This post was written by Rex P. Nielson, BYU Humanities Center Director.
On July 25, 1139, in a placed called Ourique, roughly an hour north of modern-day Lisbon, Afonso Henriques and his armed forces faced a much larger army loyal to the Almoravid dynasty and the governor of Córdoba, Muhammad Az-Zubayr Ibn Umar. Though vastly outnumbered and strategically disadvantaged, Afonso Henriques led his troops to victory after receiving a heavenly vision that inspired him to action. This divine manifestation and unexpected triumph are referred to in Portuguese history as the Miracle of Ourique, a decisive moment in the formation of Portugal and an episode that appears often in the country’s visual and written narratives.
Perhaps the earliest record of this miracle can be found in Portugal’s Torre do Tombo National Archive in the form of a document titled: Juramento: D’ElRei D. Affonso Henriques: Pelo qual se confirma a gloriosa Apparição de Nosso Senhor Jesus Christo, acontecida ao mesmo Soberano [Testament of King D. Affonso Henrique: in which is confirmed the glorious apparition of Our Lord Jesus Christ, who came to this Sovereign]. In his account, the king states:
I was with my army in the lands of the Alentejo in the field of Ourique to give battle to Ishmael, and four of the Moorish Kings, who had with them infinite thousands of men; and my people, fearful of their multitudes, were distressed and overcome with sorrow, such that some said openly that it was foolish to go to battle. And I, weary of what I heard, considered what I would do; and because I had in my tent a book, in which was written the Old Testament and that of Jesus Christ; I opened it and read of the victory of Gideon, and I said within myself: You know well, Lord Jesus Christ, that out of love for you I have pursued this conflict against your adversaries; from your hand, give me and my armies strength to overcome these blasphemers of your name. And having said these words, I fell asleep on the book, and I began to dream …
… suddenly I saw on the right, near the source of the water, a magnificent ray of light, and little by little, it grew brighter until it set before me, and as I laid my eyes upon it, I suddenly saw within the ray of light the sign of the cross, more magnificent than the Sun, and Jesus Christ, crucified upon it; and on one side there was a great number of magnificent young men, who I believed were his Holy Angels. [1]
Afonso goes on to describe in fascinating detail the miraculous way in which this vision inspired his troops in battle and how the Christian forces managed to defeat their Muslim enemies despite overwhelming odds. The story of Portugal thus begins with a claim of divine intervention, which Afonso subsequently used to justify his right to rule and the sovereignty of the nascent kingdom.
Though the details of Afonso’s revelation may be new to some, students of history will no doubt recognize similarities between Portugal’s founding and the origin story of so many other communities, cultures, groups, and nations. Hammurabi’s Stele, for example, provides not only one of the oldest known renderings of a written code of law, but it famously depicts the Babylonian king receiving this code directly from Šamaš, the god of the Sun.
In Europe, appeals to the doctrine of the divine right of kings legitimized the absolute rule of countless generations of monarchs, though it was perhaps most prominently personified in figures like France’s sun king Louis XIV. Royals, however, were not the only people who claimed divine manifestations, or who galvanized the collective identity of societies around the world. One might think of individuals as diverse as Moses, Muhammad, Joan of Arc, or the founding fathers of the United States. The ubiquity of these narratives across nations, kindreds, tongues, and peoples renders any one group’s claims to divine exceptionalism surprisingly commonplace, and questions and serious conflicts emerge when such claims to divine exceptionalism appear in mutually exclusive contexts.
Furthermore, many of these narratives of divine origin suffer upon close examination. Take, for example, the testament of Afonso Henriques. Numerous researchers have questioned the validity of Afonso’s account after analyzing the document’s provenance, paleography, ink, seal, and even language, concluding that it could have been produced only several centuries after it claims. The prevailing scholarly consensus affirms that the Juramento is a falsified document. But is the story it contains similarly false?
Careful research sometimes undermines the infallibility we frequently ascribe to our origin stories. And this can be painful. After all, origin stories define us. They explain where we come from and who we are, and for doing so we hold them sacred. This no doubt explains why many hesitate or actively struggle against questions, reappraisals, or analyses that reframe the ways we read or understand our origin stories.
But rather than resisting these challenges, perhaps accepting such critique can enrich the narrative because stories can also evolve. Whether or not the received story of Afonso’s miraculous experience coincides faultlessly with the existing documentary evidence does not change the historical impact this story has held for the medieval formation of Portugal or its unfolding national identity. Stories carry meaning, forge identity, and bind peoples together. They not only tell us where we have come from but, just as frequently, they offer direction for where we might be going. In a year of celebration for the origins of BYU, may we consider the stories we tell and give careful attention to the stories that will take us into the future.
References
[1] This translation is my own.
Juramento D’El-Rei D. Afonso Henriques, 1152.
