After Tuesday's lecture on the economic rise of Spain, I am intrigued by two points:
- The notion of the Islamic factoria, and what may be conceived of as their modern analogue in China,
- The deterioration of Western Europe's trade infrastructure during the 16th century

We spoke little of the factoria in class, so I am treading unknown waters to some extent in my speculations, but it seems that the situation and circumstances of the factoria parallel the development of the western manufacturing sector in China. Significantly, the two seem similar in their restriction of the foreign element. In the factoria, workers of other religions were free to speak as they pleased, espousing their faith and acting within their custom. Beyond the walls of the factoria, however, the law forbade evangelism and outright display of religious beliefs alien to Islam. Though I don't believe the religious contention is so serious an issue in China, cultural restriction is taken seriously (it might be argued that these are really very similar issues, religion and culture being irrevocably intertwined). That is not to say that no elements of the flourishing Western manufacturing sector find their way into Chinese culture, but simply that it is discouraged and restricted.

In both cases, the foreign element was encouraged due to the high profitability of the less restrictive policies of the other society... I think this speaks to the value of free trade, insofar as the culturally isolationist societies come to rely on the industry of others for the prosperity of the state, but this is merely a conjecture. Such conclusions require far more depth of examination.

Onto the second point: the deterioration of trade infrastructure. This is another topic about which I'd like to learn more, especially concerning the distribution of accumulated damage to roads and bridges, and the level of societal concern such degeneration brought about. What is clear is how such deterioration must have led to exorbitant wealth for the Crown - nothing could have made the Strait of Gibraltar a more valuable vein to control. I am curious now as to when the British Empire took control of the Strait, and by what means they were able to gain that control (beyond the obvious: arms).

Posted by at 09:58 PM|Permalink | Comments (0)

Last autumn I began backpacking, usually on the Superior Hiking Trail, which is an 18-inch wide treadway from Duluth, MN to Canada. Given the frequency and enthusiasm with which my friend and I were hiking the trail, we thought to purchase a trailguide: the Fifth Edition of the Guide to the Superior Hiking Trail. Never had I considered that such books might have a history of their own.

Selection 26 from Constable's Medieval Iberia is a collection of sections from the Pilgrim's Guide to Santiago de Campostela, including the discussions of water safety, indigenous peoples, and the Cathedral itself. For each of these, a modern analogue may be found in the Guide to the SHT and similar texts. For water quality, times have changed, and much of the discussion of water on the SHT is limited to, "All water must be boiled, filtered, or chemically treated," (SHT 39), whereas the Pilgrim's Guide offers an extensive characterization of the quality in all rivers one might pass on the way to Compostela. That is not to say that the level of caution taken with water sources has changed in any way, just the management thereof. One need only look to the several pages of discussion on the topic in Advanced Backpacking, warding off water near farmland. Even the discussion of local water enters the game as the author recalls, "Once on a recent trip in Europe, I contracted a violent intestinal illness despite having treated all of my water," (AB 25). Such tales are not entirely removed from the author of the Pilgrim's Guide recalling the death of his horse at the side of a brook in Lorca.

As for the indigenous peoples, nothing quite so abrasive exists in the modern guidebooks, but cultural collision remains a serious topic in the dispensation of advice to travelers in foreign lands. Advanced Backpacking, for example, takes a couple of pages to remind female backpackers that, "in some cultures, some men seem to think that it's perfectly acceptable to follow, harass, proposition, and even harm female solo travelers," (AB 189). One may find here echoes of the discussion of the "barbarous" peoples in the Pilgrim's Guide, although the spin on how to handle such cultural dissonance has moved from the "disdain and dismiss" of the PG to "blend and respect with caution" in the modern books.

As for the final section of the Constable selection, it goes without saying that no traveler misses an opportunity to eulogize the sights he has seen. Just as the Pilgrim's Guide discusses the history and tales of Compostela, the SHT guidebook is littered with passages describing the origins and stories of each landmark along the trail.

It is perhaps of little surprise that the guidebook, as a genre, as changed little since the middle ages, but it is something of a comfort to know that common sense has not changed much and that the passage of sagely trail advice is a venerable old tradition.

Posted by at 09:55 PM|Permalink | Comments (0)

I come away from class this afternoon with the notion of "frontier lands" in mind, specifically in the context of the Libros de Recimiente, penned after the conquest of various Moorish lands by Christian armies from 1291 to 1491 (Selection 41 from Constable's Medieval Spain).

These documents discuss who may settle on the newly conquered territory and with what rewards they would settle, as determined by age, sex, marriage, and military status. In a sense, they are not so far removed from both the English land grants in Ireland and the colonization efforts of the New World, such as Jamestown and Roanoke. This provides a strange polarity though, the English grants in Ireland were quite different in method and motivation from those in America (though both were English endeavors). The Libros, I think, are a middle ground between these.

The hostile frontier bears wide implications for those who will settle upon them. Along with the usual vicissitudes of medieval agrarian and urban life come the added pressures of a nearby enemy and a tenuous governance. There was little assurance, at the distant extremes of the Christian territories, that the armies of the king, be he of Aragon, Castile, Portugal, or otherwise, would be active enough to watch over the fledgling townships in times of strife. This meant that each settlement was required to have its own militia, in hopes of providing some protection from the restless natives. This is an aspect shared across all examples. In North America, there were American Indian populations to watch for, in Ireland there were, of course, the Irish, and in Spain the Moors were not always compliant with the whims of their ever-changing rulers.

The scenarios differ in that the Irish lands were offered as rewards for noblemen. Extra land to hand out in the creation of ever-more knights and lords. In the American and Spanish events, however, there is much more of a colonization effort. These two are concerned with creating a foothold in new territories and holding tight. The American instance does differ, however, in that there was no infrastructure available to the colonists, whereas the Spanish were given the well-tended lands of evacuating Muslims. In this way, some further similarity between the Spanish and Irish is seen, as some of the lands granted the English included those tended and cultivated by the Irish.

Another aspect of interest is the chronological element of the grants. In the Irish situation, lands were, as has been said, granted as reward for status - something already in place upon reception of the land. In the American case, the land was granted with the future in mind. Each individual was a cog in the machine of colonization, whose worth would be revealed in the sum of his life's efforts and the success of his colony. The Spanish case is a mix of the two - at times, the land is granted to wealthy nobleman, while at other times, it is given to any man with a wife. Though each have overtones of subjugation, the former is something of a reward, while the latter is done with an eye to building civilization, to the creation, rather than display, of wealth.

Posted by at 03:22 PM|Permalink | Comments (0)

In considering the "fundamentalist" Islamic movements of Morocco and al-Andalus during the 11th - 13th centuries, I continually return to my recollections of Eric Hoffer's book, "The True Believer: Thoughts on the Nature of Mass Movements," especially as concerns the role of the ribat in the formation and momentum of the Almohad and Almoravid sects. Much of "The True Believer" focuses on the psychological processes which must occur in order to affect the mass movement mentality, the foremost of which are the devaluation of self and isolation from mixed society.

To expand on these ideas, the devaluation of self refers to the ability of the group to impress upon an individual that his core beliefs are either incorrect or that he acts incorrectly upon them, and is, therefore, no longer the "good person" he thought himself to be. One may even go further and say that he is no longer the person he thought himself to be. This gives way to two phenomena: identification with the group and the need for redemption. The second, isolation from mixed society, facilitates the first, since it is only when one is removed from his usual intellectual and/or social environment that he is susceptible of completely changing his mind regarding morality and the like. It is noted, of course, that the above requires that the individual have a deep and earnest desire to be a good person to begin with.

So, how does this relate to the Moroccan Fundamentalists? In each case, the sect begins with a leader who finds himself unable to collect more than a few followers until he begins a ribat, allowing for the isolation. The first few followers provide an interesting example of Hoffer's theory in that these early members may have been particularly devout Muslims (and therefore quite concerned with being 'good people', even if they were uncertain of how best to go about this) and may have either been predisposed to think ill of themselves for whatever reason, or may have, upon reaching their future leaders been intrigued, and found their interest ridiculed by their neighbors. In either case, the first followers join the sect leader in the foundation of the ribat.

The fall of the Almoravids also finds an interesting explanation in this rubric. After crossing into the peninsula and taking power from the taifa kings, it seems likely that the Almoravides, a distinct minority in their new territories, were content to consider their sins forgiven. This seems likely in light of a lack of ribats being founded in the new kingdoms. The result, however, is that subsequent generations of Almoravides are not "tested in fire" as their parents were. They never come to believe themselves in need of redemption in a manner so intense as that of their parents, and so the fervor fades within a generation or two. And so it did - within about a century of the Almoravid rise to power, the Almoahds eradicate their rule. They, too, however, recede with the tide, and disappear within a few generations.

Posted by at 01:45 PM|Permalink | Comments (0)

Our republic need not be built. To speak of the need to "build a vibrant democracy" is neither accurate nor helpful in troubled days.

Rather, ours is an heirloom, passed down from grandfather to father to son.

It must be cherished and loved, lest it fade.

We must restore it. We must reclaim, and affirm it.

If it is a sanctuary, we must dust the statues, open the shutters, and tune the organ.

If it is a home, we must light the candle in each window with care, and with vigilance watch that, though it flicker, it does not die.

If it is a watch, we must mend the cracked glass, and wind back the stopped hands.

If it is an idea, we must cherish it and love it, lest it fade.

Posted by at 03:53 PM|Permalink | Comments (0)