Book Review: The Axe and the Oath by Robert Fossier

In 1309 as the cause for canonization of King Louis of France was advancing, a hagiography of the monarch was presented by the Sire of Joinville who had known the king some fifty years prior. In his The Axe and the Oath, Robert Fossier discusses this text while considering the state of writing in the medieval era. Fossier says, “the problem is not to scrutinize the accuracy of an octogenarian’s memories . . . but to know how these narrations were brought together.” Unfortunately, Fossier could easily have been speaking of his own book, for these are both precisely the issues that confront the reader of The Ax and the Oath. While Fossier is clearly indebted to the method and analysis of Marc Bloch, even while calling into question Bloch’s central thesis, it is Fossier’s use of sources and divergent style that cause the reader to question the way he has constructed his narrative and to fear that we are dealing with faulty memories or mere opinions.

The Axe and the Oath is clearly indebted to Marc Bloch’s Feudal Society. In several places, Fossier’s description of the decline of authority (pg. 261), the selection of names (pg. 35), the understanding and use of time (pg. 56), and the importance of custom (pg. 265) Fossier sounds as if he is quoting Bloch wholesale. Twice Fossier cites Bloch by name as correctly advancing a theory of “brownian movement” against a theory of medieval stability (pg. 34, 234). And he clearly shares Bloch’s fundamental determination to “give human beings and their efforts their full place” (pg. 170). Fossier writes that, “Marc Bloch had established once and for all, that the territory of history was the human condition, man or men in society” (pg. ix). This is the very basis of Fossier’s model of anthropological history. Going beyond even Bloch, Fossier employs biology, archaeology, geography, and sociology in a cross disciplinary attempt to address nearly every aspect of daily life.

At the same time, Fossier dismisses out of hand the central thesis of Bloch’s Feudal Society. He refers to speaking of “feudal society” as an “abuse of language” (pg. 243) and goes onto to say, “I have already rejected the terms ‘feudal society’ and ‘feudalism,’ and I have no intention to debate the matter again . . . I do not believe in their interest or even in their existence” (pg. 272). What is debatable is whether or not Fossier adequately substantiates his thesis that “ordinary folk understood nothing of [feudalism] and cared little about it” (pg. 273).

Unfortunately, it is almost impossible for the average reader, and perhaps even the historian, to evaluate Fossier’s thesis because of his use, or better, misuse of sources. Though he makes passing reference to demographic data (pg. 26), statistics (pg. 60), and archaeological excavations (pg. 109), Fossier uses not a single footnote, and unlike Bloch goes so far as to eschew the need even for a list of bibliographic references. Fossier repeatedly anticipates his potential critics: “My documentation and most of the scholarly work I intend to pillage,” he warns from the beginning (pg. xi). “It is useless to accuse me of mixing up centuries, of being content with simplistic generalizations, of eliminating nuances of time or place, of using deceptive words and impure sources,” he says; “I know all this and assume responsibility for it” (pg. 383). But most troubling of all is the sense that in doing so, Fossier was willing to “retain from it only what serves [his] purpose” (pg. 265).

Fossier’s decision to forgo the mention of any sources whatsoever is particularly disconcerting given the fact that his announced intention is “to shake up certitudes” (pg. xi). Throughout The Axe and the Oath Fossier asserts his own theses over a “grotesque,” “ignorant historiographic tradition” and its “poor interpretations,” “solid stereotypes,” and “myths” surrounding everything from the role of women in the home (pg. 88), to medieval justice (pg. 268), war (pg. 280), anarchy (pg. 244), the universities (pg. 331-334), and the Cathars (pg. 352). But however accurate his own theses may be, they are usually only asserted, not substantiated, as he races from one topic to the next. The reader is never quite certain why we should abandon the long-held perspectives of medieval historians. And as can easily be gleaned from the quotes above, Fossier does all this with a nearly intolerable condescension for the “few nostalgic historians” (pg. 355), “of a certain mind” (pg. 31), who he expects will offer “facile criticism” (pg. xii), and “outmoded attitudes to dispute evident truth” (pg. 77).



Still, there is yet more that undermines the reader’s confidence in Fossier’s ability to prove the assertions he makes about the daily life and especially the attitudes and mentality of the average man or woman in the feudal era. The problem arises in Foessier’s particular form of anthropology, which is obviously central to the type of history he is aiming to accomplish. He is clear that he does “not believe in the superiority of our species” (pg. 383); “man is, in short, only a human beast” (pg. x), “certainly not the most beautiful success of Creation.” (pg. 222). As a result, Fossier is forced to admit that he has “sought out the purely material” (pg. 222), which is to say that he differs in a most essential way from the people he is studying; he holds a view that “made no sense in the Middle Ages” (pg. 350). It is small wonder, therefore, that Fossier confesses: “although I have attempted to penetrate into the domains of the mind and soul I have felt myself ill at ease there” (pg. 382). He knows that he has failed to plumb the “spiritual depth” of the medieval person he admirably wishes to unearth from the recesses of history (pg. 383).

This may also explain the numerous inaccuracies in Fossier’s explication of dogma and theology, and his portrayal of the Church. While he admits that, “the medieval Church was the whole social organization” of baptized believers, he is also forced to confess that he mainly refers to the institution of the hierarchy when he speaks of the Church (pg. 356). This he portrays as a plotting and conspiring league of men bent on maintaining power at all costs, whether he refers to the Church’s treatment of poverty (pg. 260), acts of charity (pg. 240), the theatre (pg. 250), or belief in miracles (pg. 371). He is never really able to grapple with the Church as a body of faithful believers which should have been his aim given the nature of his project. Fossier also confesses that he is “aware of how much of our own twenty-first century vision” he has included in his interpretations (pg. 222). Here too, this likely accounts for his politicized comments on the morality of abortion (pg. 40) and the ordination of women (pg. 215, 362), and perhaps also for his rather bizarre assertions about the theology surrounding the Fall (pg. 82), Adam (pg. 81) and the devil (pg. 380).

Dismissive of potential detractors to the very end, Fossier ultimately rests the weight of his project precisely where we would most fear: on his own whim. “I felt like saying all of this,” he declares, “and that is enough” (pg. 384). Unfortunately, for the historian, it is not.