The year was 1219, and the Fifth Crusade was stuck in quagmire. The Crusaders were laying siege to Damietta, an Egyptian stronghold, and the siege was going nowhere as deaths on both sides piled up. With the ‘support’ of the Western Church, the Crusaders believed that what they were waging was a holy war in the name of God, and the Muslims were the enemies who must be vanquished. To them, the Muslims were more than just political enemies, but religious ones, too, representing the Devil on Earth. To the Islamic world, the Crusaders were sinners, who came to invade, plunder, and desecrate. During this moment of fear and violence in human history, a man of plain cloth came forth unarmed, crossing the battle lines, and reached the enemy camps. This man was St Francis of Assisi, and he came before the Sultan of Egypt, Al-Malik al-Kamil Nasir ad-Din Muhammad. As we too face our own era’s wars and conflict, what could we learn from this momentous meeting that took place 800 years ago?
Icon of St Francis meeting Sultan al-Kamil
Francis and the Sultan: a meeting surpassing hatred
Even though St Francis and his companions travelled to Damietta alongside the Crusaders, his views on war were completely different from theirs. He did not come to wage war, but with the spirit of ‘martyrdom’ – he hoped to move the enemies by his own religious zeal, and put an end to the brutal war with peaceful means.
Francis attempted to enter the Muslim-controlled areas several times to no avail. In September 1219, he and his companion Illuminatus of Arce decided to cross the Crusaders’ lines directly, and walked towards the Muslim encampments. A battle was still raging on at the time, and Francis was captured by a Muslim scout. He was treated brutally, but he kept yelling ‘Sultan! Sultan!’, and since he was dressed as an unarmed friar and appeared fearless, the soldiers decided at last to bring him to the Sultan.
The Sultan, who was wise, did not order for the execution of this weaponless and poorly dressed friar, but rather offered him gifts. Francis stayed at the Sultan’s tent for several days (with one account saying he stayed for three weeks!). He preached to the Sultan the faith and peace of Christianity, and the Sultan responded with the civilised courtesy of Islam.
At the end, the Sultan did not convert to Christianity, and Francis could not end the war, but both parties were left with a deep, mutual respect. The Sultan was moved by the sincerity and piety of Francis, deeming him as truly a man of God. To protect his personal safety, the Sultan order his troops to escort Francis back to the Crusaders’ camps. He also offered him valuable gifts, but as Francis denied them due to his vow of poverty, he could only gift him a horn made of ivory. This horn was used to call the Muslims to prayer, and after Francis brought it back to Europe, he used it to call the Christians to prayer, and to give praise to God.
Though this meeting did not result in an immediate stop to the Fifth Crusade, it left behind an immense spiritual legacy. After Francis’ return to Italy, he added a chapter to his Rule of St Francis, teaching to friars to be humble and avoid conflicts within Muslim areas, and to bear witness to faith via action. This meeting also granted the Franciscans a presence in the Holy Land since 1217, under the Custody of the Holy Land.
On putting violence on a pedestal and making fear a fact of life
In order to understand how revolutionary Francis was, we must first understand the religious and political context of 13th century Europe. Since the first Crusade of 1095, the act of war has been slowly made into something ‘sacred’ by the Church. The spiritual and temporal powers were deeply intertwined, and the Pope worked with the kings and princes to persuade both peasants and nobles to join their ‘sacred war’, using indulgences, eternal life, and framing war as a religious mission in order to win their support. The Islamic world soon transformed, in their eyes, from a civilisation of living beings into a vague representation of evil, a demonised ‘enemy’ fit only to be conquered.
Such violence was not confined to military conflicts – it was an ideological shift motivated by theological design. Sermons were preached day by day, with the theology being twisted more and more, ritualising and formalising the fear of the other. As a result, hatred became an unquestioned fact of life. Francis’ unprovoked urge to seek an audience with the Sultan was thus a borderline ridiculous act to his contemporaries. He refused to accept the spiritus mundi which dictated ‘the enemy must be destroyed’, and chose to walk towards the enemy, unarmed, for a cordial meeting.
The meeting of Francis and Sultan Malik al-Kamil became a historic exemplar in peacemaking and mutual respect
Francis’ choice of morality over the logic of war
Francis was no naive idealist, he did not simply neglect the morbidity of war. Indeed, one could say he was in fact more perceptive of war’s ugly reality than some of his contemporaries. According to many sources, Francis’ visit to Egypt was original motive was to preach to the Christian soldiers – he was trying to point out to them that exercising violence in the name of God is contrary to the gospel, and the Crusaders should repent. To Francis, ‘sin’ is not just the flaws in our personal morality, but includes any action that could destroy the holy relationship between neighbours – thus greed, violence, oppression, and negligence. As such, ‘repentance’ and ‘penance’ are not done by being emotionally distraught at one’s self, but by real transformation: from domination, exclusion, and conquest, to humility, meeting, and peace.
Such an understanding enabled Francis to discern between ‘systemic evil’ and ‘personal dignity’. He opposed the Crusade, and yet he pitied the soldiers who were caught up in the conflict. He opposed religious violence, refusing to dehumanise and demonise the enemy. Such perspectives on morality enabled Francis to bring peace on a battlefield drenched in blood.
From the myth of a martyr to an example of peace
Viewed from a political lens, the meeting between Francis and the Sultan was an extremely risky move. The open-minded Sultan did not treat the captured friar as a spy, and chose to respect Francis by allowing him to stay for mutual conversation. The ivory horn gifted by the Sultan is a mark of cross-religious friendship, and a sign that the Sultan acknowledged Francis’ piety, sincerity, and dignity. From these we see the spirit that shapes true dialogue: it is not an argument where one must win or lost, but rather an opportunity to see glimpses of one’s self in the other.
The Islamic tradition views this meeting as more than just a verbal exchange. To them, this is a ‘living relationship’. We see from multiple places within the Quran that the differences we find amongst humanity is no mistake; rather, it is the will of Allah that we are different, so that we can understand and learn from each other. Within this framework, true dialogue is made when we are not set out to change others, but when we begin by respecting our differences, and continue in mutual encouragement and competition in our good works.
The meeting between Francis and the Sultan was repeatedly memorialised in these past 800 years. Scholars in the 19th century were frequent in their depiction of Francis as an evangelist-hero, set out to ‘convert the infidel’ – a perspective as expected from the colonial age. As we entered the 21st century, and as religious conflicts rose across the globe, Francis was re-interpreted as a pioneer in ‘non-violence dialogue’. This change was no historical revisionism, but a sign that our modern world is finally ready to listen to the true message behind the meeting: that violent wars are powerless in settling the differences between faiths, and only in mutual meeting can we deconstruct mutual fear. Out of the box of an apparent dilemma, we should opt for the third way out.
The meeting between Francis and the Sultan challenged the false dichotomy of ‘us versus the enemy’. It reminds us that our enemies are often just our neighbours who are caught under the influence of fear. When the whole world seems to be going one way, sometimes it is the most insignificant dialogue between individuals that proves the grand narrative wrong with mere sincerity. From the example of Francis, we see that humility doesn’t mean weakness, rather, is it a strength required for successful dialogue. We now live in a world where labelling, stereotyping, opposition and hatred could happen in an instant. To us, Francis has revealed that peace is not a dream, but something to be done with courage.
The meeting between Francis and the Sultan did not change the course of military history, but it opened a way towards mutual understanding, even at times when it is most unlikely. It reminds us that peace isn’t a product when everything else is solved; rather, peace is something we fight for when all seems hopeless, by choosing to have the courage to trust, to meet, and to listen when nobody else is. Perhaps, the most precious thing that Francis left us is not the Franciscan Order, but a simple and difficult request: go to the person you fear, and acknowledge that both of you are beloved by God. It is in meetings such as these that the logic of war comes crumbling down, and in its place, the foundation stone for peace is laid.