powerful Muslim state secure in its legitimacy. That was true when Harun al-Rashid ruled, and it was true when Abd al-Rahman, the last of the Umayyads, retreated to the Iberian Peninsula after most of his family had been massacred by the first Abbasid caliph. Insulated by the Pyrenees to the north and by the Strait of Gibraltar to the south, Spain was the last redoubt of the Umayyads, and it became a cultural mecca. Even after the Umayyads fell to dynasties from North Africa, Spain continued to be a place where Muslims ruled but the People of the Book thrived. Between them they created a jewel that shone every bit as bright as the golden light that emanated from the caliph’s court in Baghdad.
T HE CITY OF CóRDOBA in the middle of the ninth century was blossoming. The Umayyads, exiled from Damascus, had carved out a kingdom, and Córdoba was their jewel. Though Spain had prospered under the Romans, under the Muslims it thrived even more. By the mid-ninth century, Andalusia was entering a period of nearly unrivaled prosperity. For a brief period, in fact, Muslim Spain was the most vibrant spot on earth, a place that saw a magical fusion of commerce, learning, and power that put it in the rarefied company of classical Greece, imperial Rome, Han China, and Renaissance Italy. But in 851, something happened that nearly ended its golden age before it had barely begun.
Except for the extreme north and west of Iberia, the whole peninsula was ruled from Córdoba, and the city matched Baghdad as a seat of culture, wealth, commerce, and learning. As in the eastern regions of the Islamic world, Muslims were significantly outnumbered by Christians. Spain was also home to a large Jewish population that had migrated there in the second century. While the rate of conversion to Islam in Spain may have been faster than in Iraq or Egypt, in the middle of the ninth century, Muslims were nowhere near a majority of the population. Both Christians and Jews occupied prominent positions in society, and they shared the rewards of Córdoba’s increasing power and wealth.
One day in 851, a monk named Isaac, who had left the city three years before in despair as more Christians converted to Islam, returned. He entered the palace of the prince and was admitted to the chambers of one of the city’s leading Muslim judges. Isaac was no stranger to thecourt, and he was no ordinary monk. He had been trained in both Latin and Arabic and had occupied an important position in the government before he resigned his office and retreated to a self-imposed exile. Having worked in the palace until his abrupt resignation, he was known there, and the judge received him warmly.
Claiming that he wished to learn more about Islam, he questioned the judge about Islamic law and theology. Happy to engage in the conversation, and perhaps hoping that Isaac had returned because he was contemplating converting, the judge began to speak. But before he could finish his answers, Isaac cut him off and denounced Islam as an evil religion, and Muhammad as a false prophet who had been consigned to hell for deceiving the Arabs. Now, there were things you could say about Islam as a Christian, and things you could not. You could have a heated dialogue with a Muslim about the finer points of theology. You could profess that you believed that Jesus was the Christ and the Son of God, and you could politely refrain from praising Muhammad and the Quran. But you could not, under any circumstances, say what Isaac said that day, and you certainly could not say it to one of the most prominent judges in the city.
Hearing Isaac’s sudden outburst, the judge was both confused and outraged, confused because Christians had been living peacefully and prosperously under Muslim rule for more than a century, and outraged to hear Muhammad and the holy Quran spoken of in such vile terms. He struck Isaac across the face, and was about to do so again when one of his advisers reminded him that until guilt
T HE CITY OF CóRDOBA in the middle of the ninth century was blossoming. The Umayyads, exiled from Damascus, had carved out a kingdom, and Córdoba was their jewel. Though Spain had prospered under the Romans, under the Muslims it thrived even more. By the mid-ninth century, Andalusia was entering a period of nearly unrivaled prosperity. For a brief period, in fact, Muslim Spain was the most vibrant spot on earth, a place that saw a magical fusion of commerce, learning, and power that put it in the rarefied company of classical Greece, imperial Rome, Han China, and Renaissance Italy. But in 851, something happened that nearly ended its golden age before it had barely begun.
Except for the extreme north and west of Iberia, the whole peninsula was ruled from Córdoba, and the city matched Baghdad as a seat of culture, wealth, commerce, and learning. As in the eastern regions of the Islamic world, Muslims were significantly outnumbered by Christians. Spain was also home to a large Jewish population that had migrated there in the second century. While the rate of conversion to Islam in Spain may have been faster than in Iraq or Egypt, in the middle of the ninth century, Muslims were nowhere near a majority of the population. Both Christians and Jews occupied prominent positions in society, and they shared the rewards of Córdoba’s increasing power and wealth.
One day in 851, a monk named Isaac, who had left the city three years before in despair as more Christians converted to Islam, returned. He entered the palace of the prince and was admitted to the chambers of one of the city’s leading Muslim judges. Isaac was no stranger to thecourt, and he was no ordinary monk. He had been trained in both Latin and Arabic and had occupied an important position in the government before he resigned his office and retreated to a self-imposed exile. Having worked in the palace until his abrupt resignation, he was known there, and the judge received him warmly.
Claiming that he wished to learn more about Islam, he questioned the judge about Islamic law and theology. Happy to engage in the conversation, and perhaps hoping that Isaac had returned because he was contemplating converting, the judge began to speak. But before he could finish his answers, Isaac cut him off and denounced Islam as an evil religion, and Muhammad as a false prophet who had been consigned to hell for deceiving the Arabs. Now, there were things you could say about Islam as a Christian, and things you could not. You could have a heated dialogue with a Muslim about the finer points of theology. You could profess that you believed that Jesus was the Christ and the Son of God, and you could politely refrain from praising Muhammad and the Quran. But you could not, under any circumstances, say what Isaac said that day, and you certainly could not say it to one of the most prominent judges in the city.
Hearing Isaac’s sudden outburst, the judge was both confused and outraged, confused because Christians had been living peacefully and prosperously under Muslim rule for more than a century, and outraged to hear Muhammad and the holy Quran spoken of in such vile terms. He struck Isaac across the face, and was about to do so again when one of his advisers reminded him that until guilt
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