The Pope's Contradictory Apology
In 1076, Germany and Italy were on the verge of civil war. A dispute between arguably the two most powerful men in the medieval world—Pope Gregory VII and the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry IV—had gone from political to personal.
What had started as an argument over who had the authority to appoint bishops in Germany had devolved into something bitter, bubbling with potential for mass violence. Henry’s followers spread rumors that Pope Gregory practiced necromancy and intentionally destroyed the eucharist. They accused him of paying assassins to kill Henry. Meanwhile, the Pope really did excommunicate Henry’s key supporters, excising them from the holy community, in what was seen as a threat to their mortal bodies on earth as well as the spiritual well-being of their families.
Finally, Henry’s imperialists (especially those excommunicated) declared that the Pope had been elected illegally. They called for him to step down. When Henry joined that call, the Pope responded: he excommunicated the Holy Roman Emperor himself, declaring he had no right to rule.
This bold and surprising move from the Pope proved effective, and fast. It divided the nobility of Germany. Those aristocrats who had been outside of Henry’s circle saw it as an opportunity. They peeled off Henry’s more timid supporters and, at a council held in Tribur, the German princes demanded that if Henry did not receive absolution from the Pope within a few months, he would be deposed.
Some historians call what happened next the most dramatic moment of the Middle Ages.
Emperor Henry did not assemble an army. Instead, he gathered a small group of fifty people, including his wife and infant son, to trek through the alps during the dead of winter to appeal to the Pope face to face.
Henry and his entourage, after bribing, climbing, slipping, and tumbling their way through the alps during the worst winter anyone could remember, losing plenty of people and horses along the way, arrived in Canossa, where the Pope had taken refuge inside of a castle.
Outside the gates, while a blizzard raged, and snow piled up around him, Henry waited. According to Pope Gregory’s own account, Henry stood there, barefoot and clad only in “wretched woollen garments,” for three days, repenting and bowing before the Pope. Some contemporary accounts say he fasted, too. On the fourth day following this mortification and supplication, Gregory lifted the excommunication and let them in. But before being absolved, Henry had to swear a detailed oath that he would behave better toward the Pope in the future.
Political scientists sometimes refer to this episode as one of the first recorded public apologies in history. It does share many of the features of our modern public apologies: a call to apologize, an affirmation of a shared norm, an acknowledgment of that rule being violated, a demonstration of sincerity of contrition, and a promise to change future behavior.
When I heard the news last week that Pope Francis had apologized for his use of a slur against gay men, it made me think of this historical incident. While I found Pope Francis’ apology weak and insufficient in this case, if you take a step back, it’s remarkable that he apologized at all.
You can read my close analysis of the Pope’s apology and its larger context if you click the link below. Thanks for reading!