For those unfamiliar, the "Andalusian Paradise" refers to the vaunted reign of tolerance and multicultural flourishing that the Moors brought to Spain for several centuries after their conquest in 711.
Dario Fernandez-Morera’s book is a takedown of this narrative. He aims not so much at the Spanish Moors as much as the historians who fantasize about this wonderland. Every chapter opens with a few gushing remarks by scholars, which DFM then exposes.
Like:
Lewis words suggest the underlying purpose of the myth: it seeks to discredit the Western Christendom and the religion that energized it by offering the clear superiority of the Spanish Moors.
The author elaborates:
The book serves as a nice companion piece to explain a movie like Kingdom of Heaven, in which the Christians tend to be backwards and bloodthirsty and the Muslim characters the superior men.
One of the most puzzling aspects of the movie is Liam Neeson’s feverdream of pluralism in the Holy Land. This is the kind of character who these intellectuals would dream up.
Back to the book: in reality, the Moors were a lot like other conquerors. They did what their task of conquest required of them. But they could only hold on to their conquest for so long before the tide turned and Iberian heroes arose to retake their peninsula.
Fernandez-Morera highlights a few key parts of the myth:
- That the Muslim conquest of Spain was mostly peaceful.
- That the Visigothic kingdom which the Moors overthrew was backwards.
- That the Muslim conquerors had a superior culture.
- That the Muslims were uniquely tolerant of other “people of the Book.”
- That women were doctors and lawyers and professors Al-Andalus and enjoyed a high degree of freedom compared to their Christian counterparts.
If the book has a major weakness, it’s that the narrative drags a bit with all the evidence Fernandez-Morera marshals. Five different block citations from legal treatises considering when it was appropriate to stone women in al-Andalus, for instance, is more than enough.
Even at 240 pages, the book feels a little long.
Nevertheless The Myth of the Andalusian Paradise does its job: making the case that al-Andalus has become a canvas onto which scholars can project all sorts of ideological fantasies.
If you're big into Reconquest history, this book is well worth your while. If you're not, you might be better off finding a lecture from the author which makes the case in brief.
After George killed the dragon of Silene and gave the people of that city a future again, he was offered a lavish reward for his great deed.
His response to this offer makes his story something more than just a tale of killing a monster. 1/
The King of Silene was willing to give George “as much money as he could count”—and presumably the hand of the princess in marriage too. The knight politely declined both.
We must note there’s nothing wrong with accepting a well-earned reward for one’s labors.
What matters is that the external rewards are not what drives a man to do great things. In that case, he would be a transactionalist.
That gap in the Pyrenees is called Roland’s Breach.
Legend has it that in the final moments of his life the knight cut that rock away with his sword Durendal. đź§µ
Roland was unmatched in battlefield prowess—the Christian Achilles—and the last survivor of Charlemagne’s rearguard as it was ambushed at Roncevaux Pass. 20,000 Franks, killed to the last man.
A superb knight like Roland needs a superb blade. His trusty sword Durendal was made in Heaven and given by an angel to Charlemagne, who then gave it to his nephew and champion. It might have been the greatest sword ever made, no offense to Excalibur or Tizona or even Joyeuse.
In 1926 British researchers studied the diets of tribesmen in Kenya—examining 6349 men of the Akikuyu tribe and 1546 of the nearby Masai.
You might find the results instructive...đź§µ
The Akikuyu ate a mostly-plant based diet: cereals, tubers, plantains, legumes, and green leaves.
(Add a few bugs and it sounds like the diet that Klaus and Bill want to have everyone eating.)
The Masai consumed animal fat almost exclusively. 3-5 liters of milk a day. When the milk ran low in the dry season, they mixed it with cow blood. They ate lamb, goat, and beef regularly. On special occasions, they would eat four to ten pounds of fatty beef per person.
Moderns often use the term "feudalism" to capture the supposed backwardness of the Middle Ages. Even if they don't quite know what feudalism means, they know it's undemocratic—and therefore gross.
But feudalism is based on a simple and sound truth.
That truth: in a dangerous world, you need people to have your back.
That applies just as much to vassals needing a lord's protection as to the lord needing men for his army. So the lord and vassal pledge mutual obligations. The vassal is the lord’s man, so long as they live.
What's most interesting is the demands it makes on the lord—it incentives noblesse oblige and skin in the game. As a lord you can’t help but want your vassals to be strong. Their strength makes you strong. And your good example makes them strong. They will fight if you lead them.
On August 31, 1217 a young man named Fernando, only eighteen, was crowned king of Castile.
He was descended from heroes—El Cid was an ancestor, Alfonso VIII was his grandfather—and would surpass them all.
You might be surprised to hear of one of his first acts as king... đź§µ
Fernando had to defend his realm from an attack by his own father!
Alfonso IX of Leon (not to be confused with Alfonso VIII of Castile, Fernando's grandfather) was displeased with the news of his son's coronation, so he brought war against him.
Alfonso IX thought the crown was better fitted for his head.
He had been married to Berenguera of Castile before the Pope annulled their marriage.
The crown had gone to Berenguera after her father's death, by the way, but she stepped aside for her son.