Christian
Attitudes Towards Jews & Muslims in Medieval Spain
Steven Sultan (CAS '06) is a History major.
He hopes to attend medical school in the fall. This paper was
written for RN 333: Anti-Semtism, instructed by Professor Levine,
and RN 344: Islam and the West, instructed by Professor Swartz.
When the forces of the General Tariq ibn Sayid came ashore
in Spain in 711, not a man among them could have imagined that
this seemingly routine military incursion would usher in an
era unique in the history of Western Europe. Having crossed
the strait of Gibraltar merely to intervene in a Visigothic
civil war, the Muslims were invited into urban centers by repressed
minorities and, following their reinforcement by Berber1 converts
from North Africa, quickly overtook a large portion of the Iberian
Peninsula, or “al-Andalus.” In the course of their rapid and
unanticipated advance, the Muslims exploited a number of “disputes
within the royal family [that had] led to frequent internal
warfare, [as well as the questionable] loyalty of many elements
of the population” (Coope 4). A common practice among Muslim
commanders, whose forces remained relatively small throughout
this period, was to offer favorable terms of surrender and religious
freedom to those towns that they sought to subjugate. In this
way they were able to assume control of the vast majority of
the peninsula without having to resort to force, peaceably bringing
under their influence the native population of Jews and Christians.
In considering the political structure of Muslim Spain in the
Middle Ages it is of critical importance to recognize that “the
Arab leadership did not see the conquests primarily as wars
of conversion; Muslim Arabs were to be a ruling elite, supported
by the tribute of an essentially undisturbed native population”
(Coope 1). It comes as little surprise, therefore, that they
would implement the dhimma, a set of laws that strictly codified
the terms of interaction between Muslims and non-Muslims while
simultaneously preserving the religious freedoms of the latter.
The Muslims had put in place similar policies throughout their
vast dominions, though the dhimma was of particular importance
in al-Andalus as the “Arab Muslims were in the minority wherever
they conquered, and they arrived lacking many of the administrative
and cultural skills necessary to rule an empire” (Coope 2).
The Jews and Christians were therefore relied upon to staff
the Caliphate’s bureaucratic apparatus, though their upward
mobility was limited significantly by their status as dhimmis,
or non-Muslims.
While only the small Kingdom of Asturia, centered on Oviedo,
remained in the hands of Christian forces following the Muslim
conquest, other kingdoms would soon liberate themselves, expanding
the Christian territory to include much of Northern Spain. In
place of the mercantile economy blossoming in Moorish territory,
the financial system in the northern mountain region mirrored
the feudal establishments found throughout much of Europe. Despite
the economic and demographic disparities that clearly delineated
the north from the south of the Iberian peninsula, however,
Christian Spain offered a level of religious freedom to its
Jewish and Muslim subjects in the early Middle Ages that, while
not on par with Moorish Spain, was considerable. Religious tolerance
in the north would reach its official zenith in the 13th century
with the institution by Alfonso X (el Sabio) of the Siete Partidas,
a code of law that, while placing certain social restrictions
on Jews and Muslims, conferred upon them a number of important
religious freedoms as well. Indeed, every “historian, chronicler,
and scholar …who treats the subject testifies that Alfonso’s
reign was ideal for Jews as well as for other races and nationalities,
especially those who could make intellectual and professional
contributions” (Bagby 670).
Despite the establishment of a number of legally sanctioned
social boundaries between religious sects in both the Muslim
and Christian controlled territories, the “interdependence and
proximity of [Judaism, Christianity and Islam] meant that cultural
boundaries between groups were never so rigid as theory dictated,
and a gradual process of acculturation took place” (Coope 3).
In Muslim Spain, such influence came overwhelmingly at the expense
of Latin learning and culture, as Jews and Christians immersed
themselves in Arabic scholarship and public discourse. Taken
in conjunction with the economic sanctions placed upon dhimmis
in Muslim society, it is not surprising that this pervasive
cultural shift would result in a steadily growing community
of Christian converts to Islam. In the north, Christians responded
to this threat by gradually reversing their tolerance towards
Judaism and Islam, resulting in a similar, if slightly less
pronounced, trend of conversion to Christianity.
Having outlined the basic structure of Spanish society and the
general trend towards Islamization in the Moorish south, it
is possible to properly contextualize the Spanish Christian
conception of Judaism, a religion with which Christians had
had prolonged contact, and Islam, the central tenets of which
were almost entirely unfamiliar to the Latin Church at this
time. In attempting to detail such Christian views on other
religions, however, it is crucial first to make a distinction
between Spanish Christians and the Spanish clergy. In doing
so, Spanish-Christian conceptions of Judaism and Islam in the
Middle Ages are separated into two categories: those formulated
within the frame of reference of greater Spanish culture, and
those conceived of within the church, which acted largely outside
of this socio-cultural construct. Drawing this line proves essential,
as we will see, when outlining Christian viewpoints on Judaism
and Islam.
In detailing the opinions of clergy members and their congregants
in medieval Spain, it will be possible to determine whether
the influence of Christianity was sufficient to unify Christians
in their conceptions of Jews and Muslims. To this end, the study
conducted here will first follow the progression of popular
Spanish-Christian attitudes towards Jews, as well as those of
the Christian clergy, from the time that the first Jewish traders
arrived in Western Europe until their expulsion from Spain in
1492. Having done so, it will then continue to consider the
reaction of European Christians to Islam and the circumstances
which dictated the unique response of Christians living in Moorish
Spain. Finally, it will be possible to compare these studies
and determine whether any significant trends are evident in
Christian conceptions of other religious groups.
Conceptions of Judaism
When the first Jewish traders arrived in Western Europe in the
early Middle Ages “their ambivalent reception … was sufficient
cause for worry, … but, protected by [economically ambitious]
rulers, … the [potential for monetary] gain seems to have offset
the risks” (Cohen 81). Moreover, it is important to point out
that while the Jewish presence in the region was, for a time,
a novel phenomenon, Church doctrine had, primarily by the work
of St. Augustine, long ago incorporated the persistence of Judaism
into the soteriology of Latin Christendom. As such, detailed
conceptions of Jews and their relative significance to Christianity
preceded the arrival of the merchants themselves. With this
ecumenical framework in mind, it is possible to interpret the
relatively benign reception of Jews among the Christians of
Spain, especially in the northern kingdoms, as an outgrowth
of Church doctrine. Popular anti-Semitism, rooted in a number
of economic, social, and religious movements, built gradually
beginning around the 12th century, however, appearing first
in the works of Petrus Alfonsi and later among those of other
authors. This trend eventually took root within the Church itself,
culminating in the judgment of Jews as infidels during the late
stages of the Reconquista and, ultimately, their expulsion from
Spain in 1492. In detailing the triumph of popular Spanish anti-Semitism
over the Augustinian tradition it should be possible to draw
conclusions with regard to the role of economic, social, and
cultural issues in undermining the integrity of official Church
doctrine.
One of the most influential Church fathers of the 4th and 5th
centuries, Saint Augustine of Hippo is largely credited with
outlining the theological implications of Judaism’s continued
existence given that, according to Christianity, Judaism had
been superceded with the coming of Christ. In his seminal work,
The City of God, Augustine makes an important argument
on the topic, reaffirming several commonly leveled accusations
in the process. Augustine ascribes a kind of symbolic significance
to the Jews, that stubborn and nefarious group “who slew Him,
and would not believe in Him” and were, as a result, “utterly
rooted out from their kingdom … and dispersed through the lands”
(Dods 657). The Jews, according to Augustine, “are thus by their
own Scriptures a testimony to us that we have not forged the
prophecies about Christ” (Dods 658). By their continued belief
in the Old Testament, therefore, the Jews testify to the verity
of the Christian scriptures. A second popular conception of
the Jews cast them in the dramatic role of the so-called sacred
remnant. On the basis of a verse in Romans claiming that “a
hardening has come upon part of Israel, [and it will not dissipate]
until the full number of the Gentiles come in” (Romans 11:25),
church theologians argued that a Jewish nation must remain in
place until the coming of the Messiah, as they will only be
converted at the end of days. Christian thinkers therefore understood
the cultural isolationism of medieval Jewish communities as
a necessary prerequisite for the fulfillment of their divine
purpose.
Given the status of Jews according to medieval Christendom,
it is not surprising that the missionary activities of Spanish
Christians in the early Middle Ages would be somewhat half-hearted.
This seemingly uncharacteristic re-straint should be interpreted
as a functional outgrowth of Augustinian doctrine rather than
as a lack of zeal on the part of the Spanish clergy. There were
anti-Jewish polemics written during this period, to be sure.
They were subdued in their nature, however, and often written
by vocally reluctant figures. One such hesitant author asserted
that “if you wish to be a soldier of Christ and fight for him
courageously … then take up arms against the vices of the flesh,
the contrivances of the devil … rather than against the Jews”
(Berger 580). Many polemicists, while not confronting a Jewish
missionary effort, wrote their tracts in defense of the Christian
faith as “they faced a genuine, vigorous challenge from a proud
and assertive Jewish community” (Berger 579). In spite of the
Augustinian tradition – and the resultant lack of a large-scale
missionary effort directed at Spanish Jews – the conversion
of individuals was certainly not discouraged. As a result, “the
fundamental theory governing Jewish status in early medieval
[Spain] was marked by tension and ambivalence – a result of
the contradiction between the theoretical goals of a universal
Christian mission and an argument for toleration that came close
to discouraging Jewish conversion” (Berger 576).
The conspicuous tension that characterized Spanish Christian
attitudes towards Jews in the Middle Ages was personified in
Alfonso X, “El Sabio,” king of Castile in the 13th century.
While it “cannot be denied that [there were] Christian scholars
and savants around Alfonso in his enlightened court … historical
facts bear out that, as both infante and rey, Alfonso the Wise
chose to be surrounded by Jewish minds in every sphere of Spanish
life with the possible exception of the purely social” (Bagby
671). Despite his definite preference, however, Alfonso’s major
legal treatise, the Siete Partidas, imposed a number of narrow-minded
restrictions on his Jewish subjects. The Partidas stipulate
that a Jew should live his or her life “quietly and without
disorder, practicing their own religious rites and not speaking
ill faith of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Bagby 673). While this
statement guarantees the religious freedoms of the Jews, it
is followed by several threats. Jews were to “avoid preaching
to, or converting any Christian … [lest they] be put to death
and lose all [their] property” (Bagby 673). Moreover, Jews were
not permitted by law to hold any office in which they might
be able to “oppress Christians” (Bagby 673). Such laws were
not often enforced, however, and the reign of Alfonso X has
therefore come to be regarded by Jews as a golden age in their
history.
The laissez-faire attitude of the Spanish upper class towards
the Jews allowed them a level of freedom that they had never
before known in Europe. From the privileged vantage point of
the modern historian, however, it is clear that the liberties
enjoyed by Spanish Jews were contingent upon their popular image
as a unique economic asset. When this image no longer persisted
be-cause when “enough native merchants had arisen, the next
wave of conflict was due” (Deutsch 245). This conflict would
begin with the attacks of Petrus Alfonsi and the more ardent
anti-Jewish polemicists of the 12th century. Such works brought
to light thinly-veiled and widespread anti-Semitism among Spanish
Christians. Under the reign of Alfonso X and other lenient monarchs
it is clear, then, that while the “the centuries-old Augustinian
tradition … continued to assure the Jews of their low rank in
the hierarchy of Christian society, … the Augustinian theology…
faced powerful countervailing … economic and social forces”
(Cohen 111).
Born a Jew in Muslim Spain, Petrus Alfonsi converted to Christianity
prior to emigrating northward to the Spanish Kingdom of Aragon.
Alfonsi would ultimately leave behind the religious diversity
of the Iberian Peninsula for medieval England, though not before
he composed his Dialogi conta Iudaeos, one of the most
significant polemical works since Augustine’s The City of
God. In this fictional dialogue, Peter, whose character
is representative of the new man Alfonsi had become as a result
of his baptism, systematically refutes the arguments of Moses,
Alfonsi’s old self, ultimately convincing him to convert. In
composing this dialogue Alfonsi drew upon his familiarity with
the Jewish Talmud and other post-biblical texts to argue that
they were not pursuant with scientific fact or rational logic.
One particular issue that Alfonsi focused upon was the anthropomorphizing
of God in many Jewish works. He claimed that Jews “ascribe a
body and form to God and that [they] attribute to his nature
things which the truth of reason abhors” (Tolan 22-23). Having
received a relatively thorough Jewish education, Alfonsi’s polemic
offers a unique perspective unlike any other before it, thereby
providing a wealth of new material to encourage those who wished
to follow in his footsteps.
Though Alfonsi’s polemic is most clearly distinguished from
those preceding it by a number of novel arguments, the decidedly
negative tone is unique as well. Throughout the dialogue it
becomes apparent that this tract is “far more negative than
the Latin works of the Augustinian tradition” and that for Alfonsi
“Judaism … is a conspiratorial, anti-Christian sect” (Tolan
19). In this vein, he embellishes upon the allegation that the
Jews were responsible for the death of Christ, charging that
they were not simply guilty of treason and of murder, but of
deicide – that is, the Jews not only killed Christ, but they
were aware that he was the son of God when they did so. Alfonsi
was the first polemicist to render this accusation, one that
still resonates throughout the world today. With its revealing
new arguments and striking accusations, the widely read Dialogi
served as the foundation upon which Christian resentment of
Jews would manifest itself as intellectual and popular anti-Semitism
for centuries to come.
The first Jewish traders to arrive in Western Europe performed
a service that Christians were unwilling to undertake on their
own. Early Christianity disapproved of any activity by which
an individual might accumulate wealth, thereby discouraging
Christian commerce. As such, “economic factors figured pro-minently
in determining the position of the Jews in [these societies],
as well as helping to shape their relations with the non-Jewish
majority, for the economic realm straddled the [social] boundaries
that otherwise separated Jews from non-Jews” (Cohen 77). When,
in the 12th and 13th centuries, the Church relaxed its restrictions
on trade, however, the Jews of Europe were forced into usury,
that undesirable and much maligned vocation that Christians
were not permitted to practice. Despite the scorn heaped upon
Jewish moneylenders by the Christian populace, their services
remained the lifeblood of the merchant economies that so many
barons and monarchs sought to foster within their dominions.
As such, there is a considerable degree of “truth to the remark
that usury secured for the Jews official protection at the price
of public detestation” (Cohen 83).
While a large number of Spanish Christians came to identify
and despise Jews as rapacious, predatory moneylenders, they
resented the image of the Jewish “community” as much, if not
more, because of its insular nature and the privileged status
ascribed to it by the Jews themselves. Given the choice between
baptism and martyrdom, the Jews of Europe repeatedly preferred
martyrdom. The motivation behind such behavior was only religious
in part. Rather, “the impulse which drove them to do so … was
strengthened and confirmed by their own and their ancestors’
long-run practical experience” (Deutsch 246). If they were to
convert, it might mean an improvement in their status in the
short-run. In the long-run, however, it was in their best interest
to uphold the integrity of the community, that body upon which
they could rely for help in times of need. Despite the secular
nature of Christian grievances, however, “their conflicts were
[to be]… fought out in violent religious [encounters, while]
many of the social and economic issues involved were obscured
by the awe of religion” (Deutsch 239). In preparing for such
encounters, the Christians of Spain would look to the polemical
works of Alfonsi and others, arming themselves with a host prefabricated
contentions and accusations.
Even a cursory study of popular Spanish literature from the
late Middle Ages reveals the anti-Semitic leanings of broader
Spanish culture at that time. In Poema del Cid, one the most
important epic poems to emerge from this period, the protagonist
takes a loan from two moneylenders, Raquel and Vidas, leaving
only chests of sand as security for the loan. While they “are
not specifically called Jews in the poem, all the critics consulted
refer to them as such, taking it for granted that in the earliest
Spanish literary work the avaricious moneylender was already
typed as a Jew” (Resnick 54). Embellishing upon this image,
the reader first encounters Raquel and Vidas as they are counting
their money. Moreover, when another character later asks the
moneylenders for a reward, they offer him thirty marcos, possibly
alluding to the thirty pieces of silver that Judas received
in return for betraying Jesus. The most telling aspect of this
story, however, is that in painting the Jews as furtive and
underhanded figures, the Cid’s “deception of the arch-deceivers
is consequently not perceived to be immoral; he is merely beating
the Jews at their own game” (Mann 68).
Around the same time that the thought of Alfonsi and his fellow
polemicists found its way into popular literature, the Cult
of the Virgin Mary began to gain a following among the Christians
of Spain. This trend resulted in the publication of a number
of widely read works expounding upon the compassion and miraculous
powers of the Virgin, many of which also reflected the anti-Semitic
nature of Spanish society. One such work, the Milagros de
Nuestra SeÒora by Gonzalo de Berceo, recounts a
host of miracles performed by the Virgin Mary, four of which
involve her interaction with Jews. In three of these four cases
the Jews are depicted as obstinate and heretical, though, having
witnessed the miracles of the Virgin, they are ultimately converted
to Christianity. The message in these three cases, and the many
others like them that appear in other works, is clear: namely,
the Jews are stubborn, and though by their existence they testify
to the Christian truth, they will only accept it themselves
when faced with a divine exhibition of its absolute verity.
It is important to note as well that in one of Berceo’s stories,
the Jews are depicted as recrucifying a waxen image of Christ.
This outlandish allegation would become commonplace in the polemical
literature and public discourse of the time, as Berceo and others
sought “the approbation of [their] audience by appealing to
their prejudices” (Resnick 55).
The economic and social issues that originally stirred the resentment
of Spanish Christians towards Jews were, by the 15th century,
almost entirely obscured by religious fanaticism. Not even the
many Jews who had converted to Christianity, or conversos, remained
free from Christian persecution, as “Christians came to doubt
whether even baptism could effect a real change in the Jew”
(Trachtenberg 50). In parallel with this development, the accusations
leveled against the Jewish community escalated dramatically
in the severity over the course of the 14th and 15th centuries,
as the image of the greedy Jewish moneylender became increasingly
replaced with that of a barbarous Devil worshiper. One Hebrew
source from the period relates that Christians “made the accusation
that in the house of a Jew they had found a murdered child,
whose body was cut open at the heart, and they further said
that the Jews had taken out the heart to celebrate with it”
(Trachtenberg 138). Given the growing prevalence of such stories,
it is not surprising that the Jews would become a primary target
of the Catholic monarchs in their crusade. Indeed, “to the masses
the Jew was the worst infidel of all – the Christ killer in
person; the official distinction [had, over the course of the
last three centuries, become] transparently futile” (Trachtenberg
167).
In tracing the rise of anti-Semitism in Spain several important
points become evident. First, while certain elements of Christian
doctrine could be considered derogatory towards Judaism, the
Jews are by no means the focus of an inherent missionary ideology.
In fact, Augustinian doctrine actually comes close to discouraging
the conversion of Jews. It was only with the work of innovative
and zealous new polemicists in the 12th century – many of whom
were recent converts – that Judaism came to be interpreted as
deliberately anti-Christian. It is also important to recognize
that, for the most part, the Spanish clergy maintained the integrity
of the Augustinian tradition until the 15th century when popular
and political pressure overwhelmed their position. Second, while
it is clear that popular anti-Semitism was born out of economic
and social concerns, the growing association of Jews with blasphemy
and devil worship gradually obscured these issues. Moreover,
when examining popular literature and recorded myths from different
eras in the history of Medieval Spain, the progression of the
Jew in the popular Christian imagination – from the unlucky
moneylenders in the Cid, to the devil worshipping congregants
of the blood libels – is readily apparent.
Conceptions of Islam
Though they had lived in close proximity with Muslims since
the time of the Muslim Conquest, Spanish Christians of the early
Middle Ages were, like the remainder of their European coreligionists,
reluctant to confront Islam as “an intellectually identifiable
fact” (Southern 13). In place of the physical distance that
the remainder of Europe could rely upon to separate itself from
the followers of Muhammad, however, Spanish Christians were
forced to create a kind of psychological distance. To this end,
they “closed their minds to the new religion and reacted with
fear against it” (Wolf 281). Ultimately though, Spain was “the
country which suffered most from, and therefore thought most
about, Islam” (Southern 19). It is not surprising, then, that
the earliest Western Christian conceptions of Islam trace their
roots to Moorish Spain in the Middle Ages.
Throughout the 8th century, the Spanish Church made a deliberate
attempt to avoid addressing Islam as a rival religion. This
effort manifested itself in the exaggeration of other religious
threats. One of the earliest works to mention Islam, the Chronica
Muzarabica of 754, notes only that Muhammad was a false
prophet and that those who follow him have surrendered their
souls to Hell. This text is concerned primarily with the political
impact of the Muslims. It is important to note, however, that
the Chronica lists a number of pertinent religious
developments on the peninsula as well. Among the recounted episodes
is an exorcism performed by Bishop Cixila, successfully curing
a man of the Sabellian heresy, and the celebration of Easter
by the Christians of Seville on the incorrect date. Many Spanish
ecclesiastics of the 8th century also voiced concern over the
alleged Judaizing of their congregations. Bishop Felix of Cor-doba,2
for instance, wrote in 764 that he had to prevent members of
his congregation from fasting on Yom Kippur. While such concerns
may seem insignificant in relation to the rapid Islamization
taking root in Spain at this time, they are better understood
as part of the Church’s attempt to acknowledge Islam solely
on a political level. It is only “within this context [that
the] anxiety provoked by Trinitarian heretics or by Christians
who wanted to celebrate Yom Kippur [could] eclipse the fear
of Islam” (Wolf 286).
The silence of the Spanish Clergy regarding Islamic theology
finally ceased in the middle of the 9th century – more than
a century after the Muslim conquest – when two priests, Eulogius
and Paul Alvarus, felt it necessary to publicly defend the actions
of a number of Christians who had blasphemed against Islam in
the city of Cordoba. These zealots had subsequently been put
to death by the Muslim judges of the city and, in the course
of their respective works, both Eulogius and Alvarus argued
vehemently against those Christians who claimed that the executed
did not qualify as legitimate martyrs. Properly outlining the
contentions and concerns on both sides of this debate is essential
to understanding the conception of Muslims among Spanish Christians.
On one side lay the clergy who, out of religious zeal and a
fear of cultural absorption, sought to make clear the degree
to which Islam was incompatible with Christian doctrine. By
this time, however, most Christians had been integrated into
Muslim society and, as a result, were generally unwilling to
admit any major differences between Christianity and Islam,
the religion with which they associated the ascendant culture
of their homeland.
One of the most alarming issues for the Spanish Church in the
9th century was the growing rate of conversion among Christians.
Richard Bulliet has described this process of Islamization as
following a logarithmic pattern; “That is, few adopt the innovation
at first, but, as more do, the probability of others following
suit increases” (Glick 33). This assertion was made on the basis
of statistical analyses of a number of genealogies. The underlying
assumption in such studies is that a “change of language in
[a] genealogy indicate[s] the generation of conversion, [and
that it is therefore]… possible to estimate the dates of individual
conversion and to draw a graph showing their distribution over
time” (Bulliet 115). The resultant estimates place the highest
rates of conversion in the late 9th and early 10th centuries,
approximately the time that the Martyrs of Cordoba, as they
have come to be known, sacrificed themselves in the name of
Christianity. When the rate of conversion finally tapered off
at the end of the 12th century, over 80 percent of the original
Christian population had converted to Islam (Bulliet 118).
While conversion represented the most direct threat to Christianity
at this time, the marginalization of Latin learning in Moorish
Spain helped turn people towards the liberal universalist ideals
of their Muslim rulers and, by extension, away from the Church.
In his Indiculus Luminosus, Paul Alvarus laments that
“the Christians love to read the poems and romances of the Arabs
… not to refute them but to form a correct and elegant Arabic”
(Southern 21). Moreover, he asks, “where is the layman who now
reads the Latin commentaries on the Holy Scriptures, or who
studies the Gospels, prophets or apostles?” (Southern 21). Though
this question may appear to be a simple, superficial aside at
first, upon closer inspection it can be broken down into three
components, each of which applies to a specific trend in Spanish
Christendom. Alvarus, a priest, first asks, “where is the layman,”
a clear sign of the growing distance between the Church and
its congregants. Second, he takes issue with the fact that no
one outside of the Church can read the Latin commentaries, demonstrating
his unease with the Arabic education of most Christians. Finally,
he notes that only few laymen read the Gospels, prophets or
apostles. It follows, then, that as far as Alvarus was concerned,
only members of the clergy were equipped to discern the heretical
nature of Islam.
In the face of certain legal boundaries, the assimilation of
Christians into 9th century Andalusian society by conversion
and cultural avenues was eased by the population’s ethnic homogeneity.
In its strict conception, the dhimma was designed to prevent
excessive interaction between Jews, Christians, and Muslims.
In practice, however, social intercourse became sufficiently
free within a few decades of the conquest so as to allow for
frequent intermarriage. By the middle of the 9th century, “with
the exception of the clergy, [Andalusian] Christians must have
looked much like [Andalusian] Muslims” (Wolf 13). Common modes
of dress and similar diets reinforced these genetic trends.
In turn, Spanish Christians “found [that] it was [increasingly]
to their financial and social advantage to adopt elements of
Arab Muslim culture” (Coope 3). It was in this environment that
Eulogius and other clergymen saw no choice “but to engage in
apologetics and polemics, since their self preservation depended
to a considerable extent on their ability to defend their faith
against the pressure of the Muslim surrounding” (Kedar 36).
Though Alvarus wrote several works on the diluted state of Andalusian
Christian culture in the 9th century, it was his colleague Eulogius
who took it upon himself to systematically refute the claims
of those opposed to the Martyrs’ movement, yielding his seminal
treatise, the Liber Apologeticus Martyrum. This apologetic,
finished sometime between his imprisonment in 857 and his execution
in 859, responds to those who claimed that the Cordoban Christians
were not legitimate martyrs. This position was based on a comparison
of the circumstances surrounding the executions of the Andalusian
Christians to those underlying the crucifixion of the Roman
martyrs. In conducting this comparison, three major disparities
arise: first, there were no miracles associated with the deaths
of the Cordobans as there were with the Romans. Moreover, the
Christians, unlike their Roman precursors, lived in an era free
of official religious persecution. Finally, unlike the Roman
pagans, the Muslim executioners were monotheists who claimed
to believe in the god of the Christians. Though all three lines
of reasoning merit closer attention, the subject of this discussion
will be limited to Eulogius’ treatment of the first and third
arguments. These particular efforts served as the platform upon
which he constructed the first conception of Islam as viewed
from the Christian theological standpoint.
In seeking to justify the conspicuous absence of miracles both
before and after the death of the Cordoban martyrs, Eulogius
employs doctrinal precedent and a unique, racially motivated
argument. Alluding first to the Dialogues of Pope Gregory
I, Eulogius makes the claim that there need not be an overt
miracle to testify to the presence of divine inspiration. More
important, however, is the second argument advanced by Eulogius
on this point, begins with a recount of “when the apostles wanted
to preach the gospel to the Asians, [and] they were prevented
by the Holy Spirit, which, when long ago it began to spread
the gospel, knew that no one worthy of receiving the evangelical
truth existed in Asia” (Wolf 85). Reflecting the attitude of
most missionaries at this time, he claims that “Asians,” or
Muslims, in this case, are unfit to receive the divine truth
of Christ, and it is not surprising, therefore, that no miracles
were performed for their benefit. Eulogius and many others within
the Church “considered the Asians, and by extension the Andalusian
Muslims, to be hopeless cases on which God would not waste his
precious signs” (Wolf 85).
Working only from an inaccurate biography of the prophet Muhammad
and an incomplete knowledge of the Koran, Eulogius set about
rebuking the popular Christian claim that the beliefs of Islam,
a monotheistic religion that acknowledged much of Christian
doctrine, “[legitimated] their cooperative attitudes towards
Muslims and [rendered] inappropriate the radical attitudes of
the confessors” (Wolf 87). In doing so, Eulogius repeatedly
played on several important points, the first being what he
perceived to be the central difference between Christianity
and Islam, namely that according to Muhammad, Christ was merely
God’s prophet and not his son. In this way, Eulogius equates
Islam with Arianism, “[underscoring] the carelessness of his
opponents … and [opening] the door to a stockpile of readily
adaptable polemical ammunition to use against [Muslims]” (Wolf
291). Moreover, he highlights the exclusivity of Christianity,
arguing that “for a Christian to claim that a more recent revelation
[than that of Christ] had any validity was to fail to appreciate
the universal scope of the Gospel” (Wolf 290).
Having addressed the Christological disparities between Christianity
and Islam, Eulogius continues to discuss Muhammad himself, impugning
his character, condemning him as a false prophet, and even going
so far as to label him the anti-Christ. He mentions the prophet’s
suspect marriage to Zainab, the wife of his friend Zaid, transforming
Muhammad “into a perfect parody of the ascetic biblical prototype”
(Wolf 293). Later he asks rhetorically, “What is the point of
believing that a demoniac full of lies could speak the truth?
That one enveloped in fallacies could provide a law? That a
perverse grove could produce good fruit?” (Wolf 88). Christ
himself warned of the coming of a false prophet, a “ravenous
[wolf] in sheep’s clothing” (Matthew 7:15) who would lead many
astray. With a little imagination, Eulogius deduces that Muhammad
was the realization of that prediction.
Such was the conception of Islam and of Muhammad according to
Eulogius and the Church. These views were based on racist prejudices,
on unfounded assumptions about Muhammad himself, and on a misreading
of the Koran. It is important to recognize that Eulogius’ theological
conceptions of Muslims were, in part, a product of ignorance.
It is apparent though, that this “ignorance [was] of a peculiarly
complex kind” (Southern 25), as Eulogius and others settled
for suspect source materials when a wealth of accurate works
was readily available to them. Taken in the context of Andalusian
society, however, this stubbornness can be understood as a remnant
of the Church’s effort to maintain a psychological boundary
between Christians and Muslims, as discussed earlier. Utilizing
proper sources would represent something of a concession to
Eulogius, as it would lend an implicit legitimacy to Islam.
Popular Spanish Christian literature of the Middle Ages largely
justifies the apprehensions conveyed by Eulogius throughout
the Liber Apologeticus Martyrum, as many authors demonstrate
a tendency to downplay disparities between Christianity and
Islam while praising Muslim leaders. Throughout Christian fiction
of the period Moorish characters are often conferred with the
title of “don,” a sign of respect. Furthermore, they are depicted
as chivalrous and dignified figures in a number of works, the
most famous of which is the novela morisca. Diego de Valera,
a prominent Castilian author, “considered nobility a matter
of actions rather than birth, and … [used] Muhammad as an example
of a noble Moor, even though, as a Christian, he considered
the leader of Islam a false prophet” (Scholberg 207). Alfonso
X, King of Castile, was careful to point out that Muhammad himself
professed the Virgin birth, while Abner of Burgos, a Jewish
convert to Christianity, wrote that “Muslims, in contrast to
Jews, enjoy worldly glory and temporal power because they honor
the Virgin” (Convivencia 73). It is apparent, therefore, that
in seeking to explain the political success of the Muslims,
many Christians did so on their own religious terms, thereby
undermining what would seem to be an otherwise logical conclusion,
namely that Islam, and not Christianity, represented the one
true faith, and that God had therefore aided the Muslims in
their conquest.
Despite this trend in popular literature and the ever-deepening
assimilation of Andalusian Christians, the vast majority of
Christians in the Northern Kingdoms sided with the Church and
“tended to see Muslims as both infidels and invaders” (Convivencia
68). As such, when the so-called Catholic Monarchs came to power
in the 15th century they had the blessing of their subjects
to pursue the Crusade against the Moors with renewed vigor.
It is important to recognize, however, that despite the singular
conception of Muslims that ultimately prevailed in Spain and
led to their expulsion in 1492, Christian conceptions had been
divided until that point. Indeed, the vast majority of Christians
living under Muslim rule tended to view Islam as a positive
social, cultural, and political force, often justifying their
admiration in a religious vernacular. In this “place and time
when many people were inclined to minimize the differences between
Islam and Christianity, [however,] radical Christians insisted
upon them” (Coope 11). Though this fracture would not prove
a historically salient one, a study of its origins and development
reveals the degree to which cultural and political pressures
can and do impact people’s understanding of theology and their
relationship with the
Conclusion
In reviewing Spanish-Christian conceptions of Jews and Muslims
in the Middle Ages it has become apparent that members of the
clergy and their congregants often harbored disparate images
of these groups. As would be expected, clergy members demonstrated
greater reverence for Scripture and established Church doctrine
than did common Christians. With regard to the Jews, Spanish
ecclesiastics followed the teachings of St. Augustine, acting
on the assumption that their study of the Old Testament testified
to the verity of the Christian faith and that their continued
survival was a necessary prerequisite for the coming of the
Messiah. Official missionary efforts and polemical works directed
at the Jews were therefore scarce in Medieval Spain until the
14th and 15th centuries. Though the clergy were initially reluctant
to respond to the threat of Islam, they eventually came to label
Muhammad a false prophet and, by extension, all Muslims were
considered infidels in the eyes of the Church. The subsequent
polemical and missionary efforts, coupled with military action,
successfully reversed the Islamization of the peninsula by 1492.
Despite the opposite conception of Jews and Muslims arrived
at by the Church, it is crucial to note that these views are
consistent with a single line of reasoning, as both were formulated
on the basis of Scripture.
Given that the prevailing attitudes of Christians towards Jews
and Muslims were not often in accordance with those dictated
by Scripture, it follows that some other elements must have
been at play in determining their particular character. Having
reviewed the development of Christian notions of Jews and the
circumstances surrounding this development, it is clear that
social and economic issues largely dictated the course of this
progression. More specifically, Jewish involvement in usury
and the insular nature of the Jewish community bred resentment
among Christians. In turn, this resentment was expressed in
religious terms, as the Jews of Spain gradually came to be associated
with the Devil. Christian attitudes towards Muslims, on the
other hand, were largely influenced by political and cultural
factors. Enamored with the affluence and nobility of Andalusian
Society, many Christians revered Muslim leaders and sought to
downplay points of contention between Christianity and Islam.
While this particular phenomenon was limited largely to Moorish
Spain, it follows a pattern similar to that discerned when examining
popular Christian views of Judaism. In both cases, an outlook
based on secular factors alone was translated into a religious
vernacular, overshadowing, at least temporarily, the scriptural
conception endorsed by the Church.
On the basis of this study it is unclear precisely why popular
sentiments, otherwise unrelated to Christian theology, found
their expression in a religious vernacular. The fact that they
did, however, reveals much about the role of religion and the
Church in medieval Spain. Religion was both central, in the
sense that all citizens were identified before the law and their
compatriots on the basis of their religion, and marginalized,
in that its spiritual essence was gradually diluted by the cult
of knowledge and higher culture. This interesting paradox gave
birth to a Christian populace that was at once insistent on
expressing resentment or respect in religious terms, yet seemingly
uninterested in verifying the scriptural accuracy of their views.
Moreover, the eventual incorporation of popular anti-Jewish
polemic into Christian doctrine demonstrated the inability of
the Church to impose a set of beliefs on its congregants in
the religiously pluralistic environment of Spain in the Middle
Ages. The weakness of the Church was so pronounced at this time,
in fact, that Christian doctrine was made to accommodate the
views of its congregants.
References
Bagby, Jr., Albert. “The Jew in the Cantigas of Alfonso X, El
Sabio.” Speculum 46.4 (1971): 670-688.
Berger, David. “Mission to the Jews and Jewish-Christian Contacts
in the Polemical Literature of the High Middle Ages.” The American
Historical Review 91.3 (1986): 576-591.
Bulliet, Richard. Conversion to Islam in the Medieval Period:
an essay in quantitative history. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1979.
Cohen, Mark. Under Crescent and Cross: The Jews in the Middle
Ages. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1994.
Coope, Jessica. The Martyrs of CÛrdoba: Community and
Family Conflict in an Age of Mass Conversion. Lincoln: University
of Nebraska Press, 1995.
Deutsch, Karl. “Anti-Semitic Ideas in the Middle Ages: International
Civilizations in Expansion and Conflict.” Journal of the History
of Ideas 6.2 (1945): 239-251.
Dods, Marcus trans. The City of God. New York: Modern Library,
1950.
Glick, Thomas. Islamic Spain in the Early Middle Ages. Princeton:
Princeton UP, 1979.
Kedar, Benjamin. Crusade and Mission: European Approaches Towards
the Muslims. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1984.
Mann, Vivian, Thomas Glick, and Jerilynn Dodds, eds. Convivencia:
Jews, Muslims and Christians in Medieval Spain. New York: G.
Braziller in association with the Jewish Museum, 1992.
Resnick, Seymour. “The Jew as Portrayed in Early Spanish Literature.”
Hispania 34.1 (1951): 54-58.
Scholberg, Kenneth. “Minorities in Medieval Castilian Literature.”
Hispania 37.2 (1954): 203-209.
Southern, R. Western Views of Islam in the Middle Ages. Cambridge:
Harvard UP, 1962.
Tolan, John. Petrus Alfonsi and his Medieval Readers. Gainesville:
UP of Florida, 1993.
Trachtenberg, Joshua. The Devil and the Jews: The Medieval Conception
of the Jew and Relation to Modern Antisemitism. New Haven: Yale
UP, 1943
Wolf, Kenneth. Christian Martyrs in Muslim Spain. New York:
Cambridge UP, 1988.
-----.”The Earliest Spanish Christian Views of Islam.” Church
History 55.3 (1986): 281-293.
