Who is Joan of Arc?

Introduction

History often moves quietly, shaped by treaties, marriages, and the slow grinding of power between elites. Then, without warning, someone appears who does not fit the machinery at all – someone who should not matter, but does. Joan of Arc is one of those figures. She did not inherit authority, command wealth, or possess formal education. She was a peasant girl from a small village on the margins of France, born into a world that had little use for her voice. And yet, she bent the direction of a nation at war, unsettled church authorities, terrified seasoned military leaders, and left behind a legacy so powerful that it continues to provoke debate six centuries later.

France in Crisis: The World Joan Inherited

To understand Joan of Arc, one must first understand the France into which she was born—a nation fractured, humiliated, and uncertain of its own survival. The early fifteenth century was dominated by the Hundred Years’ War, a prolonged conflict between England and France that was less a single war than a series of invasions, truces, betrayals, and civil conflicts stretching across generations. By the time Joan was born around 1412, France was losing badly.

Large portions of northern France were under English control, and the English king, Henry V, claimed the French throne. The French monarchy itself was weak and divided. King Charles VI suffered from recurring mental illness, rendering him incapable of stable rule. His court was torn apart by rival factions, most notably the Armagnacs and the Burgundians, whose civil war further crippled French resistance. When Henry V defeated the French at Agincourt in 1415, it was not just a military loss—it was a psychological collapse.

By the 1420s, France seemed less like a kingdom and more like a collection of defeated provinces. The Treaty of Troyes in 1420 disinherited the Dauphin Charles (later Charles VII), declaring Henry V of England the rightful heir to the French crown. The Dauphin was pushed south, ruling only a fragment of territory and lacking the resources or legitimacy to reclaim the rest. Many believed France was finished.

This was the world Joan inherited: a nation in despair, a monarchy stripped of authority, and a population exhausted by war, famine, and plague. It was also a deeply religious world, one that believed divine will actively shaped political events. God, saints, angels, and demons were not abstractions; they were assumed participants in daily life. In such a world, miracles were possible—but only through channels approved by the Church and male authority. Joan would challenge that assumption directly.

Domrémy: A Childhood on the Edge of the World

Joan was born in Domrémy, a small village near the borderlands between regions loyal to different political factions. It was not a place of power or learning. Her family were peasants, likely modestly prosperous by rural standards but firmly outside the social structures that mattered in politics or the Church. Joan never learned to read or write, and her understanding of theology came from sermons, prayer, and lived religious practice rather than formal instruction.

Yet Domrémy was not isolated from the war. Raids, burned villages, and displaced families were part of Joan’s environment. The conflict was not an abstract struggle between kings; it was a daily presence that shaped how people prayed and feared. From an early age, Joan demonstrated intense religious devotion. She attended Mass frequently, confessed regularly, and was known among her neighbors for her piety. Nothing about this alone marked her as extraordinary—many medieval villagers were devout—but Joan’s faith would soon take a radical turn.

At around the age of thirteen, Joan claimed she began to experience visions. She described hearing voices accompanied by light, which she later identified as belonging to Saint Michael, Saint Catherine, and Saint Margaret. These voices, she said, instructed her to live virtuously at first. Over time, their messages became more specific and more dangerous: she was to leave her home, go to the Dauphin, and help drive the English from France.

Such claims were not automatically dismissed in the medieval world. Visions were part of Christian tradition. However, they were also deeply suspect, especially when claimed by women and peasants. The Church maintained strict control over who could interpret divine messages. Joan’s visions bypassed every approved channel of authority. She did not receive permission. She did not consult theologians. She simply obeyed.

Calling and Resistance: A Mission No One Wanted

Joan’s certainty did not make her mission easier. In fact, it made it nearly impossible. When she first attempted to leave Domrémy to seek out the Dauphin, she was turned away. Local officials dismissed her as delusional or dangerous. A teenage girl claiming divine instruction to lead armies was not just implausible—it was threatening. Her persistence, however, was relentless.

Eventually, after repeated attempts and amid growing desperation among French loyalists, Joan was granted an escort to the Dauphin’s court at Chinon. The journey itself was remarkable. She traveled through enemy-controlled territory dressed in men’s clothing for protection, a choice that would later be used against her in court. When she arrived, she faced skepticism and mockery. According to later accounts, the Dauphin tested her by hiding among his courtiers, but Joan identified him immediately—a detail often framed as proof of divine insight, though its historical accuracy remains debated.

What matters more than the legend is the outcome. Joan convinced Charles VII that she was worth listening to. Whether he believed her visions or saw her as a useful symbol, he authorized her participation in military efforts. This decision was extraordinary. No precedent existed for placing a young woman, with no noble birth or military training, in a position of influence over armed forces.

Joan did not receive formal command, but she became a rallying figure. She carried a banner rather than a sword, emphasizing her role as a messenger of divine will rather than a conventional warrior. Yet she was present on the battlefield, urging troops forward, rebuking cowardice, and insisting on action where hesitation had reigned. Her confidence was contagious.

The Siege of Orléans: Turning the Tide

The turning point of Joan’s military career—and arguably of the war itself—came at Orléans. The city was under siege by English forces, and its fall would have opened the path to the south, effectively ending French resistance. Previous attempts to relieve the city had failed. Morale was low, and defeat seemed inevitable.

Joan arrived in Orléans in 1429, and almost immediately, the atmosphere changed. She demanded aggressive action, pushing commanders to abandon cautious strategies that had yielded only loss. Against expectations, the French forces began to win. One by one, English fortifications fell. Joan herself was wounded by an arrow but returned to the fight, reinforcing her image as divinely protected.

The siege was lifted in a matter of days. Militarily, historians debate how decisive Joan’s role truly was, noting that logistical and strategic factors also played a part. Psychologically, however, her impact is undeniable. She transformed despair into belief. Soldiers who had expected defeat now believed God favored them. The English, who had considered victory inevitable, were shaken.

Orléans marked a symbolic rebirth of France. Joan’s reputation exploded. She was no longer merely a visionary girl; she was a sign that history could change direction. What followed was a rapid campaign that culminated in Charles VII’s coronation at Reims—a city traditionally used for French kings. Joan had insisted on this coronation, understanding that legitimacy mattered as much as military success. With Charles crowned, her mission, as she understood it, was largely complete.

Faith and Authority: A Dangerous Independence

Joan’s relationship with authority was complex. She was fiercely loyal to the Dauphin once she recognized him as rightful king. Yet her ultimate allegiance was not to any earthly ruler, but to the voices she heard. This placed her in a precarious position. She obeyed God as she understood Him, even when that obedience conflicted with political prudence or clerical instruction.

This independence made her powerful—and dangerous. Church officials were uneasy with her certainty. She refused to submit her visions to theological examination, claiming that God answered directly to her. She spoke boldly, sometimes arrogantly, about divine judgment. She claimed certainty of salvation, a statement that bordered on heresy in a Church that emphasized humility and uncertainty regarding God’s grace.

Moreover, Joan’s public role violated deeply entrenched gender norms. Women were expected to be silent, obedient, and confined to private spheres. Joan not only spoke publicly but commanded attention from men of all ranks. Her wearing of men’s clothing, initially practical, became symbolic—a visible rejection of prescribed identity. To many contemporaries, this transgression was more shocking than her military role.

As French political fortunes stabilized, Joan’s usefulness diminished. The court became cautious. Negotiations replaced bold action. Joan, however, continued to push for aggressive campaigns. Her uncompromising nature, once an asset, became a liability.

Capture: The Fall from Grace

In 1430, Joan was captured by Burgundian forces during a skirmish near Compiègne. Her capture marked a dramatic shift in her fortunes. The Burgundians sold her to the English, who saw an opportunity not merely to eliminate a military threat, but to destroy the symbol she represented.

A straightforward execution would have risked martyrdom. Instead, the English orchestrated a trial for heresy, designed to undermine her legitimacy and, by extension, that of Charles VII. If Joan could be proven a heretic or fraud, then the divine endorsement she represented would be exposed as false.

The trial was conducted in Rouen, under English control, by a panel of clerics hostile to Joan. It was riddled with procedural violations. Joan was denied legal counsel, interrogated repeatedly, and pressured to contradict herself. Yet throughout the trial, she demonstrated remarkable intelligence and composure. Her answers were often subtle, evading theological traps with instinctive brilliance.

When asked whether she was in God’s grace—a question designed to force a heretical claim—she famously replied, “If I am not, may God put me there; if I am, may God so keep me.” It was an answer that revealed both humility and sharp awareness of the danger she faced.

Condemnation and Death: Fire as Judgment

Despite her resilience, the outcome of the trial was never in doubt. Joan was condemned for heresy, witchcraft, and cross-dressing. The charge of wearing men’s clothing was emphasized heavily, not because it was the gravest offense, but because it was visible and easy to frame as sinful rebellion against God’s order.

In May 1431, at the age of nineteen, Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in Rouen. Witnesses reported that she called out the name of Jesus repeatedly as the flames rose. An English official allegedly wept, fearing that they had burned a saint. Her ashes were thrown into the river, leaving no physical remains—an attempt to prevent the creation of relics.

Her death was meant to erase her influence. Instead, it immortalized her.

Rehabilitation and Legacy: From Heretic to Saint

Less than twenty-five years after Joan’s execution, a retrial was ordered by the Church at the request of Charles VII. The political context had changed. France had regained much of its territory, and the need to clear Joan’s name aligned with royal interests. This time, witnesses were allowed, evidence was reconsidered, and the original trial was declared corrupt and unjust. Joan was posthumously exonerated.

Centuries later, in 1920, she was canonized as a saint by the Catholic Church. The institution that had condemned her now declared her holy. This reversal captures the central paradox of Joan of Arc: she was too disruptive to be accepted in her lifetime, yet too powerful to be forgotten.

Joan’s legacy has been claimed by many causes. She has been portrayed as a nationalist symbol, a feminist icon, a religious mystic, and a military heroine. Each interpretation reveals as much about those who invoke her as about Joan herself. She resists simplification.