two that allowed for peace processes.
Muslim law differentiates between intra-Muslim peace, suh. , which could only be contracted between Muslim factions, and muhadana, a temporary 229
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ceasefire – peace with the infidel entered into only for reasons of expediency.
Although jihad is obligatory, its status as a collective, not a personal, obligation allows for many exceptions and facilitates utilization of loopholes to make peace.
In Islam, war against the infidel needed no justification, whereas peace or even truce-making required both pretext and explanation. In his chapter on jihad, al-Tabari outlined the basic terms:
Al-Awza‘i said: If Muslims conclude a peace treaty with the enemy [ darb al-h.arb] in which they agree to pay Muslims a designated amount [of money] every year so that the Muslims will not enter their country, there is no harm in concluding such a treaty with them.
Al-Shafi‘i said: I would like for the Imam, if a great misfortune were to happen to the Muslims, and I hope God will not allow this [to
happen] to them, to consider a peace treaty with the enemy, whoever
they are, and he should conduct a peace [treaty] with [the enemy] only up to a certain time . . . And if the Muslims have power, he should fight the polytheists after the peace expires. If the Imam does not have the power, there is no harm to renew [the agreement] for the same duration or less, but he should not exceed the [time limit for the first one].1
Later medieval Islamic legal thought was preoccupied with the circumstances and conditions under which it was permissible to contract a truce. Ibn Rushd (Averroes), for example, submitted:
The conclusion of truce is considered by some to be permitted from the very outset and without an immediate occasion, provided that the Imam deems it in the interest of the Muslims. Others maintain that it is only allowed when the Muslims are pressed by sheer necessity, such as civil war and the like. As a condition for truce, it may be stipulated that the enemy pay a certain amount of money to the Muslims . . . Such a
stipulation (paying of tribute) however, is not obligatory.2
Thus, whereas peace treaties were seen as a necessary evil and had to be temporary, they were clearly permissible. Practical willingness to limit warfare and enter into treaties emerged from centuries of Muslim warfare and diplomatic relations with the Byzantines, leading to the development of an intricate web of means of coexistence, which included institutions like aman,3 captive exchanges4 and formal diplomacy.5 Although still idealizing war as the normative relationship with the infidel, medieval Islam had in fact honed the tools with which to make peace.
Michael Bonner describes the relations on the tughur (frontier) as fostering centres for embattled scholars, but at the same time depicts the abode of those embattled scholars – the ribats on the Eastern frontiers – as centres ‘that became devoted to the arts of peace’.6 The encounter with the crusaders led to an intensification of the ideal of jihad, as for example in the writing of al-Sulami. But 230
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even in his treatise on jihad, he did not change the basic rules and thus treaties remained a practical possibility.7
The conditions of treaty-making encompassed almost all possible scenarios: (1) from a position of strength either to avoid further bloodshed or, occasionally, to buy time to acquire reinforcements and supplies; (2) from a position of parity in order to settle differences when combat was not desirable; and (3) from a position of weakness in order to make the best of an adverse situation and perhaps gain time for readjustm
ent.8 During the eighth to tenth century, the Byzantine and Abbasid empires often used captive exchanges as an opening and pretext for truce-making.
Nor were these endeavours limited to relations with Eastern Christendom alone.
In the twelfth century there were other Muslim–Christian encounters besides the crusades, many of which ended or were regulated by treaty. These ranged from military settlements, including a tributary status in Spain, to commercial treaties with Mediterranean powers.9 Although all the Muslim legalists emphasized the temporary nature of these agreements, they still spelled out the conditions and tools of peacemaking.
Western Christianity also demonstrated a dichotomy between ideology and practice with respect to war and peace, but its starting point was diametrically opposed to that of Islam. As noted, peace was a religious goal, part of an eschatological programme for the world. It belonged to Christian ritual and, in Augustine’s eyes, was one of the aims of the City of God.10 Medieval Christian ideological adherence to peace, and limitation of warfare, was exemplified by the
‘Peace of God’ movement, organized and hailed by the Church. The medieval Western notion of peace encompassed Christians alone, viewing war against the infidel – the crusade – as another facet of peace, if not a prerequisite for it.11 The Church’s peace councils gave it the authority to decide who could deploy arms, for what purpose, at whose command, against whom, and when. But at the same time this development suggested that, under certain conditions, the Church now regarded violence as licit.12 Seeing crusade as the logical outcome of the Peace of God movement, Thomaz Mastnak concluded that Urban II was a peacemaking pope, a lukewarm Gregorian reformer who waged a holy war.13 Thus, crusade could be seen as an act of love in Christian eyes,14 and the preaching of this act of love included the rallying of forces to a war of extermination against the infidel enemy, employing concepts like purging and cleansing the holy places.15
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