Christianity and Islam in Spain, A.D. 756-1031

When the kings of Castile gradually drove back the Moors, and when Alfonso took Toledo in 1085, his wife, Constance of Burgundy, and her spiritual adviser, a monk named Bernard, were horrified at the laxity in morals and doctrine of the Muzarabic Christians. Their addiction to poetry and natural science was regarded with suspicious aversion, and the pork-eating, circumcision, and, not least, the cleanly habits,[1] contracted from an intercourse with Moslems, were looked upon as so many marks of the beast. In 1209 the Crusaders, who had swarmed to the wars in Spain, even wished to turn their pious arms against these poor Muzarabes, so scandalised were they at the un-Romish rites. Yet we are told that Alfonso the Great, when building and restoring churches in the territory newly wrested from the Moors, set up again the ordinances of the Goths, as formerly observed at Toledo.[2]

The free church in the North had itself been in great danger of extinction, when the armies of the great Almanzer (977-1002) swept yearly through the Christian kingdoms like some devastating tempest.[3] Fifty-two victorious campaigns did that irresistible warrior lead against the infidels.[4] Barcelona, Pampluna, and Leon fell before his arms, and the sacred city of Compostella was sacked, and for a time left desolate, the bells of St James' shrine being carried off to Cordova to serve as lamps in the grand mosque. We are not, therefore, surprised to find that there were many bishops in the North who had lost their sees; and this was the case even before the tenth century, for a bishop named Sabaricus, being driven from his own see by the Arabs, was given that of Mindumetum by Alfonso III. in 867,[5] and twenty years later a bishop named Sebastian received the see of Auria in the same way.[6]

It is natural enough that the Moslems and the clergy of the Christian Church should be hostile to one another, but it is surprising to find—as we do find in some cases—the latter making common cause with the Arabs in ill-treating their fellow-countrymen and coreligionists. Thus, as we have seen, Hostegesis, relying on the support of the secular arm,[7] beat and imprisoned the clergy for withholding from him the Church tithes, dragging them through the city naked, with a crier crying before them:—"Such is the punishment of those who will not pay their tithes to their bishop."[8] Bishops were even found to make episcopal visitations, getting the names of all their flock, as if with the intention of praying for them individually, and then to hand in their names to the civil power for the purpose of taxation.[9] Others obtained from the Arabs the privilege of farming the revenues derived from Christian taxation, and cruelly oppressed their coreligionists.[10]

These nefarious measures were backed up, even if they were not instigated, by Servandus, the Christian Count of Cordova. He was the son of a serf of the Church,[1] and married a cousin of Hostegesis.[2] Instead of championing the cause of the Christians, as his position should have impelled him to do, he went so far in the opposite direction as to call them up before him, and try to shake their attachment to Christianity—a religion, nominally at least, his own also. Those who held firm he forced to pay increased taxes, and even levied blackmail on the churches. He did not scruple to drag forth the bodies of martyrs from under the altars of churches, and, showing them to the king, to remind him that it had been forbidden to Christians to bury their martyrs.[3]

Following up the hostile measures instituted by Hostegesis against Samson and Valentius, he proceeded to accuse them of inciting the fanatics to revile Mohammed, urging that they should be tested with this dilemma. They should be asked whether what the revilers said were true or not. "If they answer, 'true,' let them be punished as well as the reviler; if 'false,' bid them slay the man themselves; refusing which, you will know that they have aided and abetted him to abuse your Prophet. In that case, give me permission, and I will slay the three myself."[4]

We have had occasion to mention one or two cases of Church, and national, Councils held in Spain under the Arabs, and it will be worth while to enumerate all the instances which are recorded, that we may contrast them with those held under the Goths. It was one of the most characteristic features of the Old Church in Spain that it was united so closely with the civil power as almost to render the Government of Spain a theocracy. This intimate connection of Church and State was naturally overthrown by the Arab conquest; but the Moslem rulers, seeing how useful such institutions as general councils were likely to be in adjusting the relations between Mussulmans and Christians, both allowed purely ecclesiastical councils to be called under their jurisdiction, and also summoned others in which they took part themselves, together with Jews, to the great scandal of the stricter Christians.[1]

To the purely ecclesiastical kind belong a council held at Seville by Elipandus[2] to condemn the errors of Migetius; and another, held by Cixila at Toledo in 776, against the errors of Egila, bishop of Elvira.[3] Whether Egila abjured his error is not known, but it is certain that he remained bishop.

Elipandus is also said, but on very doubtful authority, to have held a council, whereat he renounced his own error of Adoptionism.[4]

But the other class of councils, partly ecclesiastical and partly political, seem to have been commoner, and we have already seen how Reccafredus, Bishop of Seville, in conjunction with the Moslem authorities, held such a council, in order to coerce the fanatical party among the Christians; and we have a more particular account of another, which was held by Hostegesis, Bishop of Malaga, and Servandus, Count of Cordova.[1] This council seems to have had some connection with the preceding one under Reccafredus, for Servandus was a strong and unscrupulous opponent of the party led by Eulogius, while Samson was their devoted supporter, though he did not carry his opinions so far as to suffer martyrdom in his own person. Samson was now accused of heresy[2] and sacrilege, as has been already mentioned. Hostegesis forced his views on the assembled bishops by the help of the secular arm, and a sentence of anathema and deposition was accordingly pronounced against the unfortunate Abbot.[3] One of the apparently consenting bishops was Valentius, Bishop of Cordova, but his judgement had evidently been coerced, for after the close of the council he sounded the other consenting bishops, and some who had not attended, as to their opinions, and found that most of them were ready to affirm Samson's orthodoxy, and a memorial was drawn up to that effect This action of Valentius' brought upon him also a sentence of deposition, and he was succeeded by Stephanus Flaccus,[4]—the election of the latter being quite informal, as no metropolitan assisted thereat,[5] and neither the clergy nor laymen of his diocese made a petition in his favour.

This fresh deposition was formally sanctioned by a new council, held at the church of St Acislus; Flaccus, and some of those who had sided with Valentius, but were now terrified into submission, being in attendance; while the places of those who refused to come were taken by Jews and Moslems.[1] These high-handed proceedings nearly led to an open rupture in the Church.[2]

In 914 a council is said to have been held (but on doubtful authority) by Orontius of Toledo,[3] and twenty years later by Basilius of Cordova. These would fall under the reign of the greatest of the Umeyyade Khalifs of Spain.[4]

CHAPTER VII.

SPAIN UNDER ABDURRAHMAN III.

Abdurrahman III., Annasir Lidinillah (912-961), may be looked upon as the Solomon of the Spanish Sultans. Succeeding to the throne when quite a youth, to the exclusion of his uncles, the sons of the late Sultan, he found the country torn by innumerable factions, and the king's power openly defied by rebels, Arab, Berber, and Christian. In person, and through his generals, he put down all these rebels, and though not uniformly successful against the Christians in the North, yet he defeated them in a series of great engagements.[1] He welded all the discordant elements under his rule into one great whole,[2] thereby giving the Arab domination in Spain another lease of life. In 929 he took the title of Amir al Mumenin, or Commander of the Faithful. His alliance was sought by the Emperor of the East,[3] and he treated on equal terms with the Emperor of Germany and the King of France. To this great king, with more truth than to his namesake Abdurrahman II., may be applied the words of Miss Yonge:—[4]

"He was of that type of Eastern monarch, that seems moulded on the character of Solomon—large-hearted, wise, magnificent, tolerant, and peaceful. He was as great a contrast to the stern, ascetic, narrow-minded, but earnest Alfonso or Ramiro, as were the exquisite horse-shoe arches, filagree stonework lattices, inlaid jewellery of marble pavements, and slender minarets, to their dark vault-like, low-browed churches, and solid castles built out of hard unmanageable granite."

We find in this king none of that suspicious jealousy which we saw in Mohammed, even though Omar, the arch rebel, and Christian renegade, still held out at Bobastro, when he ascended the throne; and his treatment of Christians was, throughout his reign, tolerant and politic.

But his claims in this respect will be best seen from a very interesting fragment that has come down to our own times, describing the embassy of a certain John of Gorz, a monk from an abbey near Metz, who carried letters from Otho, emperor of Germany, to the Spanish Sultan.[1]

In 950 Abdurrahman had sent an embassy to the emperor. A bishop who had been at the head of this embassy died, and this seems to have caused a delay in the answer. As the Khalif's letter contained blasphemies against Christ, it was determined to write a reply in the king's name, such as might perhaps convince Abdurrahman of the error of his ways. A certain bishop, Adalbero, was appointed to be at the head of the return embassy,[2] and he asks the abbot of the monastery of Gorz to give him two assistants. Two are chosen, but one of these quarrels with his superior, and is expelled from the body; whereupon John offers himself as a substitute. The abbot only gives his consent to John's going with great reluctance, knowing that the young monk had an ardent longing to be a martyr, if he could only get the opportunity.

Going through Lyons, and by ship to Barcelona, the ambassadors reached the frontier town, Tortosa, and at last got to Cordova, where they were assigned a house two miles from the palace, and, though well entertained, were informed, to their dismay, that, as the Moorish ambassadors had been made to wait three years for an answer, Otho's messengers would have to wait nine years. Moreover, they now discovered that the king had been already apprised of the contents of the letter, which Otho had sent, by a comrade of the late ambassador-bishop, whom John and his companions had taken with them to Barcelona.

The king employs Hasdai, a Jew, as his go-between; who warns them not to divulge the contents of the letter, as it would make them liable to punishment; for the letter contained what Moslems would consider blasphemy against their Prophet. Soon after this John, the Bishop of Cordova, is sent to them to suggest that they should carry their gifts to the king, and say nothing of the letter. But John of Gorz stoutly refused to do this, saying that the delivery of the letter was his chief duty, and that as Abdurrahman had begun by reviling Christ, he must not be surprised at Otho's retaliating against Mohammed. However, John of Cordova begs him to remember the position in which the Christians stood, viz., under Pagan rule. "We are forbidden," he said, "by the apostle to resist the powers that be. In our calamity, we have this one consolation, we are allowed to observe our own laws and rites, and our rulers, if they see us diligent in our religion, honour us, cherish us, and delight in our society, while they abhor the Jews. As our religion, then, suffers no harm at their hands, let us obey the Moslems in other things." The bishop was anxious, therefore, that the letter should be suppressed, as calculated to do harm to the Christian community, and no good to Otho. His advice, however, fell on deaf ears. The monk of Gorz was resolved on doing what he deemed his plain duty; nor was he content to forego his chance of martyrdom, though his action might entail disastrous consequences on the Christians subject to the Moors. He taunted the bishop with giving his advice from a fear of man. "Better die of hunger than eat the salt of unbelievers;" and expressed horror at the fact that the bishop was circumcised, and also abstained from certain meats in deference to Moslem scruples. It was in vain that the bishop pointed out that otherwise they could not live with the Saracens.

John of Gorz now expressed his intention of delivering the letter forthwith; but the king denied the ambassadors an audience, leaving them to themselves for six or seven weeks. Early in 955, however, the king sent to them, and asked if they held firm to their previous resolve, and on receiving an answer in the affirmative, he threatened all the Christians in his dominions with loss of privileges and even death. John of Gorz merely answers that the guilt would be on the king's head; but the latter is persuaded to milder counsels by his advisers, who remind him of Otho's power, and the certainty that he would interfere in favour of his ambassadors.

John of Gorz now proposes the only practicable course, that Abdurrahman should send a fresh embassy to Otho and ask for instructions for his ambassadors under the circumstances. Recemundus,[1] a Christian, offers to go as ambassador, if a vacant bishopric be given him as a reward. He sets out and reaches Gorz in February 956. Otho gives him a fresh letter, with instructions to suppress the former one, to conclude an alliance with the Sultan, and make an arrangement with him for putting down the brigands who infested the marches.

Leaving Gorz with Dudo, the emperor's legate, on March 30, he reached Cordova on June 1st, but the Sultan declined to receive the second comers till he had received the earlier embassy. So, after three years semi-captivity, John is released, and told to prepare himself for the king's presence by shaving, washing, and putting on new apparel. He declines to go in any otherwise than he is; and even when the king, thinking his refusal due to poverty, sends him a sum of money, the monk accepts the gift and distributes it to the poor, but says he will only see the king as a poor monk. The king good-naturedly said: "Let him come as he likes." On June 21, 956, the ambassadors were conducted to the king's presence along a road thronged with sight-seers. The steps of the palace were laid down with tapestry, and a guard of honour lined both sides of the approach. On John's entrance, the king, as a great mark of distinction, gave him his open palm to kiss, and beckoned him to a seat near his own couch. After a silence Abdurrahman apologised to the monk for the long delay which he had been obliged to impose on the embassy, and which was in no sense due to disrespect for John himself, whose virtue and wisdom he could not but acknowledge. As a proof that this was no mere empty compliment, the king expressed his readiness to give him whatever he asked. John's wrath vanishes at these gracious words, and they talk amicably together. But when the monk asks leave to depart Abdurrahman says:—"After waiting so long to see one another, shall we part so soon?" He suggests that they should have at least three interviews. At their next meeting they discourse on the respective power of the empires of Otho and the Khalif himself; and the Sultan, taught by the experience of Spain, points out the unwisdom of allowing feudal subjects to become too powerful, by dividing kingdoms between them.

So ends this unique and interesting fragment, which throws so pleasant a light on the character and the Court of the greatest of Spanish Sultans, and proves that the Christians at that time enjoyed considerable freedom, and even honour, at the hands of the Moslem Government.

The reason why the king was unwilling to receive the first letter brought by John was not so much because he was reluctant to read words against Mohammed, as because he would by so doing render himself liable to the penalty of death, which was ordained by law to any Moslem—king or slave—who listened to abuse of the Prophet without exacting summary vengeance from the blasphemer. But—and here was the king's dilemma—he could not punish the ambassadors without incurring the enmity of Otho. The only possible alternative was that suggested by John, that Otho should be asked to withdraw the objectionable letter, without the Sultan having officially read it, and this Abdurrahman adopted. The moderation of the king is conspicuous throughout, for we must regard the threat against the Christians as merely a threat, never really intended to be put into execution.

In showing tolerance towards their Christian subjects, the Spanish khalifs might be thought to have forgotten the traditions of Islam; but, as a matter of fact, Mohammed seems to have been very inconsistent in his views with regard to Christians and Jews at different times of his career, and while he enjoined the necessity of Holy Wars,[1] he permitted the people of the book to be admitted to tribute.[2] In one passage he even seems to allow the possibility of salvation to Jews, Christians, and Sabians: "Verily they who believe, and those who Judaize, and the Sabians, and the Christians—whoever of these believeth in God and the last day, and doeth that which is right—there shall come no fear on them, neither shall they be grieved."[3] And there is one remarkable text to find in the mouth of Mohammed, "Let there be no violence in religion." [4]

Moreover, some of the best Mohammedan rulers that have ever lived upheld the same principle of toleration. Abbas II., one of the Persian Sufis, is reported to have said: "It is for God, not for me, to judge of men's consciences, and I will never interfere with what belongs to the tribunal of the great Creator and Lord of the Universe."[5] Again, Akbar, one of the greatest kings that ever lived, followed in practice the principle thus expressed by his minister, Abul Fazl: "Persecution after all defeats its own ends; it obliges men to conceal their opinions, but produces no change in them."[6] Noble sentiments surely, and such as we should expect from followers of Christ rather than of Mohammed!

Yet far too often have portions of the Christian Church been conspicuous for intolerance rather than tolerance. Alcuin, indeed, does say in his letter to Aquila, Bishop of Winchester, that he does not approve of punishing heresy with death, because God, by the mouth of His prophet, had said: "I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live;"[1] but Alcuin was a man of unusual mildness and sweet reasonableness, as his letters to Felix and Elipandus testify. On the other hand, there were too many frantic bigots in the Church, like Arnold of Citeaux, whose impious words, in connection with the massacre of Albigensians, are not likely to be forgotten—"Slay all; God will know His own."

In fact, so opposed did the Christian spirit come to be to the Mohammedan in this respect, that their toleration was made a principal argument against the Moors by the Archbishop of Valencia in his memorial to Philip III. at the end of the sixteenth century.[2]

A very melancholy instance of bigotry and intolerance is afforded by Bernard, a French monk, who was made Archbishop of Toledo by Alfonso, on the capture of that city in 1085. By the treaty of capitulation certain mosques had been expressly reserved to the Moslems, just in the same way as certain churches had been reserved for the Christians by Musa in 712. But Bernard, by way of showing his zeal in the cause of God, in defiance of the king's plighted word, chose to perform mass in the chief mosque. Alfonso was furiously angry when he heard of his archbishop's proceedings, but the Moslems, with wonderful forbearance, seeing that the king had not authorised Bernard's outrageous conduct, came forward of their own accord and begged him to pardon the act, and even voluntarily surrendered their mosque.[3]

Not only were the Christians allowed to practise their religion, but even, as we have seen above, encouraged in it.[4] Almanzor, the champion of Islam, allowed his Christian servants to rest on Sundays. Christians in every reign held high posts at court[5] and throughout the land, and not only timeserving Christians but men like Samson and Leovigild, who were known to sympathise with the party of zealots, were employed by the king to write letters to, and negotiate with, the neighbouring kings. This was no doubt due to their general trustworthiness, their quickness, and their knowledge of Arabic as well as Latin.

Among the great functionaries of state there was one who held the office of Kitabatu-dh-dhimam, which, being interpreted, is "the office of protection." The Christians and Jews were under his general jurisdiction, and were called "the people of the protection."[1] But besides this Arab "Secretary of State for the Christians," the latter had their own counts—a relic of the Gothic system—who, however, did not always stand up for their interests.[2] There were also Christian censors,[3] but it is not known what position they held in the State.

The young Christian cadets of noble birth were brought up at Court, and numbers of Sclavonian Christians served in the king's bodyguard, of whom under Hakem I. (796-822) there were 2000.[4]