Christianity vs. Paganism Theme Analysis

The Song of Roland is a heavily fictionalized poetic account of the Battle of Roncevaux Pass, a conflict between French and Spanish forces at Roncevaux, France in 778. As such, one of the poem’s most noticeable characteristics is the stark distinction between Christian and “pagan” (archaically, “paynim” in Sayers’s translation). To grasp the anonymous poet’s outlook, it is vital to understand that, at the time The Song of Roland was written (in the late 1000s or early 1100s), few in a French context would have had religious categories other than “Christian” and “pagan.” For instance, there was little understanding of Islam (the dominant religion in Spain at the time) as a distinct religion; thus, it would most often have been categorized as simply non-Christian, or pagan. Accordingly, the poet doesn’t seem to have an accurate awareness of Islam (or any other religion), instead portraying it as an inarticulate blend of “pagan” elements. By presenting Spain’s religion as a mix of unsophisticated, ineffectual, and threatening beliefs, the poet argues that Christianity, by contrast, is a civilized and rightfully victorious force.

The Islam of Spain is portrayed as a vaguely understood, unsophisticated, yet nevertheless threatening “pagan” religion. First of all, it is portrayed as an idol-worshipping religion. When the army of King Marsile (the Muslim king of Saragossa, Spain) rides out toward France from Spain, they pause to worship first: “Mahound their idol high on the tower they raise, / And every Paynim adores and gives it praise.” “Mahound” is a medieval variant of the name of Islam’s prophet, Muhammad; here, the use of the name also inaccurately characterizes Muhammad as a god, conflating Spanish Muslims with other so-called pagan religions. The “paynim” army even contains sorcerers. France’s Archbishop Turpin engages in combat with “Siglorel, / The sorcerer, who’d once been down to Hell, / With Jupiter for guide, by magic spells.” This unintelligible mix of religious elements—blending Islam with dark sorcery and ancient Roman myth (Jupiter was king of the Roman gods)—further classifies the people of Spain as belonging to an undifferentiated religious “other,” which is portrayed as diabolical and threatening to Christians. After King Marsile is felled in battle, his followers back in Spain turn on their god(s) in rage: “By twenty thousand [Marsile’s] followers stand around; / […] With ugly insults they threaten […] and shout: / ‘Aha! vile god, why must thou shame us now?’ / […] Into a ditch they boot away Mahound / For pigs and dogs to mangle and befoul.” Again, Islam is associated with a vague, unsophisticated paganism, whose deity is here suggested to be useless and worthy only of disgrace (and whose followers are quick to reject their god).

Christianity, by contrast, is portrayed as the pinnacle of civilization and as rightfully dominant over “pagan” Spain. For example, truly civilized knighthood is considered to be inherently Christian. The poet describes a noble and famously courageous emir (a Muslim ruler) as follows: “And for his courage he’s famous far and near; / Were he but Christian, right knightly he’d appear.” And, later, when a different emir, the fearsome Baligant, rides out to fight Charlemayn (King of the Franks and Lombards), the poet concludes several lines of praise by saying, “His valour proved in battle o’er and o’er; / Were he but Christian, God! what a warrior!” In other words, these emirs possess many of the best qualities of a medieval warrior, yet their lack of Christianity makes them deficient knights.

The French cause is also characterized as inherently Christian. When the French are preparing to face the Spanish in battle, Archbishop Turpin addresses the troops in a sermon: “Christendom needs you, / so help us to preserve it. / […] Here come the Paynims – your own eyes have observed them. / Now beat your breasts and ask God for His mercy: / I will absolve you and set your souls in surety. / If you should die, blest martyrdom’s your guerdon; / You’ll sit on high in Paradise eternal.” That is, the war against the pagans is an effort to preserve Christendom, and participating in that effort—especially dying in it—is worthy of absolution from sins and reward in heaven. Charlemayn, as Emperor of the Franks, embodies not just France but Christendom, which is portrayed as justly dominant. When Charlemayn and King Marsile’s successor, Emir Baligant, meet in a climactic showdown, the poet makes clear that “Nothing at all can ever end their strife / Till one confess he’s wrong, the other right.” He means that the French and Spanish war is a zero-sum encounter: it can only end when one side is religiously dominant. Further, Charlemayn tells Baligant that he must “confess the Faith by God revealed, / Take Christendom, and thy fast friend I’ll be.” Thus, the price of survival is renunciation of Baligant’s pagan faith and embrace of the Christendom that Charlemayn represents.

In the end, however, Baligant and Spain are defeated, and Spain’s capital, Saragossa, is Christianized: “Some thousand French search the whole town, to spy / Synagogues out and mosques and heathen shrines […] / The Bishops next the water sanctify; / Then to the font the Paynim folk they drive.” In other words, anything categorized as “paynim”—whether it is practiced in a synagogue, mosque, or shrine—is searched out for destruction, and its practitioners forcibly baptized. Notably, forced baptism was actually forbidden by the Catholic Church at this time; but these events, even if not historically accurate, reflect the poet’s perception that there are only two religious categories—Christian and pagan—and that only Christianity can ultimately prevail.