Académique Documents
Professionnel Documents
Culture Documents
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East right before the Islamic conquest? How did the situation before the
conquest influence what happened after it? How did Christian institutions,
including schools and their curricula, fare in the two centuries after the conquest? To what degree can one deduce that information valid for one locale
(for example, Egypt) is also valid for another (Syria) during the same period?
What was the variation among different Egyptian and Syro-Palestinian locales?
In addition, Christian circles in the Sasanian Empire had cultivated certain
aspects of Greek learning up to the Islamic conquest, but did their attitude
change after it? Further, who knew Greek in Baghdad while it was the center
of the Greek-into-Arabic translation movement, and how and where had they
been taught, especially since in this part of the caliphate Greek had never been
a local language? Some of these questions have been probed by scholarship
more than others; they all are connected with larger problems of continuity
and change in the Mediterranean and the Middle East and the new characteristics of social and intellectual life that could be construed as ushering in the
Middle Ages.
As is well known, the concept of the Middle Ages (first articulated in the
Renaissance, further developed during the European Enlightenment and still
circulating today) implies a long pause in Western civilizations triumphant
ascendance.2 Accordingly, during the Middle Ages, Greek literary production
(the ancient phase of which is understood as a foundational part of modern
Western culture) is supposed to have reached its lowest quantitative and qualitative point in the seventh to ninth centuries, a period generally deemed as
one of darkness and silence. Stelios Lampaks identified the root of this
characterization to concrete statements by Gibbon and their repetition in
Krumbachers Geschichte der byzantinischen Literatur (1897) and Vasilievs
Histoire de lempire byzantin (1932), two reference works widely consulted
throughout the early and mid-twentieth century.3 Especially regarding literary
history, Krumbacher was replaced only in the late 1970s by two volumes in the
series Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft.4
During the last few decades, the image of the seventh to ninth centuries
has improved but some of its crucial aspects, such as education and literary
2 The bibliography on this topic is extensive; for a concise treatment, see Burrows, Unmaking
the Middle Ages, outlining the emergence of a tripartite notion of world history in the context of Italian humanism, its further development in the religious confrontations of the sixteenth century, and its apogee in the eighteenth century.
3 See Lampaks, (Paratrseis), 109.
4 Hunger, Hochsprachliche profane Literatur; supplemented by Beck, Geschichte der byzantinischen Volksliteratur and Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur im byzantinischen Reich.
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world. Suddenly within a generation of the Prophets death in 632, all this
had vanished and nine centuries of history and culture seem to have virtually disappeared in the course of a few years. For the first time since the
Achaemenids, Syria and Palestine were ruled by an Asian empire whose
heartlands lay far to the east and whose administration was conducted in
a Semitic vernacular by men with families and contacts in Mesopotamia,
Iran and even further east.
During the last one hundred years or so, scholarly opinion on the impact of the
Islamic conquest on urban life and economic activity has changed radically.
In the early and middle decades of the twentieth century, under the influence
of Pirennes work, it was thought to have brought destruction and disruption.
Intensified archeological exploration during the second half of the t wentieth
century was instrumental in reversing this thinking. The wars within the
caliphate during the early Abbasid period are now deemed far more disruptive than the Islamic conquests. This revision is only now beginning to expand
in order to include language and education, partly because archeology, that
can speak volumes on urban development and economic activity, does not furnish easily useable data on linguistic and literary habits. Yet an argument for
linguistic continuity is beginning to be made on the basis of Egyptian papyri
from the early Islamic period, a kind of material also furnished by archeology
and therefore deemed to offer a more direct view of language usage on the
ground than conventional narrative sources.
Of course, modern discussions on language, religion, and communal identity before and after the Islamic conquests, as well as questions of political
organization and fiscal administration in the early Islamic period, directly or
indirectly reflect the concern of scholars with the historical experience of their
own time, such as modern colonialism and the creation of modern nation
states in the Middle East between the 1940s and the early 1960s.7 In much of
7 Syria and Lebanon gained their independence in the 1940s, Libya, Morocco, and Tunisia in
the 1950s, while the bloody war of Algerian independence lasted from 1954 to 1962. As pointed
out by Wipszycka, Le nationalisme a-t-il exist?, the scholarly discussions of Coptic monophysitism as a manifestation of Coptic nationalism started at the beginning of the twentieth
century. They developed alongside the movement for Egyptian independence which was first
declared in the 1920s, though British influence ceased only after the 1952 revolution led by
Gamal Abdel Nasser. Throughout the beginning of the twentieth century, Coptic leadership
generally supported Arab nationalism. To briefly present a complicated situation, the thesis
of Coptic nationalism in antiquity and the Middle Ages offered historical depth to a political position that was a modern necessity. Jones article, published in 1959, was written after
independence had been won by all the aforementioned states except Algeria, where the war
with France was still blazing.
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the scholarship produced in the early part of the twentieth century within a
colonial context, Latin and Greek can be implicitly identified as Western,
although the Byzantine state that used them on the Southern Mediterranean
shores had already been labeled, at least since the Enlightenment, as Eastern.8
The archeological exploration of the Middle East within a colonial context also
emphasized its Greek and Latin past, not only because it was politically expedient (it provided a historical context within which the Western colonial presence could be styled a return to the Middle East), but also because researchers
active in this field had been educated in the ancient Classics and were naturally drawn to this type of material as a matter of taste and familiarity.9
At the beginning of the twenty-first century, political realities have changed:
our world, no longer comprised of empires, has experienced the nation states
shortcomings but has not yet invented a viable alternative to it. Accordingly,
academic engagement with ethnicity and religion as markers of communal
identity within history is in search of new concepts and vocabulary and can
formulate incompatible interpretations and conclusions.
An example of how twentieth-century developments influenced scholarly
views on the history of the Mediterranean is provided by the early investigators of the Greco-Arabic papyri of the early Islamic period, who assumed that
the conquerors were so primitive that they did not know how to govern and
so had no choice but to pattern their administration after the exact model of
its Roman predecessor. More recently, Islamicists and Arabic papyrologists
have gone in the exact opposite direction, and discern originality, innovation, and rapid Islamization in the administrative models of the early Islamic
period.10 One can read these views as metaphors, the former for the modern
European criticism of pre- and post-colonial Arab regimes as administratively
ineffective, and the latter as an obligation to redress the formers arrogance
out of factual as well as moral concerns. Arietta Papaconstantinou disengaged
from both positions by suggesting that one does not have to decide between
these two models, especially since understanding the pre- and post-conquest
periods as in binary opposition to one another has kept scholars attached
8 See comments in Mavroudi, Occult Science, 4756.
9 On the ideological uses of the Greco-Roman past during the time of British colonization in Egypt, see Reid, Whose Pharaohs?, 13971; on the introduction of the Classics to
Egypt and the Arab world as part of a larger political project of modernization, see Etman,
Translation at the Intersection of Traditions. An analogous reception of Greco-Roman
culture within a colonial context is Alexander the Greats campaign to India as treated
by British and Indian writers of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries; see
Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 33118.
10 Papaconstantinou, Administering the Early Islamic Empire, 578, outlines the change of
opinion.
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to the same set of questions, to which they keep recycling some of the same
answers. Papaconstantinou rightly discerned that it would be more productive to investigate and describe the interaction between provincial locales and
administrative centers in the early Islamic period independently of the religious or ethnic affiliation of the parties involved, and the process of administration as a dynamic one, characterized by a constant negotiation between
periphery and center and between the rulers and the ruled a pattern that has
long been accepted as the norm in other fields of medieval history.11
Papaconstantinous approach to understanding the administrative system
of the early Islamic period can be extended to linguistic continuity and change.
Implicitly, doing so invites us to imagine practical and emotional functions of
language different to the ones assigned to it by modern nation states. Some
earlier investigations were eager to emphasize the continuities in content, if
not in language, between Greco-Roman and early Islamic literary production
and the importance of Greek literary heritage for the early Islamic period a
scholarly attitude that is nowadays frequently regarded as orientalist, even
when it is not explicitly labeled as such.12 Others paid attention to linguistic
change and viewed religion and ethnicity as key in order to understand it.
Accordingly, they insisted on the role played by Syriac and Coptic as indigenous languages and the foreignness of Greek to the Middle East. Older
scholarship consistent with this model implicitly or explicitly assumed that
Greek was more or less coterminous with the empire that used it as an administrative language and was therefore lost in the newly conquered territories
soon after the political presence of this empire ended there. To explain the
robust written record in Greek that survived from these areas, both before and
after the Muslim conquests (most famously in the extensive Greek writings by
John of Damascus), a sharp contrast was drawn between pro-Chalcedonian
cities where Greek was spoken by the thin crust of an educated elite and rural
areas inhabited by anti-Chalcedonian majorities who spoke Coptic in Egypt
and Syriac in the Levant. This line of thinking views Greek as the instrument of
a despised political regime that was only skin-deep and limited to the elites of
urban centers.13 Accordingly, provincial dissensions from the religious orthodoxy espoused by the political center (in other words, late antique heresies
11 Papaconstantinou, Administering the Early Islamic Empire.
12 See, for example, the emphasis placed on the Greek sources for the development of
Islamic medicine in Ullmann, Die Medizin im Islam (1970) and its 2002 critique by SavageSmith, review of Islamic Medicine, by Manfred Ullmann.
13 See also the criticism by Kennedy, The Melkite Church, 335: It is sometimes suggested
that the Melkite church had a largely Greek-speaking hierarchy, alienated from the
301
that had demographically significant followings in Byzantiums Eastern provinces) were viewed as national movements in disguise.14 Further, if we assume
that both the Byzantine language and the Byzantine form of Christianity were
hated in the Eastern provinces, this helps explain the rapidity and permanence
of the Islamic conquests.15
More recent scholarship has revealed a far more complex situation whereby
language choice cannot be viewed as neatly distributed along confessional
divides or rural versus urban users.16 The greater abundance of papyri in Egypt
has allowed a more detailed analysis of its linguistic complexities compared
with the Levant where, however, other types of primary source material can be
analyzed in order to understand its linguistic situation. It therefore becomes
possible to discern certain analogies between the two areas, some more obvious than others, such as the following:
By the time of the Muslim conquests in the seventh century, Greek had been
spoken and written in Egypt and the Levant for approximately 1,000 years. It
arrived with the armies of Alexander in the fourth century bc and received
a boost during the Roman period, when it was used as the most important
administrative language of Romes Eastern provinces. During this millennium, Greek coexisted with a number of other languages, the most prominent
of which, on account of the written record they produced, were Egyptian/
Coptic and Aramaic/Syriac. The double names for each of the two languages
implicitly acknowledge the role of dialects in shaping a literary koin and a
profound change in the writing system of both during the early Christian
period; Coptic and Syriac can be identified as the Christian phases of the
Egyptian and Aramaic languages and their respective literatures, although the
earliest manifestations of the new writing systems are not exclusively linked
with Christian texts.17 Further, between the early fourth and early fifth century new alphabets and written literatures emerged also for other languages
spoken in the wider periphery of the Byzantine empire, such as Armenian,
Georgian, and Geez. Robert Hoyland argued that the creation of a Christian
ajority of their congregations. It would seem that for the early Islamic period at least,
m
this was untrue.
14 Refuted in Jones, Ancient Heresies; for an overview of the literature interpreting heresies as national movements, see Wipszycka, Le nationalisme a-t-il exist?.
15 See the revision of these ideas in Moorhead, The Monophysite Response.
16 Wilfong, The Non-Muslim Communities, 177. On the use of Greek by rural Copts before
the Arab conquest, see Clackson and Papaconstantinou, Coptic or Greek?; for after the
conquest, see Papaconstantinou, What Remains Behind.
17 For Coptic, see Richter, Greek, Coptic, 41213; for Syriac, see Brock, Introduction to Syriac
Studies, 22.
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literature in Syriac, Coptic, and Armenian at around the same time indicate a
coalescence of language and Christian confession (monophysitism as opposed
to Chalcedonianism) to express a limited sense of ethnic identity.18 Yet the
emergence of what modern scholarship often terms as oriental Christian
literatures may be more the result of active intervention from above rather
than the reflection of grassroots sentiments: the success of new alphabets
that later came to be identified as Christian were the result of a more aggressive expansion of Christianity something for which translation into, and
therefore a boost to, local languages was needed aided by ruling lites in
order to forward their own interests, as is clear from the involvement of the
royal houses of Edessa, Aksoum, Armenia, and Georgia (and later Bulgaria, the
Kievan Rus, and Serbia) in the spread of Christianity.
The coexistence of Coptic and Syriac with Greek which, at the time of their
emergence, was the dominant language in both Egypt and the Levant (with
the important exception of North Syria and Mesopotamia),19 led not to the
extinction but the enrichment of these two languages. This sharply contrasts
with the fate of Syriac and Coptic during their coexistence with Arabic, which
resulted in the abandonment of Coptic and the serious contraction of Syriac
as spoken languages, a fact that scholars have remarked upon and partly
sought to explain.20 As for Greek, Hoyland suggested that it was eventually
abandoned because it had become intimately linked with Greek identity and
with allegiance to Chalcedon and the [Byzantine] empire.21 By comparison,
Syriac had never been a language coterminous with a state and therefore had
developed mechanisms for coping with statelessness that Greek lacked. These
observations provide only a partial explanation, especially since, as Hoyland
acknowledged, neither before nor after the Islamic conquest was Greek as a
liturgical and theological language the exclusive province of adherents to
Chalcedonian orthodoxy. In addition, Chalcedonian orthodoxy would express
303
itself in languages other than Greek, and including Syriac. In other words, linguistic usage was not neatly distributed along confessional lines.22
Regarding why Greek empowered, rather than extinguished, the expression of local, religious, and ethnic character, Glen Bowersock suggested that
Hellenism provided a far-reaching (both geographically and conceptually)
shared vocabulary in which such particularities could be expressed and widely
understood.23 By the beginning of the seventh century, the coexistence of
Greek with Coptic and Syriac had been shaped by the fact that Greek was not
only the dominant administrative language of the Byzantine state, but also the
original language of the Gospels and of the Eastern church fathers; in addition, it was the language of advanced technical literature, which included
philosophy and science (especially medicine and the mathematical sciences).
Its highly developed philosophical vocabulary was further honed in order to
express foundational concepts of Christian theology. Coptic and Syriac were
enriched through extensive translations from Greek, something that left permanent traces on their vocabulary, rhetorical expression, and overall structure
of a written text.24
22 On the use of Syriac by Chalcedonian Christians, see Barclay, Melkite Orthodox SyroByzantine Manuscripts, characterized by a pronounced emphasis on indigeneity that
reflects both scholarly arguments and modern political concerns. A few concrete examples
of Greek literature put at the service of Jacobite and Nestorian Christianity and of Syriac
literature at the service of Chalcedonian Christianity: the Nestorian Job of Edessa (640
708) corrected the Syriac Old Testament on the basis of the Greek Septuagint; see Juckel,
Septuaginta and Peshitta, and Salvesen, Jacob of Edessas Version. The fragment of a
ninth-century Sogdian-Greek Psalter found in Boulayiq near Turfan in Chinese Turkestan
gives a translation into Sogdian based on the Septuagint rather than the Peshitta; see
Sims-Williams, GreekSogdian Bilingual. In the ninth century, the Nestorian unaynb.
Isq is said to have translated the Greek Septuagint into Arabic; Griffith, unayn ibn
Isq, 140. Conversely, a number of seventh- and eighth-century Syriac writers that did
not adhere to Chalcedonian orthodoxy were translated from Syriac into Greek during this
period. The best known among them is, perhaps, Isaac the Syrian (d. ca 700), whose writings were translated into Greek at the monastery of Mar Saba in the ninth century. Other
authors include Joseph Hazzaya (whose Letter to Patricius, known in Greek translation,
is usually attributed to Philoxenus of Mabbug, d. 523) and John of Dalyatha (early eighth
century); see Brock, The Syriac Tradition, 199215. To these one may add the Arabic
treatise on the Eucharist written by the Nestorian physician Ibn Buln at the request
of the Patriarch of Constantinople Michael Keroularios; see Mavroudi, Licit and Illicit
Divination.
23 Bowersock, Hellenism in Late Antiquity; Bowersock, Mosaics as History, 120.
24 For the imprint of Greek on Coptic, see Richter, Greek, Coptic; Richter, Rechtsemantik;
Clackson and Papaconstantinou, Coptic or Greek?; for Greek vocabulary in Syriac, see
Schall, Griechische Fremdwrter.
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In her analysis of why coexistence with Arabic led Coptic but not Syriac to
disappearance, Papaconstantinou surveyed explanations offered in earlier literature and assessed some as more valid than others; she also pointed out that
the patterns of Muslim settlement in the conquered territory and the degree
to which Christians had a stake in the local economy and power structure
must have played the most decisive role in their choice to use Arabic. From
the tenth century onwards, when the Fatimids established their capital in
Cairo and tried to emulate Baghdad, Egypt became the seat of a royal government for the first time since the Ptolemies. The Fatimids also revitalized trade.
This transformed Egypt from the equivalent of a modern exploitation colony
(characterized by a relatively small number of colonizers with little interest to
share their language) to something more akin to a settlement colony, a pattern that leads to greater assimilation of the local population to the colonizers
and indigenous language loss.25 In contrast, Syria was the center of imperial
power only while Damascus was capital under the Umayyads and receded to
provincial backwardness when the capital was moved to Baghdad. The following brief remarks are offered as a footnote to her insightful analysis:
Coptic is thought to have been abandoned as a spoken language at around
1300,26 when Syriac literature is supposed to have entered its last phase of
contraction after the death of the great polymath Bar Hebraeus (122686).27
This chronological coincidence suggests that, among the different reasons
already discussed by historians for the disappearance of Coptic, one should
pay further attention to the pressure exerted on the Christian populations
of the Middle East as a result of the Crusades that caused the Muslim overlords to identify Christians under their rule with the outside enemy, as well
as the tremendous upheaval generated by the arrival of the Mongols even in
geographic areas beyond their direct control.28 Further, specific military and
political developments that lasted from the middle of the tenth until the end
of the thirteenth century must have helped the survival of Syriac but undermined that of Coptic: the Byzantine reconquest of North Syria and part of
Mesopotamia, and especially the region of Antioch, which remained under
Byzantine rule for more than 100 years (9691084) resulted in strengthening
the Christian presence, both institutional and demographic, throughout this
area. The Crusaders arrived in 1098, only 14 years after the end of Christian
rule in Antioch, and were able to capitalize on Byzantiums cultural and
25 Papaconstantinou, Why Did Coptic Fail?.
26 Richter, Greek, Coptic, 417.
27 Brock, Introduction to Syriac Studies, 1317.
28 Various reasons are surveyed in Northrup, The Bar Mamlk Sultanate, 271.
305
d emographic gains for their own benefit a fact rarely, if at all, remembered in
modern historiography.29 Crusader presence in the Levant was less stable than
the Byzantine one, though it lasted longer (until the fall of Acre in 1291). For
all their lack of permanence, the cumulative effect of these two Christian conquests benefited local Christians under direct Byzantine and later Crusader
rule and renewed the social importance of Syriac as a Christian language of the
wider Levantine area.30 By comparison, Coptic could only lose: the chronicle
of the Chalcedonian Yaya of Antioch (d. 1066) leaves no doubt that Egyptian
Christian populations became targets of aggression when the Byzantine army
scored victories; the persecution of Christians under the caliph al-kim
forced Yaya to leave his native Egypt for Byzantine-held Antioch.
Greek seems to have benefited from the Christian reconquest less than
Syriac. As mentioned earlier, the area where the Byzantines made their comeback (North Syria and Mesopotamia) was the less Hellenized part of the
Levant. Byzantium never recovered any part of Palestine, Transjordan, and
Southern Syria, which had been more thoroughly Hellenized due to a longer
period of Roman rule and the presence of the Chalcedonian patriarchate of
Jerusalem that functioned as a religious and educational institution upholding the Greek language, as the evidence of hagiography, literary composition,
and surviving manuscript production indicates.31 This may at least partly
explain the Byzantine failure to firmly re-implant Greek in the region during
its reconquest in the tenth and eleventh centuries there was not enough of
a Hellenized substratum upon which to build, although one may have still
existed further south, where the reconquest never reached. Evidence from the
seventh, eighth, and ninth centuries indicates that Greek was still spoken and
even cultivated at the literary level there, sometimes clearly alongside other languages. For example, Andrew, bishop of Crete, one of the great liturgical poets
of the Byzantine period, was born in Damascus around 660 ce. He received a
basic and more advanced education in the city of his birth about a generation
after its Arab conquest. In his teens he moved to Jerusalem, where he seems
to have received theological training that served him enough to participate
29 See also the remarks in Mavroudi, Occult Science, 523.
30 This is not to overlook the pressure exerted by the Byzantines on local populations in
order to conform to Chalcedonian Christianity. But Byzantium was, in the end, obliged
to rely on non-Chalcedonian Christians in order to demographically strengthen the
Christian presence in the territories it had recently recovered from the Muslims. See
Dagron, Minorits ethniques. On the renewal of West Syrian monasticism and Syriac literature as a result of the Byzantine reconquest, see Loopstra, Patristic Selections, 657.
31 Hoyland, Language and Identity, 189.
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32 Nicetas, Vita Andreae Cretensis, 1701. The earliest known version of this text (rewritten
multiple times in various centuries) was written by Nicetas patricius and quaestor and
survives in a ninth- or early tenth-century manuscript. Scholars have debated the date
of its composition and placed it between the eighth and the tenth centuries. Auzpy, La
carrire dAndr de Crte, argued that Nicetas wrote Andrews hagiography during the
reign of Constantine V (74175) a few years after the saints death in 740.
33 Leontios, Life of Stephen, 6:1 (Stephens native land); 6:34 (financial ability of his parents); 48:3 (Stephen speaks Greek).
34 Ibn Ab Uaybia, Uyn al-anb, 1:2445.
35 List of Arabic narrative sources in Sijpesteijn, Multilingual Archives, 106, n. 4. In Greek,
Theophanes, Chronicle, 431, notes the following under the year 758/9 ce: In this year the
Arabs maliciously expelled the Christians from government chanceries for a short time,
but were once again obliged to entrust the same duties to them because they were unable
to write numbers. The use of Byzantine (rm) numbers (derived from alphanumerical
notation in the Greek minuscule) survived in Arabic notary usage until the beginning of
the twentieth century; see Rey, A propos de lorigine grecque des chiffres de Fs.
307
latest dated one that has been published so far was written in the year 796/7.36
Earlier dated specimens cover the entire eighth century.37 Significantly, both
proper names that are readable in the Greek document of the year 796/7 are
neither Greek nor Coptic but Arabic: Raba and Abd Allh b. Ibrhm. Given
that Greek papyri of the Islamic period are the largest unpublished portion of
any collection of papyri and the area where 90 percent of the work remains to
be done, the publication of this material may produce surprises. At the same
time, it is important to remember that the earliest use of Arabic for administrative purposes is attested in a well-known Greek Arabic bilingual document (entagion) dated to 643, the very year of Egypts Islamic conquest, and
pertains to the provisioning of the invading Muslim army.38 This complicates
significantly the oversimplified picture conveyed by the narrative sources of
the Abbasid period (perhaps meant as a rhetorical blow to the fallen Umayyad
dynasty) that suggests a straightforward transition from the chancery Greek
and Persian of the Umayyads to the chancery Arabic of the early Abbasids.39
Regarding Egypt, the emerging scholarly consensus is that Egyptian society functioned as bilingual in Greek and Coptic before the Islamic conquest
and into the eighth century and that any dichotomy drawn between a Greekspeaking and a Coptic-speaking culture is misguided.40 This contrasts with
the earlier view that the use of written Coptic was expanded after the Muslim
conquest of Egypt in 642 because it was relieved from the pressure of Greek
and was aided by a slow pace of Arabization.41 The papyri make evident that
the expansion of written Coptic had taken place already in the Byzantine
36 See Morelli, Documenti greci; the latest dated papyrus written entirely in Greek in 796/7 is
P. Vindob. G 18707, ibid., 11112, no. 21 and tav. 14.
37 Morelli, Documenti greci, publishes 17 specimens out of the Vienna papyri collection
explicitly dated in the eighth century, and several more that can be attributed to this
period on the basis of paleography or other evidence.
38 This is the famous perf 558 = Vindob. G 39.726, originally published by Grohmann,
Aperu de papyrologie arabe, 403, and plate 9; republication by Demiri and Rmer, Texts
from the Early Islamic Period of Egypt, 810; its significance for the study of Arabic dialectology in Larcher, In Search of a Standard, 1079.
39 Overview of administrative linguistic practices in early Islamic Egypt in Papaconstantinou,
What Remains Behind, 449, and Sijpesteijn, Multilingual Archives. It can be assumed
that the administrative use of Greek ceased in Egypt some time in the ninth century; see
Sijpesteijn, Multilingual Archives, 106.
40 Clackson and Papaconstantinou, Coptic or Greek?, 73; on Egyptian society as bilingual
in Greek and Coptic after 642, and into the eighth century, see Cromwell, Aristophanes
Son of Johannes, 230.
41 Wilfong, The Non-Muslim Communities, 177.
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period: legal documents were drawn up in Coptic at least since the late sixth
century, if not earlier,42 while the bulk of the known private correspondence
in Coptic dates between the fifth and the eighth centuries.43 In the eighth and
ninth century, legal documents drawn up in the Coptic language in Middle and
Upper Egypt would use long invocations of the Holy Trinity and dating formulas in Greek.44 Correspondence and legal documents continued to be drawn in
Coptic into the eleventh century, at least in Upper Egypt,45 and evidence from
the papyri suggests that Greek (although thought to have been abandoned as
a spoken language in Egypt in the ninth century)46 continued to be studied in
Coptic-speaking environments as late as the tenth and eleventh centuries.47 In
sum, the papyri indicate that both before and after the Islamic conquest Greek
was present not only in the cities but also in rural areas inhabited by nonChalcedonian majorities.48 Its use alongside Coptic both before and after the
Islamic period was symbiotic rather than antagonistic. Further, it is possible
to detect continuities rather than breaks in the use of both languages after the
Muslim conquest of Egypt.
The evidence from the Levant is not nearly as abundant or extensively
discussed, but suggests a linguistic situation similar to the Egyptian one. The
pertinent Levantine papyri essentially consist of two corpora: the exclusively
Greek finds from Petra, that date to the sixth century (and therefore are irrelevant to the post-conquest period); and the find from the rural site of Nessana,
a garrison town at the desert border of the Byzantine empire, the dated documents of which span the sixth century and stop in the year 689, before the
towns abandonment in the eighth century. The onomastic of the local population both before and after the Muslim conquest includes (but is not limited
to) Arab names. Yet no document has been found in which the locals use the
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Arabic language, not even to address the Muslim government, which in its turn
addressed the locals in both Greek and Arabic.49
The Nessana papyri, as well as the evidence from epigraphy and incidental
remarks in the narrative sources, indicate that Greek was not absent from the
Levantine countryside. Yet it was mostly in the countryside that Syriac could
be used in public spaces and functions.50 Such an understanding rings true to a
modern observer of languages for one additional reason: it corresponds to the
use of Spanish alongside indigenous languages in Latin America today. More
than 500 years after the arrival of the Conquistadores, the presence of Spanish
is overwhelming in both city and countryside, yet it is mostly in the countryside where the pre-Columbian languages can be heard, written, and read.51
Modern scholars have attempted to understand what prompted the adherence of local Middle Eastern populations to Greek for some two centuries after
the Islamic conquest, given that it was not, or at least has not been viewed
(even after a 1,000-year presence in the area and dominance by the sixth century), as an indigenous language. There were two decisive factors in its persistence: its association with the Roman/Byzantine state and its importance
as a vehicle for Christianity. For example, Rachel Stroumsa suggested that the
inhabitants of Nessana spoke Arabic as a vernacular and used Greek not as
a marker of self-identity but for its connotations of imperial power. Further,
the remains of churches at several rural sites west of the Jordan indicate continuous patronage of religious buildings by a Christian elite commemorated
in Greek inscriptions that begin in the late seventh and span the eighth century. The latest among them may have been written in the year 785 or 801 ad,
depending on whether the date recorded, 6293, corresponds to the Byzantine
or the Alexandrian era.52 In at least two of these rural sites, the onomastic
found on the Greek inscriptions reveals a clergy with Greek and biblical names
and laymen with Aramaic or Arab names.53 Both before and after the Arab
conquest, the well off, who could afford to be patrons of a church, clung to the
49 Wasserstein, Why Did Arabic Succeed?, 25762; Stroumsa, People and Identities in
Nessana.
50 Hoyland, Language and Identity, 188.
51 French, Maya Ethnolinguistic Identity. Needless to say, not all aspects of the linguistic situation in the late antique and early Islamic Middle East can be paralleled by the modern
one in Guatemala due to the obvious absence of concepts like nationalism and modernity in a pre-industrial historical context.
52 List in Di Segni, Greek Inscriptions, 35799.
53 Di Segni, Greek Inscriptions, 368.
310
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311
312
Mavroudi
313
70 Oxford, Bodleian library, ms Gr. Liturgy. C. 1 (S.C. 30051), reproduced (Greek part only)
in Wilson, Mediaeval Greek Bookhands, plate 6. The circumflexes in lines 11 and 17 that
puzzle Wilson are Coptic accents, which are not consistently marked in the Greek text,
evidently because neither Coptic nor Greek manuscripts mark them regularly at the
time. For a list of mistakes likely for a native speaker of Coptic when writing Greek, see
Clackson and Papaconstantinou, Coptic or Greek?, 80, and comments by Boudhors,
Toujours honneur au grec?, 187.
71 Cromwell, Aristophanes Son of Johannes, 232. On different languages using the same
alphabet but written in different handwriting styles, see Papaconstantinou, Introduction,
1012.
72 Evelyn-White, Monasteries of the Wdi n Natrn, 2:20013, and plate xxi.
73 Boudhors, Toujours honneur au grec?, 187.
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315
316
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the public religious debates between Muslims, Jews, and Christians of various
denominations that were stimulated by the Fatimid court, especially under the
caliph al-Muizz (96975).88
Compared with Egypt, Christianity in the Levant seems to have turned to
Arabic two centuries earlier, already in the middle of the eighth century. The
earliest known Christian Arabic texts were produced in Chalcedonian circles
and include an anonymous apologia most likely written some time after the
year 755 and some, but not all, of the treatises by Theodore Ab Qurrah, bishop
of arrn (ca 750ca 823), the earliest Christian author writing in Arabic whose
name we know.89 Scholars focusing on Christian Arabic literature consider
this as evidence for the abandonment of Greek and the adoption of Arabic
by Melkite Christians. From the point of view of a Byzantinist, such an interpretation presents a paradox, because of the vibrancy of Greek literary production from Palestine during the eighth and early ninth century.90 Further,
since Ab Qurrah knew Greek well (he wrote some of his treatises in this language and prepared the Arabic translation of a pseudo-Aristotelian work)91 it
is unlikely that he chose to write in Arabic because it was the only language he
could use well.
In a recent essay, Sidney Griffith briefly surveyed the Melkite Christian literature from the seventh to the ninth centuries, both in Greek and in Arabic,
and showed that its arguments constitute responses to Muslim accusations
of polytheism, many of which are articulated in the Qurn itself. These
accusations were generated by misunderstandings regarding a number of
Christological questions, some of which were also the object of discussion
between the Chalcedonian and non-Chalcedonian churches.92 According to
Griffith, Melkite Christian authors of the eighth and ninth centuries writing
in Arabic primarily addressed their own arabophone community in order
to clarify how their confession differed from the other Christian confessions
under Muslim rule and supply arguments that would help them reject invitations to convert to Islam. A side effect of their primary concern to address
88 Richter, Greek, Coptic, 418; Den Heijer, Recent Developments, 534.
89 The possible dates of the earliest Arabic Christian apologia for Christianity from ms Sinai
ar. 154 are outlined in Monferrer-Sala, Earliest Christian Arabic Apology, 195. More such
texts appear to have been in circulation during the eighth century, as is evident from
the fragments in Heidelberg Papyrus Schott-Reinhart 438; see Swanson, Christian Arabic
Disputation.
90 Blake, La littrature grecque en Palestine; Mango, Greek Culture in Palestine.
91 Lamoreaux, Theodore Ab Qurrah, xiixviii.
92 Griffith, The Melkites and the Muslims.
317
their own community was that they generated the responses of Muslim
authors, as well.93 If we reverse these suppositions, the simultaneous cultivation of both Greek and Arabic in the Christian communities of Palestine in the
eighth and ninth centuries becomes understandable. In other words, Melkite
Christians in Palestine may have used both Greek and Arabic, depending on
who the intended readers of various texts were. It seems that Greek was preferred when the targeted readers were other Christians of the same or other
creeds, not only within Muslim lands but also beyond. This is suggested by
the decision of Thomas, patriarch of Jerusalem, to send to the Armenians the
Greek translation of a treatise by Theodore Ab Qurrah originally written in
Arabic and apparently rendered in Greek for this specific purpose.94 Arabic
must have been chosen when an authors purpose was to primarily address
Muslims or to provide guidance on how Christian readers could defend
themselves in debates with Muslims, expected to be conducted in Arabic. This
is why Christian Arabic treatises support the truths of the Christian religion
by citing verses from the Qurn and adjusting them to the requirements of
a Christian interpretation. Some of the earliest Arabic Christian texts treating theological subjects, such as the correspondence between Ab s b. al-
Munajjim, Qusb. Lq and unayn b. Isq, are self-avowedly Christian
apologies addressed to Muslim readers.95 Even Christian Arabic apologies that
do not explicitly identify their addressees, such as the writings of Ab Qurrah,
received multiple responses by Muslim authors.96
The introduction of Arabic for Christian apologetics cannot be interpreted
as indicating the abandonment of high-style technical Greek for an additional
reason, one still related to the administrative needs of the Muslim empire.
Towards the end of the eighth century and the beginning of the ninth, as Greek
receded from the administrative record, a new incentive to keep learning it
well appeared: the Greek-into-Arabic translation movement, the products of
which, at least to some patrons, were worth their weight in gold. We are told,
for example, that the Ban Ms, three brothers whose father had been astrologer to caliph al-Mamn and who themselves were members of the caliphal
entourage, would pay 500 gold dinars a month for translation. This corresponds
to 75 ounces of pure gold and in todays prices (approximately 1,390 dollars
per ounce) to around 100,000 dollars a month. Four times as much per month
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was paid for scribes and translators by Muammad b. Abd al-Malik al-Zayyt
(d. 847), an ethnic Persian who served as vizier to three caliphs.97
The frequently quoted letter of the Nestorian patriarch Timothy I (r. 780
823) on the translation of Aristotles Topics from Syriac into Arabic at the
request of the caliph al-Mahd makes clear that a rival team was trying to
deliver the same project out of the Greek original, but the caliph preferred
the results of the team working out of Syriac.98 This suggests that competition between translators from Greek and from Syriac, and in general groups
or individuals who could undertake such translations, began very early on
in the translation movement. It must have been fierce because the financial
stakes were high. In addition, the Muslims systematically appropriated Greek
learning in response to dynastic and social concerns internal to the caliphate
at a time of heightened military antagonism with Byzantium in which they
found themselves on the defensive. While Byzantine armies threatened Syria,
Baghdd society and the caliphal court engaged in appropriating knowledge
originally recorded in the language of the enemy. As Dimitri Gutas explained,
these circumstances generated what he has aptly termed anti-Byzantinism
expressed as phil-Hellenism.99 It was in the best interests of both non-Chalcedonian Christian translators and Muslim patrons to dissociate Byzantium from
Greek heritage. For example, Syriac-speaking Iranian Christians, like the members of the Bukhtish family, who hailed from the city of Jundshpr and
were wealthy and influential court physicians, had a vested interest in claiming the Greek heritage for themselves. Accordingly, Muslim bio-bibliographers,
who depend on apologetically tinged Christian sources of the ninth century,
speak in glowing terms about an unbroken Hippocratic tradition of medical
teaching and practice at Jundshpr since the citys foundation by Shpr i,
although earlier Christian sources on the pre-Islamic history of Nestorianism
say nothing about a medical establishment of any kind there.100
In addition, a number of medieval Arabic Muslim sources claim that,
towards the end of Byzantine rule in Egypt, medical teaching was almost lost
in Alexandria due to the indifference of the Christian emperors. This state of
emergency necessitated the compilation of the collection of medical texts
known as the Summaria Alexandrinorum. Medical teaching was revived by
97 Gutas, Greek Thought, 138; Hoyland, Language and Identity, 195. I based these calculations on Gutas estimate that 500 dinars corresponded to approximately 25,000 dollars
around 1997.
98 Hoyland, Language and Identity, 1945.
99 Gutas, Greek Thought, 8395.
100 Richter-Bernburg, Bokt, Encyclopaedia Iranica.
319
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can accept that Greek literature and education in Byzantium before the end of
the ninth century was doing as well as always and was able to radiate beyond
Byzantiums boarders, without disruption from the iconoclastic controversy.
In at least one case, it is possible to reverse Gutas assumption that Byzantine
interest in Ptolemys Almagest was sparked by its circulation in the Islamic
world and show that its study in Byzantium is simultaneous with, if not earlier
than, its earliest Arabic translation: the two earliest known Greek manuscripts
of the Almagest, mss Vat. gr. 1291 and Leidensis b.p.g. 78, are assumed by Gutas
to be the earliest available indication of Byzantine astronomical activity after
the end of antiquity and to post-date the earliest known Arabic translation
(before 805) because they were long thought to have been produced between
813 and 820. However, the Leidensis contains marginal notes with astronomical
material dateable between 775 and 797/8.105 As for the Vatican Ptolemy, it is
now clear that, if it was not copied during the reign of Constantine V (74175),
it must have been based on an exemplar that was.106 Further, a fourteenthcentury Arabic work (evidently based on earlier sources) suggests that Greek
manuscripts on the sciences could be easily procured during the third quarter
of the eighth century and still within the first phase of iconoclasm: a passage
in Ibn Khaldns Muqaddima indicates that caliph al-Manr (r. 75475) asked
the Byzantine emperor to send him books on the mathematical sciences and
received Euclid and a number of works on physics in response.107
True, the surviving Greek manuscripts written between the seventh and the
ninth centuries are extremely few. If we count Greek manuscripts written in
uncial (the kind of script prevalent before the year 800) that survive in libraries without including the papyri, we can find only 24 uncial parchment manuscripts of which a substantial portion remains, and 84 fragments of classical
105 On this and further evidence that the study of astronomy was uninterrupted in Byzantium
from the seventh into the early ninth century, see Tihon, Lastronomie Byzance
lpoque iconoclaste, 1923; Mavroudi, Translations from Greek into Latin and Arabic.
106 Wright, The Date of the Vatican Illuminated Handy Tables, argued that it was copied
during the reign of Constantine V. More recently, Janz, The Scribes and the Date of the
Vat. gr. 1291, 167, suggested that it was copied shortly after the reign of Nikephorus I (802
11) out of an exemplar that listed Byzantine regnal years up to Constantine V. It is reasonable to deduce that such an exemplar would have been copied during ConstantineVs
reign. I am grateful to Paul Magdalino for bringing Janzs article to my attention.
107 See El-Cheikh, Byzantium Viewed by the Arabs, 196, for a discussion of the passages reliance on earlier sources and its incompatibility with Ibn Khaldns assertion that the sciences were dead in Byzantium.
321
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important change in the physical appearance and format of Greek books signaled by Lemerle, namely the switch of the script from uncial to minuscule,
which, prior to the late eighth or early ninth century, was reserved for administrative and archival documents and generally appears not to have been used
for copying books. As a result, the selection of older literature chosen for copying towards the end of the ninth and the beginning of the tenth century in
Greek is largely reproduced in manuscripts in the minuscule.
Clearly, the translators from Greek into Arabic had at their disposal both
kinds of books: unayn b. Isq criticizes Yaya b. al-Birq, one of the minor
translators of the ninth century who was a Lan (that is, of North African or,
perhaps, Italian? descent) for knowing only the language of the Byzantines
of today and its writing (lughat al-rm al-yawm wa-kitbatah) and these are
the connected letters (al-urf al-muttaila, i.e., a cursive script), not the old
Greek individual characters (al-munfaila al-ynnya al-qadma).111 The comment (which cannot be analyzed for all it may reveal within the confines of
the present paper) may suggest that Yaya b. al-Bitrqs training in the Greek
language and script was meant as preparation for an administrative career in
which only the cursive would have been needed, but the changes in the administrative apparatus of the caliphate may have forced him to pursue a career as
translator. It also indicates that the translators were aware of their contemporary scribal practices in Greek and, by implication, must have been informed
of texts circulating and read in Byzantium. This corroborates reports like Ibn
Khaldns about the procurement of Greek manuscripts from Byzantium,
which should not be read as rhetorical depictions of Muslim superiority (we
demanded and the Christians had to comply) but as having a firm foundation
in reality (manuscripts of ancient Greek and Byzantine authors were numerous enough in eighth-century Byzantium that many could be diverted to the
caliphate). In other words, the Greek-into-Arabic translators and their patrons
did not have to rely on Greek manuscripts produced before the Muslim conquests and preserved in monastic outposts under Muslim control but had
access to their contemporary world of Byzantine learning.112
More than 40 years ago, Lemerle highlighted evidence for the continuity
of Byzantine intellectual and educational traditions between the seventh and
the early ninth century within the Byzantine empire. This paper surveyed evidence from Egypt and the Levant indicating a continuous engagement with the
111 Ibn Ab Uaybia, Uyn al-anb, 1:205.
112 For evidence that the Muslim world was in dialogue with its contemporary eighth- and
ninth-century Byzantine science, see Mavroudi, The Naples Dioscorides, and Mavroudi,
Translations from Greek into Latin and Arabic.
323
Greek language and its attendant administrative, biblical, liturgical, and patristic usage before the Islamic conquests and up to 300 years later. Though what
survives does not yield a complete picture of how Greek may have been taught
at different parts of the Muslim empire at different times, we have enough to
suggest that, wherever the study of Greek continued in Muslim lands, it was
pursued through roughly the same curricula that were in place before the
Islamic conquest. This means that Christian schoolboys in the Muslim lands
and Byzantine schoolboys received similar educations and, if they grew up to
be fully fledged intellectuals, they could use many of the same authors (both
pagan, like Aristotle, and Christian, like the Greek Fathers of the Church) as
shared points of reference.113
For example, we know that the beginnings of literacy in Greek and Coptic
were acquired with the help of the Psalter and collections of wisdom literature,
such as Menanders Sententiae, the maxims of which also furnished topics
treated by the students in rhetorical exercises, both before and after the Muslim
conquest.114 Wisdom literature must have also played a role in beginning education in the cultural periphery of the late antique Greco-Roman world, as is
evident from the choice of the Proverbs of Solomon as the first book to be translated into Armenian after the invention of the Armenian alphabet.115 The taste
for it is evident in the course of the ninth century among Constantinopolitan
authors, including the female poet Kassia.116
During the second half of the ninth century, the physician Romanos, later
consecrated as Jacobite patriarch under the name Theodosios in the year
887, translated from Greek into Syriac a collection of 112 verses attributed to
Pythagoras.117 Also in the ninth century, a version of the Greek Sententiae by
113 On the curricula of Christian schools of different confessions in the early Islamic period
and the fact that, especially at the lower levels of education, their readings and practices
were interchangeable and essentially corresponded to Byzantine school practice from
before the Muslim conquest, see Tannous, Syria between Byzantium and Islam, 32040.
114 Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind, 199200. On wisdom literature, its role in Greek and
Coptic education, and its afterlife in Arabic literature, see Mavroudi, Two Ostraka.
115 Thomson, Mesrop Matoc.
116 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, 2413, 25370.
117 Chabot, Littrature syriaque, 95, explicitly asserts that this is a translation from Greek;
Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, 280, presents it as a commentary in the form
of a letter to a certain Gregory marking Romanos-Theodosios interest in popular philosophy. One is struck by the coincidence of two Syriac authors by the name Theodosios
interested in Greek wisdom literature. Given that Pythagoras, Menander, and Gregory of
Nazianzus are all considered authors of this genre, it is possible that two Theodosii and
their respective works are either identical or versions of the same collection.
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Menander was translated from Greek into Arabic; its maxims (attributed to
Homer) can be found in a number of Arabic texts composed between the tenth
and the thirteenth centuries. Yet another version of Menanders Sententiae
survives in a single Arabic manuscript, which attributes them to Gregory of
Nazianzus.118
A staple of a Greek literary education at its beginning stages was Homer.119
Accordingly, a copy of the Iliad and a commentary on it were part of the sixthcentury library of Dioscoros from Aphrodito. The Coptic-speaking inhabitants
of the rural monastery of Epiphanios at Thebes were also copying excerpts of
Homer in the late sixth century.120 During the eighth century, Theophilos of
Edessa translated the Iliad and the Odyssey into Syriac.121 The translation does
not survive and we know nothing about its context, but it may have served
not only the beginnings of studying Homer as part of learning Greek, but also
as a guide to a Neoplatonist allegorical reading, following a philosophical tradition established in late antiquity. Significantly, one of the only two uncial
fragments of Homer that survive outside the world of papyri was palimpsested around the year 800 in the monastery of Qarthamn in order to copy a
Syriac translation of the Monophysite theologian Severus of Antioch.122 Given
that the instruction of Greek continued in Syriac schools during the eighth
century, Homer may have ended up as scrap paper because of falling apart
from frequent consultation, not because of being irrelevant to the needs of
monks. Further, 13 leaves from the monastery of St. Catherines on Mt. Sinai
written in a cursive uncial script unknown from other locales and dated to the
ninth or tenth centuries preserve verses from the Iliad and their paraphrase
by Sophronios the Abbot, a ninth-century figure, possibly the same as the
grammarian Sophronios, author of a textbook on grammar, whom modern
scholars have identified with a patriarch of Alexandria reigning around the
middle of the ninth century. The ad hoc style of writing used for the leaves and
the linguistic register of the paraphrase suggest that the volume was used for
instruction, a conclusion corroborated by the fact that the preserved excerpts
118 See Ullmann, Die arabische berlieferung; of course, the genre of wisdom literature is an
ancient Near Eastern tradition and its Arabic collections were enriched from many different sources beyond Greek. See Gutas, Classical Arabic Wisdom Literature.
119 Browning, Homer in Byzantium.
120 Clackson and Papaconstantinou, Coptic or Greek?, 88; Cribiore, Greek and Coptic
Education, 282.
121 On Theophilos of Edessa, see Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, 3412; Breydy,
Geschichte der Syro-Arabischen Literatur der Maroniten, 1328.
122 A few leaves survive today as British Museum Additional ms 17210; see Browning, Homer
in Byzantium, 22 and n. 31.
325
all come from the first five books of the Iliad, exactly those that were used for
instruction in Byzantine schools.123 There is no reason to doubt the eyewitness
report of Ysuf b. Ibrhm, who heard unayn recite Homer in Baghdad after
an absence of about two years during which, it is implied, he improved his
knowledge of Greek.124 In this narrative we are not told where unayn went
to study, but other sources mention the land of the Byzantines (bild al-rm)
and many modern scholars assume this was Constantinople, where the future
apostle of the Slavs, Constantine/Cyril, was also reading Homer for his literary
education at around the same time.125 Significantly, Ysuf b. Ibrhms narrative specified that unayns recital of Homer took place at the house of a Greek
resident of Baghdad, the nephew of Hrn al-Rashds Greek slave girl Chrys,
who ensured for him a good literary education in Greek although we are not
told where exactly he received this schooling.
The study of Homer led to original poetic compositions, many on Christian
themes, steeped in Homeric vocabulary. Surviving ninth-century examples
were written both in Constantinople (by Ignatios the Deacon)126 and Palestine
(such as Michael Synkellos poem on the theology of the icons).127 Poetry and
its twin sister hymnography were staples in eighth and early ninth-century curricula of education, both in Byzantium and beyond. Almost every Byzantine
who ever wrote anything also composed poetry,128 but the struggle for and
against the icons must have given poetry and hymnography renewed impetus
as a means to broadcast ones views, as is evident from an essay by Theodore
Stoudios that extensively quotes iconoclastic poems and refutes them in
prose.129 Further, the concentration of women hymnographers in the first half
of the ninth century suggests that poetry and hymnography may have been
a standard component of female aristocratic education in Byzantium around
this time.130 Greek-educated Palestinians of the ninth century also excelled in
this pursuit.131
Poetry is named by the hagiographer of St. Michael the Synkellos as one of
the subjects taught in Jerusalem during the second half of the eighth century,
123 Nikolopoulos, Ta nea eurmata, 1258, and plate 61.
124 Quoted by Ibn Ab Uaybia, Uyn al-anb, 1:185.
125 Browning, Homer in Byzantium, 22.
126 The poetic production of Ignatios the Deacon reflects acquaintance with both Homer
and the ancient tragedians; see Lampaks, (Paratrseis), 12932.
127 Michael Synkellos, Per la restaurazione delle venerande e sacre immagini.
128 Hunger, Die hochsprachliche profane Literatur [Greek trans.], 2:598.
129 Theodore Stoudios, Refutation and Subversion of the Impious Poems.
130 Mavroudi, Learned Women, 73.
131 Lauxtermann, Byzantine Poetry, 1338; Mango, Greek Culture, 156.
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and there is no reason to doubt his veracity on this score, since it is supported
by the range of subjects with which Palestinian authors of the eighth and early
ninth centuries engaged.132
Among the topics taught by Greek and Syriac schools in late antiquity, philosophy is perhaps the most interesting to an Islamicist because of its obvious
importance for understanding the development of Muslim thought. Our information on the pursuit of philosophy in Greek presents a gaping hole between
the late sixth/early seventh and the early ninth century: no known philosophical compositions, names of authors, or manuscripts can be attached to this
period.133 By comparison, our information on the pursuit of philosophy in
Syriac schools of the sixth, seventh, and eighth centuries is enviably plentiful.134
Accordingly, modern scholars have emphasized that the reception of Greek
philosophy in the Muslim world echoed the curricula of Syriac schools during
the early Islamic period, which, in their turn, reflected the curricula of Greek
philosophical schools from the sixth century and earlier.135 For example, in late
antiquity Aristotles Categories began to serve as an introduction to the study
of philosophy.136 Al-Kind, a representative of the first generation of Muslim
philosophers working with Greek materials, was also aware of the Categories.137
This is not surprising, given that the text was abundantly available in Syriac,
in the early sixth-century translation of Sergius of Reshaina and numerous
subsequent re-translations and commentaries.138 Yet the Categories was also
studied in Byzantium during the eighth century, because patriarch Tarasios
(ca 730806) appears to have been familiar with it and the next generation of
scholars, such as patriarch Nikephoros (ca 758828) and Theodore the Studite
(759826), based their definition of an image on it.139 The continued study
132 The curriculum of St. Michaels education in Jerusalem is described as grammar, rhetoric, philosophy and, in addition, poetics and astronomy.
133 See Ierodiakonou and Bydn, Byzantine Philosophy.
134 The bibliography on Syriac schools is abundant; see references in Griffith, unayn b.
Isq, 1357.
135 A classic (though not error-free) monograph that enshrines this view is OLeary, How
Greek Science Passed to the Arabs. See also Gutas, Greek Thought, 1116, asserting that
secular Greek learning was neglected and died out in Byzantium, but that Byzantiums
isolation from the Islamic world shielded the Christian subjects of the caliphs from a
similar attitude and enabled them to transmit Hellenism to the Muslims.
136 Falcon, Commentators on Aristotle.
137 Adamson and Pormann, Aristotles Categories and the Soul.
138 Georr, Les categories dAristote dans leurs versions syro-arabes.
139 Anagnostopoulos, Object and Symbol, 12836. The useful article by Ierodiakonou, The
Byzantine Reception of Aristotles Categories, does not trace the larger influence of this
327
of the Categories is consistent with Lemerles assertion that the late antique
curricula of education were largely preserved in Byzantium during the iconoclastic period, an assertion that can be extended also to philosophical texts
that were more advanced reading. For example, eighth-century discussions on
what is a good or a bad image echo passages from both Plato and Aristotle on
who is a good judge of art and what may constitute good mimetic art.140 Key
are passages from Platos Laws and the Republic, both translated into Arabic
in the course of the ninth century.141 This suggests a Byzantine study of Plato
earlier than his earliest known Greek manuscripts or the presumed revival of
Platonism for the first time since antiquity by the eleventh-century scholars
Michael Psellos and John Italos.
In a modern context, where ancient philosophy is viewed as a constituent
element of modern Western civilization, scholars have found that it was of
some consequence to decide who saved the Greek philosophical texts after
the end of antiquity and therefore debated whether the agency in the selection
of Greek materials for translation into Arabic lay with the Christian translators, many of whom were speakers of Syriac, or, as Gutas has forcefully argued,
with the Muslim patrons.142 The stakes involved in answering this question are
lowered if we accept that, during the eighth and early ninth centuries, many
of the same philosophical texts were read both in Byzantium and the Muslim
world nobody saved them single-handedly.143 Yet, making such an argument coherently by using philosophy as an example would require engaging in
a complicated research project: recovering from the preserved record the philosophical views of iconoclast intellectuals who were so reviled after the victory of the icons that nothing of what they wrote survives. A well-known case
in point is the iconoclast patriarch of Constantinople, John the Grammarian,
who also served as Byzantine ambassador to the Arabs around 830.
It is safer to use the avenue of another discipline, grammar, which was
also taught in late antique and medieval schools in Greek, Syriac, and Arabic,
both in Byzantium and the Muslim world. Greek grammar seems intensively
work on Byzantine authors and only discusses Byzantine authors who wrote surviving
commentaries on them. The earliest such commentaries were written in the ninth century by Patriarch Photios and Arethas of Caesarea.
140 Anagnostopoulos, Object and Symbol, 36.
141 For an overview of the Arabic translations of the Republic, see Reisman, Platos Republic
in Arabic, 26471. The Laws were translated into Arabic by unayn b. Isq; see DAncona,
Greek Sources in Arabic and Islamic Philosophy.
142 Gutas, Greek Thought, 24.
143 See also the remarks on the Latin, Greek, and Arabic evidence for philosophical activity
in the ninth century in Mavroudi, Translations from Greek into Latin and Arabic.
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329
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of these authors (Apollonios the Younger and Arcadius) no longer survive, but
one can reasonably assume that all were accessible without much difficulty in
Edessa at the beginning of the ninth century otherwise Michael would not
have referred Lazarus to them. Michael clarifies that his own contribution will
be to treat these profound issues concisely (which explains the subsequent
popularity of Michaels work as well as Lazarus desire for yet another treatise
on Greek syntax, in spite of the fact that many must have been available).
The Greek texts chosen by Michael as examples to illustrate his grammatical points are also very telling, because they indicate not only what authors
he was personally familiar with, but also what he expected Lazarus to know
(and could therefore easily grasp and remember).152 By far the most examples
come from the Iliad, with the most numerous passages drawn from the first
two books. Considerably fewer examples are cited from the Odyssey. Though
Michael shows himself conversant with the two poems in their entirety and
not simply with a selection, it is clear that what he knows best, and perhaps
also what he expects Lazarus to know well, are the first two books from the
first of the two poems, in other words what the school instruction of Homer
would have begun with. The second most frequently cited body of texts, if
taken together, is ancient drama, which includes passages from two comedies
by Aristophanes and the two tragedians, Sophocles and Euripides, limited to
three plays each. This more or less corresponds to the Byzantine selection of
readings from ancient drama for educational purposes, and, like the Byzantine
selection, avoids Aeschylus, who is stylistically far more difficult to read and
comprehend.153 A close third, following right at the feet of ancient drama, are
passages from the New Testament and the Psalter (a combination of texts that
frequently appeared together in medieval manuscripts), with the addition of
two passages from Exodus (i.e., the very beginning of the Old Testament only).
Fourth is Gregory of Nazianzus, the most popular for his literary style among
the Greek fathers, and the only one among them who is cited (if we except one
citation of Synesius that does not appear on all the manuscripts).
152 The discussion that follows is based on the catalog of literary passages cited in the treatise
on syntax as collected by Donnet in Michael Synkellos, Le trait de la construction de la
phrase, 5214.
153 Michael quotes Ajax, Electra, and Oedipus Rex by Sophocles, which corresponds exactly to
the Byzantine triad; by far the most quotations are from Ajax, the play that, in the words
of Arethas of Caesarea (born ca 860), every school boy knew. See Easterling, Sophocles
and the Byzantine Student, 31934. Michael quotes Hecuba, Orestes, and Hippolytus
(Byzantine triad: Hecuba, Orestes, Phoenician Women). Michael quotes Aristophanes
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