Religious Origins of Nations?

Religious Origins of Nations?

The Christian Communities of the Middle East

edited by

Bas ter Haar Romeny

LEIDEN • BOSTON
2010
On the cover: Saint Bacchus as a horseman, Deir Mar Musa al-Habashi, Nebk, Syria (Layer 3,
ad 1208/09). Photograph: Mat Immerzeel, Paul van Moorsel Centre, Leiden, The Netherlands

This book has also been published as special issue 89.1-3 of the journal Church History and
Religious Culture (brill.nl/chrc).

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Religious origins of nations? : the Christian communities of the Middle East / edited by
Bas ter Haar Romeny.
p. cm.
Proceedings of a symposium held at the castle Oud Poelgeest near Leiden, Netherlands.
Includes bibliographical references and indexes.
ISBN 978-90-04-17375-0 (hardback : alk. paper)
1. Christians—Middle East—History. 2. Christian communities—Middle East. 3. Religious
minorities—Middle East—History. 4. Identification (Religion) 5. Middle East—Church
history. 6. Middle East—History. 7. Church history—Primitive and early church, ca. 30-600.
8. Church history—Middle Ages, 600-1500. I. Haar Romeny, R. B. ter. II. Title.

BR1110.R45 2010
281’.50956—dc22
2009041196

ISBN 978-90-04-17375-0

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IN MEMORIAM FUAT DENIZ
–
 Contents

religious origins of nations?

the christian communities of the middle east

Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix
Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiii

articles
Presentation of the results of the Leiden project
Bas ter Haar Romeny with Naures Atto, Jan J. van Ginkel, Mat
Immerzeel, and Bas Snelders, The Formation of a Communal
Identity among West Syrian Christians: Results and Conclusions of
the Leiden Project . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Reaction from a social scientist
Willem Hofstee, Family Matters: Community, Ethnicity, and
Multiculturalism. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Contribution from a specialist in Syriac exegesis
David G.K. Taylor, The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah and
the Formation of Sixth-Century Syrian Orthodox Identity . . . . . . . . . . 65
Contributions from specialists in Syriac historiography
Muriel Debié, Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation . . . . . . . . 93
Dorothea Weltecke, Michael the Syrian and Syriac Orthodox
Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
Contributions from art historians
Annemarie Weyl Carr, Iconography and Identity: Syrian Elements
in the Art of Crusader Cyprus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Glenn Peers, Art and Identity in an Amulet Roll from
Fourteenth-Century Trebizond . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153
viii Contents

Other sources for our knowledge of the identity formation of the Syrian
Orthodox
Herman Teule, Reflections on Identity. The Suryoye of the Twelfth
and Thirteenth Centuries: Bar Salibi, Bar Shakko, and Barhebraeus . 179
Uriel Simonsohn, Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’: Christian
Recourse to Non-Ecclesiastical Judicial Systems under Early Islam . . 191
Cases that may be comparable
Gerrit J. Reinink, Tradition and the Formation of the ‘Nestorian’
Identity in Sixth- to Seventh-Century Iraq . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
Theo Maarten van Lint, The Formation of Armenian Identity in the
First Millenium . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251
Jacques van der Vliet, The Copts: ‘Modern Sons of the Pharaohs’? . . 279
Steven Kaplan, Dominance and Diversity: Kingship, Ethnicity, and
Christianity in Orthodox Ethiopia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 291
Richard Price, The Development of a Chalcedonian Identity in
Byzantium (–) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 307

Bas ter Haar Romeny, Epilogue: Religious Origins of Nations? . . . . . . 327

General Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343

Index of Modern Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 357

Abbreviations
For abbreviations, see Averil Cameron et al. (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient
History – (Cambridge, –).
 Contributors

Naures Atto was a doctoral student in the Leiden pionier Project, and is now
a postdoctoral researcher in its sequel, the Leiden euryi Project ‘Identity and
Migration’. She is a social scientist.
Address: Leiden Institute for Religious Studies, P.O. Box ,  RA Lei-
den, The Netherlands; n.atto@religion.leidenuniv.nl.

Annemarie Weyl Carr is Professor Emerita of Art History at Southern Meth-

odist University.
Address:  Apple Road, Newark, DE , USA; acarr@smu.edu.

Muriel Debié is Chercheur at the CNRS, Institut de recherche et d’histoire

des textes, Paris.
Address: IRHT-CNRS Section grecque, , rue du Cardinal-Lemoine, 
Paris, France; muriel.debie@irht.cnrs.fr.

Jan J. van Ginkel was a postdoctoral researcher in the Leiden pionier Project,
specializing in historiography.
Address: School of Middle Eastern Studies, P.O. Box ,  RA Leiden,
The Netherlands; j.j.van.ginkel@hum.leidenuniv.nl.

Willem Hofstee is Assistant Professor, and teaches Anthropology of Religion

and Comparative Religion at the Leiden Institute for Religious Studies.
Address: Leiden Institute for Religious Studies, P.O. Box ,  RA Lei-
den, The Netherlands; w.hofstee@religion.leidenuniv.nl.

Mat Immerzeel is Director of the Paul van Moorsel Centre for Christian Art
and Culture in the Middle East. As a postdoctoral researcher he was attached
to the Leiden pionier Project, and has now joined its sequel, the Leiden euryi
Project ‘Identity and Migration’.
Address: School of Middle Eastern Studies, P.O. Box ,  RA Leiden,
The Netherlands; m.immerzeel@hum.leidenuniv.nl.
x Contributors

Steven Kaplan is a Professor in African Studies and Comparative Religion at

the Hebrew University of Jerusalem.
Address: Department of Comparative Religion, Faculty of Humanities, The
Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Mt. Scopus, Jerusalem , Israel; msstkapl
@mscc.huji.ac.il.

Theo Maarten van Lint is Calouste Gulbenkian Professor or Armenian

Studies at the University of Oxford.
Address: Oriental Institute, University of Oxford; Pusey Lane, Oxford OX
LE, UK; theo.vanlint@orinst.ox.ac.uk.

Glenn Peers is Associate Professor of Art History at the University of Texas

at Austin.
Address: Department of Art and Art History, College of Fine Arts, University
of Texas at Austin,  University Station D , Austin, TX -,
USA; gpeers@mail.utexas.edu.

Richard Price is Senior Lecturer in the History of Christianity at Heythrop

College, University of London.
Address: Heythrop College, Kensington Square, London, W HQ, Great
Britain; r.price@heythrop.ac.uk.

Gerrit Reinink is Associate Professor Emeritus of Aramaic and Syriac of

the Department of Languages and Cultures of the Middle East at Groningen
University, the Netherlands.
Address: De Hoek ,  PD Gasteren, The Netherlands; g.j.reinink@hetnet
.nl.

Bas ter Haar Romeny is Professor of Old Testament and Eastern Christian
Traditions at Leiden University. He directed the Leiden pionier Project.
Address: Leiden Institute for Religious Studies, P.O. Box ,  RA Lei-
den, The Netherlands; romeny@religion.leidenuniv.nl.

Uriel Simonsohn has recently defended his doctoral dissertation at Princeton

and is now a postdoctoral researcher in the Leiden euryi Project ‘Identity and
Migration’, a sequel to the pionier Project.
Address: Leiden Institute for Religious Studies, P.O. Box ,  RA Lei-
den, The Netherlands; u.i.simonsohn@religion.leidenuniv.nl.
 Contributors xi

Bas Snelders was a doctoral student in the Leiden pionier Project. He is an

art historian.
Address: School of Middle Eastern Studies, P.O. Box ,  RA Leiden,
The Netherlands; b.snelders@hum.leidenuniv.nl.

David G.K. Taylor is University Lecturer in Aramaic and Syriac at the Ori-
ental Institute, University of Oxford.
Address: The Oriental Institute, Pusey Lane, Oxford OX LE, UK; david
.taylor@orinst.ox.ac.uk.

Herman G.B. Teule is Professor of Eastern Christianity at the universities of

Nijmegen and Louvain and Head of the Institute for Eastern Christian Studies.
Address: Radboud University Nijmegen, Erasmusplein ,  HT Nijmegen,
The Netherlands; H.Teule@ivoc.ru.nl.

Jacques van der Vliet is Senior Lecturer of Coptology at Leiden University

and Extraordinary Professor of Egyptology and Coptology at the Radboud
University Nijmegen, the Netherlands.
Address: School of Middle Eastern Studies / Egyptology, P.O. Box , 
RA Leiden, The Netherlands; j.van.der.vliet@hum.leidenuniv.nl.

Dorothea Weltecke is Professor for the History of Religions and Religious

Cultures at the University of Constance.
Address: Geisteswissenschaftliche Sektion, FB Geschichte und Soziologie, Uni-
versität Konstanz, Fach ,  Konstanz, Germany; Dorothea.Weltecke
@uni-konstanz.de.
 Preface

Within academic circles the concept of nation has evolved within the last thirty
years. Ernest Gellner and Benedict Anderson proposed that it is a product of
modern times, brought about by industrialization and the intricate complexity
of modern-day society.1 Gellner even claims that nationalism did not arise
from existing nations but in fact brought about the formation of nations:
nationalism precedes the nation.
However, sociologists and historians have been quick to point out that even
before the modern era processes of community building were taking place
which could be compared to those of nations. Communities existed that were
linked by shared myths of origin, memories of past events, and also common
values and symbols. These ethnic communities could sustain themselves for
many centuries and some even form the basis of modern nations. Scholars such
as John Armstrong and Anthony Smith follow Benedict Anderson in denying
that ethnicity has a biological foundation. Instead, they argue, it resides in
our perception and ideas: there are only imagined communities. However,
Armstrong and Smith do stress that new nations do not emerge from a void:
they are rather transformations of earlier ethnic communities.2
The Christian communities of the Armenians, Copts, Ethiopians, East Syri-
ans, and Syriac Orthodox3 are important witnesses to the existence of close-knit

1)
Ernest Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (nd ed.; Malden, MA, ); Benedict Ander-
son, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (revised ed.;
London, ).
2)
John A. Armstrong, Nations before Nationalism (Chapel Hill, ); Anthony D. Smith,
The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Oxford, ; repr. ), as well as his Chosen Peoples: Sacred
Sources of National Identity (Oxford, ); The Antiquity of Nations (Cambridge, );
and The Cultural Foundations of Nations: Hierarchy, Covenant, and Republic (Malden, MA,
).
3)
Throughout this volume, the spelling ‘Syriac Orthodox’ is used (rather than Syrian
Orthodox), as this is the preference of the community itself. The use of the term should
not be taken to imply that all Syriac Orthodox speak Syriac or that the Syriac language
is the single defining element of their identity, which in fact has multilingual roots. The
use of ‘Syriac’ as a translation of the Syriac term Suryōyō is intended to differentiate from
‘Syrian’, which is nowadays often taken to refer to the Syrian Arabic Republic. Because of
xiv Preface

ethnic communities in Late Antiquity and the Islamic era. All these communi-
ties have endured to the present day. However, there is much debate as to how
these groups came into existence and defined themselves. The role of religion is
central in this debate. What are important are the different choices which came
about as a result of the Christological discussions in the fifth century. In these
the Council of Chalcedon played a pivotal role. On the other hand, historians
question the idea that a theological dispute could lead to the emergence of eth-
nic communities. They believe that ancient ethnic conflicts resurfaced within
the theological conflict.
One of the most influential publications in this debate is A.H.M. Jones’s
 article ‘Were Ancient Heresies National or Social Movements in Dis-
guise?’4 His answer is a clear ‘no’. He demonstrates that the opposing factions
cannot be equated with ethnic communities and ethnic conflicts. Nevertheless
this idea remains appealing. Thus Smith acknowledges the importance of reli-
gion in processes of identity formation, but does speak about the development
of new ethnic communities in the Middle East of the first millennium as a
return to the old ethnic symbols and connections.5 Monotheism, he argues,
had broken with the rules of the ancient world where religion and ethnicity
went hand in hand, but the old order was restored by the development of new
sects. These communities found themselves at the periphery, both physically
and with regard to their language.
However this theory of ethnic revival is problematic, in any case when
applied to the Syriac Orthodox community. Originally many of those who
opposed the Council of Chalcedon spoke Greek, just as those who were in
favour, and some of the adherents of Chalcedon spoke Syriac. They all shared
the same territory, which was part of the Byzantine Empire and which was
well connected with its centre through trade routes. Here Jones’s denial of the
ethnic origins of this community would still seem to be relevant. However,
some fifty years after his article many new sources have become available and
the social sciences have also developed their concepts and terminology. Because
of the importance of this community, being one of the few that can be followed

the limited sense of the word Syriac, which until now was used only as a reference to the
language, two authors, David Taylor and Muriel Debié, have insisted on the use of the term
Syrian Orthodox in their contributions, which discuss the early history of the community.
4)
A.H.M. Jones, ‘Were Ancient Heresies National or Social Movements in Disguise?’, JThS
ns  (), pp. –.
5)
Smith, Ethnic Origins, pp. –, .
 Preface xv

for many centuries, from its very beginnings until today, it appeared timely
to reinvestigate the question that formed the title of his article, which could
be rephrased as: ‘Can a religious choice indeed be the starting point for an
ethnic community and eventually even a nation, or should we assume that
the Christian communities of the Middle East have always been of an ethnic
nature?’
Leiden University, with the aid of a pionier grant from the Netherlands
Organization for Scientific Research (nwo), has taken up the challenge and
conducted a major interdisciplinary research project into the identity forma-
tion of the Syriac Orthodox community. Their historiography, exegesis, and
material culture have been used as sources. The more precise terminology of
the social sciences is applied to give an accurate description of the origins,
developments, and preservation of various characteristics of ethnicity of this
group, starting in the fourth century, when no distinct group was visible, up to
the thirteenth century, when the group had most of the features of an ethnic
community. As an extension to the project the transformation of this identity
in the diaspora of today has also been considered. The Syriac Orthodox Chris-
tian refugees in the Netherlands, Sweden, and Germany intensely debate their
identity and some even have nationalist aspirations.

At a symposium held at the castle ‘Oud Poelgeest’ near Leiden on – De-
cember , the Leiden group presented its results and discussed them with a
group of experts. The anthropologist Willem Hofstee was asked to comment on
the theoretical framework of the project. As experts in the field of Syriac Ortho-
dox exegesis and historiography, David Taylor, Muriel Debié, and Dorothea
Weltecke were invited to share their views on our results. Questions of iden-
tity and Eastern Christian material culture were dealt with by Annemarie Weyl
Carr and Glenn Peers. Other sources for our knowledge of the identity forma-
tion of the Syriac Orthodox were discussed by Herman Teule and Uriel Simon-
sohn. Finally, for comparison, we also invited Gerrit Reinink, Theo van Lint,
Jacques van der Vliet, Steven Kaplan, and Richard Price as scholars who have
done similar work on the East Syrians and the Armenian, Coptic, Ethiopian,
and Byzantine Orthodox respectively.
This volume publishes the results of the Leiden team in the form of an essay
together with the contributions presented at the Oud Poelgeest symposium.
It is our intention that this book will advance the long-running debate on
the origins of Christian communities in the Middle East, especially in Late
Antiquity and the Islamic era. The cases of the Christian communities in the
Middle East also contribute to the theoretical discussion on identity, identity
xvi Preface

formation, and ethnicity as a whole, as most of them are clear examples of

ethnic communities that can be traced to their earliest beginnings. They can
help us understand the origins of ethnies, and also determine the precise role
of religion in their development. Ethnic identity and nationalist sentiments
have the power to mobilize large groups of people. A better understanding of
the identity formation and maintenance of these Christian minorities will, it
is hoped, advance our knowledge of the processes at work in the Middle East
and in today’s diaspora.

Now that this volume, which concludes the Leiden pionier project, appears
in print, I would like to express my thanks to my collaborators in this project,
Naures Atto, Jan van Ginkel, Mat Immerzeel, and Bas Snelders. It has been
a pleasure and honour to work with them, and I am glad that our coopera-
tion continues. The five of us are indebted to the Netherlands Organization
for Scientific Research (nwo), which funded our research, and to the staff of
its Humanities Division, which was always ready to help and which arranged
so many practical matters for us. I am also most grateful to the contributors
to this volume, who responded with enthusiasm to my invitation to take part
in the Oud Poelgeest symposium and to submit their papers for publication.
Thanks are due to Dianne van de Zande, who assisted me with the editorial
work and the indexing. The typesetting was done efficiently and with great
skill by Johannes Rustenburg from TAT typesetters in Utrecht. I also owe a
special debt of gratitude to Professor Wim Janse for accepting this volume as
a double issue of his journal Church History and Religious Culture. Finally, I
am pleased to thank a number of organizations for their generous financial
support towards the organization of the Oud Poelgeest symposium and the
editing of this volume: the Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research,
the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences (knaw), Leiden Uni-
versity Fund (luf)/Van Walsem Fund, and the Leiden Institute for Religious
Studies.

The Oud Poelgeest symposium and this volume are dedicated to the memory
of Dr Fuat Deniz (–). Fuat was born in the village of Kerburan in the
Tur #Abdin, as the family’s eldest son. When he was nine years old, his family
emigrated to Sweden. As a bright young man, he studied at university, where
sociology became his main subject. In recent years he moved to other subjects
as well, but his first books discuss the situation of the Assyrians/Suryoye in Swe-
den. I am referring to his A Life between Two Worlds and his  dissertation
The Odyssey of a Minority. Maintenance and Transformation of Ethnic Identity
 Preface xvii

in Response to Processes of Modernization: the Assyrian Case,6 written in Swedish

with an English summary. Fuat was the first to publish an in-depth study of
the migration of his people and their experience as a minority in Sweden. His
dissertation will remain a standard work. He has set an example to all of us
of how this kind of research should be done. In , we had invited Fuat
to lecture for us, and since then we had maintained contact and established
cooperation between our project and his research.
The members of the pionier research project and all who were present at
the symposium were shocked and saddened by the news of Fuat’s murder, just
a few days before we were to convene. We had very much looked forward to
his contribution to the symposium, and find it hard to understand that such a
wonderful and promising colleague and friend has met his end in such a way.
Our thoughts and prayers go to his family, relatives, and friends.

Bas ter Haar Romeny

6)
Fuat Deniz and Antonios Perdikaris, Ett liv mellan två världar: en studie om hur assyriska
ungdomar som andra generationens invandrare i Sverige upplever och hanterar sin livssitua-
tion (Örebro, ); Fuat Deniz, En minoritets odyssey. Upprätthållande och transformation
av etnisk identitet i förhållande till moderniseringsprocesser: det assyriska exemplet (Uppsala,
).
 The Formation of a Communal
Identity among West Syrian Christians:
Results and Conclusions of the Leiden Project

Bas ter Haar Romeny with Naures Atto,

Jan J. van Ginkel, Mat Immerzeel, and Bas Snelders

Abstract
Among those who opposed the Council of Chalcedon in , the West Syrian (or Syriac
Orthodox) Christians were probably least likely to form a national or ethnic community. Yet
a group emerged with its own distinctive literature and art, its own network, and historical
consciousness. In an intricate process of adoption and rejection, the West Syrians selected
elements from the cultures to which they were heirs, and from those with which they came
into contact, thus defining a position of their own. In order to study this phenomenon,
scholars from various disciplines, and affiliated to two different faculties, were brought
together in a programme financed by the Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research
nwo. This essay introduces their research project and methodology, and presents their results
and conclusions.

Keywords
Syriac Orthodox Christianity; identity, formation and maintenance of ~; religion and iden-
tity; ethnicity; art and identity; biblical interpretation; historiography; Christian-Muslim
relations; diaspora.

. Introduction
For the Western Church, the Council of Chalcedon of  ce marked the
conclusion of the internal struggles of the fourth and fifth centuries, as was
intended by its conveners. In the East, however, the debate continued. The
subject was the relation of the human and the divine in Christ: how did his
divinity relate to his incarnation as a human being? Those who advocated
a more or less radical duality, and stressed the existence of two natures in
Christ—the Dyophysite position—had seen their ideas condemned already in
. Chalcedon moved somewhat in their direction, but did not reverse this
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

decision. They found support in the independent ecclesiastical hierarchy that

had developed in the Persian Sassanid Empire, the Church of the East (formerly
often referred to as ‘Nestorian’). Its language of communication and liturgy
was Syriac, a late form of Aramaic. Within the Eastern Roman Empire, the
main struggle was between the advocates of the Miaphysite (or, less precisely:
Monophysite) teaching, which stressed the oneness of Christ’s nature, and the
adherents of Chalcedon, who took a middle position.
The Chalcedonian party eventually gained the upper hand, but Miaphysit-
ism did become the standard for three ‘national’ churches: the Armenian, the
Coptic, and the Ethiopian Church. In contrast to the East Syrians, many
Syriac-speaking Christians on the western side of the Roman-Persian border
also supported the Miaphysite party. Periodically, they suffered persecution at
the hands of the Byzantine emperors. In the middle of the sixth century they
developed their own ecclesiastical hierarchy: this laid the first foundations of
what was to become the West Syrian or Syriac Orthodox Church (formerly
often called ‘Jacobite’).1 Monasteries replaced the city schools as the institutions
where knowledge, and culture in general, was transmitted.
The advent of Islam after  relieved the West Syrians from the pressure
of the Chalcedonian authorities. The seventh century was therefore a period in

1)
A recent comprehensive and authoritative account of these developments is Lucas Van
Rompay’s ‘Society and Community in the Christian East’, in Michael Maas (ed.), The
Cambridge Companion to the Age of Justinian (New York, ), pp. –. The classic
book on the subject is William H.C. Frend’s The Rise of the Monophysite Movement: Chapters
in the History of the Church in the Fifth and Sixth Centuries (Cambridge, ). Interesting
but not entirely convincing is Volker L. Menze, Justinian and the Making of the Syrian
Orthodox Church (Oxford Early Christian Studies; Oxford, ). He discusses a relatively
limited period of time, the period –, and claims that the Syriac Orthodox Church
already came into existence within this period, following the ‘decisive moment’ of the
enforcement of Pope Hormisdas’ libellus in . I would rather advocate a longue durée
perspective. We do see the emergence of something like what sociologists would call an
association (cf. Frend’s ‘movement’), but one could hardly call this a separate church. The
emergence of a separate Syriac Orthodox Church was a gradual process, which was not
brought about by the single event of . On the contrary, in this period the feeling that
things might one day take turn for the better was still present among the Miaphysites,
who hoped that the emperor would mend his ways and accept their position. Even Jacob
Baradaeus’ mid-sixth-century activity did not entail the systematic construction of a new
hierarchy; it was rather an emergency measure (Van Rompay, ‘Society and Community’,
p. ). In contrast to Menze, Justinian, pp. –, I would also say that both anti-
Chalcedonians and Chalcedonians can claim continuity; in his view the anti-Chalcedonians
split from the Church of the Empire.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

which West Syrian culture could develop freely, and in which contacts between
East and West Syrians became easier, as both groups were brought under Arab
rule. However, Arab rule also started a process of Arabization and Islamization.
Eventually this weakened the position of the Syriac Orthodox, and forced them
to rethink their position and identity. They had to define and delineate the
canon of their cultural heritage, their uniqueness, and orthodoxy. Of course,
the Syriac Orthodox did not consider their beliefs as a new development,
resulting from the schism of . They stressed continuity and originality.
Consequently, thinking and writing about ‘being Syriac Orthodox’ reached
back beyond  to the roots of Christian culture.
The twelfth and thirteenth centuries saw the Seljuks conquering the Arab
Abbasid Empire, followed by the Mongols. Cultural contacts, rather than the
pressure of persecution, explain the so-called ‘Syriac Renaissance’: intellectually
a flourishing period, with a renewed effort to summarize and transmit Syriac
Orthodox culture. Some of the Syrian authors most quoted today, Michael the
Syrian and Barhebraeus, as well as some of the most notable art, date back
to this era.2 The end of the thirteenth century was the turning point. The
Mamluks defeated the last Crusaders, and the Mongol Il Khan was converted
to Islam in . Christianity seemed to have been defeated in the whole
Middle East. Many Christians followed the example of the Il Khan. The
‘golden era’ of Syrian culture came to an end. In the subsequent periods of
Mongol persecution, it was all but annihilated. Its revival had to wait until
the nineteenth century. For their main concepts and ideas, however, the Syriac
Orthodox still refer to their golden era before .

. The Problem
Historians have often stated that the schisms of the fifth century were brought
about by national or ethnic rather than purely religious movements. The classic
statement of this idea is Sir Ernest Woodward’s  study Christianity and
Nationalism in the Later Roman Empire.3 At first sight, it seems improbable
that the detailed theological discussions on Christology could explain the
development of separate communities. It is tempting to think of the resurgence

2)
On this period, see now the essays in Herman Teule, Bas ter Haar Romeny, and Jan van
Ginkel (eds.), The Syriac Renaissance: A Period of Interreligious and Intercultural Dialogue
(Eastern Christian Studies; Leuven, forthcoming in ).
3)
Ernest Llewellyn Woodward, Christianity and Nationalism in the Later Roman Empire
(London, ).
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

of older, non-religious, ethnic features. However, this idea was refuted for the
Syriac Orthodox, the Donatists, and even for the Copts, by A.H.M. Jones
in his  article ‘Were Ancient Heresies National or Social Movements in
Disguise?’4 His answer is a clear no. He demonstrates that the factions cannot
be equated with ethnic communities, and their opposition not with ethnic
conflict. Yet the idea is so attractive, that even a modern sociologist such as
Anthony D. Smith, who recognizes the importance of religion, is still talking
of a reassertion of ethnic symbols and ties under new forms and contents.
Monotheism broke the rule of the Old World that a religious and an ethnic
community always coincide, but the rise of various sects brought back the old
situation in a new form, aided by the ‘remoteness’ of these communities and
the use of a different ‘peripheral’ language, he seems to suggest.5
It appeared to us that there was room to study this problem again, the more
so since the social sciences have given us new tools and more precise definitions
of such core terms as ethnicity, nation, and identity. Moreover, we still lacked
a full description of the process of identity construction among the Syriac
Orthodox. How did they define themselves and how did they differentiate their
own culture from that of others? How did they connect with the past before
? What exactly was the role of religion in this? Did additional factors play
a role, such as other elements of culture, or feelings of enmity towards the
Byzantines? It is important to note that the linguistic and cultural pattern in
the area was very complex.6 Syrian culture was heir to at least three cultures:
Aramaic or Mesopotamian, Graeco-Roman, and Jewish culture,7 whereas an
Arabic element may also have played a role. This raised the question of how
the Syriac Orthodox wove a new culture of their own out of these threads,
and how they related to other Miaphysites, to the East Syrian Dyophysites,
the Chalcedonians, and later also to Islam, and the Church of Rome.

4)
A.H.M. Jones, ‘Were Ancient Heresies National or Social Movements in Disguise?’, JThS
ns  (), pp. –.
5)
Anthony D. Smith, The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Oxford, ; repr. ), pp. –,
.
6)
See Averil Cameron, The Mediterranean World in Late Antiquity ad – (London–
New York, ), pp. –.
7)
Sebastian P. Brock, ‘Syriac Culture, –’, in Averil Cameron and Peter Garnsey
(eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History . The Late Empire, a.d. – (Cambridge, ),
pp. –, here pp. –.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

. Aim of the Programme

Our research programme was designed to investigate the evidence for the con-
struction of a communal identity for the Syriac Orthodox as it is reflected in
the literary and art-historical traditions of the period –. We consid-
ered three areas especially fruitful for this investigation: biblical interpretation,
historiography, and art (see paragraph ). We approached each of these areas
working back from the later period (–) to earlier times. In iconog-
raphy, this later period is simply the era from which most material has been
preserved. In biblical interpretation and historiography, this period yielded a
number of collective works that attained classical status and are still read today.
These works use earlier sources, from both before and after the split between
East and West Syrians. The selection and presentation of material is highly sig-
nificant. It shows which developments in the earlier period (–) were
eventually decisive, especially in self-identification and differentiation from
others. By the later period, biblical interpretation, historiography, and art have
assumed features characteristic of the Syriac Orthodox, which are recognizable
to outsiders as well. As an extension to the project, the transformation of this
identity in diaspora situations today was also considered. The Syrian Chris-
tian refugees in the Netherlands, Sweden, and Germany intensely debate their
identity, and many have nationalist aspirations.
In order to study the three areas mentioned above, the programme com-
bined five different disciplines: religious studies, history, art history, philology,
and social anthropology. In the following paragraphs I first discuss the theo-
retical background to the issue and the choices we made in our research pro-
gramme. Next I go into the three groups of sources that we selected and discuss
the results for each of these. Finally, I present a synthetic survey of the process of
formation, maintenance, and renewal of identity among the Syriac Orthodox,
which I relate to our initial hypothesis.

. Theoretical Framework
The notions of communal and ethnic identity play a significant role in social
anthropology and sociology. Their importance for historical studies has also
been recognized. Over the past decade, communal identities in the late
antique Graeco-Roman world have already received much attention.8 Yet in

8)
See the introduction in Stephen Mitchell and Geoffrey Greatrex, Ethnicity and Culture
in Late Antiquity (London–Swansea, ).
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

the area of Eastern Christianity much remains to be done. With one or two
exceptions,9 specialists in this specific field have not tackled these issues in a
systematic fashion, though as we have seen, the area has already attracted the
interest of sociologists and social anthropologists writing from a more theo-
retical perspective.10 We believe that the categories developed in social anthro-
pology can indeed help to describe the complex cultural patterns of the Near
East in the late antique and Islamic periods. At this moment, however, the
debate on nationalism, ethnicity, and identity formation is still in progress. It
is therefore important to state our position in this debate more clearly.

.. The Nation and its Origins

The concept of ‘nation’ has evolved in academic circles within the last thirty
years. Ernest Gellner and Benedict Anderson proposed that it is a product
of modern times,11 brought about by industrialization and the intricate com-
plexity of modern-day society. Gellner even claims that nationalism did not
arise from existing nations but in fact brought about the formation of nations:
nationalism precedes the nation. However, sociologists and historians have
been quick to point out that even before the modern era, processes of commu-
nity building were taking place which could be compared to those of nations.
Communities existed that were linked by shared myths of origin, memories of
past events, as well as common values and symbols. These ethnic communities
could sustain themselves for many centuries and some even form the basis of
some of our modern nations. Scholars such as Armstrong and Smith conclude
that new nations do not emerge from a void but are transformations of ear-
lier ethnic communities. Smith speaks of the ‘ethnic origins of nations’. The
Christian communities of the Armenians, Copts, Ethiopians, and Syrians are
important in that they are witnesses to the existence of close-knit ethnic com-
munities in Late Antiquity and the Islamic era. The fact that they have endured
to the present day is also remarkable.

9)
See Ahmad M.H. Shboul and Alan G. Walmsley, ‘Identity and Self-Image in Syria-
Palestine in the Transition from Byzantine to Early Islamic Rule’, Mediterranean Archaeology
 (), pp. –.
10)
John A. Armstrong, Nations before Nationalism (Chapel Hill, ); Smith, Ethnic
Origins.
11)
Ernest Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Oxford, ); Benedict Anderson, Imagined
Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (revised ed.; London,
).
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

.. Ethnicity and Identity

This brings us to the debate on ethnicity and identity, and the explanation
of continuity and change in them. One group of scholars stresses the impor-
tance of what they call ‘primordial attachments’. These are attachments that are
thought to stem from the ‘givens’ or assumed ‘givens’ of social existence: kin
connection, religion, language, and social practices. They would seem to flow
from a natural or spiritual affinity rather than from social interaction.12 This
point of view is still widely held and defended, as is clear from the popularity
of Huntington’s The Clash of Civilizations.13 The latter author defends the idea
that ethnic conflicts such as that in the Balkans are fought along the ‘fault lines’
of the age-old civilizations of the Orthodox, Islam, and the West, the identities
of which are determined to a large extent by their religion. This ‘primordial-
ist’ or ‘essentialist’ approach has been criticized by those who defend positions
sometimes denoted as ‘instrumentalist’ or ‘constructivist’. Central to construc-
tivist approaches is the conviction that communal and ethnic identities are not
static entities, but social constructs. Attachments are not given, but defined in
social interaction. Language and culture are not overpowering, coercively bind-
ing agents in and of themselves, as the primordialists would have it. They are
the product of actions and identifications. Communal identities thus reside in
our perception and ideas, and ethnic communities are imagined communities,
as Benedict Anderson stressed.14
To return to the example of the conflict in the Balkans, Huntington was
criticized for not recognizing that fifty years of official secularism and economic
modernization had eroded the hold of organized religion. All sides in the
conflict used religious symbols, but these symbols were often empty, linked
to a shallow and unauthentic religious conviction.15 Religion had become a
minor difference among Yugoslavians, but it had been defined as a major one
by those leaders who wanted to exploit the fear connected with the collapse of

12)
C. Geertz, ‘The Integrative Revolution: Primordial Sentiments and Civil Politics in the
New States’, in Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays (London, ;
repr. ), pp. –.
13)
Samuel P. Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New
York, ).
14)
Anderson, Imagined Communities.
15)
Among others, Michael Ignatieff, The Warrior’s Honor: Ethnic War and the Modern
Conscience (London, ), pp. –.
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

the overarching state. In other words, Huntington is describing the end result
of a process rather than the process itself.
The problem with the static, primordialist approach to ethnicity is that
it lacks explanatory power, especially where ethnic change is at stake, as in
the case of migrations, major political developments, or the appearance of
new communities, such as occurs with the Syriac Orthodox. It is not sur-
prising, therefore, that the classic statement against the primordialist posi-
tion, Barth’s Ethnic Groups and Boundaries,16 was indeed written with peo-
ple in mind who change their ethnic identity.17 Yet Barth’s approach is also
not without its problems. It does not account sufficiently for ethnic dura-
bility and the persistence of elements of older social structure and culture.
In defining ethnic groups as units of ascription and self-ascription, as Barth
does, and in focusing on the boundary that defines the group, instead of
on ‘the cultural stuff that it encloses’, it may seem that ‘anything goes’, as
though there were no relation to shared cultural characteristics initially pos-
sessed by the members of a group. Theoretically it is perhaps possible to invent
a completely new identity, but in practice this is rather exceptional, to say
the least. Usually there is at least some continuity with the past.18 Myths,
memories, and symbols have a very important function in unifying a group,
and ensuring its continuity, and their content now receives more attention
from social scientists and historians following the lead of Armstrong19 and
Smith.20
It is important to recognize that at least some of the confusion is due to
the fact that a discourse that is intended to strengthen the sense of identity
usually claims the distinctive features to be primordial.21 The rhetoric that ‘it
has always been so’ implies ‘it should always remain so’, thus connecting the

16)
F. Barth, Ethnic Groups and Boundaries (Boston, ).
17)
Cf. Fredrik Barth, ‘Enduring and Emerging Issues in the Analysis of Ethnicity’, in Hans
Vermeulen and Cora Govers (eds.), The Anthropology of Etnicity: Beyond ‘Ethnic Groups and
Boundaries’ (Amsterdam, ), p. .
18)
Thomas Hylland Eriksen, Ethnicity & Nationalism. Anthropological Perspectives (London,
), pp. –.
19)
Armstrong, Nations before Nationalism.
20)
Smith, Ethnic Origins, as well as, among others, his Chosen Peoples: Sacred Sources of
National Identity (Oxford, ); The Antiquity of Nations (Cambridge, ); and The
Cultural Foundations of Nations: Hierarchy, Covenant, and Republic (Malden, MA, ).
21)
Gerd Baumann, The Multicultural Riddle: Rethinking National, Ethnic, and Religious
Identities (New York–London, ), pp. –.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

symbols of the community with a sense of security and belonging—which is

the main commodity offered by any community. Culture needs to be reified
in order to be communicated in a convincing way. Our own point of view is
that, though this process of reification cannot be termed ‘wrong’ in any sense,
it is the task of the scholar to look further than the end result. We follow the
critics of the primordialist approach, and accordingly will pay close attention
to the social process of identity formation. But in so doing, we take account of
the modifications of Smith and Armstrong, who pointed to the importance of
the content of myths, memories, and symbols, especially when explaining the
complex interaction of continuity and change.
In other words: some elements of an identity can be very old, others can
be newer. It is important to see which threads continue as they are, which are
broken off, and which are dyed a different colour. It is within a narrative that
these symbols are given their significance: a discourse which serves to define
the differences between an individual and the other members of the group as
minor, and the differences between this individual and outsiders as major. This
narrative is the context within which and by which the various elements of
religion and culture are interpreted and preserved, or discarded.
For a number of reasons, we think that the case of the Syriac Orthodox
is important to the debate. In the first place, we have a clear case of a new
community that gradually formed itself. In the second place, we can follow
this group over a long period of time. Our data extend from its very begin-
nings, in which a choice different from the mainstream in a religious debate
was the only distinguishing feature, until it became a full-fledged ethnic com-
munity. In addition to the formation of identity, we should therefore speak
of the maintenance and renewal of identity: the Syriac Orthodox were suc-
cessful in adapting their identity to new situations. The process of mainte-
nance and renewal, through sifting, selecting, and summarizing earlier mate-
rial while adding new elements and giving new meanings, is the key fac-
tor in explaining the durability of an identity, and one that deserves much
more attention. In the case of the Syriac Orthodox, historiography, biblical
interpretation, and art were very important tools in this process (see Section
).

.. Ethnogenesis Theory

Initially without any connection with the social scientific debate, historians
studied a number of other cases of ethnic groups that came into existence at
the end of the Western Roman Empire: the Germanic tribes. Their results tally
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

well with the approach of Smith and Armstrong. Thus Reinhard Wenskus22
recognized that the Germanic tribes that invaded the Roman Empire were not
stable communities based on common descent, but were continually subdi-
viding and merging, and changing their composition. Still, Wenskus and his
followers maintained that there was some level of continuity that needed to
be explained. Thus the Huns consisted of several groups, but they did identify
with each other and had a myth of common origin. Wenskus suggested that
a Traditionskern, a core group of families, guarded and handed on mythical
traditions regarding their origin. Circumstances permitting, others associated
with this core group, and thus within a relatively short time a large ethnic group
could come into existence, which identified itself on the basis of the myths and
memories of the ‘kernel of tradition’.
Scholars such as Andrew Gillett23 and Walter Goffart24 have criticized the
approach of Wenskus and his Vienna school. So far, their criticism has not
assumed a systematic character, and it is partly based on anecdotic evidence.
Wenskus’s followers, in particular Walter Pohl25 and Peter Geary,26 have already
dealt with many of the issues raised by Gillett and Goffart. Now they do
allow the Romans a central role in the formation of the Germanic peoples, for
instance, and they have given up the etymologizing tendencies of Wenskus.
One of the major points remaining is that Goffart does not admit that myths
and memories could last for more than three generations in oral tradition.
Therefore he questions the reliability of the memories of these Germanic tribes,
which were, for that matter, only written down at a later stage by Roman

22)
Reinhard Wenskus, Stammesbildung und Verfassung: Das Werden der frühmittelalterliche
Gentes (Cologne, ).
23)
Andrew Gillett (ed.), On Barbarian Identity: Critical Approaches to Ethnicity in the Early
Middle Ages (Turnhout, ); Andrew Gillett, ‘Ethnogenesis: A Contested Model of Early
Medieval Europe’, History Compass . (), pp. –.
24)
Walter Goffart, ‘Did the Distant Past Impinge on the Invasion-Age Germans?’, in
Gillett, On Barbarian Identity, pp. –.
25)
Walter Pohl, ‘Tradition, Ethnogenese und literarische Gestaltung: eine Zwischenbilanz’,
in Karl Brunner and Brigitte Merta (eds.), Ethnogenese und Überlieferung: Angewandte
Methoden der Frühmittelalterforschung (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Österreichische
Geschichtsforschung ; Vienna, ), pp. –; Walter Pohl, ‘Conceptions of Ethnicity
in Early Medieval Studies’, in Lester K. Little and Barbara H. Rosenwein (eds.), Debating the
Middle Ages: Issues and Readings (Malden, MA, ), pp. –; Walter Pohl and Helmut
Reimitz (eds.), Strategies of Distinction: The Construction of Ethnic Communities, –
(The Transformation of the Roman World ; Leiden, ).
26)
Peter Geary, ‘Ethnic Identity as a Situational Construct in the Early Middle Ages’,
Mitteilungen der anthropologischen Gesellschaft in Wien  (), pp. –.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

historians. In a recent article, Wolf Liebeschuetz has pointed out that this is less
problematic than Goffart would have us believe.27 We for our part would stress
that the idea of a Traditionskern is a model. It is useful because for some of the
Germanic groups it does have considerable explanatory power, but there are no
hard facts to prove the existence of groups of families functioning as ‘kernels
of tradition’.
One of the main tools in our research is the list of features of an ethnic
community given by Hutchinson and Smith.28 According to them, an ethnic
community has a proper name expressing the identity of the community, a
myth of common ancestry, shared historical memories, a link with a territory,
elements of common culture, and a sense of solidarity. This list of features
provides us with a matrix that is helpful for describing the various layers of
identity within a community at one given moment in time. It helps to map the
degree of ethnic awareness within the community. However, for a diachronic
perspective we felt we needed additional tools. The concept of ethnogenesis as
developed in the study of the creation of the Germanic nations after the fall of
the Roman Empire in the West has therefore also been used. It seemed useful to
find out whether for the Syriac Orthodox, who were also living on the border
of the Roman Empire and who became visible in written sources at more or
less the same time, this model would be valuable. In ethnogenesis theory there
is a distinction between elements of identity which have a certain duration and
others, which may be more short-term. In other words: for the explanation of
ethnic durability it stresses the importance of myths and memories, as do Smith
and Armstrong in their criticism of the more radical constructivist position.

. Selection of Sources: Biblical Interpretation, Historiography, and Art

The decision to study biblical interpretation when dealing with the question
of West Syrian identity formation is a natural one. Biblical interpretation plays
a major role in shaping, legitimising, and conveying any orthodoxy, but this
seems to have been particularly true in the case of the West Syrians. A large
part of the literary output of the Syriac Orthodox and some of the main genres
of their literature were concerned with exegesis. Exegetical works used the
authority of the Bible to discuss the creation of the world, its early history, and

27)
Wolf Liebeschuetz, ‘The Debate about the Ethnogenesis of the Germanic Tribes’, in
Hagit Amirav and Bas ter Haar Romeny (eds.), From Rome to Constantinople: Studies in Hon-
our of Averil Cameron (Late Antique History and Religion ; Leuven, ), pp. –.
28)
John Hutchinson and Anthony D. Smith (eds.), Ethnicity (Oxford, ), pp. –.
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

the future; to give moral guidance; and to inform the reader about physics,
astronomy, and other sciences. Some works dealing with the Creation were
in fact up-to-date encyclopaedias of contemporary scientific knowledge. Thus
biblical interpretation served as a vehicle for a complete world view. This world
view had its background in the different traditions that contributed to Syrian
culture, but also had a clear individuality, which defined the position of the
Syriac Orthodox vis-à-vis the surrounding world. Biblical interpretation forms
the key to the authoritative biblical myths, histories, and commandments: it
selects what is important for the community under the circumstances of the
moment, and it redefines and resignifies their content to serve its changing
moral, theological, and political needs.
If biblical interpretation is the key to the origin myth, early history, ethics,
and world view of the community, historiography collects and interprets the
shared memories of a common history that binds members together and dis-
tinguishes them from others.29 It has to present itself as objective, in order to
give the community an anchor-hold in the past. However, selection, adapta-
tion, and imagination always play a role,30 though the author himself is not
necessarily conscious of this. The different historical sources can be seen as
witnesses to the various attempts to foster a communal identity among their
readers. In the case of the West Syrians, this seemed to be a highly promis-
ing field of investigation. The data gathered from the different periods is often
contradictory and mutually exclusive, sometimes legendary, sometimes more
factual in our eyes. Opinions on who the Syrians ‘really are’ were not constant.
Every period created its own story, building on the traditions and chronicles
of the period before, while adapting them to its own needs and circumstances.
The popularity of some of these works, as well as some of the exegetical collec-
tions, in the Syriac Orthodox community today ensures that their influence is
still felt in the self-definition of this group.
An even more obvious function, in terms of providing symbols of identity, is
fulfilled by works of art. This aspect of art, however, has not attracted very much
systematic attention.31 Art can be seen as a means of expressing the identity of

29)
Smith, Ethnic Origins, pp. –.
30)
Eric Hobsbawm, ‘Introduction: Inventing Traditions’, in Eric Hobsbawm and Terence
Ranger, The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge, ), pp. –.
31)
Though see Averil Cameron, ‘The Language of Images: The Rise of Icons and Christian
Representation’, in Diana Wood, The Church and the Arts: Papers Read at the  Summer
Meeting and the  Winter Meeting of the EHS (Studies in Church History ; Oxford,
), pp. –.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

a group, especially where religious art is concerned. The ultimate consequence

of identity formation is the creation of a conceptual universe expressing what
one believes or who one believes one is. From this standpoint, religious art cries
out identity. Christian art is a visual realization of doctrines, veneration, and
celebration, and can be both traditional and innovative. It tells what Christians
believe, and communicates with the faithful allowing them to identify them-
selves with the saints it depicts, or to take lessons from illustrative narrative
scenes. Simultaneously, it is also integrated into church propaganda. Repre-
sentations confront people with the official positions, and tell them what they
have to believe. In short: art can be used as an instrument to canalize theolog-
ical ideology and therefore contributes to the creation of a religious identity.
An iconographical analysis of works of art is analogous to a linguistic study,
analysing the ‘vocabulary’ and ‘grammar’ of an image. By comparing the
iconographical details of the arts of different communities, we can obtain
information about differences in ideas. Similarly, a comparison of styles used in
art can tell us about the formulation of a way of expressing such ideas, proper to
a community. Both style and iconography in the art of a certain region, culture
or community, can be subject to influences from other groups or regions. These
influences can be evaluated as: () a conscious process of copying elements
from other communities or cultures, in order to express common ideas; () an
expression of rivalry, using the same official religious or political iconography;
() the adoption of elements due to a lack of knowledge concerning their
meaning. In the case of the religious painting of the West Syrians little was
known about stylistic and iconographical characteristics and whether they
are the result of a conscious choice by the artists or patrons. Elements from
Byzantine and Crusader art can be found as well, and it remained to be
investigated how and why these elements were taken over. This problem is
closely linked to defining the criteria for assessing whether or not certain art
can be called ‘Syrian’, which is another issue we tried to tackle.
Issues and results specific to each of the projects will be dealt with in detail
in the following sections.

. Biblical Interpretation: Two West Syrian Exegetical Collections

.. Exegesis and Identity: Practical Considerations

The contribution of biblical interpretation to the formation of a West Syrian
identity was studied on the basis of two large Syriac Orthodox exegetical col-
lections, dating from the seventh and ninth century respectively. It is often
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

stated that Syriac exegesis, and especially later Syriac exegesis such as we find
it in these sources, is not creative or original. Now earlier material does indeed
play a very important role in all West and East Syriac exegetical works, whether
they are attributed to an author or handed down anonymously. But wherever
these sources are known and still available to us, they enable us to look into
the mind of the compiler. It is the subtle strategy of adoption and rejection
of earlier material that we have tried to describe. In not a few cases, the com-
parison with earlier material told us more of what was considered important
at a certain moment than a so-called original work might have done. At the
same time, the comparison with the later collections of Dionysius bar Salibi
and Barhebraeus showed us the differentiations of later centuries.
The two collections we studied are the London Collection (probably second
quarter of the seventh century) and the Collection of Simeon (end of the ninth
century; better known as Catena Severi). The London Collection unites the
opinions of various, mainly Greek, exegetes. This material poses the question
of the attitude of the Syriac Orthodox towards Greek learning. This work
has not been reproduced in our own days. The Collection of Simeon, for its
part, combines the early Syriac interpretation from before the split with the
explanations of Jacob of Edessa and other Syriac Orthodox authors, thus
illustrating continuity and change in biblical interpretation and doctrine. This
text was edited in part in a very unsatisfactory way in the eighteenth century,32
and continues to be used and copied today.
Within the two collections, we concentrated on the Pentateuch. The com-
mentaries on the Pentateuch give insight into the contemporary knowledge of
the sciences, the world view, and the picture of the origins of mankind and the
position of the Syrians. Important information was obtained from a compari-
son between the way the list of descendants of Noah in Gen.  was discussed
in the Collection of Simeon and other exegetical works (unfortunately, the part
dealing with Gen.  in the London Collection is no longer extant). The Table
of Peoples of Gen.  formed the basis of virtually all pre-modern ideas on
the relations between peoples. Special attention was also paid to the treatment
of Babylon and Assur, kingdoms connected with the Syrians in some of the
modern publications of the Syrians, but also by historians from the period
under investigation, such as Michael the Syrian. This material belongs to a cat-

32)
Petrus Benedictus, Sancti patris nostri Ephraem syri Opera omnia quae exstant – (Rome,
–). See now Bas ter Haar Romeny, ‘Ephrem and Jacob of Edessa in the Commen-
tary of the Monk Severus’, in George A. Kiraz (ed.), Malphono w-Rabo d-Malphone. Studies
in Honour of Sebastian P. Brock (Piscataway, NJ, ), pp. –.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

egory that we could term ‘identifications’: instances where Syriac Orthodox

exegetes saw references to their own community in the Bible. Other categories
that were identified as important for the question of how exegesis contributed
to the formation of a communal identity include: references to contemporary
events; discussions of doctrinal issues, as well as views on the right version of
the Bible; and the original language. In the course of our research we also estab-
lished that the structure of the commentaries and the choice of material gave
a clear picture of the kind of tradition their authors wanted to hand down.

.. Results: Identity in Exegetical Sources

The discussion of the Creation does indeed give a picture of the world view of
the Syriac Orthodox. Thus the Commentary on the Hexaemeron of Moses bar
Kepa (d. ) presents a long list containing a diversity of issues, partly in the
form of questions and answers. To mention just a few of these: he explains the
Trinity; the fact that the world was not created out of the mingling of five or two
beings; the question of what is prophecy; various aspects of the four elements;
the different animals; the size of the earth; and verse by verse, the Creation
narrative itself.33 Simeon’s collection lacks the formal structure of Moses’ work,
but deals with many of the same issues while going through the Creation
narrative. A number of long quotations from Jacob of Edessa’s Commentary on
the Hexaemeron add depth to the discussion of the philosophy and theology of
the work of Creation and the world that is its result. Though one can certainly
point out differences between their views and those of Theodore of Mopsuestia
and his followers in several points of detail, we did not get the impression that
Moses’ and Simeon’s viewpoint on these matters was exclusive to the Syriac
Orthodox. The Syriac Orthodox picture of the Creation and physics of the
world, in its combination of Graeco-Roman and biblical traditions, would
rather seem to overlap with that of most other late antique Christians.
We found the category of identifications more telling. Ephrem (d. )
already identifies the cities where Nimrod was king (Gen. :–) with
Edessa, Nisibis, Ctesiphon, Adiabene, Hatra, and Resh#aina: important cities
for Syrian Christianity.34 The identifications of the cities themselves are also
known from other sources, that is, from the Targumim, but it is conspicuous

33)
See the full table of contents in Lorenz Schlimme, Der Hexaemeronkommentar des Moses
bar Kepha  (Göttinger Orientforschungen .; Wiesbaden, ), pp. –.
34)
Edition: Raymond M. Tonneau, Sancti Ephraem Syri In Genesim et in Exodum commen-
tarii (CSCO , Syr. ; Leuven, ), p. .
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

that Ephrem takes over exactly these identifications, and that he had a positive
view of Nimrod, the legendary king of this area.35 In his Commentary on the
Octateuch Jacob of Edessa (d. ) does not mention Nimrod, but he does
explain how the world was divided over Shem, Ham, and Japheth (Vat. sir.
, fol. r). He indicates that ‘The whole blessed land from the Euphrates
until the shores of the sea fell to Shem’. An expanded version is found in his
Scholia36 and has also been used by the Commentary of the Monk Severus, which
formed the basis of Simeon’s collection (Vat. sir. , fol. v). This version
confirms that Jacob was referring to the Mediterranean Sea rather than the
Indian Ocean, as some Greek sources did. Thus he gives more or less a mirror
image of what these sources say. A little further on, Jacob allots the Lebanon,
the anti-Lebanon, Phoenicia, and the whole area to the west of the Euphrates
to Shem’s son Aram. The only explanation we could give for this is that Jacob
identified his own community, which was indeed strong in the area mentioned,
with the descendants of Aram.
If our interpretation is correct, the identification with Aram, which became
very important to the West Syrians, can first be found in Jacob of Edessa’s
exegesis. It is interesting to contrast his opinion with that of the East Syrian
Isho#dad of Merv (ninth century). The latter also seems to think of Shem as
his forefather. However, he describes the area allotted to Shem as that of Persia
and Bactria as far as the Indian Ocean.37 This may be based on Hippolytus
of Rome,38 but does accord well with the area in which the East Syrians were
living. Isho#dad copied this from the Diyarbakır Commentary,39 but he adds to

35)
For views on Nimrod in rabbinic and early Christian literature, see Pieter W. van der
Horst, ‘Nimrod after the Bible’, in Pieter W. van der Horst, Essays on the Jewish World of
Early Christianity (Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus ; Freiburg–Göttingen, ),
pp. –, here pp. –.
36)
Scholion , in Ms. BL Add. , fol. v. On the Scholia, see Dirk Kruisheer,
‘Reconstructing Jacob of Edessa’s Scholia’, in Judith Frishman and Lucas Van Rompay
(eds.), The Book of Genesis in Jewish and Oriental Christian Interpretation. A Collection of
Essays (Leuven, ), pp. –; See also Jacob’s letter no. , edition in Wright, ‘Two
Epistles of Mār Jacob, Bishop of Edessa’, Journal of Sacred Literature and Biblical Record ns
 (), pp. –, pp. –, here p. .
37)
Edition: J.M. Vosté and Ceslas Van den Eynde, Commentaire d’Išo#dad de Merv sur
l’Ancien Testament . Genèse (CSCO , Syr. ; Leuven, ), pp. –.
38)
Chronicon , ed. Adolf Bauer, Hippolytus Werke . Die Chronik (. Aufl. bearb. von
Rudolf Helm; Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahrhunderte ;
Berlin, ), p. .
39)
Edition: Lucas Van Rompay, Le commentaire sur Genèse–Exode , du manuscrit (olim)
Diyarbakır  (CSCO , Syr. ; Leuven, ), p. .
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

this source that thirteen Syriac-speaking tribes descended from Joktan. Now
Joktan was the great-grandson of Arpachshad, the brother of Aram. This would
seem to indicate that in his opinion, at least the East Syrians descended from
Arpachshad rather than Aram.
It appeared that the number of references to contemporary events in the
commentaries we studied was relatively small. The view held by Antiochene
and East Syrian exegetes that the Old Testament usually does not refer to
things beyond the horizon of the Old Testament itself would seem to have also
influenced these authors, though an important exception is made for references
to Christ, which are recognized especially in passages of a prophetic nature.
There are more exceptions, however. Thus in its explanation of the Blessings of
the Patriarch Jacob (Gen. ), Jacob of Edessa’s Commentary on the Octateuch
explains with, among others, Cyril of Alexandria, that Asher means ‘rich one’.
He adds, however, that the nourishment that Asher is to provide to the princes
according to the biblical text, refers not only to nourishment of angels, as Cyril
said, but also to that of ‘earthly princes, that is, the believing kings and the
orthodox bishops’ (Vat. sir. , fol. b). Apparently he distinguishes between
two groups of bishops: those who followed the Miaphysite teaching and those
who did not.
A scholion on Gen.  in the Collection of Simeon is very negative about the
Roman Empire: it is being led astray, it is even itself at the root of all evil, and
it will be cast on its back, that is, it will come to an end. This attitude fits a
situation in which the Roman Empire was seen as the representative of non-
orthodox teachings. Though its apocalyptic interests would indeed be at home
in the seventh century, it would even be possible to date this scholion later:
it could have been written in the eighth or ninth century, a period in which
open criticism of the Arabs was perhaps difficult, but in which the boundaries
between Jews and Christians, and between Miaphysites and Chalcedonians
could again be emphasized. Whenever we should date this particular scholion,
it is clear that for Simeon at the end of the ninth century, the picture of the
Roman Empire being led astray was still relevant. In an East Syrian context, or
even a later West Syrian context, one would not expect so much attention to
the wickedness of Rome. The commentaries of Isho#dad40 or Barhebraeus41 do
not mention the Romans in their explanations of this verse.

40)
Vosté and Van den Eynde, Commentaire d’Išo#dad de Merv, p. .
41)
Edition: Martin Sprengling and William C. Graham, Barhebraeus’ Scholia on the Old
Testament . Genesis–II Samuel (The University of Chicago Oriental Institute Publications
; Chicago, ), pp. –.
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

An excursus in the London Collection may be taken to suggest that the author
was writing before the death of Yazdegerd III, the last of the Sassanid rulers, in
.42 An earlier digression, discussing, among other things, why God permits
holy men to be tried, and that to flee from persecutors does not deserve blame
(London Ms. BL Add. , fols. r–r), would suggest that the author
lived through the persecutions under the Chalcedonians: these are not just
memories of a difficult past, but attempts to hearten those who experienced
these hard times themselves.
One of our main findings is the fact that the structure of the two collections
gives a clear picture of the tradition their authors wanted to hand down. It
appears that the seventh century saw a major change of opinions in this respect,
which was also related to the choice of language—a major identity marker.
There is no doubt that the two compilers had different ideas on the tradition
they wanted to lay down and pass on to the next generation.43
The London compiler is offering West Syrian readers, familiar with the Pesh-
itta (the original Syriac translation of the Old Testament based on the Hebrew),
a digest of Greek material in a form that is meant to replace earlier Syriac
material. He tries to make this new tradition acceptable through its form and
through a limited number of links to the earlier tradition. The choice of authors
is telling. For the Pentateuch we find the names of Cyril of Alexandria, Severus
of Antioch, Gregory of Nazianzus, and Ephrem; for the Prophets, Athana-
sius, Cyril, Severus, Basil the Great, Gregory of Nyssa, John Chrysostom, and
Ephrem. In other words: some of the more moderate Alexandrians, the moder-
ate Antiochene Chrysostom, the Miaphysite leader Severus, the Cappadocians,
and finally Ephrem as the only Syrian authority. The biblical text quoted is usu-
ally a Syriac rendering of the Greek text of his sources, or the Syro-Hexapla (the
seventh-century translation of the Greek Old Testament into Syriac).
The choice of authors and the predilection for the Greek biblical text bring
to mind the position of the later Philoxenus of Mabbug (d. ). In earlier
works, such as his Memre against Habbib, quotations from Ephrem were still
of central importance. In the theological treatise to the monks of Senun,
however, it seems that Philoxenus mentions the great exegete only because it
was impossible to do without him. The vast majority of quotations come from

42)
William Wright, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum Acquired since
  (London, ), pp. –.
43)
Also Bas ter Haar Romeny, ‘Greek or Syriac? Chapters in the Establishment of a Syrian
Orthodox Exegetical Tradition’, in F. Young, M. Edwards, and P. Parvis (eds.), Studia
Patristica  (Leuven, ), pp. –.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

the Greek authors that were also important to the London compiler. As the
treatise to the monks of Senun was written at the end of Philoxenus’ life, it is
possible that the new Greek perception of tradition was developed during his
lifetime, and possibly even under his influence.44
The Old Testament part of the Collection of Simeon or more precisely its
core, the Commentary of Severus, makes an impression completely different
from the London Collection: the biblical text quoted is that of the Peshitta, the
main authorities said to have been excerpted are the Syrians Ephrem and Jacob
of Edessa. The quotations from the Greek Bible are few and they are clearly
marked as readings from the Yawnaya ‘the Greek’; the number of explicit refer-
ences to Greek exegetes, most of which may have been added by Simeon rather
than Severus, is likewise low. All in all, the work seems to be the opposite of
the London Collection: this is the best of Syriac exegesis on the authentic Syriac
Bible, with only passing references to Greek sources. The fact that the New
Testament part is said to be based on John Chrysostom shows that there is no
full opposition between Greek and Syriac; the reason for this may well be that
there was no traditional Syriac alternative, as Ephrem had written a commen-
tary on the Diatessaron rather than on the four Gospels. Still, one cannot deny
that there is a shift from a preference for all things Greek to an interest in what
seemed to be authentic Syriac material. This fits very well, we would argue, into
the atmosphere among the Syriac Orthodox in the eighth and ninth centuries.
Paradoxically, at the beginning of the seventh century the acceptance of
Greek learning among the Syrians was at its height, whereas there was consid-
erable discontent with the Byzantine Empire, especially for its religious poli-
tics.45 If we look at the attitude of some Syrian monks at the end of the century,
who quarrelled with Jacob of Edessa because they thought his teaching was too
much concerned with Greek writings,46 it seems that the popularity of Greek
learning among the West Syrians had also begun to ebb. Language was seen
more and more as a boundary marker: gradually Syriac became the language of

44)
Lucas Van Rompay, ‘Past and Present Perceptions of Syriac Literary Tradition’, Hugoye
[http://syrcom.cua.edu/Hugoye/] . (), §  with note ; Lucas Van Rompay,
‘Mallpânâ dilan Suryâyâ. Ephrem in the Works of Philoxenus of Mabbog: Respect and
Distance’, Hugoye [http://syrcom.cua.edu/Hugoye/] . ().
45)
Sebastian Brock, ‘From Antagonism to Assimilation: Syriac Attitudes to Greek Learn-
ing’, in N. Garsoïan et al. (eds.), East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period
(Dumbarton Oaks symposium, ) (Washington, DC, ), pp. –, here pp. –.
46)
William Wright, A Short History of Syriac Literature (London, ), p. ; Jean Maurice
Fiey, ‘Jacques, dit « l’Interprète », évêque d’Édesse’, Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie
ecclésiastiques  (Paris, ), pp. –.
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

the Miaphysites, and Greek that of the proponents of Chalcedon.47 With Lucas
Van Rompay, we could say that in this period, the balance between the Greek
and the Syriac stream in the tradition was redressed.48 It was out of sheer neces-
sity that Jacob of Edessa, with his great knowledge and love of Greek, became
instrumental in this process.
As Jacob of Edessa and his followers adopted many interpretations of Greek
origin in their commentaries, we could say that these were ‘Syriacized’ in three
stages. After the full translations of authors such as Athanasius, Cyril, and Gre-
gory of Nyssa, abbreviated versions such as we find them in the London Collec-
tion were produced. Finally, later Syriac authors wrote their own commentaries
on the basis of either the shorter or the full versions, adopting interpretations
without indicating the source. The Commentary of Severus represents the last
of the stages just mentioned. As Jacob of Edessa was thoroughly influenced by
Greek authors such as Cyril, the work of the monk Severus, who followed in
Jacob’s footsteps, to a large extent eventually goes back to Greek sources. Thus
we see the paradox that his anti-Greek attitude is combined with a full appro-
priation of the contribution of Greek authors to the Syriac Orthodox tradition.
The boundary between ‘Greek’ and ‘Syriac’ is clearly one that is invented.

.. Conclusion
Even though the exegetical collections of the Syriac Orthodox were less outspo-
ken than their polemical works, they did contribute to their sense of belonging
together. The stress was not so much on the boundaries of Syriac Orthodox
beliefs and views as on their content. They offered the building blocks of a Syr-
iac Orthodox world view. They explained the right views on the physics and
metaphysics of Creation, they sketched the relation between the peoples on the
earth and the position of the Syrians, dealt with problems such as the origin of
evil and what is to be expected at the end of time, and made explicit the eth-
ical code and doctrines of the community. It is an important fact that biblical
interpretation connected these elements of a world view to the authoritative
text of Scripture. The resulting narrative of what a Syriac Orthodox Christian
should think and believe, helped to strengthen the existing community. In an

47)
Sebastian P. Brock, ‘Greek and Syriac in Late Antique Syria’, in Alan K. Bowman and
Greg Woolf (eds.), Literacy and Power in The Ancient World (Cambridge, ), pp. –
, here pp. –, reprinted in Sebastian P. Brock, From Ephrem to Romanos: Interac-
tions between Syriac and Greek in Late Antiquity (Aldershot, ), Ch. .
48)
Van Rompay, ‘Past and Present’, § .
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

implicit way, however, the choice of content also set the boundaries between
the Syriac Orthodox and the others. These boundaries become clear if we study
the use of sources in these collections, as well as the differences between them
and their East Syrian and Chalcedonian counterparts.
Finally, when we call these works traditional, we should realize ourselves
that they were in fact inventing the tradition. The comparison between the
two Syriac Orthodox collections shows that the period of the seventh century
to the ninth was a critical one in this process. The way this tradition was
perceived at the beginning of the period was not the same as at the end: we
move from a conception of tradition which almost exclusively credited Greek
sources to one that seems to have preferred Syriac, as if one was no longer
aware of the contributions of Greek authors which had been fully appropriated.
And that the tradition remained open for further refinement appears from
the collections of Dionysius bar Salibi and Barhebraeus, which show us the
differentiations of later centuries.

. Historiography: Michael the Syrian and his Sources

.. The Use of Syriac Historiographical Sources

In order to study the process of selecting and rewriting shared memories,
which is vital for the construction of a communal identity, Michael the Syr-
ian’s Chronography was an obvious starting point because of its position, its
extent, its wealth of sources, and the originality of its conception. Michael the
Syrian (d. ), patriarch of the Syriac Orthodox Church, wrote his famous
Chronography as a universal history.49 In order to write this enormous work
Michael had to rely for the most part on historiographical works of the previ-
ous centuries. Due to the method used by many Syriac authors of quoting
and excerpting their sources in order to create their own account—a tech-
nique referred to by Larry Conrad as a layering technique—many otherwise
lost works have now been preserved, at least partially, by Michael and similar
works, most notably the Anonymous Chronicle of .50 The study of Michael’s

49)
Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien, patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche
(–) ( vols.; Paris, –).
50)
Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Anonymi auctoris Chronicon ad annum Christi  pertinens
(CSCO , , , Syr. , , ; Paris, , ; Leuven, ); Albert Abouna,
Anonymi auctoris Chronicon ad annum C.  pertinens  (CSCO , Syr. ; Leuven,
).
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

technique and the method behind the composition of his work has been a
desideratum for a long time. Dorothea Weltecke describes the study of Michael
in the twentieth century as follows:

Nach hundert Jahren Text- und Quellenkritik lässt sich folgende Bilanz ziehen: Mi-
chaels Chronik scheint eine recht bunte, wenn auch „wertvolle Materialsammlung“ zu
sein, wie es Wolfgang Hage  formulierte. Der Steinbruch erscheint noch lange
nicht erschöpft, und der Abbau wird bis in die Gegenwart weiter vorangetrieben. …
Die vollständige Chronik als gewolltes Werk eines Einzelnen wird seit Langlois und
Chabot nicht mehr untersucht. Eine Monographie ist nie erschienen. Es scheint, dass
dem die Annahme zugrunde liegt, Michaels Chronik sei mehr oder weniger ohne
einen willentlichen Akt entstanden, habe sich zufällig aus dem Material ergeben und
spiegele höchstens die materiell oder intellektuell eingeschränkte Recherchierfähigkeit
des Autors. Dass die Weite seines Horizontes an die Fülle der ihm zur Verfügung
stehenden Quellen gebunden ist, versteht sich natürlich. Doch zeichnet sich in der
Diskussion um die verlorenen Geschichtswerke eine Erkenntnis ab, die für unsere
Fragestellung von einiger Bedeutung ist: Michael hat seine Quellen bearbeitet.51

The determination, characterization and potential usefulness of these frag-

ments for establishing the development of a perception of identity within the
Syriac Orthodox historiographical tradition has been the first objective of this
project. Michael’s technique of quotations and excerpts is partly to blame for
the use of his work as a Steinbruch. However, if Michael preserved fragments
from his sources, he did rework (bearbeitet) them. Michael did have a plan;
Michael did write his Chronography with a clear and particular goal in mind, i.e.
that of instructing his audience. As a result Andrew Palmer adapts the descrip-
tion of the layering technique as follows:

They [Syriac chroniclers] present themselves as objective analysts, but … they compiled
or composed their texts in retrospect to serve moral, religious and political purposes.
… By careful selection and significant juxtaposition of events they led the reader to
draw conclusions by his own intelligence, with a minimum of didactic intrusion of the
author’s part …52

51)
Dorothea Weltecke, ‘Die Beschreibung der Zeiten’ von Mor Michael dem Grossen (–
). Eine Studie zu ihrem historischen und historiographiegeschichtlichen Kontext (CSCO
, Subs. ; Leuven, ), p. , italics added. Weltecke has at least partly remedied
the lack of research on Michael in this her own study.
52)
Andrew Palmer (ed.), The Seventh Century in West Syrian Chronicles (Liverpool, ),
p. xxviii; Jean Maurice Fiey, ‘Les chroniqueurs syriaques avaient-ils le sens critique?’, Parole
de l’Orient  (–), pp. –.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

The study which results from this project presents a more structured account
of Michael’s working method and aims to provide some additional insight into
the usefulness of the ‘fragments’ for modern research, and on how to handle
them. Methodologically this aspect of Syriac historiography was studied for
the period from the sixth century until the twelfth. The main reason is that
for this period, we may assume that Michael had access to the original source
text and did not have to rely on intermediary texts. For the preceding period,
however, he could only access his sources through intermediaries, which may
have adapted the original text.53
For the sixth century Michael used the works of Pseudo-Zachariah of Mity-
lene (c.)54 and John of Ephesus (d. ).55 For later centuries Jacob of
Edessa (d. ), Dionysius of Tel Mahre (d. ), and Ignatius of Melitene
(d. ) are the most important sources for his work.56 Sadly, most of these
works have been lost and only fragmentary traces can be found in later Syriac
historiography. Of special interest to us are Pseudo-Zachariah, John of Eph-
esus, and Dionysius. Ignatius and Jacob are more problematic because they do
not seem to have written a narrative text like the other three authors. As a result
Michael adopted only short remarks from these texts, which are very difficult
to attribute to any particular source and are not very informative about the
ideology and perception of history of their original author.57

53)
These preceding sources were all originally in Greek. Michael may have had access to
some of these works in translation, but it is more likely that he had only reworked versions
of these texts.
54)
Michael refers to Zachariah (of Mitylene), but rather than using the Greek original, he is
referring to the Syriac Pseudo-Zachariah, who has reworked and added to the Ecclesiastical
History of the real Zachariah. Edition: Ernest W. Brooks, Historia Ecclesiastica Zachariae
Rhetori vulgo adscripta (CSCO –, –, Syr. –, –; Leuven, –,
).
55)
Only Part Three of his Church History has been preserved: Ernest W. Brooks, Iohannis
Ephesini Historiae ecclesiasticae pars tertia (CSCO –, Syr. –; Paris, , and
Leuven, ).
56)
On the importance of these three, see the editorial remark in Michael the Syrian,
Chronicle X. , ed. Chabot, Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , pp. –.
57)
It should be noted that there are some larger fragments from Jacob’s Chronicle in
Michael, but these refer to much earlier events, even before Christ. Although interesting
from the point of view of why Michael included them, these are not useful for a discussion on
the use of fragments as a source. Ignatius may be the intermediary for some larger fragments
from the Byzantine tradition, although it is more likely that his Chronicle consisted of only
short lemmas.
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

A study of Michael’s use of the works of John and Pseudo-Zachariah—

texts that have, in part, been preserved through an independent manuscript
tradition—established Michael’s method of use of his major sources, including
some indications regarding his selection process. These findings have been
used to analyse some of the larger fragments of Dionysius of Tel Mahre. They
helped especially to show the potential use of these fragments for historical
research but also the limitations forced upon this kind of research. Fragments
from these sources, most particularly from the Church History of Dionysius,
have been preserved by another so-called compiler/chronicler, the Anonymous
Chronicler of  ce.58 In addition to the comparison between Michael and
the text of his source itself, a comparison of the two compilations from the late
twelfth and early thirteenth centuries helped to establish some insights into
how ‘representative’ of the real work these two collections of fragments are.
In addition a comparison of the anonymous Chronicle and John and Pseudo-
Zachariah shed light on the technique of the Anonymous Chronicler of .
The result of this study has been that the fragments can be used, but only
conditionally.59 Whatever outlook these fragments provide on the works and
attitudes of previous authors, we always have to keep in mind that we are
looking through the eyes of twelfth-century authors who have made a selection
out of their pool of sources in accordance with their own ideology, their own
perception of the world and the historical trends and processes, including
their own ideas about what it means to be a ‘Syrian’. For a study in the
field of the history of mentalité, that is, attitude towards a certain ideology
or line of thought, also as it developed within a sociological process, one
needs to be very careful when referring to authors whose works have not
come down to us in an independent tradition. The use of fragments of their
works in new compositions is the result of a careful process of selection suited
to the programmatic and ideological framework of the later chronicler. As a
result a full, reliable ‘reconstruction’ of the earlier works is never possible. The
coherence of the material has been irretrievably lost and only a selection of

58)
For a collection of the fragments of Dionysius from the seventh century, see Palmer
Seventh Century, –; on Dionysius and his Church History, see Rudolf Abramowski,
Dionysius von Tellmahre, jakobitischer Patriarch von –: zur Geschichte der Kirche unter
dem Islam (Abhandlungen für die Kunde des Morgenlandes .; Leipzig, ).
59)
For a preliminary publication of criteria for the evaluation, see Jan van Ginkel, ‘Michael
the Syrian and his Sources: Reflections on the Methodology of Michael the Great as a
Historiographer and its Implications for Modern Historians’, Journal of the Canadian Society
for Syriac Studies  (), pp. –.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

material has been preserved. Statements on the basis of these fragments are
possible—and should be made—, but one always has to clarify the degree of
reliability of the attribution of these ideas to the original author.
In view of the limited amount of material in direct tradition, the works
which have come down to us in excerpts within later chronographies and
chronicles cannot be ignored; in fact, the excerpts had to take a central position
in this study after all. But we did find that the evidence of the ‘tainted’ material
of the later chronicles should always be compared with that of the larger
independent—more or less complete—works from the sixth century (Pseudo-
Joshua the Stylite, John of Ephesus, and Pseudo-Zachariah), the eighth century
(Zuqnin Chronicle), and the twelfth century (Michael the Great, Anonymous
Chronicle of  as sources for their own time). In addition, the shorter,
usually heavily damaged chronicles from the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth
centuries should be taken into account. Most of these are anonymous, but one
is attributed to Jacob of Edessa.
To give but one example of the importance of Michael’s selection criteria
with regard to questions of identity, it is clear that he aimed at highlighting the
differences through time between his community and that of the Chalcedo-
nians or ‘Greeks’. In his own time the clash between both denominations is
central to the self-perception of his community. Michael has his own defini-
tion of ‘Greek’, which he also implicitly inserted into his source material. When
a source uses this terminology or its opposite (‘we’, ‘the Orthodox’, ‘the Syri-
ans’) Michael sees these fragments and excerpts within the context of a deeper
dichotomy than was perceived by the original authors. He selects and excerpts
to fit this perception. In his excerpted account of the sixth century, the period
of the gradual appearance of the Miaphysite, and later (seventh century and
onwards) the appearance of an autonomous and independent Syriac Orthodox
Church, there is no room for compromise, debate or unification, which was
central in the original works. Also the multi-lingual and multi-ethnic aspects of
the anti-Chalcedonian, Miaphysite movement is less visible in his presentation.

.. Results: Identity within the Genre of Historiography

Analysing the Syriac Orthodox texts with the features set out by Hutchinson
and Smith in mind revealed that the authors show an increasing interest in the
use of the ‘right’ name for the community. Although there already seems to
have been a discussion at the time of Jacob of Edessa (seventh century), the
work of Dionysius of Tel Mahre (d. ) shows a conscious effort to ‘name’
the community and link this community with a certain area. This effort is
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

reflected and developed by Michael the Great (d. ). Within the tradition,
name and geography are often linked to language. Language, however, did not
play a central role in the early texts (sixth century) to define the community:
religion mattered more. Interestingly, it would seem that historiography picked
up language issues later than other genres. Only in the eighth century did
Dionysius of Tel Mahre use the linguistic element to define his community.
However, again it was Michael who took it one step further, making language
the marker of identity in one his appendices to his Chronography. In this
Appendix he summarizes the history of his community from the Flood to
his own time by selecting fragments of his Chronography which refer to the
use of ‘Aramaic’. To him, whoever spoke Aramaic as his mother tongue was a
predecessor of his community. Their history was the history of his community.
Even if he had to use non-Aramaic sources—Bible, Greek historiography—to
describe that history.
Other criteria of Hutchinson and Smith are not central to Michael’s per-
ception of community, but they are reflected in his work. His solidarity is
aimed at various groups, but not surprisingly, most notably to his own reli-
gious community. However, he also shows a solidarity with other Christians in
the region, but making distinctions between the various groups. ‘Greeks’, that
is, the Greek Orthodox (on religious level) or Byzantines (political level)60 are
among those with whom he seldom feels a connection. The Crusaders are seen
in a more positive light, but again they are presented as ‘others’ and Michael
seldom speaks in an inclusive way with regard to them. A certain solidarity
with the Armenians is clearly present in his work, but the differences are also
highlighted. Copts are treated similarly to the Armenians, although they are
less prominent in his account and tend to be out of sight. The East Syrians
(Church of the East) are often presented in a negative light where theological
issues are discussed, but in hardship—such as the destruction caused by war
or natural disasters—they are less visible than other communities and seem to
be included in his term ‘Syrians’.
The East Syrians are also included in the linguistic community present
throughout the Chronography, and especially the Appendix II. Their pre-
Christian and early Christian past is treated as part of the history of his own
community. In short, Michael reflects a conscious group identity on the basis of
name, common ancestry (and the myth thereof ), a shared collection of mem-

60)
Note that these levels are almost indistinguishable to Michael.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

ories, a shared language and regional culture with the East Syrians.61 The link
to a homeland and a certain solidarity are also present. Although on a religious
level he is well aware of the differences between the Syriac Orthodox and the
Church of the East, he puts less emphasis on it than previous historiographers
(notably Dionysius of Tel Mahre). In addition he can include them in the
‘Christians’ in opposition to the Muslims, and sometimes the Crusaders or the
Greeks. Although this identification is present, one should not put too much
emphasis on it and it is very clear that his first loyalty was to his own Church
community. Therefore one could argue that Michael reflects a certain level of
ethnic awareness—more so than his predecessors—but that it never got to the
stage of ‘nation building’.
If we look at Michael’s predecessors it is clear that in the sixth century
this level of group identification is less pronounced. Authors such as Pseudo-
Zachariah and John of Ephesus felt connected to a certain geographical area,
where the Syriac language was dominant, but not necessarily to the entire area
(that is, outside the Roman Empire). In addition they did feel a connection to
the Empire in its entirety. Linguistically they were aware of being a subdivi-
sion within the Empire but the religious boundaries between various denom-
inations cutting right through the various linguistic communities were more
important for their personal identification (and group identification) than the
language. Also the historical memories and common ancestry is usually seen
from a more universal Christian and Roman perspective. As a result they do
not reflect a conscious ethnic awareness. Jacob of Edessa is a singular source in
that he reflects the attitudes of the past (sixth century) and reacts to tendencies
within the community which seem to reflect a distancing from that past, and
in particular the identification with the Roman (Byzantine) Empire. It seems
that from the end of the seventh century and throughout the eighth the inter-
est in the ‘Western’ (Byzantine) identity continually diminishes. Rather than
opposing the Greeks on the religious level or on a cultural level, there is a cer-
tain lack of interest. Only when the subject is forced upon the authors do they
take their—negative—position against them, mainly on religious topics. The
Church of the East is usually seen as an opposing community, although the
linguistic unity is acknowledged—and at times other shared cultural elements.
Dionysius of Tel Mahre may well reflect the final phase of this gradual
development, which resulted in a self-conscious Church, which also became

61)
It should be noted that the Maronites do not feature in Michael’s Syriac speaking
world—either positively or negatively.
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

aware of a ‘homeland’ and started to look for a common name, also outside
the religious context. However, outside the religious context ‘Syrians’ could also
refer to inhabitants of Syria, irrespective of their religion and—sometimes—
language.
The fragments of Ignatius of Melitene (eleventh century) are too small in
size and number to make too many claims, but it should be noted that he
connected to the Greek tradition again. He consciously used Greek sources
to create his Chronicle. He clearly is aware of the ‘Greeks’ being different,
but he does link his community with their historical memories again. As to
solidarity, customs, and the like, there is too little to go by. However, it is
noteworthy that he—and many of his Church including most patriarchs and
bishops—were willing to stay within the Byzantine Empire, even though they
had the opportunity to relocate into Islamic territory. This suggests a certain
level of solidarity with the empire of the Christians, that is, the Byzantine
Empire.

.. Conclusion
On the basis of the historiography of the Syriac Orthodox tradition it seems
that a self-perceived group identity gradually took an ethnic form. To what
extent the presence of the various features of Hutchinson and Smith need
to be present in order to be able to say that a group is indeed an ethnos
is open to debate. In any case, even in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries
the limited political aspirations of the Syriac Orthodox did not entail the
idea that community should be sovereign in its own homeland, and thus we
certainly cannot speak of a nation. This was clearly not an option for the Syriac
Orthodox (or the Syriac speakers of the Middle East). However, the Syriac
Orthodox did ‘invent’ a tradition of their own, a history back to the time of
Noah (and even further to Adam), based on whatever source material available,
not just the Bible. Therefore their identity was not just religiously motivated—
although that element was always dominant—but also included the cultural
traditions of pagan empires such as those of the Assyrians and the Aramean
kingdoms. As is the case with other examples of ethnogenesis, this core of
traditions is not a given, but something that crystallized out of the available
stories and customs and only slowly came into existence. It is not unchangeable,
but is continuously reinterpreted, added to, and detracted from. However, the
Syriac Orthodox were by the twelfth century aware of having such a core. If
one would like to point out a Traditionskern as well, one should perhaps not
think of a group of families, but of the clergy.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

. Art: West Syrian Mural Paintings

.. The Study of Art as a Possible Identity Marker in Practice

The aim with which we started this part of the research programme was
twofold. First, we wanted to answer the central question: What makes art Syriac
Orthodox art? In other words, possible criteria that distinguish Syriac Orthodox
art from that of neighbouring cultures had to be established. The distinctive
features (identity markers) taken into account included: iconography (biblical
scenes as well as saints and donors, and their appearance, dress, and attributes);
style; and the languages used in the inscriptions. Second, we wanted to deter-
mine how West Syrian art contributed to identity formation. How is identity
expressed and communicated by this art, and which of the distinctive features
contributes most to this?
Points of consideration were: whether we could speak of local, ‘Syrian
schools’; whether artists limited themselves to one medium; and which com-
missioners they worked for (were they Syriac Orthodox, Byzantine Ortho-
dox, Maronite, Latin, or even Muslim?). The decision to include evidence of
Byzantine influences in our research enabled us to see whether typical Syr-
iac Orthodox elements could be distinguished from Byzantine. The material
from Deir al-Surian in Egypt offers contrasting examples of another kind: here
the question is to what extent the paintings and other objects express a Syr-
iac Orthodox identity and to what extent they conform to the Coptic tradi-
tion.
We stated above that artistic representations confront people with the offi-
cial positions of the clergy and tell them what they have to believe; art can
be used as an instrument to canalize theological ideology and therefore con-
tributes to the creation of a religious identity. Yet Christian art contains more
identities, complicating the distinction of the art of one community from that
of another, in particular if these groups are close neighbours. The Syriac Ortho-
dox, Maronites, and Byzantine Orthodox of western Syria coexisted within the
borders of adjacent Crusader and Muslim states. By consequence, we found
that we also had to reckon with the possibility of artistic interaction on a
regional level.
A late eighteenth-century icon of St Behnam on horseback in the Church
of St Menas in Cairo from  is a good illustration of the complexity
scholars encounter in dealing with identity issues. Today this piece is listed
among the Coptic icons in Egypt. It was produced by Yuhanna, an Armenian
painter from Jerusalem who in the early s moved to Cairo to use his
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

skills in the service of the Coptic community.62 Yuhanna depicted Coptic

saints, applied Coptic and Arabic inscriptions, and had the habit of dating
his works by the Coptic and Islamic eras. On the whole, therefore, there are no
overriding objections to labelling his oeuvre as ‘Coptic’. There are, however, a
few exceptional brainteasers, and this icon of St Behnam is one of them. It was
painted for the Chapel of St Behnam, adjacent to the Church of St Menas
in the Fum al-Khalig district near Old Cairo.63 In the eighteenth century
this chapel was used by adherents of the Syrian Catholic Church, which had
broken away from the Syriac Orthodox Church and allied itself with the
Church of Rome. The iconography is rooted in the hagiography of the Syriac
Orthodox saint Behnam,64 the inscriptions are in Arabic and the date 
complies with the western, thus Roman Catholic era. Some elements in the
execution betray Yuhanna’s Armenian-Palestinian education, a tradition which
was much influenced by European art. This exceptional piece demonstrates the
multi-layered, interactive character of oriental Christian art, and singling out
identity-related elements would have been meaningless without any knowledge
of the icon’s context and time. Similar complexities were also to be expected in
regard to medieval art.

.. Choice of Area; Initial Hypothesis

The focal point of the study were the wall paintings of Lebanon and Syria
(eleventh-thirteenth centuries), the area where the Syriac Orthodox Church
was supposed to be well represented, and where a local artistic tradition existed.
These were placed in a wider context, taking into account both the earlier
witnesses of Syriac Orthodox art (such as manuscript illumination), as well
as contemporary examples, Christian and Islamic, from the Crusader states,
the Byzantine Empire, and other areas of the Mediterranean and the eastern
periphery of the Byzantine Empire. Cruikshank Dodd65 had given the initial

62)
Zuzana Skalova and Gawdat Gabra, Icons of the Nile Valley (Cairo, ; nd ed. ),
p. .
63)
Otto F.A. Meinardus, The Historic Coptic Churches of Cairo (Cairo, ), pp. –,
Fig. .
64)
Jean Maurice Fiey, Assyrie chrétienne. Contribution à l’étude de l’histoire et de la géographie
ecclésiastiques et monastiques du Nord de l’Iraq  (Recherches ; Beirut, ), pp. –.
65)
Erica Cruikshank Dodd, ‘Christian Arab Painters under the Mamluks’, Aram /
(–), pp. –; Erica Cruikshank Dodd, The Frescoes of Mar Musa al-Habashi.
A Study in Medieval Painting in Syria (Toronto, ); Erica Cruikshank Dodd, Medieval
Painting in the Lebanon (SKCO ; Wiesbaden, ).
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

impetus to deal with the question of how ‘Syrian’ the murals of Lebanon and
Syria are; on the basis of her work, we started out with the hypothesis that
the local style that could be discerned in many of the wall paintings could be
connected to the Syriac Orthodox Church.
However, this line of approach seemed problematic for several reasons. Even
at an early stage, our hypothesis that many of the decorated sanctuaries were
Syriac Orthodox turned out to be unfounded. Instead most of them were
revealed to be either Byzantine Orthodox or Maronite by denomination; only
Deir Mar Musa could convincingly be assigned to our initial target group. A
second objection was that the Syriac Orthodox material heritage seemed to
be bound to regional developments, and was too scattered in time and space
to allow a unanimous judgement. When we sought an alternative approach,
these disadvantages emerged as an advantage. For, after all, the featuring of the
art of different Churches within a limited area made this an ideal subject for a
comparative study. With this approach and the aims of our project in mind, we
had to study the medieval Christian art of Lebanon and Syria as a whole, and
this became our new perspective. Likewise, we found that an isolated study
of the Syriac Orthodox material from Deir al-Surian (the Monastery of the
Syrians) in Egypt, detached from Egypt’s contemporary Coptic art, would not
do justice to these, in many aspects, unique works of art.

.. Results: Identity in the Wall Paintings of Syria and Lebanon

In many aspects the Maronites, Melkites, and Syriac Orthodox of western Syria
shared the same iconographic, regional taste. Had Deir Mar Musa’s murals
from the eleventh and thirteenth centuries been found without any inscriptions
and without any knowledge on its history, this Syriac Orthodox convent would
easily have passed for a Melkite retreat. The iconography, style, and actually also
the languages used for names of saints (Greek and Syriac) do not give away
any conclusive indications as to its denomination. In fact, the same holds true
for the other embellished churches in the region to the north of Damascus.
Historical sources stress the Melkite character of places like Qara and Saydnaya,
but their art, with the inclusion of the choice of languages, is so closely related
to that of Deir Mar Musa, that it would not be out of place in a Syriac Orthodox
context. Obviously, we are dealing with a regional culture of visualization rather
than with segregated Melkite and Syriac Orthodox traditions.66

66)
Mat Immerzeel, Identity Puzzles. Medieval Christian Art in Syria and Lebanon (OLA ;
Leuven, forthcoming in ), Ch. .
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

In Lebanon, the traditional division of the Tripoli area between a Melkite

territory in the north (Kura District) and a Maronite one in the south and in
the Qadisha Valley is also evident from the thirteenth-century decoration pro-
grammes. In particular the Greek inscriptions in churches of the Kura District
coincide with their assumed Melkite denomination. The only exception is the
Church of Sts Sergius and Bacchus in Kaftun, which has inscriptions in Greek
and Syriac, but the exceptional Byzantine flavour of its decorative programme
confirms its Melkite denomination. In addition, Kaftun’s art is attributed to
an atelier held responsible for the embellishment of other churches in its vicin-
ity; it also produced icons, which have been kept in a Greek Orthodox envi-
ronment up till the present (see below). However, these ‘Melkite’ artists also
worked on behalf of the Maronites, for example in the Monastery of Qannubin
and the Church of St Saba in Eddé al-Batrun.67
Not only do the churches in the more southerly Maronite district have the
almost entirely consistent use of Syriac in common, some were also decorated
by one local artist, ‘The Master of Bahdeidat’. It is intriguing that the Church
of St Theodore in Bahdeidat (near Jbeil) would have had a Syriac Orthodox
priest in . West Syrians certainly dwelled in the County of Tripoli, and
the established increase of Syriac Orthodox activities in the s, most likely
caused by refugees from the Mongol assaults in Mesopotamia, enhances the
credibility of this claim.68 These are, however, not valuable arguments for
regarding all contemporary paintings in this Maronite area as Syriac Orthodox.
What also complicates our analysis of Bahdeidat’s murals are the depictions
of two donors, who from their appearance, in particular their dress, must
have been Latins. In about one third of the embellished village churches
within the borders of the former County of Tripoli, such representations
were found. Apparently, local Frankish authorities contributed to decoration
programmes in the shape of ex voto images. All in all, the key question of
the denomination of the Church of St Theodore at the time it was decorated
cannot be answered. Either the West Syrians took over a decorated sanctuary
from the Maronites, or they commissioned the embellishment of their own
church from the apparently Maronite master. In view of his active period, fixed
between  and /, both options are open.

67)
Immerzeel, Identity Puzzles, Ch. .
68)
Immerzeel, Identity Puzzles, Ch. .
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

The research also focussed on the production of icons in the Tripoli area
in the thirteenth century, and resulted in a remarkable outcome pertaining
to the phenomenon of ‘Crusader icons’.69 The discovery of an icon and sev-
eral wall paintings in the Monastery of Kaftun, all made by the same artist,
revealed that painters were involved in the production of both mediums. Since
the same hand was also recognized in several icons in the Monastery of St
Catherine at Mount Sinai, formerly attributed to Crusader artists, it turned
out that in Lebanon icon painting flourished alongside the embellishment
of church interiors. Given the art-historical features and the context of the
specimens under consideration it is obvious that they were made for Melkite
use.
As far as the chronology is concerned, the flourishing of art production in
Lebanon and West Syria coincided with Ayyubid rule and the Crusader period
after the fall of Jerusalem in , and more specifically after the treaty between
these two parties of , bringing some peace in the area. Taking into account
the increasing difficulties imposed by the Mongol invasions and subsequent
Mamluk advance from the s onwards, it is likely that the artistic revival
diminished or even came to an end in the years leading up to .

.. Conclusion
Even though the possible function of church art as a marker of Christian
identity is obvious, we found that artistic interaction on a local level was a
very strong factor. As far as the present state of the paintings allows us to
draw conclusions, the execution of the wall paintings of Lebanon and Syria
cannot be identified with one single denominational group; doctrinal divisions
between Christian communities known from the written sources did not find
concrete shape in church art. This makes us realize once more that identity is
not simple and single, but that people combine various loyalties that sometimes
overlap and strengthen each other, but are contradictory at other times. One
can only speculate about another dimension: it is possible that the identities
expressed by the written sources formed a concern mainly of the clerical elite,
whereas local church members had to deal with the reality of everyday life
in the small towns and villages. Though this may be true at least to some
extent, research into the patronage of religious art shows that commissioners

69)
Immerzeel, Identity Puzzles, Ch. .
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

(both clerics and laymen) were inclined to place practical considerations over
principle: the quality (or simply availability) of a painter was often more
important than his denominational background.
We started with questions about ‘religious identity’, and ended with others
about ‘identity of power’.70 There are strong indications of Latin involvement
in the decoration programmes of several Maronite, Melkite, and Syriac Ortho-
dox village churches, mainly in the shape of ex voto images with the addition
of donor portraits. Apparently such contributions were an integrate part of the
maintaining of good relations between Crusader authorities and their indige-
nous subjects. All the same our search for expressions of identity and identity
markers virtually came down to the question of whether depicted donors were
Latins or indigenous.

. Art: Christian-Muslim Artistic Interchange in the Mosul Area

.. Practical Considerations, Choice of Area

According to our hypothesis, the cultural contact with Islam was a major factor
in explaining the formation of a Syriac Orthodox identity. Therefore it was
decided that the relation with Islamic art should be studied in a separate Ph.D.
project. Its subject was the strategy of adoption and rejection followed by the
Syrians, as well as the reciprocal nature of the relationship.
As we have seen above, the twelfth and thirteenth centuries witnessed a
flourishing of art. It should be noted, however, that this blossoming of ‘Syriac
Orthodox art’ was by no means restricted to the region of modern Lebanon and
Syria or Deir al-Surian in Egypt; it is also attested in northern Mesopotamia,
more specifically the city of Mosul and its surroundings. Even though the
majority of the Christian population in the area consisted traditionally of
East Syrians (Assyrians/Nestorians), Mosul was an important West Syrian cen-
tre during the period under consideration. It centred on the monasteries of
Mar Mattai and Mar Behnam, both located just outside of Mosul, and sev-
eral churches situated in the capital itself. Although wall paintings have been
preserved in only one church in this region, the output of manuscript illustra-
tion, sculpture, and metalwork associated with this particular community is
considerable.

70)
Immerzeel, Identity Puzzles, Introduction.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

It appeared that the works of art of the Mosul area have one basic feature in
common: they are executed in what has been called an ‘Islamic style’. While
their iconography is sometimes in accordance with the Byzantine or Eastern
Christian examples, in other cases even the iconographic repertoire relies heav-
ily on Islamic art, adopting motifs from the Islamic pictorial tradition. This
raised some important questions about the influence of the local Islamic artis-
tic tradition on that of the West Syrian Christians, and the reciprocal nature
of this influence.
The main concern of the present project was to establish whether the Syriac
Orthodox community of the Mosul area distinguished itself from other groups
artistically. The self-definition of the Syriac Orthodox community involves dif-
ferentiation from other Christian groups, as well as differentiation from non-
Christians, in particular the ruling Muslim community. The central question
was again: what makes art Syriac Orthodox art? In other words, was it possible
to identify a set of criteria that can be used to distinguish between the art of
the Syriac Orthodox and that of other Eastern Christian Churches on the one
hand, and between the art of the Syriac Orthodox and that of the Muslims
on the other? The possible distinctive features taken into account included:
iconography (biblical scenes, saints), style, composition, decoration patterns,
and the languages used in the inscriptions. Considering that Christian art from
the Mosul area generally speaking developed in tandem with local contempo-
rary Islamic art, it was a comparison between the art of the Syriac Orthodox
and the art of the Muslim community that represented our point of departure.

.. Results: Art, Identity, and Muslim-Christian Relations

Apart from a few short interim periods when they were more or less restricted
in their freedom, the local Christians enjoyed a great deal of tolerance and
protection from the Muslim authorities. They participated fully in the political,
economic, and cultural life of the time. Besides the blossoming of Islamic art,
the production of Christian art also reached a peak. Moreover, at the height
of this artistic activity there was an apparently fruitful interaction between
Christians and Muslims. Illustrative in this respect is a group of some eighteen
inlaid brass vessels with Christian themes, which were produced in the Syro-
Mesopotamian region. Dating from around the mid-thirteenth century, these
vessels are decorated with Gospel scenes, images of the Virgin and Child,
and friezes of clerics and saints together with scenes familiar from Islamic
art, such as the standard set of images based on the pastimes of the royal
court, the so-called Princely cycle. The success of this distinct group of luxury
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

objects has proved to be explicable from their intrinsic appeal to both the
Muslim and Christian upper classes. They shared the same fashionable taste,
which was connected with their social position rather than with their religious
backgrounds.71
The application of a wide range of interchangeable images and patterns
to various purposes illustrates the cultural symbiosis between the two differ-
ent communities. Depending on the context in which they are applied these
images address Christian as well as Muslim recipients. A good example of the
use of identical iconography by Christians and Muslims is the decoration of
the Royal Gate at the Church of Mar Ahudemmeh (mid-thirteenth century) in
Mosul. Apart from the cross on the keystone, now lost, it does not contain any
distinctively Christian elements. The lintel is decorated with motifs from the
popular visual repertory of the ‘Princely cycle’; enthroned figures holding gob-
lets and falconers. The iconographic and stylistic resemblance to contemporary
Islamic art is striking and demonstrates that there was a distinct conformity
between Christian and Islamic art. Time and again, they used the same kind
of representations which received an Islamic or Christian connotation only
within the context in which they were represented. In a distinctively Chris-
tian religious setting, the specific meaning of the mounted falconers derives
from their contextual location and not from the image of the falconer itself,
which remains in accordance with the iconographic standards of the period.
The Eastern Christian tradition of placing paired equestrian saints at entrances,
where their protective capacities are most fully exploited, provides the key to
the interpretation of the mounted falconers at the Church of Mar Ahudem-
meh. The falconers may be seen as a fashionable variant of the genuine Chris-
tian mounted warrior saint. Christians participated fully in the visual culture
of their times, and the mounted falconers were simply one of the possibilities
for placing apotropaic riders at the entrance of the sanctuary.72
At least in the study of sculpture we should make a clear distinction between
sculpture in parish and monastic contexts. The parish church of Mar Ahudem-
meh hardly shows genuine Christian motifs, apart from the cross, whereas the

71)
Eva R. Hoffman, ‘Christian-Islamic Encounters on Thirteenth-Century Ayyubid Met-
alwork: Local Culture, Authenticity, and Memory’, Gesta  (), pp. –; Bas
Snelders, Identity and Christian-Muslim Interaction. Medieval Art of the Syrian Orthodox from
the Mosul Area (Leuven, forthcoming in ), Ch. .
72)
Bas Snelders and Adeline Jeudy, ‘Guarding the Entrances: Equestrian Saints in Egypt
and North Mesopotamia’, Eastern Christian Art in its Late Antique and Islamic Contexts 
(), pp. –; Snelders, Identity, Ch. .
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

church of the monastery of Mar Behnam near Mosul shows representations

that are typically Christian, including saints, martyrs, and two scenes based
on the life of the church’s patron saint. This distinction finds a parallel in
the use of languages: the inscriptions in Mar Ahudemmeh are in Arabic, the
language of the people—Muslim and Christian—, whereas in the monastery
the liturgical language, Syriac, takes a dominant place. Though the monks of
Deir Mar Behnam would seem to have made conscious and deliberate choices
in language and iconography to bolster their Christian identity, it should be
remarked that even in this monastery many motifs can be found that are paral-
leled in Islamic contexts.73 And the recently discovered wall painting showing
a unique Baptism scene in the parish church of Mar Giworgis in Qaraqosh
shows that the distinction between monastery and parish should not be drawn
too strictly.74
Another important result of this research is that stylistic features cannot be
connected exclusively with one faith community. A strong example is a liturgi-
cal fan from Deir al-Surian.75 This piece of metalwork depicts the Enthroned
Virgin Hodegetria, a theme that was relatively rare in Byzantine art, but popu-
lar among Copts and Syrians. The fan has an inscription in Syriac which states
among others that it was produced in / for Deir al-Surian in Egypt.
It is clear, however, that it had been made in the Mosul area. There is an obvi-
ous agreement in style between this object and a collection of eighteen other
metal objects with Christian themes (see above), of which it was assumed that
the style was Islamic, and that the artists must have been Muslims. In the case
of the fan, the Syriac inscription might be taken as an indication of a Chris-
tian craftsman, but we would rather say that it shows that the question of the
religious identity of the maker is essentially irrelevant. Artists and craftsmen
made objects for Christian and Muslim patrons at the same time and probably
in the same workshops. We would stress that the formal characteristics of these
works of art are determined by the techniques the artist applied rather than by
his religious or linguistic background.76

73)
Snelders, Identity, Ch. .
74)
Bas Snelders, ‘A Newly Discovered Wall Painting in the Church of Mar Giworgis in
Qaraqosh, Iraq’, Eastern Christian Art in its Late Antique and Islamic Contexts  (),
pp. –.
75)
Bas Snelders and Mat Immerzeel, ‘The Thirteenth-Century Flabellum from Deir al-
Surian in the Musée Royal de Mariemont (Morlanwelz, Belgium). With an Appendix by
Lucas Van Rompay on the Syriac Inscriptions’, Eastern Christian Art in its Late Antique and
Islamic Contexts  (), pp. –.
76)
Snelders, Identity, Ch. .
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

The stylistic agreement between the Islamic and Christian art of the Mosul
area makes it impossible to use style as a criterion for the Syriac Orthodox
nature of a work of art. The same holds true for the other features that we
initially considered possible identity markers. Even typically Christian repre-
sentations were not unique to the Syriac Orthodox, as we found parallels in
other Christian communities. For instance, our study of the evidence of wall
paintings in this area showed that the decoration programmes usually con-
sisted of conventional scenes from the life of Christ, such as the Crucifixion,
the Resurrection, and the Ascension. An exception to the rule is the icono-
graphical attention paid to the patron saint and a number of Syriac Orthodox
martyrs in Deir Mar Behnam. Mar Behnam was a local saint, venerated only
by the Syriac Orthodox. It should be noted, however, that for the identification
of these representations the Syriac inscriptions were essential. If we compare
Deir Mar Behnam to Coptic church decoration, the attention paid to local
monastic saints also appears to be relatively limited. Therefore we should not
overestimate the amount and importance of features proper to Syriac Ortho-
dox monumental decoration.

.. Conclusion
The systematic study of the art of the Mosul region undertaken in this project
has made it clear that all communities in the region ordered metal objects, illus-
trated manuscripts, and sculpture, and that these objects came from the same
workshops or were at least made by artists with identical training, who were
producing art for Christian and Muslim patrons alike. The appeal of Christian
themes for a Muslim audience has demonstrated that the presence of Chris-
tian subjects should not necessarily be assumed to indicate a particular reli-
gious or communal identity, neither on the part of the artists nor on that of
the patrons.
The great difficulty when it comes to evaluating whether works of art or
the images represented on them were appropriated in order to enhance com-
munal identity is that images generally speaking have the capacity to convey
a multiplicity of meanings depending on the social and religious position of
the onlooker. The use of the same symbols by different groups often greatly
diminishes the possibility of differentiating between the religious identity of
works of art, especially when other signifiers are lacking. In other words, only
when the precise context in which a symbol or image is featured has been estab-
lished with a degree of certainty can we begin to speculate about what possible
meanings were attached to them.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

The considerable overlap between Christian and Islamic art shows that it was
not possible to distinguish between the two groups from the point of art and
craftsmanship. Terms such as ‘Christian style’ or ‘Islamic style’ appear to have
no content. This forms a confirmation of, and extension to, the conclusions
of the wall paintings project (Section  above), which showed that divisions
between Christian communities known from the written sources appeared to
be broken by artistic links.

. Transformations: Identity Discourses among Suryoye in the European

Diaspora

.. A Modern Extension to the Programme

It may have become clear from the above that before , at least the outlines
of an ethnic identity had appeared among the Syriac Orthodox. Unfortunately,
we have not been able to investigate all developments in the following years.
However, by way of extension to our programme, a Ph.D. project was ded-
icated to mapping the discourses of identity among Suryoye elite members
in the European diaspora. In the last decades of the twentieth century, Syriac
Orthodox Christians, or Suryoye, originating in the current nation states Iraq,
Lebanon, Syria, and Turkey have formed diaspora communities in Europe.
Among their members, the communal identity of the Suryoye is hotly debated.
The project attempted to explain these discourses—which show a transforma-
tion of identity—in relation to the social, political, and historical context in
which the Suryoye live today. It also aimed at a description of how Suryoye elite
members mobilized these discourses. In this project we limited ourselves to the
Suryoye who migrated from Syria and Turkey to Sweden and Germany. The
people that have played the most important and leading role in the identity
formation of the Suryoye in the last century have been different elite groups,
such as educated secular leaders, as well as religious and informal influential
‘leaders’. Our research therefore focused on these elite groups.
The project first dealt with the process of emigration and settlement, as this
forms the backdrop against which the transformation of the identity of the
Suryoye should be explained. It also discussed the growth of national move-
ments among them. The focus was on the situation in Sweden, whereas mate-
rial from Germany was used for comparative purposes. Next, on the basis of in-
depth interviews, participative observation, and the study of internet sources
the identity discourses among the Suryoye were studied. For this purpose, a
number of the features of ethnic communities listed by Hutchinson and Smith
were selected.
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

In the first place we looked at the name of the community. In contrast to

the situation in the homelands, the Suryoye in the western diaspora received
the same status as other citizens in the receptor country. Consequently they
were referred to as a minority group in the sense that they did not belong to
the majority of the indigenous population. For the receptor society they were
Syrians or Turks, like all other people originating from these nation states.
In the opinion of Suryoye elite members these names were misnomers. The
discussion about the right designation in western languages to refer to the
Suryoye has ended in a conflict which has not been resolved yet. We dedicated
one chapter to the different arguments used in favour of the choice of a certain
designation.
The sense of solidarity and the extent of the Suryoye in their self-definition
were also investigated: we asked people to define whom they would include
when they were talking about ‘our people’. Then we studied the link with the
homeland, asking people where and how they define their homeland (athro).
Throughout the chapters it was shown that the shared memories of persecution
(especially those of the Seyfo, the genocide of the Suryoye during WW I in
Ottoman Turkey) in the Middle East have played an important role in their
collective identity. Furthermore, our research indicated that in the diaspora,
traditional elements of culture such as the Syriac language are combined with
new elements of culture which evolved in the diaspora. Examples are the
success of the soccer team Assyriska in the Swedish league, the production
of new genres of music, dances, theatre, literature but also an entrepreneurial
business culture. These new elements show the dynamics in the process of the
formation of a collective identity in a new context.
Finally, we studied the question of leadership, an element to which Hutchin-
son and Smith did not pay as much attention as the other elements (for the
obvious reason that they described the features of an ethnic community rather
than a nation). Through the identification of Suryoye leadership, elite members
have shown their orientation towards religious or secular leadership and with
that their positioning as a people among other peoples. Suryoye elite members
have started to lobby national governments and international organizations
about taking the Suryoye into consideration. Though most Suryoye are realis-
tic enough to see that a Suryoye state will not be possible in the near future, the
principle that it should be possible is widely accepted. Many Suryoye dream of
a leadership that functions on a par with the leaders of other states, and would
like to have some sort of a parliament.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

.. Findings: A Non-Religious Definition of Ethnicity, and National Aspira-

tions
Among our findings, here we would highlight the fact that a national move-
ment came up among the Suryoye, which stressed the non-religious elements
of their ethnic identity and promoted a distinct national identity of the Sury-
oye as a people. This movement started on a low scale as early as the beginning
of the twentieth century in the homeland. Two leading figures were Ashor
Yusef and Naum Faiq.77 In Europe this movement has gained considerable
strength. Its goal was the increase of a shared sense of nationhood among the
Suryoye and the members of other Syriac Churches.78 The religious element in
their identity was not what mattered most any more. Instead, they defined the
main characteristic of their ethnie on the basis of an idea of common descent
and their shared cultural and linguistic background. The focus on the shared
background started to function as the basis of a new appeal: to be recognized
nationally and internationally as a people, and to be entitled to cultural, lin-
guistic, and religious rights, like other peoples.
The national movement had its roots in the homelands, but it expanded
extensively in the diaspora situation. Three important reasons that can be
detected for the expansion of the national movement in Europe are the follow-
ing. In the first place religion had lost its function as a boundary between the
Suryoye and other people in the secular diaspora countries. Thus it became nec-
essary to find new ways of positioning the Suryoye in the societies in which they
came to live. Although the Suryoye were officially nationals of the nation states
Syria and Turkey, in practice they had often been treated differently: an out-
come of their position in the former Millet system in the Ottoman Empire. In
this polity, informed by religious affiliation and solidarity, ethnic identity had
played a marginal role.79 The problem of identification became acute because of
the names given to the Suryoye arriving in the receptor countries: they resisted
being identified on the basis of Turkish or Syrian identity.

77)
Ashor Yusef was born in  in Kharput, Turkey. He was killed in  by the ruling
government in Turkey. Naum Faiq was born in  in Diyarbakır (Omid) in Turkey. In
 he fled to America and died there in . Until his death he continued publishing
his ideas about the situation of the Suryoye.
78)
The Assyrian Church of the East, the Chaldean Church, the Maronite Church, the
Melkite Church, the Syriac Orthodox, the Syriac Catholic and Syriac Protestant Churches.
79)
Milton Jacob Esman and Itamar Rabinovich, Ethnicity, Pluralism, and the State in the
Middle East (Ithaca, NY, ), p. .
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

A second reason for the expansion of the national movement is that the
opportunities to study in Europe resulted in an enormous increase of educated
secular elite members. Consequently these laymen put topics on the agenda of
their people that could not be thought of before in the homeland. The secular
elite members started to increase their influence on issues relating to the Sury-
oye both in the homelands and in the diaspora. In the homelands one could
say that the clergy were still far more influential than the secular elites. The
central power was with the clergy who represented their church members for-
mally. They decided about the major issues regarding the Suryoye. Our research
showed that even among those most loyal to the Syriac Orthodox Church, the
Patriarch is now only seen as a religious leader; for secular leadership, the Sury-
oye are looking elsewhere.
A third reason for the expansion of the national movement in Europe has
been freedom of speech. The Suryoye were allowed to talk about a distinct
national identity. They have even used their new position as European nationals
to speak out about the rights of the Suryoye as a people in both the homelands
and in Europe. In this regard one can observe that the Seyfo is on the agenda
of many Suryoye secular organizations.
The dispersion of families worldwide led to a transnational community
structure that functions as a network through which this discussion is led. In
this way, the subject of identity is not only discussed at regional or national
level, but also at transnational level. Important tools for this have been the
use of the latest communication technology, and easy international transporta-
tion. This acceleration in the exchange of information as used by the edu-
cated elite has influenced the central position that the subject of ‘identity’ has
taken. Although the national movement was relatively small, it led the way
for a national consciousness among the Suryoye in Europe, no matter what
designation they choose to use, Aramean, Assyrian, or Syriac.

. Survey of the Development of a Syriac Orthodox Identity

By way of conclusion we give our reconstruction of the development of Syriac
Orthodox identity, relating our finds to our initial hypothesis. Roughly speak-
ing, five main periods with distinct interests were discerned in our research. In
Section  we have already defined an early period, from  up to the mid-
dle of the seventh century. This period was primarily concerned with the val-
idation of Syrian Christianity as the legitimate continuation of the ‘official’,
apostolic Church. The later period (–) can be divided into two parts.
The first section, from the mid-seventh up to and including the tenth century,
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

was a period of re-orientation, necessitated by political developments and the

contacts with Islam. It showed efforts to establish a tradition, and to deter-
mine who the Syrians really were and where they came from. The last sec-
tion then, from the eleventh up to and including the thirteenth century, was
a period of further compilation and codification. Authors contributed much
to the formation of a West Syrian identity as they strove to integrate the spec-
trum of earlier understandings. In addition to these three periods, we also paid
attention to the period before the split, and to the developments in our own
times.
Our hypothesis was that the choice made in religious matters was the start-
ing point for the new group, but that there were a number of factors that con-
tributed to its development: the position of the clergy and an autonomous cen-
trifugal force in the Byzantine Empire, for which religious difference became
the focus and symbol. Through a process of selection and resignification, grad-
ually other features from the complex cultural background of the Syrian Chris-
tians were added: language, for example—one of the most easily recognizable,
and therefore strongest, features of identity—, became very important, but
only after some time. On the western side of the Byzantine-Persian border, the
use of Syriac seemed to gravitate towards the Miaphysites. As soon as the use
of Syriac became recognized as a symbol of the religious association that was in
the process of becoming a community, it offered the possibility of establishing
a link to a more distant, and more glorious, pre-Christian past: did not the
Bible say that the Babylonians and Assyrians spoke Aramaic, that is, Syriac? So
they were Syrians, too. We should not think of ancient fault lines here, but of
a social process of identity construction. It was the choice for the Miaphysite
doctrine that was used as the focal point for a number of new and existing,
partly competing, partly complementary loyalties, under the pressure of the
Chalcedonians and later the contact with Islam, which accorded the Syriac
Orthodox, as well as some other Christian communities, a special social and
juridical status.
Basically we think that this hypothesis still explains the development very
well, and can accommodate the sources we studied. We have a number of
modifications and adjustments, however. The main ones are the following:
(a) Even more than before we started, we tend to see the seventh century as the
time when the Syriac Orthodox developed from a religious association to
a community that gradually acquired the sense of being an ethnos. Though
certain developments had already started earlier, the beginning of Islamic
rule was a turning point.
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

(b) The art-historical evidence points to the fact that identity is never exclusive
and simple. Whereas our written sources indicate clear borders between the
Syriac Orthodox and other communities, it appeared that the local style
in the wall paintings of Syria and Lebanon was not exclusive to the Syriac
Orthodox, and that Muslim and Christian art in the Mosul area could not
be distinguished on the basis of style or even iconography.
(c) The combination of art-historical and written evidence suggests to us that
the higher clergy were the carriers (and inventors) of the tradition and acted
much in the same way as the Traditionskern in ethnogenesis theory.
In the following sections we discuss our reconstruction in more detail.

.. Before 

With regard to the origin of the Syriac Orthodox as an ethnic group we
hypothesized that the choice made in religious matters was their starting point.
The reason for this was that the Syriac-speaking Miaphysites had never known
political independence, as had the Armenians, nor did they exhibit any of the
six features associated with ethnic communities.80
Syriac-speaking Miaphysites had no proper name expressing the identity
of the community. When Tatian describes himself in the second century as
someone who ‘philosophizes in the manner of the barbarians, born in the
land of the Assyrians, educated first on your principles, secondly in what I
now profess’ (Oratio ad Graecos ), we would agree with Fergus Millar that
the barbarian philosophy must be Christianity, and that the word ‘Assyrians’
refers simply to the inhabitants of the province of Syria.81 Syriac-speaking
Miaphysites could not claim a myth of common ancestry or shared historical
memories exclusively for themselves; nor were the elements of common culture
exclusive to them: they shared the Syriac language with some Chalcedonians
and with the East Syrian Dyophysites, and their Miaphysite beliefs with Copts,
Ethiopians, Armenians, and Greek-speaking Miaphysites. In the fifth century,
at any rate, their network and sense of solidarity were not exclusive either. Even

80)
As defined by Hutchinson and Smith, Ethnicity, pp. –.
81)
Fergus Millar, The Roman Near East:  bc–ad  (Cambridge, MA), pp. , ,
following Theodor Nöldeke, ‘Ασσριος Σριος Σρος’, Hermes  (), pp. –, here
p. .
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

in the early sixth century, Miaphysites still cherished the hope of being reunited
with those who professed the official religion of the Byzantine Empire.82
The only feature of an ethnic community that to some extent may have
been present is the link to a certain territory. But as this is an isolated feature,
the indications we have point rather to a sense of loyalty to the region than to
anything else. I am referring to the way Ephrem seems to stress the role of his
own region in his Genesis commentary, identifying the cities where Nimrod
was king with Edessa, Nisibis, Ctesiphon, Adiabene, Hatra, and Resh#aina. His
positive view of Nimrod, the legendary king of this area, is conspicuous (see
Section . above).
Though it is known that there must have been people who knew the cunei-
form script and the Akkadian language up to at least the first century ce, we
have not found any indication of a Traditionskern that passed on Assyrian or
Babylonian traditions to the later Syriac Orthodox. On the contrary, in the
twelfth century Michael the Syrian himself explicitly states that in order to
become good Christians, his community gave up all pagan knowledge. It is
through Greek sources, he says, that one can regain a connection with the pre-
Christian past. This would seem to be a clear description of a tradition being
reinvented.
It should be stressed that the term ‘reinvented’ does not entail a value judge-
ment: even modern nation states such as Belgium and the Netherlands have
invented their past. After all, apart from a geographical one, no connection can
be demonstrated between the tribe of the Belgians of whom Julius Caesar said
that they were the bravest fighters of all and the present state of Belgium, nor
can one contend that the present Dutch had anything to do with the megalithic
tombs in the province of Drenthe. Yet they do appear in the ‘canon of history’
which the Ministry of Education has now sent to all primary schools. One can
say, however, that Syriac-speaking Christians were living in an area where the
Assyrian Empire once reigned. The empire disappeared in the mists of history,
but its inhabitants may have continued to live there, mingling with the people
they overcame and that overcame them. If outsiders deny the Syriac Orthodox
the right to identify themselves with the Assyrians, they would be using double
standards. Moreover, one should not forget that the question ‘who the Syriac
Orthodox really are’—which is behind such a denial—can only be posed if one
defines ethnic communities in essentialist or even biological terms.

82)
Jan van Ginkel, John of Ephesus. A Monophysite Historian in Sixth-Century Byzantium
(Ph.D. thesis, University of Groningen, ), p. .
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

Within today’s community in the diaspora a discussion is going on about

the question of whether the Syriac Orthodox should identify themselves with
the Assyrians or the Arameans. In terms of a Traditionskern, it might be more
obvious to think of the families in Edessa that became Christian and decided
to use their dialect of Aramaic as a liturgical language. Their Aramaic was a
dialect that already had a literary tradition and, as one of the offshoots of
Reichsaramäisch, a respectable pedigree. Yet it does not mean that they defined
themselves as Arameans. The situation in the Edessa of the first centuries
would seem to have been more complicated: there are clear Arab influences,
among other things, in the names of its kings, whereas other sources speak
of the town as Armenian rather than Aramaic. As lingua franca in the first
millennium bce, Aramaic had actually been adopted by various people. The
use of the language on the coins of the Edessan state can be seen as a statement
of independence from the Romans and Parthians, and was in that sense an
identity marker. However, it did not point to an allegiance with the ancient
kingdoms of Aram.
The possible role of the Edessan families as Traditionskern for the Syriac
Orthodox is further limited by the fact that many of the Miaphysites in the
area to the west of the Euphrates were actually expressing themselves in Greek,
at least when they wanted to write something down—it is possible that some
of them used Aramaic as a spoken language, but it is uncertain whether this
was Eastern Aramaic or Western. Their use of the Eastern Aramaic dialect we
now call Syriac was a development of later centuries. As a Traditionskern hands
down traditions which can, if circumstances allow, become the tradition of a
much larger group, this in itself is not a problem, but it would perhaps suggest
a more central role for Edessa in these later developments than is borne out
by the sources. This possible Traditionskern would also be atypical in the sense
that it passed on a language rather than a myth of origin. Finally, it would not
explain the split between East and West Syrians.

.. –
It was in the sixth century that the first outlines of a communal identity
appeared. Syriac- and Greek-speaking Miaphysites in the area of present-day
Syria, Lebanon, and south-eastern Turkey had begun to define themselves in
opposition to the Chalcedonians, and came to be defined so by others. Jacob
Baradaeus (d. c.) laid the foundations of a separate Miaphysite ecclesiastical
hierarchy, which was not officially linked to the ‘national’ Miaphysite churches.
Those who had been persecuted by the Byzantines assumed the role of martyrs,
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

and were remembered as such. These memories formed the basis of a histor-
ical conscience. The religious position of the new hierarchy was also further
developed.
As Momigliano83 explains, monotheism fosters theological controversy.84
In the pre-Christian world the periphery of the Roman Empire had defined
itself in relation to the centre through the general compatibility of various
polytheisms; now the new notions of ‘orthodoxy’ and ‘heresy’ allowed the
periphery to define itself against the centre. The Miaphysites viewed themselves
as in the first place Christians. They accepted the writings and teaching of the
Church from before , but since the others had departed from orthodoxy,
they felt that they were the only ones who kept to the correct doctrine. The
pressure from the centre and the persecutions reinforced this mechanism of
alienation, just as support from the centre, such as that given by Theodora,
the wife of Emperor Justinian I, kept the idea of belonging to the Christian
Empire alive.
Centrifugal forces were greatly assisted by the position of the clergy. Imperial
officials were constantly recycled, while bishops could build up a local power
base. Together with the monks—from whose ranks the Syriac Orthodox bish-
ops were chosen—they formed a continuous presence in their area. Monas-
teries began to dominate cultural and intellectual developments, controlling
the communication channels for the diffusion of the myths and symbols that
shaped the community. Bishops also extended their authority to secular areas.85
Though all this suggests that the mechanisms of group formation were
in place in this period, the level of group identification seems not to have
taken the form of an ethnic awareness yet. The historians and chroniclers we
studied express their connection to a certain geographical area, as Ephrem
had done earlier. In addition they express their allegiance to the Empire as
a whole—but not to emperors who held the wrong opinions in doctrinal
matters. There was a clear hope that the Empire would become Miaphysite,
and there were certainly events that fed this hope. Linguistically they were
aware of being a subdivision within the Empire but the doctrinal boundaries
between the various denominations were more important for their group

83)
Arnaldo Momigliano, ‘The Disadvantages of Monotheism for a Universal State’, Classi-
cal Philology  (), pp. –; repr. in Arnaldo Momigliano, On Pagans, Jews, and
Christians (Hanover, NH, ), pp. –.
84)
See also Garth Fowden, Empire to Commonwealth: Consequences of Monotheism in Late
Antiquity (Princeton, ), pp. –.
85)
Fowden, Empire to Commonwealth, pp. –.
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

identification than their language. The Syriac exegetical sources actually show
a clear predilection for everything Greek. The idea seems to have been that
the doctrinal strife was due to inexact translations and unclear formulations
by earlier theologians. The number of references to earlier Syriac sources (even
Ephrem) drops dramatically; there is a clear development towards more literal
translations. The Miaphysite movement in the area was bilingual: some of its
strongest representatives wrote in Greek rather than Syriac.

.. –
It is as if history were revived, and tradition reinvented in the following period.
There was a sense of continuity, but not all the lines of the earlier periods
were actually followed. The contact between Muslims and Syriac Orthodox
Christians already necessitated further delineation of the position of the latter.
Moreover, the arrival of Islamic rule cut off the Miaphysites in the area of
present-day Syria, Lebanon, and south-eastern Turkey from the Byzantine
Empire, and confronted them with the fact that they were on their own: they
were no longer part of the Byzantine Empire and the Empire would not become
Miaphysite. What may have appeared a fluid situation before, had now become
crystallized.
The Syriac language started to play a role as a distinguishing feature: Mia-
physites in the area distanced themselves from Greek. The polymath Jacob of
Edessa (d. ) found that his fellow monks had begun to distrust everything
Greek: they actually quarrelled with him because of his Greek learning. Again,
an important role in this process was played by the Arab invasions, which cut
off direct contact with most of the Greek-speaking world.86 Greek became asso-
ciated, it seems, with ‘the enemy’ in both doctrinal and political senses. Diony-
sius of Tel Mahre (d. ) and Michael the Syrian (d. ) appear to have
seen language as an important identity marker, and it was through language
that they connected their community with a pre-Christian past. Earlier indi-
cations of such a connection we found in Jacob of Edessa’s exegesis (d. ),
however. Interestingly, his identification of his community with the descen-
dants of Aram was not explicitly connected with the language, though this
may have played a role in the background. The same holds true for the remark
Sebastian Brock87 found in Severus of Nisibis (d. /): ‘Nobody I think
will dispute that Babylonians are Syrians’.

86)
Brock, ‘Antagonism’.
87)
Brock, ‘Antagonism’.
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

On the basis of the sources we studied, we would say that the impact of
the Arab invasions made the Miaphysites gradually distance themselves from
the Byzantine Empire and define their tradition as Syriac, while they started
to identify with some of the pre-Christian peoples of the area. At least in the
early ninth century, in Dionysius of Tel Mahre and in the Commentary of the
Monk Severus, the different elements have been connected and form a system.
Though all six features of an ethnic community are present (name, myth
of common origin, shared historical memories, shared elements of culture
(religion, language), links with a geographic area, and a sense of solidarity),
it is clear that the religious aspect remained central.
With regard to the carriers of the tradition we can say that the rise of
Islam did not fundamentally change the position of the higher clergy, but their
powers in worldly matters were now officially confirmed: since the middle of
the eighth century, the Caliphs gave the Patriarchs a charter to this effect.88
They acted as the leaders of their community and their monasteries were the
centres where the tradition was kept and developed. A family aspect may have
played a role as well: at least about the East Syrians we know that important
families put their stakes on different options, sending some of their sons to the
clergy and making others study medicine and become important and powerful
doctors at the Abbasid court. There is no doubt that such families played an
important role in the reinvention of the tradition.

.. –
The next period, often dubbed that of the ‘Syriac Renaissance’, started only
after a period of at least a century in which the production of literature
in Syriac by the West Syrians almost came to a standstill. The enormous
output of Yahya ibn Adi in tenth-century Baghdad shows that the Syriac
Orthodox were still active, but he wrote in Arabic. It seems that political and
military developments, including the Byzantine military achievements against
the Muslims in the twelfth century and the Crusades, favoured a new start
of Syriac literature in the area of present-day Turkey, if only because of the
stimulus of cultural contacts.

88)
Peter Kawerau, Die jakobitische Kirche im Zeitalter der syrischen Renaissance: Idee und
Wirklichkeit (Berliner Byzantinistische Arbeiten ; Berlin, ), pp. –; Wolfgang
Hage, Die syrisch-jakobitische Kirche in frühislamischer Zeit: nach orientalischen Quellen
(Wiesbaden, ), pp. –.
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

The historiographical and exegetical works of the twelfth and thirteenth

centuries try to summarize the tradition once more, and show evidence of
further ‘cultivating’ and ‘pruning’. The work of Michael the Syrian is witness
to a growing interest in the pre-Christian past. Language as an identity marker
was extremely important to him, as we have seen: whoever spoke Aramaic was
one of his forefathers, he suggests. It is important to note the background to
Michael’s argument: what he wanted to do was to prove that the Syrians would
be able to govern themselves. The fact that they had had kings and empires in
the past would be sufficient proof. As a Patriarch Michael had considerable
power, not just in ecclesiastical affairs but also in civil matters. He had to deal,
however, with the aspirations of the Byzantine Emperor Manuel I Komnenos,
who wanted to reunite and restore the Roman Empire. Manuel was already
talking to the Armenians, who were a nuisance to Michael anyway, as they were
a strong power in southern Turkey. Therefore he and his friend Dionysius bar
Salibi were relatively negative about the Armenians, who in terms of doctrine
should have been their allies, and relatively positive about the Chalcedonian
Franks (the Crusaders), with whom Michael sought to enter into an alliance
against Manuel. It is conspicuous that Michael’s enemies within the Syriac
Orthodox Church did want to give in to the Byzantines: the borders between
the communities became a function of power politics and alliance making.
The fact that political alliances became more important than doctrinal
matters may point to the fact that the stress on the religious aspect of the
Syriac Orthodox identity became slightly less pronounced. Another indication
to that effect is the openness towards the East Syrian tradition in both the
exegetical and historiographical sources. Already in the ninth century exegetes
from both communities had started to use each other’s works. In Dionysius bar
Salibi, in the twelfth century, this was still no more than a utilitarian issue: if
Isho#dad had something he could use, he would take it without indicating the
source. If Isho#dad offered an explanation Dionysius did not like, he would
stress the East Syrian provenance. The importance attributed to language as
identity marker may have played a role: at least in his friend Michael we see
that this made him recognize that both Syriac communities were of common
descent. Barhebraeus, one century later, was more generous than Dionysius,
and also showed a marked openness towards Islam.
Still, in all the written works we studied the borders between the commu-
nities are clearly indicated. It was our study of the art of this period that made
us realize that this was not the whole story. The wall paintings in the area of
present-day Syria and Lebanon clearly show intensive contact between Byzan-
tine Orthodox, Maronites, and Syriac Orthodox, whereas there are also Cru-
 A Communal Identity among West Syrian Christians 

sader and Muslim influences. And neither the style nor the iconography of the
art of Mosul suggests that Christians and Muslims had different artistic tradi-
tions. Much of the art must have been made in the same workshops. We do
see evidence of local schools, however. This makes us conclude that the reality
of everyday life in the small towns of the Middle East necessitated contacts
between the various communities to a much higher level than the keepers of
the tradition, the clergy, may have wanted. Personal identity is always based
on a combination of different loyalties, which may contradict. Even though
at this time the loyalty to the Syriac Orthodox Church came with a sense of
common descent, it was not the only identity people had.

.. Today
Today the Syriac Orthodox are in the final stage of the formation of an ethnic
community. They still do not agree on their common ancestry and their name.
These issues cause tensions far beyond the Middle East. In Sweden, they have
been the cause of riots among Syriac Orthodox refugees coming mainly from
the south-east of Turkey. In the Netherlands the same issues are hotly debated
in towns such as Enschede and Hengelo, where many Syriac Orthodox refugees
have settled. However, these dissensions are a matter of defining the features
of an ethnic community rather than of not having any. Moreover, many
Syriac Orthodox do apply the terms of ‘nation’ and ‘ethnic community’ to
themselves. Though most of the features of the ethnic identity of the Syriac
Orthodox were already present in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the
national movement which arose in the homelands and gained considerable
strength in the diaspora stressed its non-religious elements. This entailed a
clear change of situation in comparison with the Ottoman Empire, and points
to the situational aspect of identity. In the Ottoman Empire ethnic identity
played a marginal role and one’s religious affiliation was what mattered, whereas
the receptor societies in Western Europe tend to classify people according to
their nationality. Strikingly, our study of the ideas on leadership within the
community shows that even among those who stand close to the Church, many
think that in secular issues the clergy has no leadership role to play.

Bas ter Haar Romeny

Leiden University
romeny@religion.leidenuniv.nl
 Bas ter Haar Romeny et al.

Naures Atto
Leiden University
n.atto@religion.leidenuniv.nl

Jan J. van Ginkel

Leiden University
j.j.van.ginkel@hum.leidenuniv.nl

Mat Immerzeel
Leiden University
m.immerzeel@hum.leidenuniv.nl

Bas Snelders
Leiden University
b.snelders@hum.leidenuniv.nl
 Family Matters:
Community, Ethnicity, and Multiculturalism

Willem Hofstee

Abstract
Concepts which play an important role in the theoretical framework of community studies,
such as community, identity, nation and nation state, ethnicity, and multiculturalism, are
being discussed and questioned. It is argued that the idea of family resemblances should form
the basis of any comparison, and that the circumstances in which these concepts are being
expressed should be studied first, instead of using a checklist in order to establish them.

Keywords
Community; comparison; identity; ethnicity; multiculturalism.

In the ‘Results and Conclusions of the Leiden Project’ the authors briefly
outline the problem being discussed here at this conference, but, at the same
time, they stress that there is all the more reason to reinvestigate the problem
‘since the social sciences have given us new tools and more precise definitions of
such core terms as ethnicity, nation, and identity’. As an anthropologist my first
reaction, after reading this, was: did we as social scientists provide the world
with new tools and precise definitions? I must confess that I was not aware
of this achievement. It sounds like an enormous breakthrough, if it were true,
which I am not sure it is. Moreover, I am inclined to think that we should not
make the formulation of precise definitions a major scientific task, because the
elusiveness of our subject matter makes a comparative approach to the study
of religion difficult.
In my short contribution to this conference I would like to focus on a brief
discussion of a few of the central concepts which play an important role in the
theoretical framework of the research being done here, such as ‘community’,
‘identity’, ‘nation’ and ‘nation state’, ‘ethnicity’, and ‘multiculturalism’.
It is not my intention to provide you either with ‘new tools’ or with ‘pre-
cise definitions’ of the key concepts mentioned above. On the contrary, I
 Willem Hofstee

would like to question them, and I hope to be able to provide you with more
problems than you already have.

Community
In anthropology the concept of community was in use as early as the first half of
the twentieth century in many so-called ‘community studies’, and it has come
to play an increasingly important role in historical writing also. The tradition
of writing historical monographs on villages is much older of course, but at
the time these studies were in most cases made as expressions of local interest,
rather than as a means of understanding the wider society.1 Emmanuel Le Roy
Ladurie’s historical study of Catharism in the French village Montaillou is only
one example of the adoption of a more holistic anthropological approach,
in which small facts are related to larger issues.2 As James Peacock put it:
‘Anthropology is concerned not only with holistically analyzing the place of
humans in society and in nature but also, and especially, with the way humans
construct cultural frameworks in order to render their lives meaningful.’3
Studies that emphasize the relationship between the community and its wider
social and economic environment, avoid the risk of treating a community or
village as if it were an island, and by so doing ignoring the relation between
analysis at the small-scale and large-scale levels.
Therefore the scope of anthropology is holistic, although the traditional
anthropological focus seems to be exclusively on the exotic and the small. This
is because the research method being used by anthropologists is fieldwork and,
more specifically, participant observation, which in most cases takes place in
relatively small communities. It is obvious that comparison is one of the most
difficult problems, as is the way in which generalizations and extrapolations
are constructed. Part of the problem here is the use of general terms and
definitions, such as ‘community’, ‘ethnicity’, and also ‘religion’.
Ludwig Wittgenstein has made clear that the meaning of a general term is
based on its contextual use: verba valent usu. Because the contexts change, the
meanings are also subjected to changes. They do not refer to a static object or
a never-changing ‘essence’ which—in that case—would have no connection
with the specific cases for which the term is actually being used. General terms

1)
Peter Burke, History and Social Theory (nd ed.; Cambridge, ), pp. –.
2)
Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie, Montaillou, village Occitan de  à  (Paris, ).
3)
James L. Peacock, The Anthropological Lens. Harsh Light, Soft Focus (nd ed.; Cambridge,
), p. .
 Community, Ethnicity, and Multiculturalism 

also function as a means of orientation and communication. In other words:

the use of a term relates to a ‘language-game’, which is ‘the whole, consisting of
language and the actions into which it is woven’.4 This implies that comparison
is only useful on the basis of ‘family resemblances’. The phenomena for which
we use terms such as ‘community’, ‘ethnicity’, and ‘religion’ do not necessarily
all share a feature in common, nor do they all necessarily resemble one another
with respect to some particular trait or quality. However, when we look more
closely they collectively reveal a multiplicity of ‘similarities overlapping and
criss-crossing’.5 It also implies that the term in itself does not refer to an
empirically observable entity, but only refers to a construct of the mind.
The idea of the family resemblances makes it possible to criticize the ‘pseudo’
problems with which many scholars of religion tease each other. One of the
most intriguing ones is the need to define. As to the term ‘religion’ we seem
to have almost one hundred and eighty definitions by now. I am not implying
that we should get rid of the term, on the contrary. We need it as an analytical
category, but it should be an unbounded category. Most of the process of
definition involves the search for a fixed, uniform, and universal meaning of a
term. In doing so the definer is overlooking the differences between societies,
and the uniqueness of individual cases. They are to become the exceptions to
the rule, because they do not constitute the ‘essence’ of a certain phenomenon.
But precisely these ‘exceptions’ should be our object of research. Only the
exceptions are observable, because the essence is a non-observable abstract
construct. By focusing on the unique, and by analyzing and describing the
details, the general picture will become clearer. In the natural sciences this idea
is common knowledge: the study of marine ecosystems in relation to the global
changes in our climate shows that very small organisms have a great significance
on a much larger scale. Small facts do say a lot about large issues.
The family resemblances are real because they can be traced by means of
empirical observation. I am referring to Wittgenstein’s discussion of the use of
general terms here, because I want to make clear that questions such as ‘what is
community?’, ‘what is ethnicity?’ or ‘what is religion?’ are endless and pointless
because they focus on one particular meaning instead of a variety of meanings
in different contexts.

4)
Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations  (rd ed.; New York, ), p. ,
cited in B. Saler, Conceptualizing Religion. Immanent Anthropologists, Transcendent Natives,
and Unbounded Categories (New York–Oxford, ), p. .
5)
Saler, Conceptualizing Religion, p. .
 Willem Hofstee

The search for family resemblances in which both similarities and differ-
ences play a part, also makes it necessary to be critical of the comparative
method. How to compare, and for what purpose, are probably the most dif-
ficult methodological problems in our discipline. The well-known comment
of the British anthropologist Edward Evans-Pritchard that ‘there exists only
one method in social anthropology, namely the comparative method, which is
impossible’ points to the intricacy of the problem.6 If the reason for compari-
son is to draw up abstract generalizations, and uniformities of history, we will
not gain any insight into the development of individual cases. Comparison
is only useful if it makes the researcher aware of specific connections within
a given social context. The broader the comparison, the less we will know. It
means that only family resemblances should form the basis for any comparative
method.
It is the historian and sociologist Norbert Elias who has tried to develop
a comparative method without searching for generalizations. In his study of
the process of civilization and state formation in Western Europe, which had
already appeared before the Second World War, he shows how these long-
term developments are interconnected.7 He does not need any formalized
notions or general terms. Instead, he stresses resemblances within a given
structure or process identified by a general term. The term is unbound, and the
comparison is limited. Elias is not seeking to generalize scientific outcomes, but
their relevance: the light they shed on other comparable figurations and social
processes.
As to communities the question is how to determine the way by which they
sustain, fail to sustain, or even inhibit religious faith and identities, given that
the term ‘community’ is almost indefinable as are also the terms ‘culture’ and
‘religion’. Although anthropological studies following the theoretical orienta-
tion of Émile Durkheim suffer from an overvaluation of classificatory modes
of thought, some studies of ritual and symbol may assist in the response to this
question. I will mention two of them.
Mary Douglas has distinguished two dimensions of group communal life:
the internal network binding and classifying persons in relation to each other
(grid ), and the external community’s identity contrasted to those outside its

6)
See Edward Evan Evans-Pritchard, ‘The Comparative Method in Social Anthropology’,
in Edward Evan Evans-Pritchard, The Position of Women in Primitive Societies and Other
Essays (London, ), pp. –.
7)
Norbert Elias, Über den Prozess der Zivilisation: soziogenetische und psychogenetische Unter-
suchungen ( vols.; Basel, ; nd ed.; Bern, ).
 Community, Ethnicity, and Multiculturalism 

boundaries (group).8 Her analysis is a method of describing and classifying

cultures and societies, or aspects of them, and individual social situations
and actions. The group dimension especially is the measure of social cohesion
within a given community. But, as Brian Morris has stated, it is only with the
rise of literacy and state institutions in early theocratic states, that the symbolic
classifications of Durkheimian-structured symbolism turn out to be fruitful.9
Another example is the work of Victor Turner, who uses the term ‘commu-
nitas’ to refer to spontaneous, unstructured social solidarities. These solidarities
are necessarily impermanent, because an informal group either fades away or
congeals into a formal institution. He sees two models for human interrelated-
ness, juxtaposed and alternating: ‘The first is of society as a structured, differen-
tiated, and often hierarchical system of politico-legal-economic positions […].
The second […] is of society as an unstructured or rudimentarily structured
and relatively undifferentiated comitatus, community, or even communion of
equal individuals who submit together to the general authority of the ritual
elders.’10
Collective identity is a concept related to ‘community’ and prominent in
anthropology and sociology since the beginning of the twentieth century, espe-
cially in the works of Émile Durkheim, the seminal philosopher of ‘society’, and
Max Weber, the most influential philosopher of ‘meaning’. After the Second
World War the formation of national identities past and present stimulated
studies of symbols of identity and their meaning, such as national anthems,
flags, and memorial rites, in which the power of memory, imagination, and
symbols in the construction of communities and identities is increasingly
emphasized.11
But the term ‘community’ is useful and problematic at the same time. Peter
Burke is right in stating that it has to be freed from the intellectual package in
which it forms part of the consensual, Durkheimian model of society, because it

8)
Mary Douglas, Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology (New York, ), pp. –
, –.
9)
Brian Morris, Anthropological Studies of Religion. An Introductory Text (Cambridge, ),
p. .
10)
Victor Turner, The Ritual Process. Structure and Anti-Structure (New York, ; nd
ed.; Harmondsworth, ), p. .
11)
For an account of these studies in the second half of the twentieth century, see: Mary Jo
Neitz, ‘Studying Religion in the Eighties’, in Howard Saul Becker and Michal M. McCall,
Symbolic Interaction and Cultural Studies (Chicago–London, ), pp. –.
 Willem Hofstee

cannot be assumed that every group is permeated by solidarity.12 Communities

have to be constructed and reconstructed. They are not homogeneous in
attitudes or free from, for instance, power conflicts and conflicts of interests,
either now, or in the past.
There is another reason for questioning the homogeneous character of com-
munities, because the conditions under which communities and national iden-
tities were formed are complex and various. Benedict Anderson finds the
important factors in the creation of these ‘imagined communities’ to be the
decline of religion and the rise of vernacular languages, encouraged by ‘print
capitalism’. For Ernest Gellner the crucial factor is the rise of industrial soci-
ety, which creates a cultural homogeneity, which ‘appears on the surface in the
form of nationalism’. Eric Hobsbawm distinguishes the nationalism of gov-
ernments from the nationalism of the people, arguing that what ordinary peo-
ple felt about nationality became a matter of political importance only in the
nineteenth century.13 All these examples are an invitation to apply the idea of
comparison by tracing family resemblances, and make one hesitant to define a
concept in an essentialist way.

Ethnicity
Both ethnicity and religion are concepts often used simultaneously in discus-
sions about group identity, but they do simply not explain each other. The eth-
nicity of a group may be explained as the result of religious belief and practices,
but religion may also be explained as a result of ethnicity. The construction of
group identity is not unidirectional or monolithic.14
There are three main views on ethnicity: primordial, circumstantial, and
constructivist. In the primordialist discourse ethnicity has an ahistorical qual-
ity. Like language, kinship, region, custom, and religion, ethnicity is described
as a persistent and immutable element of social identity, and—above all—one
that determines behaviour. Within this line of thinking ethnicity, and conse-
quently also religion, can be described as an a priori given. The Durkheimian

12)
Burke, History and Social Theory, p. .
13)
Burke, History and Social Theory, p. , referring to: Benedict Anderson, Imagined
Communities (London, ), Ernest Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (London, ),
and Eric Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since  (Cambridge, ).
14)
See D. Bruce MacKay, ‘Ethnicity’, in Willi Braun and Russell Tracey McCutcheon
(eds.), Guide to the Study of Religion (London, ), pp. –.
 Community, Ethnicity, and Multiculturalism 

structural-functionalist paradigm in anthropology tends to stress that most

models of ethnicity are a priori givens, that is known facts. Myths about the
sacred reality of the group’s origins play a decisive role when it comes to social
order and cohesion.15
In the circumstantialist view ethnicity is seen as a result of particular inter-
ests, goals and agendas and of specific circumstances. Fredrik Barth has shown
that ethnic groups are not fixed and immutable; they are forms without fixed
shape or content.16 The borders of ethnic groups are fluid and are determined
by ever-changing needs and interests. Ethnicity is a dynamic process, and in
this way the circumstantialist view contrasts with the primordialist ones. The
circumstantialist focus is on the boundaries that demarcate and define the
group, and not so much on the culture which can be found within it.
The rigidity of the primordialist view and the relativism of the cicumstan-
tialists has created an in-between position, termed as the constructivist view.
This view recognizes that ethnicity is an identity formed through interaction
and in dialogue with members of a group and with other people outside
the group. They all work to achieve goals and to realize interests, including
economic ones, which brings the constructivist view closer to Weber’s anal-
ysis of society and the meaning of religion, as an aspect of the social system
like any other.17 This view is also closer to the interpretative, anthropologi-
cal approach expressed by Clifford Geertz, who, in a discussion of primor-
dial sentiments in new states, stresses the importance of studying the mean-
ing of culture by tracing concrete patterns of primordial diversity, because:
‘The general strength of such primordial bonds, and the types of them that
are important, differ from person to person, from society to society, and from
time to time.’18 Geertz, in contrast to Barth and Turner, does not focus on dis-
tinguishing and cataloguing the varieties of symbolic types nor on the ways in
which symbols perform certain practical operations, but chiefly on the question

15)
See MacKay, ‘Ethnicity’, p. ; see also Georg M. Scott Jr., ‘A Resynthesis of the Primor-
dial and Circumstantial Approaches to Ethnic Group Solidarity: Towards an Explanatory
Model’, Ethnic and Racial Studies  (), pp. –.
16)
Fredrik Barth (ed.), Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Cultural
Difference (Boston, ).
17)
MacKay, ‘Ethnicity’, p. . In this respect I have to disagree with MacKay, who sees
both Weber and Geertz basically as primordialists.
18)
Clifford Geertz, ‘The Integrative Revolution: Primordial Sentiments and Civil Politics
in the New States’, in Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York, ),
pp. –, here pp. , .
 Willem Hofstee

of how symbols shape the ways social actors see, feel, and think about the
world—in other words: how symbols operate as vehicles of culture.19
Therefore it is better to study the circumstances, the webs of significance, in
which an ethnicity is expressed, instead of using a checklist in order to estab-
lish it. Religion and ethnicity have stepped in to redefine public communities.
The fading of the nation state and old forms of secular nationalism has pro-
duced both the opportunity and the need for new nationalisms. The need for
national identity persists because no single alternative form of social cohesion
and affiliation has yet appeared to dominate public life the way the secular
nation state did in the twentieth century. In the absence of any other demarca-
tion of national loyalty and commitment, religion and ethnicity have become
resources for national identification.

Nation state and multiculturalism

The idea of the modern nation state is at once profound and simple: the state
is created by the people within a given national territory. Secular nationalism,
being the ideology that originally gave the nation state its legitimacy, contends
that the authority of a nation is based on the secular idea of a social compact
of equals rather than on ethnic ties or sacred mandates.20
But in the second half of the twentieth century the secular nation state turns
out to be a fragile artifice, especially in those areas where ‘new’ nations had
been created. Many of these ‘imagined nations’ with in some cases invented
names such as Pakistan, Indonesia, Yugoslavia, and Russia were not accepted
by all within their territory as recent history has shown. Only authoritarian
political, economic, and administrative ties held the different regions together.
The rationale for the nation state came into question when these ties began to
fray as a result of the rise of the global economic market.
The effect of what Mark Juergensmeyer has called ‘the loss of faith in secular
nationalism’ has been enormous.21 Part of the reason for the dubious status
of nationalism was that it had been transported to parts of the world in the
cultural baggage of ‘modernity’: a reliance on rationality that was by now
considered obsolete. In a multicultural world, where a variety of views of

19)
Sherry B. Ortner, ‘Theory in Anthropology since the Sixties’, Comparative Studies of
Society and History  (), pp. –, here p. .
20)
Mark Juergensmeyer, ‘Nationalism and Religion’, in Robert A. Segal (ed.), The Blackwell
Companion to the Study of Religion (Oxford, ), pp. –.
21)
Juergensmeyer, ‘Nationalism and Religion’, p. .
 Community, Ethnicity, and Multiculturalism 

modernity are in competition, the very concept of a universal model of secular

nationalism has become highly debatable. In a global world it is hard to say
where one region ends and another begins. In fact, it is hard to say how the
‘people’ of a particular nation should even be defined.22
Because we are dealing here with the use of concepts in changing environ-
ments, it is useful to discuss the impact of the use of the idea of a multicultural
nation state more closely. Gerd Baumann, inspired in this respect by the work
of Charles Taylor, considers multiculturalism a riddle that can only be solved
by rethinking the meaning of such concepts as nationality, the nation state,
ethnic identity, ethnicity, and religion as a basis for culture.23 This is, indeed, a
necessary task because multiculturalism is not the old concept of culture mul-
tiplied by the number of groups that exist, but a new, and internally plural,
praxis of culture applied to oneself and to others. Although the differences
between cultures are crucial, it does not mean that for instance human rights
should differ. The strategy of confusion, expressed by the conflating of these
legal and cultural differences, is popular and politically useful. It promises the
ideal world to those who have not, and it benefits only those who are in power
already. Let us take a closer look at Baumann’s line of argumentation.
Baumann points out that the multicultural triangle consists of three major
corners.24 First there is the state, in particular the so-called modern state or
western nation state. The governing elite of the state in fact determines who is
regarded as a member of a minority, and on the grounds of what difference. ‘It
is a peculiar amalgam of two seemingly irreconcilable philosophies: rationalism
(the appeal to purpose and efficiency), and romanticism (the appeal to feelings)
as the basis of action.’ Nation state sovereignty is the doctrine of advancing
economic expansion by establishing a territorial monopoly on the legitimate
use of force, in order to protect, control, and expand economic activity. At the
same time, in so doing, the state could function as the most rational provider
of public welfare. According to Baumann, the romantic vision of ethnicity as
the basis of state-making and nation-building is based on the seductive and
dangerous idea that cultural unity legitimizes the making of a state in order to
‘free’ a nation.

22)
See James V. Spickard, ‘ “Religion” in Global Culture: New Directions in an Increasingly
Self-Conscious World’, in: Peter Beyer and Lori Beaman (eds.), Religion, Globalization, and
Culture (Leiden–Boston, ), pp. –.
23)
Gerd Baumann, The Multicultural Riddle. Rethinking National, Ethnic, and Religious
Identities (New York–London, ); Charles Taylor, Multiculturalism: Examining the Pol-
itics of Recognition (Princeton, ).
24)
Baumann, The Multicultural Riddle, pp. –.
 Willem Hofstee

The second corner of multiculturalism is the idea that ethnicity is the same as
cultural identity. Ethnicity invokes biological ancestry and claims that present-
day identities follow from this ancestry. Baumann argues rightly that this may
be true for dogs, but that it cannot be applied to human beings. There is no
link whatsoever between race or ethnicity and mental properties or behaviours.
Ethnicity is not an identity given by nature, but an identification created
through social action. He considers the term as fallacious and fictitious as the
nineteenth century term ‘race’.
The third corner of multiculturalism is religion. Religion sounds absolute,
as if it determines objective and unchangeable differences between people.
Precisely because of this, Baumann argues, it can be used as a translation
for other, more relative, forms of conflict. In the Netherlands the national
minority problem has been translated into a religious minority problem. The
consequences of this translation block the way to political or even multicultural
dialogue. All debates about nation-making, ethnicity, and religious difference
deal with the idea of culture and what it means for the different contenders in
the multicultural debate.
The points of the present-day multicultural triangle are about nationality as
culture, ethnicity as culture, and religion as culture.25 ‘All of these crumble
as soon as one scratches the surface: nationality as culture is neither post-
ethnic nor post-religious; ethnicity as culture is based on culturally fermented
commitments, not on raw genes; and religion as culture is not a matter of sacred
rule-books but of contextual bearings.’ The problem lies in the influential
essentialist theory of culture, which regards national cultures, ethnic cultures,
and religious cultures as static objects. In this view culture is something one has
and is a member of, rather than something one makes and reshapes through a
constant renewing of social activity.
This essentialist view of culture favours in particular the objectives of those
who have power, and it can be of no use for any kind of multicultural future
or even analysis. The fault is that it disregards the fact that we all practice
more than one culture. In the urbanized societies in the west different cultural
cleavages do not run parallel to each other, but they cut across one another to
form an ever-changing pattern.
Baumann does not want to get rid of the word ‘culture’, but he wants to
rethink it, and this is also a political imperative. Identities do not actually
develop by themselves, but are developed, postulated, asserted, and then filled

25)
Baumann, The Multicultural Riddle, pp. –.
 Community, Ethnicity, and Multiculturalism 

with prescriptive norms by people with interests. In other words: culture is not
the same as society.
By replacing the word ‘identities’ with ‘identifications’, Baumann has taken
a liberating analytical step.26 Now identity is no longer fixed beyond question
and change. National, ethnic, and religious identities are all identifications,
which do make a processual and discursive understanding of culture possible.
So far, most studies have focused on a national, ethnic, or religious minority
as if anyone could know in advance how this minority is bounded, and which
processes proceed inside and which outside that assumed community. There are
other ways by which one can advance our understanding of the links between
a nation state culture and ‘its’ so-called minorities.
With Baumann we can conclude that more investigation should be made
of the ‘commercialization’ of ethnic and cultural differences. More precise
information is needed on how the multicultural citizens of the future watch the
commercial representations of perceived cultural difference.27 The hypothesis
needs to be tested, that each nation state is engaged by means of its schools in
creating its minorities in its own image. In addition to these items, it would be
interesting to look at research concerning the relationships between and among
different minorities, and at research that transcends nation state boundaries.

Willem Hofstee
Leiden University
w.hofstee@religion.leidenuniv.nl

26)
Baumann, The Multicultural Riddle, p. .
27)
Baumann, The Multicultural Riddle, p. .
 The Psalm Commentary
of Daniel of Salah and the Formation of
Sixth-Century Syrian Orthodox Identity

David G.K. Taylor

Abstract
By the s the anti-Chalcedonian Syrian Miaphysites had experienced frequent periods of
persecution and were in the process of developing into an independent church, with distinct
structures and doctrine. Unable to found schools for their clergy, they needed alternative
methods to provide ideological formation. This paper argues that the Miaphysite leaders
identified the exegesis of the Psalms, the quintessence of the scriptures and the heart of the
daily liturgy, as a key means not only of shaping their community’s religious beliefs but
also of addressing larger political issues. Their chosen exegete was Daniel of Salah who in
c. produced a Psalm commentary in homiletic form which addressed numerous issues
of contemporary relevance. His response to Christological controversy is touched upon, but
the focus is on his development of Miaphysite imperial ideology. Previous historians have
usually argued that the Miaphysites demonstrated great loyalty to the institution and person
of the emperor, despite persecution at their hands. This paper argues to the contrary that
while Daniel accepted the need for political allegiance to the emperors, he denies them any
role as special mediators of divine revelation or faith. The true king is the crucified Christ,
in whose image the mind or reason of each human was created, and it is the guidance of
these which is to be followed in religious matters.

Keywords
Miaphysites; Syrian Orthodox; Daniel of Salah; sixth century; Emperor; imperial ideology;
Psalms; biblical exegesis; Christology.

In the sixth century, as in the twentieth, there was more ethnic, regional, lin-
guistic, and ideological variety among the anti-Chalcedonian Christian com-
munities of Syria and Mesopotamia than most modern scholars (or commu-
nity members) usually feel able to discuss—a variety that is, of course, a feature
shared by almost all national and sub-national groups—and in both centuries
this disparate grouping was subjected to powerful external forces, in the form
of persecution and massacre, that detached or annihilated some groups, and
 David G.K. Taylor

forced many of those who survived to draw closer together. This collective
experience of trauma, that then as now must have had ramifications at every
level of individual, family, and communal identity, also stimulated intellec-
tuals within the group to respond in defence of the community. In the sixth
century these responses undoubtedly took many forms, but those of which
we know, though themselves varied, have all been preserved in ecclesiastical
sources. These include the high-level theological and Christological treatises
and homilies of the great theologians, such as Severus of Antioch and Philo-
xenus of Mabbug, or the lives of the Mesopotamian, and especially Amidan,
ascetic heroes drawn up in formidable and awe-inspiring ranks by John of
Ephesus, and thereby simultaneously appropriated as forebears of the anti-
Chalcedonian party and drafted as glorious defenders of the faith.1 Through
his Ecclesiastical History2 too, John not only recorded the trials and tribula-
tions of his church, but more importantly—a task necessary for the formation
of most communal identities—he asserted its unbroken continuity with what
had gone before, with the earliest Christianity in the region, thereby rejecting
any charge of innovation or sectarianism.
Such texts, however, although important in and of themselves, could only
have a limited impact on the identity formation of the larger community. The
Christological writings of authors such as Severus would have been unintelli-
gible to readers without a high level of philosophical and theological training,
and so are unlikely to have had a wide readership or to have exercised great
direct influence on the majority of the church community, whether laypeople
or those in religious orders. And whilst John of Ephesus’ Ecclesiastical History,
and especially his Lives of the Eastern Saints, were far more accessible in form,
they were limited in the extent to which they could influence their readers, or
be integrated into their daily lives. As Jacques Ellul pointed out in his ground-
breaking, if politically controversial, analysis of propaganda3—which in con-
trast to him I understand here in the ‘neutralist’ sense to mean simply the pro-

1)
Edition and English translation by Ernest W. Brooks, John of Ephesus: Lives of the Eastern
Saints (PO ., ., .; Paris, , , ); See Susan A. Harvey, Asceticism and
Society in Crisis: John of Ephesus and the Lives of the Eastern Saints (Transformation of the
Classical Heritage ; Berkeley, ).
2)
Ernest W. Brooks, Iohannis Ephesini Historiae ecclesiasticae pars tertia (CSCO , Syr. ;
Paris, ); English translation by Robert Payne Smith, The Third Part of the Ecclesiastical
History of John, Bishop of Ephesus (Oxford, ).
3)
Jacques Ellul, Propagandes (Paris, ); English translation Konrad Kellen and Jean
Lerner, Propaganda: The Formation of Men’s Attitudes (New York, ).
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

cess or processes of persuasion4—, in order to be effective propaganda must be

total, and continual, using all means available, both rational and irrational, to
furnish an individual with a complete system for explaining the world. It seeks
not only to change opinions but to intensify existing trends, and so it cannot
operate in a vacuum, or be imposed on hostile terrain, but must utilize exist-
ing beliefs and prior-conditioning, or ‘pre-propaganda’, as he termed it, and
it must be timely, responding to a real need, whether concrete or psychologi-
cal. It addresses the individual, but the individual within a mass, and although
often associated with attempts to provoke individuals or groups to action, it
just as frequently acts to encourage integration, the binding together of a com-
munity or society. So whilst historical writing, hagiography, and Christological
treatises can each play a significant role in helping to create an intellectual ide-
ology that underpins the truth claims of a minority community, they are not
capable of providing the complete system capable of explaining the world that
was necessary for developing and propagating a specific identity that would
have an impact on the community as a whole, and not just on its elites.
What the anti-Chalcedonian movement, the proto-Syrian Orthodox
Church, needed in the s, in a period that, since , had seen renewed per-
secution by the Imperial Church, and which in  had witnessed the loss of
two of its great champions, Severus of Antioch and John of Tella, was a means
of reaching the ordinary monks and priests, and through them the wider com-
munity, and of providing them with a comprehensive and integrated theologi-
cal education that was distinctively ‘Syrian Orthodox’ in character, but pitched
at a level that was appropriate for their needs and abilities. This need was
heightened by the fact that John of Tella had been ordaining large numbers of
priests for the Miaphysites, without imperial sanction, a process that was con-
tinued on an even larger scale after  by Jacob Baradaeus, and was eventually,
some years later, extended to include the consecration of bishops. This latter
was a radical step that may have been motivated by a pragmatic need for con-
tinued episcopal oversight, but which also suggests that the Syrian Miaphysites

4)
This idea that propaganda is simply a process of persuasion, and thus inherently morally
neutral, although not always employed in the service of morally neutral causes, has been
strongly advocated by Philip M. Taylor, Munitions of the Mind. A History of Propaganda
from the Ancient World to the Present Day (rd ed.; Manchester, ). Although Ellul was
himself hostile to many of the ideologies propagated by contemporary propaganda, and
so has often been listed among the ‘moralists’ who find propaganda intrinsically deceitful
and thus repugnant, his profound insight that no aspect of communal human life is free of
propaganda in fact argues strongly in favour of the ‘neutralist’ approach.
 David G.K. Taylor

no longer saw themselves as an alternative Imperial Orthodox Church in wait-

ing, and thus to be organized as an exact copy of the current Imperial Church,
but as a rival church with its own structures, coexisting within the empire.
Given such circumstances, and the concomitant educational needs, the most
obvious solution would have been the creation of a central theological school,
or a series of local theological schools as developed with great success by the
Church of the East in the Sasanian Empire,5 but this was not possible in the
Roman Empire in this age of persecution. Just as the Antiochene Dyophysites
had been driven out of the School of Edessa in , so too any Miaphysite
school would have been vulnerable to attack and closure by representatives of
the Imperial Church. Even the monasteries were not safe, and their commu-
nities were frequently forced to migrate from one site to another.
The key to this apparently insoluble conundrum lay, perhaps surprisingly to
us, in the liturgy, the ritual meeting point of this world and the divine, of sacred
and secular time, but also the locus of popular religious practice and devotion,
a vehicle for religious instruction, and the most public marker, through atten-
dance, of an individual’s adherence to a specific creed and community. Ephrem
famously used his liturgical memrē and madrōshē to propagate Orthodox the-
ology, as well as biblical and moral teaching, amongst the congregations of
Nisibis and Edessa in the fourth century, and arguably the several hundred
memrē of Jacob of Serug (d. ), which still remain popular today, had a sim-
ilar identity-forming role for Syriac congregations in the early sixth century,
although he was far less combative and controversial in his approach. I would
like to suggest, however, that the real educational prize in the mid-sixth cen-
tury was control of the exegesis of the Psalms. Not only was the recitation of
the Psalms the main feature of monastic and parochial offices of prayer (all 
chanted every day in the monasteries, and once a week in churches), but their
memorization was a central part of Syriac education.6 They were one of the first
things taught to children—in his Lives of the Eastern Saints, John of Ephesus
describes schoolboys being taught to chant the Psalms by a pair of ascetics7—
and candidates for ordination were required to know all of the Psalms by heart.
Thus John of Tella refused to ordain anyone who could not recite the Psalms
and sign his own name, although the latter condition could, if necessary, be

5)
See Adam H. Becker, Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom: The School of Nisibis and
Christian Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia (Philadelphia, ).
6)
See J.B. Segal, ‘Mesopotamian Communities from Julian to the Rise of Islam’, PBA 
(), pp. –.
7)
Brooks, Lives of the Eastern Saints (PO .), p. .
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

waived;8 and the first recorded synod of the Church of the East, in , states;
‘he who is poor in knowledge and cannot recite the whole of the Psalms by
heart cannot become even a sub-deacon’.9
This emphasis on the absolute necessity of a perfect knowledge of the Psalms
was not driven merely by a desire to maintain standards of liturgical perfor-
mance, but was a reflection of the esteem in which the Psalms themselves
were held. According to Daniel of Sala . h. (fl. ), about whom more in a
moment, ‘the power of this book of Psalms is comparable with (that of all)
the books of the New Testament and the Old, for (the Psalms) speak about
everything, about creation, and about the providence of God, and about the
revelation in the flesh of Emmanuel, and about the future judgement, and
about the kingdom which is prepared for the saints, and about good actions.’10
Some centuries later Moses bar Kepa (d. ) devoted the third chapter of his
introduction to the Psalms to argue that they should be read before the Old
Testament, the New Testament, and all other books.11 The Psalms were thus
regarded as embodying the quintessence of the divine scriptures. In these cir-
cumstances it is clear that to influence and control the interpretation of the
Psalms was a matter of the greatest importance, and a sure means of influ-
encing all who recited and heard them—that is, the entire community. This
also clearly meets Ellul’s requirements that in order to be effective propaganda
must be total and continual, providing an individual with a complete system
for explaining the world. The Psalms had already been accorded this role in
Christian spirituality and liturgy—the pre-propaganda was well-established—,
and their daily or weekly repetition guaranteed constant reinforcement of their
message. But the exact meaning of that message, their interpretation, was far
from straightforward to those who chanted and meditated upon them, and
this called for the input of a trusted exegete who belonged to the commu-
nity.
The need for a Miaphysite commentary on the Psalms was also heightened
by two further factors. First, despite the existence of a revised version of the
Psalter produced by Polycarpus for Philoxenus of Mabbug in the early sixth

8)
Brooks, Lives of the Eastern Saints (PO .), p. .
9)
Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Synodicon orientale ou recueil de synodes nestoriens (Paris, ),
p.  (cf. pp. , ).
10)
Prefatory letter of Daniel to Abbot John.
11)
Gustav Diettrich, Eine jakobitische Einleitung in den Psalter (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für
die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft ; Giessen, ), p. .
 David G.K. Taylor

century (of which no known copy survives),12 and the later ‘Syro-Hexaplaric’
version,13 it was the second-century Peshitta text of the Psalms (translated from
the Hebrew Bible rather than the Greek Septuagint) which continued to be
used in the liturgy of the Syriac-speaking Miaphysites (as well as in those of
the Chalcedonian Melkites and the Antiochene Dyophysites). And yet there
was no earlier commentary which addressed this specific text, and the many
passages in which it differed from the Greek text used by the Imperial Church.
Secondly, the most influential available Syriac commentary at this period was
the translation of the Greek Psalm commentary of Theodore of Mopsuestia,14
and for obvious reasons this was no longer acceptable to the Miaphysites,15
though signs of Theodore’s enduring exegetical influence are still to be found
both in the theology of moderate Miaphysites such as Jacob of Serug, and in
early Syrian Orthodox manuscripts of the Psalms.16
The person to whom the Miaphysite leadership turned when it was decided
that a new Psalm commentary was needed was Daniel of Salah, and the request
was made (according to the letters prefixed to the commentary) by Abbot John

12)
This text was mentioned by the mid-sixth century monk Moses of Aghel; cf. Ignazio
Guidi, ‘Mosè di Aghel e Simeone Abbate’, Rendiconti della R. Accademia dei Lincei .
(), pp. –, –, here p. .
13)
Shown by Robert Hiebert, The ‘Syrohexaplaric’ Psalter (Atlanta, ) to be a revision
of the Philoxenian Psalter which was not inherently hexaplaric. See also his ‘The “Syro-
hexaplaric” Psalter: its text and textual history’, in Anneli Aejmelaeus and Udo Quast
(eds.), Der Septuaginta-Psalter und seine Tochterübersetzungen (Mitteilungen des Septuaginta
Unternehmens ; Göttingen, ), pp. –.
14)
For the surviving Greek and Latin passages of Theodore’s commentary cf. Robert De-
vreesse, Le Commentaire de Théodore de Mopsueste sur les Psaumes (I–LXXX) (Studi e testi ;
Vatican City, ); reprinted, with an English translation, by Robert C. Hill, Theodore of
Mopsuestia: Commentary on Psalms – (Writings from the Greco-Roman World ; Atlanta,
); and for the Syriac fragments, excluding citations in East Syrian commentaries,
Lucas Van Rompay, Théodore de Mopsueste: Fragments syriaques du Commentaire des Psaumes
(Psaume  et Psaumes –) (CSCO –, Syr. –; Leuven, ).
15)
Mention should also be made of the Syriac translation of the commentary on the
Psalms by Athanasius, which also, of course, expounded the Septuagint text. See Robert
W. Thomson, Athanasiana Syriaca . Expositio in Psalmos (CSCO , ; Leuven, ).
#Abdisho# of Nisibis (d. ) attributed a commentary on the Psalms to St Ephrem (see
Yousef Habbi, Catalogus Auctorum. #Abdišo# Sobensis († ) [Baghdad, ], p. ), and
although there are Armenian and Georgian Psalm commentaries with this attribution it is
highly unlikely to be of genuine Ephremic origin.
16)
See David G.K. Taylor, ‘The Psalm Headings in the West Syrian Tradition’, in Bas ter
Haar Romeny (ed.), The Peshitta: Its Use in Literature and Liturgy (Monographs of the
Peshitta Institute Leiden ; Leiden, ), pp. –.
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

of the monastery of Mor Eusebios of Kaphra d-Barta (or d-Birta) north-west of

Apamea (the modern twin villages of Kefr and Bara). Abbot John is listed in the
Chronicle of Michael the Syrian17 amongst those condemned by the Emperor
Justinian for his leadership of the opposition to Chalcedon. It appears to be the
same John (described in the colophon as ‘a mighty wall of adamant’ protecting
his flock against ‘the ravening wolves’) for whom a copy of the Acts of the
second Council of Ephesus—a triumph for the Miaphysites—was produced
in  ce.18 It is worth noting that John was forced to defend his community
not only against the Chalcedonians, but also against opponents within the
Miaphysite movement. John’s monastery of Mor Eusebios was not the only
convent in the village, but had a rival in the monastery of Mor Moshe, which
was one of the key centres of the followers of Julian of Halicarnassus, often
known as the ‘Phantasiasts’ or ‘Aphthartodocetae’, and which had produced
one of their principal bishops, named Romanos.19
As for Daniel, he was a Syriac-speaking Miaphysite theologian and abbot,20
who in his commentary on Psalm  gives the current date as A.Gr. 
( ce), the very year in which Jacob Baradaeus was consecrated bishop as
part of a plan, endorsed by the Empress Theodora, to save the Miaphysite

17)
Michael the Syrian, Chronicle ., ed. Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Chronique de Michel le
Syrien, patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (–) ( vols.; Paris, –), Vol. , p. ,
trans. Vol. , p. .
18)
BL Add.  (William Wright, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum
Acquired since the Year   [London, ], pp. – [dccccv]). By , however,
John had disappeared from the scene, for one Qustantinos is then listed as abbot of this
important monastery.
19)
The Phantasiasts claimed that even before the resurrection, Christ was not susceptible to
physical corruption or to human passions, and so were adjudged by Severus and his followers
to be denying Christ’s full humanity. The split fundamentally weakened the Miaphysite
movement, and lasted for many centuries. See René Draguet, Julien d’Halicarnasse et sa
controverse avec Sévère d’Antioche sur l’incorruptibilité du corps du Christ (Leuven, );
Alois Grillmeier and Theresia Hainthaler, Christ in Christian Tradition . From the Council
of Chalcedon () to Gregory the Great (–) . The Church of Constantinople in the
Sixth Century (London, ), pp. , –.
20)
The key articles on the theology of Daniel’s commentary are Ludwig Lazarus, ‘Ueber
einen Psalmencommentar aus der ersten Hälfte des VI. Jahrhunderts p. Chr.’, Wiener
Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes  (), pp. –, –; Peter Cowe,
. h. as Commentator on the Psalter’, in Elizabeth A. Livingstone (ed.), Studia
‘Daniel of Sala
Patristica  (Leuven, ), pp. –; David G.K. Taylor, ‘The Christology of the Syr-
iac Psalm Commentary (ad /) of Daniel of Sala . h. and the Phantasiast Controversy’,
in Maurice F. Wiles and Edward J. Yarnold (eds.), Studia Patristica  (Leuven, ),
pp. –.
 David G.K. Taylor

movement from extinction. According to Abbot John’s letter, Daniel came

from Tella d-Mawzelet in Osrhoene (ancient Constantina, modern Viranşehir
south-west of Diyarbakır, Turkey),21 and is now said to be ‘far distant’ from
Apamea. In the tradition he is known as Daniel Sal . hoyo,
. and Michael the
Syrian appears to refer to the same individual as being the abbot of a monastery
22
in Bet Sali
. he,. a site possibly to be located on the banks of the Euphrates,
just south of Dura Europos.23 European scholars have usually stated that he
came from the better-known village of Salah in the Tur #Abdin, though this is
denied by Syrian Orthodox scholars. His major theological work is his ‘Great
Commentary on the Psalms’ which, despite his frequent protestations that he is
being concise and keeping his commentary to a bare minimum, is divided into
three volumes and contains more than  manuscript pages, some ,
words in Syriac.24 The earliest commentary on the Psalms known to have
been composed in Syriac, it came to exercise a profound influence on later
Syrian Orthodox exegetes, as is explicitly acknowledged, for example, in the
commentaries of Dionysius bar Salibi (d. ) and David Puniqoyo (d. ).
It was cited in the works of Severus of Edessa (d. ), Anthony of Tagrit
(ninth century), and Gregory Barhebraeus (d. ), amongst many others,
and a highly influential Armenian translation was produced at the end of the
eleventh century.25 Citations of a commentary on Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes) have
also been preserved, and Daniel himself (in his commentary on Psalm ) refers
to an earlier homily he had written on the plagues which afflicted the Egyptians
in the time of Moses.
Of greater significance here, it was apparently a letter he had earlier written
to the monks of the monastery of Mor Bassus in opposition to the teachings

21)
Later manuscripts of his Psalm Commentary describe him as being the bishop of Tella
d-Mawzelet but he is not listed amongst those bishops ordained by Jacob Baradaeus, and
neither has any reference to his episcopacy yet been found in any other source, so it looks
as though this is the product of later confusion, rather than the preservation of authentic
biographical data.
22)
So Michael the Syrian, Chronicle ., ed. Chabot, Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
23)
So Ignatios E. Barsaum, Ktōbô d-Berûlê Bdîrê d- #al Mardût Yûlfōnê Sûryōyê Hdîrê (Qa-
mishli, ; translated from the Arabic of the nd ed., , by Philoxenos Y. Dolabani),
pp. –; English translation: Ignatius Aphram I Barsoum, The Scattered Pearls: A
History of Syriac Literature and Sciences (nd ed.; Piscataway, ), pp. –.
24)
I have been working on an edition and translation of this commentary for some years,
and hope that the first fruits will be published in due course.
25)
See Cowe, ‘Daniel of Sala
. h’,
. p. .
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

of Julian of Halicarnassus and the ‘Phantasiasts’ which according to Michael

formed the basis of the official Syrian Orthodox response to the edict of the
Emperor Justinian, issued in , that ‘all bishops everywhere’ should accept
Julian’s teachings.26 Daniel was, therefore, a theologian and intellectual leader
of some importance within the Miaphysite movement, who was famed for his
profound knowledge of the Scriptures but was also capable of handling fierce
contemporary controversy. It was not by chance that he was chosen for the
important task that was assigned to him.
In his modest reply to Abbot John’s invitation, prefaced to the commentary,
Daniel shows that he has clear objectives in composing his work, and in
selecting the verses upon which exegesis and discussion were necessary:

Now this goal is set for me, that there should be speech only for the building up of the
church and for the recovery of the soul, and on account of this, if profit is discovered
in the outward meaning of a word it does not require a profound commentary.27

This ideally meets Ellul’s requirement that propaganda should be addressed to

an individual, but an individual in the context of a mass, and it also high-
lights the importance of such exegetical work for the emerging independent
church.
Another of Ellul’s observations about the optimal means of engaging in
effective propaganda, namely that it should be total and continual, is partially
realized by the daily recitation of the Psalms. However, it is clear that for the
proposed new interpretation of these Psalms to gain wide circulation, and thus
to have a major impact, it too should be made available in an easily accessible
form. Conventional commentaries (in Syriac as in Greek) simply worked their
way through the biblical text, verse by verse, in a logical, if rather dry and
uninviting list of disconnected notes. Daniel, by contrast, emphasized the
internal thematic coherence of each individual Psalm—in fact he becomes very
apologetic if he is unable to identify the common theme running throughout
each Psalm—and sought to bring this out by constructing his commentary
in the form of one hundred and fifty self-contained homilies, each of which
was also thematically coherent, although he engages with both the historical
pragmatic level of interpretation, as well as a more profound spiritual level.
These exegetical homilies were ideal for communal reading or group-based

26)
Michael the Syrian, Chronicle ., ed. Chabot, Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
27)
Reply of Daniel to Abbot John.
 David G.K. Taylor

teaching, thus reaching numerous hearers simultaneously, and this had the
added advantage that it avoided the necessity of making numerous personal
copies of what was, almost unavoidably, a very lengthy text that would have
been both time-consuming and expensive to copy.
Daniel’s commentary is firmly based on the Peshitta text—his argument
is often dependent upon its exact wording, although he will occasionally call
attention to variant readings in the Greek—and he attributes all of the Psalms
to King David himself, a prophet through whose actions as well as his words
Christ spoke. He is thus interested to locate each Psalm within David’s life—
a characteristic of earlier Antiochene exegesis—but since Daniel considered
David to have been a prophet, he also argues—in defiance of the Antiochene
exegetes, and especially Theodore—that most of the Psalms refer either to
Christ, or to his church on earth, or to the coming judgement and kingdom.
This, of course, was essential if his message were to be of direct relevance to
his intended audience, rather than being of interest to biblical scholars alone.
He is particularly interested in the fact that David is frequently said to have
composed his Psalms whilst being persecuted and pursued either by King Saul,
or by his son Absalom who usurped him. This he ties in with the suffering of
Christ and the Apostles, but also of course with the experience of his own
community. For his fellow Miaphysites in the s and s persecution had
been a daily reality, and so Daniel is keen to emphasize both that it is through
suffering that they will come to receive—like gold that is heated in the crucible
and then stamped with the image of the king—the likeness of their true
archetype,28 but also that in the final judgement they will be vindicated and
their oppressors cast down. His exegesis of the Psalms thus seeks to transform
the Syrian Orthodox from regarding themselves as being the chance victims
of powerful and tyrannical rulers, to being the heroic heirs of the prophets,
Christ himself, and the Apostles, who might not see victory or vindication in
this age, but would receive their reward at the judgement. The Psalms are thus
reworked into songs of resistance and endurance—and of course the text of
the Psalms readily lends itself to this usage.
In his exegesis Daniel draws upon both Greek and Syrian traditions, with
many ideas which find their closest parallels in the fourth-century writings of
Ephrem and Aphrahat, and others that reflect the eschatological beliefs of Jacob

28)
See introduction to Ps. . (All Psalms are referred to in this article according to their
numbering in the Peshitta.)
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

of Serug,29 but there is also imagery taken from texts of Greek origin such as the
Physiologus (making use, for example, of the supposed hatred and aggression of
deer towards snakes),30 and passing references to philosophical theology (albeit
in a popular form) which is ultimately of Greek rather than Syriac origin. In
this blending of Greek and Syriac ideas he is of course producing a distinctively
Syrian Orthodox exegetical text and theology. This is perhaps most easily seen
in his references to Christology, the theological understanding of the person
and being of Christ.31
As has already been noted, Daniel did not intend to write a technical
Christological treatise, and so his thoughts on the subject need to be brought
together from his exegesis of a number of different passages. From this it
becomes clear (contrary to the claims of Assemani and others following him)32
that Daniel was a Miaphysite who made use of the confessional formulae
both of Cyril of Alexandria—which is incorporated into his commentary
on the final Psalm, for obvious pedagogic and ideological reasons—and the
development of this by Severus of Antioch.33 He thus seeks to demonstrate
how the text of the Psalms supports the Christology of his own church against
that of the Antiochene and Chalcedonian Dyophysites. He is also very keen to
criticize the beliefs of the Julianists at every available opportunity—and this of

29)
See Michael D. Guinan, ‘Where are the Dead? Purgatory and Immediate Retribution
in James of Sarug’, Symposium Syriacum  (OCA ; Rome, ), pp. –;
and David G.K. Taylor, ‘The “river of fire” in sixth-century Syrian Orthodox eschatology’,
forthcoming.
30)
See commentary on Ps. :.
31)
For a brief account of Daniel’s Christology, see Taylor, ‘The Christology’.
32)
Joseph S. Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis Clementino-Vaticana  (Rome, ), pp.
–.
33)
See the commentary on Ps. :: ‘[We acknowledge] from divinity and from humanity
one nature (), one marvelous henosis ( 
); one nature alone is spoken of, who is
incarnate and made man, possessing both great attributes and humble attributes, divine
attributes and human attributes, which are not to be divided into two natures or two
hypostaseis (  ), but are one in the henosis of the one hypostasis and of the one
nature of the God-Logos who became incarnate.’ And for the Severan adaptation, the
introduction to the Commentary on Ps. : ‘[The faithful] should accept his human attributes
together with his divine attributes, … and should regard Emmanuel as undivided, one
prosopon (), one hypostasis ( ), and one nature () of God-Logos, God
incarnate.’ See Joseph Lebon, ‘La christologie du monophysisme syrien’, in Alois Grillmeier
and Heinrich Bacht (eds.), Das Konzil von Chalkedon: Geschichte und Gegenwart . Der
Glaube von Chalkedon (Würzburg, ), pp. –, here pp. , .
 David G.K. Taylor

course would have been very important to Abbot John who commissioned the
commentary, given his local difficulties in Kaphra d-Barta and the spreading
schism that was significantly weakening the Miaphysite movement. For exam-
ple, Daniel seeks to counter Julian’s claim that Christ was impassible in his
sufferings by drawing attention to the words of Psalm :, ‘I am poured out
like water and all my bones are out of joint’, which he attributes to Christ on
the cross. Again, developing Severus’ insistence34 that the human body is not
the vehicle or cause of sin, Daniel expounds the text of Psalm :–, ‘O Lord
… fight against those who fight with me! Take armour and shield and rise up
for my aid!’, as follows:

Now the armour which God put on … was the suffering and mortal body which he
joined to himself from the Virgin’s womb. Since the warrior had put on Adam so the
guilty one was made visible in him, for the God-Logos wished to demonstrate that
the body is not the cause of destruction and defeat. So he made him his armour that
through him he might gain the victory and seize the crown from Satan and death. …
He allowed the blameless passions to course in his natural emotions against his flesh,
and whilst he permitted them to have sway he did not let them totally destroy the
body, but by means of them he opposed the passions so that, as with a shield stopping
arrows, he brought passions against his passions.

This is a classic example of the way in which Daniel takes a fairly straightfor-
ward passage in the Psalms and by providing some visually effective and highly
memorable exegesis transforms it into a polemical text that undermines the
theology of the opponents of the Syrian Miaphysites and reinforces their own.
The phrase ‘he had put on Adam’ should also be noticed, because it is
an instance of Daniel exploiting part of his Syriac heritage, the theological
language of clothing.35 Earlier in the sixth century, Philoxenus of Mabbug had
argued passionately against the continued use of clothing language in relation

34)
See for example homily , in Maurice Brière, Les homiliae cathedrales de Sévère d’Anti-
oche (PO .; Turnhout, ), p. .
35)
See Sebastian P. Brock, ‘Clothing metaphors as a means of theological expression in
Syriac tradition’, in Margot Schmidt (ed.), Typus, Symbol, Allegorie bei den östlichen Vätern
und ihren Parallelen im Mittelalter (Eichstätter Beiträge ; Regensburg, ), pp. –;
reprinted in Sebastian P. Brock, Studies in Syriac Christianity: History, Literature and Theology
(Aldershot, ), Ch. . See Robert Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom: A Study in
Early Syriac Tradition (Cambridge, ), pp. –, –. There are two major strands
to this imagery. The first focuses on the totality of salvation history, and states that before
the fall Adam and Eve were clothed in robes of glory, but lost them through their sin, and
that Christ returned them and placed them in the waters of the Jordan, where Christians
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

to the incarnation because to Greek minds it suggested that Christ’s human-

ity was less real than his divinity, and that the union was somewhat artifi-
cial, and thus it could be used against Syriac-speaking Christians in public
debate.36 Daniel, however, unlike Philoxenus, did not have to concern himself
with those outside the Syrian Orthodox fold. His task was to articulate a com-
prehensive exegesis of the Psalms for those within this community, and thus,
given his understanding of the significance of the Psalms, to compose a Syrian
Orthodox theology that would make sense of their whole theological world
view. Incarnational clothing imagery was an ancient and traditional means of
expressing theological truths that was accepted by members of all the different
Syriac-speaking churches, regardless of Christological confession, and this was
especially common in more popular literary works. Since his intended audience
was composed of ordinary monks and priests it was clearly far too useful a tool
to be neglected—especially since the Psalms themselves are so full of clothing
imagery, whether literal or metaphorical.37 Thus we find detailed descriptions
of the original paradisiacal robes of glory as shining with ‘the glory of the Sun,
and the glory of the full moon in the fifteenth day of its cycle, and the glory of
frozen snow’.38 But Daniel did not just passively make use of received clothing
imagery, he also developed and modified it for contemporary Christological
debates, and especially controversy with the Julianists. Adam’s original robe is
now said to have been a garment of immortality and incorruption which was
stripped off and replaced by garments of corruption and mortality.39 In some
places Daniel goes on to say that the original robe of incorruption was placed
by Christ in the waters of baptism,40 whereas elsewhere41 he states that the God-
Logos, ‘he who is living and immortal by nature, when he came from heaven
put on the garment of skins’, that is the robe of corruption made for Adam,
and by voluntarily accepting death he transformed it and raised it up at the

receive them in promise at their baptism, and then in full reality after the judgement. The
second strand focuses on the incarnation, and the union of divinity and humanity in Christ.
These two strands are frequently interwoven, as in Daniel.
36)
See André de Halleux, Philoxène de Mabbog. Commentaire du Prologue johannique
(CSCO ; Leuven, ), p. .
37)
For a general introduction to such imagery in the Hebrew Old Testament and Greek
New Testament, see Jung H. Kim, The Significance of Clothing Imagery in the Pauline Corpus
(Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement series ; London, ).
38)
Commentary on Ps. :.
39)
Commentary on Ps. :.
40)
See, for example, the commentary on Ps. :.
41)
Commentary on Ps. :.
 David G.K. Taylor

resurrection without corruption, and made it immortal again. He then raised

it to heaven where he wears it still on the chariot-throne borne by cherubs.
In his Christology, therefore, as in many other areas of his theology, Daniel
is making the most of the dual intellectual inheritance of the Syriac-speaking
Miaphysites, drawing on both Greek and Syriac traditions, and combining
them in a form that would have the maximum impact on his targeted audience.
In the terms of Jacques Ellul he was once again utilizing existing beliefs and
prior-conditioning, or ‘pre-propaganda’, in order to propagate his message,
but in so doing he was also helping to create a new and distinctively ‘Syrian
Orthodox’ theological system.
Perhaps an even more striking example of an area in which Daniel of Salah
made a major contribution to the forming of a new Syrian Orthodox ideology
and identity is to be found at the intersection of theology and politics, namely
the appropriate attitude of his co-religionists towards the Byzantine emperors
and their claims to religious leadership.
With the conversion of Constantine in the fourth century, the Hellenistic
concept of the divine emperor was enthusiastically adopted and adapted by
writers such as Eusebius of Caesarea.42 According to this model, the emperor
was the image and agent of Christ on earth, sharing in fellowship with the
divine wisdom, the recipient of divine charisma, elected by divine providence,
charged with episcopal duties. He was the anointed king whose bride was the
empire, and Christendom and the emperor’s authority were coterminous and
inseparable. Hence the emperors were also charged with summoning theologi-
cal councils and with ensuring that doctrinal decisions were enforced through-
out the empire, with the intention that all inhabitants of the empire should
share the same creed. They were duty-bound to defend Christianity against all
its enemies, within and without the empire, including paganism and heresy.
These practical duties were to be achieved through the absolute control of
episcopal appointments, the ability to bestow or withhold substantial finan-
cial support, and, if necessary, the right to use military force.
Now patently, many of the successors of Constantine were not upholders
of the Orthodox Nicene faith, and during the fourth century the Christians
had to live under emperors who supported the Arian cause, such as Valens and
Constantius, as well as one who attempted to revive paganism, Julian. This gave

42)
See Gilbert Dagron, Emperor and Priest: The Imperial Office in Byzantium (Cambridge,
); Francis Dvornik, Early Christian and Byzantine Political Philosophy: Origins and
Background (Dumbarton Oaks, ); Averil M. Cameron, Christianity and the Rhetoric
of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse (Berkeley, ).
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

rise, particularly in historical works, to a tradition of Kaiserkritik43 in which

good points are first noted—for example a successful foreign policy, or good
financial decisions—and only then areas of disagreement, such as doctrinal
matters or unjust persecution, which is often attributed to the pernicious
influence of wicked advisors at court. But in the extant texts of writers working
in Constantinople, and other areas close to the heart of the empire, the actual
divine institution of imperial monarchy is not itself challenged or questioned.
Within the eastern provinces, such as Syria, however, it would appear that
there were many prominent individuals whose opinions were at variance with
those of Eusebius and the emerging Constantinopolitan ideology, and amongst
whom there was a clear sense that the empire was simply a historical reality
rather than an instrument of salvation, and emperors could only expect to be
followed in secular and religious matters if they themselves remained subject
to the law, both human and divine. This appears to be the case, at Antioch,
for both Libanius44 and John Chrysostom,45 for example, but also, further east
in the Syriac-speaking world, for Ephrem of Nisibis.46 For Ephrem, as Andrew
Palmer has demonstrated, ‘there was nothing wrong with kingship … provided
it does not trespass over the boundary between kingship and the priesthood’.47
In Justinian, however, the anti-Chalcedonians faced an emperor who explic-
itly declared himself to be both king and priest and, on one occasion in ,
the incarnate law (and thus not subject to the law).48 Whilst it is now clear

43)
See Averil M. Cameron, ‘Early Byzantine Kaiserkritik: Two Case Histories’, in BMGS 
(), pp. –, reprinted in Averil M. Cameron, Continuity and Change in sixth-century
Byzantium (Variorum Collected Studies Series ; London, ).
44)
See Paul Petit, Libanius et la vie municipale à Antioche au iv e siècle après J.-C. (Paris,
), pp. –; Odile Lagacherie, ‘Libanios, l’empire et l’histoire de Rome, à propos de
XII, – et de XVI, ’, in Ángel González Gálvez and Pierre-Louis Malosse (eds.), Mélanges
A.F. Norman (Topoi orient-occident Supplément ; Lyons–Paris, ), pp. –.
45)
Cf. Isabella Sandwell, ‘Christian Self-Definition in the Fourth Century ad: John Chry-
sostom on Christianity, Imperial Rule and the City’, in Isabella Sandwell and Janet Huskin-
son (eds.), Culture and Society in Later Roman Antioch (Oxford, ), pp. –; Isabella
Sandwell, Religious Identity in Late Antiquity: Greeks, Jews and Christians in Antioch (Cam-
bridge, ).
46)
Cf. Andrew Palmer, ‘The Prophet and the King: Mår Afrem’s Message to the Eastern
Roman Emperor’, in Gerrit J. Reinink and Alex C. Klugkist (eds.), After Bardaisan. Studies
on Continuity and Change in Syriac Christianity in Honour of Professor Han J.W. Drijvers
(OLA ; Leuven, ), pp. –.
47)
Palmer, ‘The Prophet and the King’, p. .
48)
See James A.S. Evans, The Age of Justinian: The Circumstances of Imperial Power (London,
), pp. –.
 David G.K. Taylor

that Justinian was actively and pragmatically trying to find a means of reunit-
ing the Chalcedonian and anti-Chalcedonian factions throughout his reign,
and that active persecution and oppression was sporadic rather than contin-
ual,49 nevertheless he did unleash waves of bitter persecution (as in –,
–, and –) that were never systematic or sustained enough sim-
ply to wipe out all clerical resistance, but instead served to radicalize the Syrian
Miaphysites. His brutal agents, both clerical and military, provided the Mia-
physites with numerous martyrs for their cause, and alienated whole regional
populations through their oppressive measures and the heavy-handed deploy-
ment of imperial troops who, as in more recent conflicts in the region, were
not ideally suited for the task to which they were assigned.50 Also, ironically,
by decapitating the anti-Chalcedonian movement through the removal and
exile of their bishops they also removed the educated elite leadership who
had previously been able to exercise some moderating influence on their com-
munities, and thus far from weakening the Miaphysites they instead forced a
large number of monastic leaders to step into the power vacuum and orga-
nize the local theological resistance. This both decentralized the leadership
(effectively creating a cellular organizational structure, favoured in recent cen-
turies by many resistance and underground movements) and put it into the
hands of people with no property or political aspirations (and thus not eas-
ily bribable), whose education was more limited and less Hellenized than
many of the bishops. They also had strong links with the local—and espe-
cially rural—populations, and since they were not compelled to go into exile
they enhanced their authority by enduring all that befell the local believ-
ers. Finally, their entire prior training and indoctrination in the ideology of
asceticism and hagiography encouraged unswerving resistance to any exter-
nal attempts to impose doctrines and creeds they considered heretical, what-
ever the personal cost. Their opponents could mockingly call them ‘akephaloi’,

49)
Cf. the excellent overview of the period by Lucas Van Rompay, ‘Society and Community
in the Christian East’, in Michael Maas (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Age of
Justinian (Cambridge, ), pp. –.
50)
It should be noted that the attitudes of Syriac-speaking Chalcedonians from Edessa
and the surrounding regions remained far more positive towards Justinian, despite the local
turmoil. Cf. the Chalcedonian Chronicle of Edessa, written after : ‘Now such was the
care and concern of the friend of God, king Justinian, that he wrote in the diptychs of
the church the four holy synods, that is to say, that of Nicaea, and that of Constantinople,
and the first of Ephesus, and that of Chalcedon.’ For the Syriac text, see Ignazio Guidi,
‘Chronicon Edessenum’, in Chronica Minora  (CSCO , Syr. ; Paris, ), § .
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

‘the headless ones’, but this was in fact not a weakness but a source of great
strength for the movement, and an insuperable obstacle for Justinian’s plans
for reunification.
So under such historical circumstances, when persecution of the Miaphysite
faithful was being orchestrated by the emperor, and new clergy were being con-
secrated by bishops such as Jacob Baradaeus whose own consecration was not
officially sanctioned, what was the attitude of the Syrian Miaphysites towards
the emperor and the official ideology which portrayed him as Christ’s agent
on earth? According to most modern historians, the answer to these ques-
tions is that the Syrian Miaphysites were, if anything, even more loyal to the
emperor than the Chalcedonians.51 This has, in part, been conditioned by
A.H.M. Jones’s successful demolition52 of the thesis advanced by Woodward,
among others,53 that the Christological controversies of this period were in
fact the pretexts for political rebellion on the part of incipient Syrian, Egyp-
tian, and Armenian nationalists. It has also found support in Syrian Ortho-
dox chronicles composed in the sixth century, such as the Ecclesiastical His-
tory of John of Ephesus (–)—who was a native of the region around
Amida (Diyarbakır), and whose criticisms of emperors are usually restrained
within the limits imposed by conventional Kaiserkritik54—and Ps.-Zacharias

51)
Cf. William H.C. Frend, The Rise of the Monophysite Movement: Chapters in the History
of the Church in the Fifth and Sixth Centuries (Cambridge, ), p. : ‘[The emperor]
inspired a loyalty among the populace that was reflected in the adulatory addresses of the
episcopate to the emperor and his officials. Whatever forces lay behind Monophysitism must
be assessed against the background of a loyalism in the east which was in no way matched
in the west’.
52)
A.H.M. Jones, ‘Were ancient heresies national or social movements in disguise?’, JThS
 (), pp. –. Despite his overall persuasiveness, not all of Jones’s arguments are
equally convincing.
53)
See Ernest L. Woodward, Christianity and Nationalism in the Later Roman Empire
(London, ), and Ernest Stein, Histoire du Bas-Empire . De la disparition de l’Empire
d’Occident à la mort de Justinien (–) (Paris, ).
54)
See Jan van Ginkel, ‘John of Ephesus on Emperors: the Perception of the Byzan-
tine Empire by a Monophysite’, in René Lavenant (ed.), VI Symposium Syriacum 
(OCA ; Rome, ), pp. –; and his thesis, John of Ephesus: A Monophysite Histo-
rian in Sixth-Century Byzantium (Groningen, ), especially pp. –. In addition, it
should be noted that from  John was living in the imperial capital, in housing provided
by the emperor, and also that John occasionally states openly that he had previously mod-
erated his language about the emperors for fear of being accused of treason; cf. Ecclesiastical
History . (ed. Brooks, Iohannis Ephesini Historiae, pp. –, trans. p. ).
 David G.K. Taylor

Rhetor (late sixth century), who cites the following Miaphysite petition to
Justinian in :55

Thus shall peace prevail in your reign by the power of the right hand of God almighty,
to whom we pray on your behalf that without toil or struggle in arms He will set your
enemies as a stool beneath your feet.

It should be noted, however, that this is a piece of diplomatic correspondence,

at a time of temporary peace between the two parties, and that as such the
positive language is hardly surprising.
But not all the evidence is equally supportive of Frend’s thesis that the
Christological controversies and persecutions of the sixth century had no effect
on the attitude of the Miaphysites towards the emperor. There are several
passages in John of Ephesus’ Lives of the Eastern Saints in which he seems to
have felt able to put highly critical words about the emperors into the mouths
of his heroes. Thus of the confrontation of the ascetic Z#ura with Justinian, he
wrote:56

The spiritual old man carried out the procedure according to what is written [in  Kings
:] … for he did not direct his contest with great nor with small, but against him
who ‘roared as a lion, and looked upon whom he should devour’ [ Pet. :, spoken
of the devil!] in that he sternly brought the whole measureless reproof against him
[Justinian] personally, on account of all the persecution of God’s church, concerning
all the blood that was shed in his days, concerning the introduction of the accursed
synod, … saying, ‘All these things God will require at your hands in the great day
when he shall come, all the distress of the Christians everywhere.’

Again, in the life of Addai, when the latter refuses to submit to the demands
of his imperial Chalcedonian persecutors, John writes:57

When therefore the men who had been sent to him heard these things from him, they
went on uttering great menaces against him in great wrath, threatening and saying,
‘Prepare yourself to meet a fate that is in accord with your assertion; since you shall not
live here any longer, unless you make concord and signify acceptance according to the
king’s order.’ But he, when he heard these words, laughed at them, and said: ‘If, pray,

55)
Ecclesiastical History .; ed. Ernest W. Brooks, Historia ecclesiastica Zachariae Rhetori
vulgo adscripta  (CSCO , Syr. ; Paris, ), p. ; English translation, Frederick
J. Hamilton and Ernest W. Brooks, The Syriac Chronicle known as that of Zachariah of
Mitylene (London, ), p. .
56)
Brooks, Lives of the Eastern Saints (PO .), p. .
57)
Brooks, Lives of the Eastern Saints (PO .), pp. –.
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

there had happened to be a king who ordered me to sacrifice like the holy martyrs,
would you on account of his order have urged me to obey him because he was king,
and sacrifice to idols?’ … ‘It is better for me to die than that anyone should make my
boast in our Lord Jesus Christ vain!’

Such comments are not untypical of Syriac hagiography, and parallels can also
be found in East Syrian texts, spoken in reference to the shah,58 but they are
still very striking, and seem to be indicative of Miaphysite attitudes that are far
more critical than scholars have previously acknowledged.59
So how does Daniel of Salah, writing in Syriac for monastic audiences, far
removed from the Imperial Court, address the question of how to respond
to an emperor who claims to be persecuting their church and community
in the name of Orthodoxy? He had more freedom to speak his mind than a
historian in Constantinople, and it is also possible that in the border provinces
the glamour of the emperors was somewhat reduced, but nonetheless local
security depended upon strong central rulers, as also the civilized structures and
systems that empire brought. So there is no hint in Daniel’s commentary that
he sought to reject the claim of the emperors to rule the empire by divine right,
let alone any explicit political opposition to Justinian. His writing is much
more subtle than that, and all the more powerful for it. Rather than attack
individuals he seeks to undermine the imperial ideology itself, and especially
that aspect which accords the emperor religious leadership and quasi-sacerdotal
powers. For Daniel the essential truth is that there is only one true king60 who

58)
Cf. the following extract from the Life of Narsai the bar qyāmā (who died during the reign
of Yazdegerd I, ad –), in Paul Bedjan, Acta Martyrum et Sanctorum  (Paris–Leipzig,
), pp. –: ‘The chief Magian Adarbozay, sitting in judgement, questioned the
blessed Narsai and said: “How did you have the audacity to enter the fire-shrine without
fear and kill the fire, and at the same time to destroy the fire-altar in which it was placed?
Were you not afraid of the king’s judgement?” The blessed Narsai replied as follows: “Who
was I to fear the more; God who gave the crown to the king and whose authority is over all
created things, or the transient king, who is alive today but after a little time will hand over
his kingdom to someone else?” ’. It might be noticed that by the sixth century the Syrian
Orthodox had also expanded significantly in the Iranian Empire, and they cannot but have
reflected on the contrasting ways in which the shah and emperor treated religious minorities
in their respective territories.
59)
In a future article I hope to collect together a number of passages from contemporary
Miaphysite sources that suggest that many different Syriac authors at this period sought to
deny the emperor a role in the development and promulgation of orthodox doctrine, whilst
avoiding any hint of political disloyalty to him as the head of the empire.
60)
In Syriac the same word, malkā, is used for both ‘king’ and ‘emperor’.
 David G.K. Taylor

demands total loyalty, and that is God, who is usually portrayed either as the
‘crucified king crowned with thorns’, or as the ascended, glorified Christ sitting
in judgement before the nations.61 By contrast, human kings are not kings at
all, but are simply allowed to bear the title.

‘Listen to the sound of my groaning, my King and my God …’ Note how [David] does
not call himself ‘king’ in prayer, but strips himself of the royal majesty and called God
‘his King and his God’ that he might make clear that there is no king who is in truth
king but God alone. For he who is inferior to a king is not a king, and if he is called
‘king’, he is given the title ‘king’ as a courtesy, and he is not one in truth.62

So when humans withhold allegiance from the one true king they are utterly
condemned.

Who then are these who ‘in their mouth is no justice’? Were they not those who were
crying out before Pilate ‘We have no king except Caesar’? [John :] For up to then
the king of the Jews was God, and not Caesar, and justice ruled and had authority over
them, and in their mouth was him who is justice. But when they cried out ‘We have
no king except Caesar’, righteousness left their mouth and unrighteousness entered in
its place—now in that time Caesar was the king of the Romans, one of those who serve
idols—and because of this the prophet said ‘wickedness is within them’.63

This passage reflects of course, the anti-Jewish rhetoric that is so widespread

in Syriac, as in Greek, patristic literature,64 but what is striking here is not the
fact that the Jews are condemned, but the reason for their condemnation—
not, in this case, their rejection of Jesus as Messiah, but their betrayal of their
true king, God, and their treacherous change of allegiance to a human ruler.
Daniel’s explanation of the term ‘Caesar’ () is also curious. Not only is it

61)
For this old theme, here reused with added vigour, cf. Per Beskow, Rex Gloriae: The
Kingship of Christ in the Early Church (Stockholm, ).
62)
Commentary on Ps. :.
63)
Commentary on Ps. :.
64)
Cf. A. Peter Hayman, ‘The Image of the Jew in the Syriac Anti-Jewish Polemic Litera-
ture’, in Jacob Neusner and Ernest S. Frerichs (eds.), To See Ourselves as Others See Us: Chris-
tians, Jews and ‘Others’ in Late Antiquity (Chico, ), pp. –; Stephen D. Benin,
‘Commandments, Covenants and the Jews in Aphrahat, Ephrem and Jacob of Serugh’, in
David R. Blumenthal (ed.), Approaches to Judaism in Medieval Times  (Brown Judaic Studies
; Chico, ), pp. –; Jean Maurice Fiey, ‘Juifs et chrétiens dans l’Orient syrien’,
Hispania Sacra  (), pp. –; and for a larger context, Marcel Simon, Verus Israel:
A Study of the Relations Between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire (–) (Oxford,
).
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

used in several well-known passages of the Gospels, but in the sixth century, in
Syriac as in Greek, this was still one of the standard titles of the emperor and
would have been familiar to the most isolated villager. Conceivably Daniel’s
comment was intended to distinguish between the allegiance due to pagan
emperors and that due to the post-Constantinian Christian emperors, but it
could also be read simply as a shot at contemporary emperors in general.
According to Daniel, when God created humanity he bestowed royal status
upon all humans, and not just upon particular individuals.65 Daniel expresses
this in two related ways, the first a retelling of the Genesis Paradise story, and
the second a philosophical or anthropological meditation upon it. The first
appears, for example, in the following short extract from the commentary on
Psalm :

Human nature from of old took delight in the grace of divine kindnesses, and that it
might possess eternal life the Creator placed it in blissful Paradise, and he made it king
and ruler over all those without speech.66

In isolation this short passage seems fairly insignificant, but the full theory
underpinning it can be found in Daniel’s extraordinary exegesis of Psalm .
This is one of the small collection of Psalms identified by modern form-critics
as Royal Psalms, and this character is clearly recognized by Daniel as well. He
begins by concentrating on King David’s piety, and his dismissal of the value
of the outward trappings of human royalty:

O Lord, in your strength may the king rejoice, and in your salvation may he greatly exult!
See how [David] spoke; he did not mention royal splendours, and neither did he seek
to rejoice in the ranks of armies arrayed in armour, nor again in nobles and lords and
rulers, nor in the splendour of the glittering embellishments of glorious clothes of linen
and of garments of purple, nor in the construction of chariots that are decorated for
majestic pomp, nor in horses that are harnessed with cast-metalwork of gold and with
a splendour of stamped-work, and neither in a multitude of beloved children who are
borne upon the backs of mounts arrayed with every finery and adorned with a show
of precious garments woven by the skill of the wise. But when he had sat upon his
royal throne, at this time, then, he spoke this Psalm in prophecy, … and he turned
towards the Lord and said, ‘O Lord, in your strength may the king rejoice! The joy
of your servant shall not be in these visible things whose ostentation lasts [only] for a

65)
There are some parallels here with the concept of the priesthood of all believers; cf. Sebas-
tian P. Brock, ‘The Priesthood of the Baptized: Some Syriac Perspectives’, Sobornost/Eastern
Churches Review . (), pp. –.
66)
Commentary on Ps. :.
 David G.K. Taylor

short while, nor again shall he rejoice in these cohorts of princes whose [family] lines
stretch out for a little time to the sight of outward eyes … In your salvation shall I
exult, though it shall not be seen in this brief time.’

After this clear critique of the behaviour of most human kings, Daniel then
turns to find an alternative addressee for the Psalm than an actual ruling king,
because he cannot believe that the Holy Spirit would wish to restrict this divine
message to human royalty.

Now, because the desire of the psalmist was made clear by him in these things that were
spoken, let us now turn to the inner significance of the image of the incorruptible king,
and from there let us make a start on the spiritual interpretation. I do not think that the
Spirit spoke these things with an outward signification, referring to a worldly king, for
sometimes there is a king, and sometimes not, but [rather] the psalmist prophesies these
things about that king who is within us, who is truly king because of his resemblance
to that King of truth, and for him, then, for that [king] it is easy to rejoice in the
Lord. Now I say that the king who is within us is the mind (), for this in truth
was created within us by God in the image of that King. And this is truly a free-being
that does not submit to servitude, and this is he who rules over the conduct of our
person, and we are unable to rule over him, for he is exalted far above us in every
matter, and he is within us whilst not within us, and although he dwells within us his
location within us is not known to us, and he is entirely within us and he is entirely
outside us, and he is within us yet is not confined within us … This is the king who
governs us from within. This is he who is called the image of God. Upon this one God
has placed his glory and his splendour. And on account of this one God said in the
beginning, ‘Let us make man in our image and according to our likeness’ [Gen. :].
And it is right that we should consider that the Psalmist also now calls him ‘the king’.
But if it is the case that these words are not spoken about that king who is within
us, then this hymn is suitable only for kings and not for anyone else. And is it right,
then, that [only] the king should rejoice in the power of God, and not the whole world
which trusts in the Lord? And is it the prerogative of the king, then, that he should
exult greatly in the salvation of the Lord, and not [the prerogative] also of the rest of
the poor, those who have even greater need of salvation? However, as I have said, we
should proceed in the account of the inner signification concerning the king who is
within us, knowing that the psalmist here calls the mind ‘the king’, that which was
fashioned in the incomprehensible wisdom of God, and came into being in the image
and in the likeness of its Creator.

This is a larger citation than would normally be included in an article, but I

hope its interest is evident. Daniel argues that the Spirit is unlikely to have
addressed kings alone, because they are only a temporary phenomenon, not an
essential, integral, or permanent part of society. Nor is their need for salvation
and exultation greater than that of the poor and oppressed—quite the opposite!
Instead the Psalm is addressed to all humanity, because all humanity is made
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

in the image and likeness of God the King. And what part of humanity is most
God-like? The mind, the ruler of our being, who is not confined by our physical
being but can travel where it wills with no delay and without any change to its
nature. Hence the mind is the true king. This idea has clear parallels with the
Greek concept of the hēgemonikon, the ruling principle within both humans
and the cosmos,67 which is also to be found in the writings of Philo68 and
many patristic authorities in east and west,69 including Origen and Gregory
of Nyssa. Although the concept may conceivably have been a commonplace
among Syrian intellectuals, it seems likely that Daniel of Salah’s understanding
of it was acquired from the writings of Gregory of Nyssa, because in the latter’s
De hominis opificio70 he not only identifies the hēgemonikon as the divine image
of God in man (as Philo before him), but also rejects the theories both of the
Platonists, who located the hēgemonikon in the head, and of the Stoics, who
located it in the soul, and it is this that Daniel also does here. Whatever its
precise origins, the theologico-political implications of this concept for the
Syrian Miaphysites are intriguing. One obvious logical conclusion would be
that the Miaphysites reserved the right to consult their inner king, created in
the image of the divine king, rather than the emperor in Constantinople, when
determining the nature and formulation of their creeds.

67)
See Julius Rocca, Galen on the Brain: Anatomical Knowledge and Physiological Speculation
in the Second Century ad (Leiden, ), Ch. .
68)
Although Philo was actively translated and studied by the Armenians, he was almost
entirely ignored by the Syrian Christians, in both west and east.
69)
See Heinrich Karpp, Probleme altchristlicher Anthropologie: biblische Anthropologie und
philosophische Psychologie bei den Kirchenvätern des dritten Jahrhunderts (Beiträge zur Förde-
rung christlicher Theologie .; Gütersloh, ), p. .
70)
This text was early translated into Syriac and survives in a sixth-century manuscript, Vat.
sir.  (with some leaves now found in BL Add. ). It has not yet been edited, although
translations of some sections have been published by Francesco Pericoli Ridolfini and his
students; see Francesco Pericoli Ridolfini, ‘Dedica e sommario del “De opificio hominis”
di Gregorio de Nissa nel Vat. sir. ’, OCP  (), pp. –; Fausta Grassi, ‘La
versione siriaca del “de opificio hominis” di Gregorio di Nissa: cap. IX–XI’, Studi e ricerche
sull’Oriente cristiano  (), pp. –, –; Teresa Clementoni, ‘La versione siriaca
del “De opificio hominis” di Gregorio di Nissa, Cap. XIII e XIV’, Studi e ricerche sull’Oriente
cristiano  (), pp. –, –; Maria Rosaria Del Deo, ‘La versione siriaca del
“de opificio hominis” di Gregorio di Nissa, Cap. XIV’, Studi e ricerche sull’Oriente cristiano 
(), pp. –, –; Anna Bonanni, ‘La versione siriaca del “De opificio hominis”
di Gregorio di Nissa. Cap. XXIII (gr. XXII)’, Studi e ricerche sull’Oriente cristiano  (),
pp. –.
 David G.K. Taylor

In another passage Daniel notes that the emperor’s possession of wealth and
power is no indication that he was the recipient of special divine favour, and
that his human nature is no different from that of all his subjects:

Nor does the greatness of the giver and the smallness of the receiver provide information
relating to nature, but they demonstrate the providential [distribution] of supplies. For
kings who share out dominions and the subjects who receive from them are equal in
nature.71

So far I have drawn attention to passages in which Daniel positively emphasizes

the equality of nature and status between kings and their subjects, but there are
also numerous passages in which he makes negative remarks about kings. Very
often when the Psalms make reference to unspecified oppressors and those who
are oppressed Daniel identifies the former with kings and the latter with the
saints, the true believers, the poor ones of Christ. Furthermore, he frequently
suggests that demons, and all the other spiritual powers arrayed against Christ
and his church, work through kings. For example:72

‘Let not the poor person sit ashamed, but let the needy and the poor praise your name’. Those
who are opposed [the demons etc.]73 have command over kings and over rulers, and in
governors and in nobles they boast. But those who proclaim your truth are the needy
and poor. Because these are overwhelmed by violence, ‘Arise O God and pronounce your
judgements’.

And again, in another Psalm, he recalls the constant battle fought by the
servants of Christ against the kings of the earth and the King of darkness and
his demonic hosts:74

But he also recalls the haughtiness of those who in the chariots of the Roman empire
and in the horses of the house of Herod and Pilate were taking strength in that age
when our Saviour appeared, and concerning this he was saying, These in chariots and
these in horses, but we in the name of the Lord our God will take strength. … Now I
believe that by this he was also indicating those who from that opposing party were
spiritually gathering for war with the saints. For … their leaders, in the likeness of those
who are carried in pomp upon the beauty and the splendour of chariots, set in motion
through fear their conflicts against the saints. … In preparation for this conflict with
these spiritual chariots of the armies of the tyrants and the rebels who are with that king

71)
Commentary on Ps. :.
72)
Commentary on Ps. :.
73)
 , a common euphemism in Daniel for Satan and his demons.
74)
Commentary on Ps. :.
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

of darkness the psalmist rightly arms the chariot of the saints that it might go forth to
meet these hosts of [the enemy] powers, and he says, but we in the name of the Lord our
God will take strength. Against this [military] preparedness the name of God is sufficient
for us, and in comparison with these turbulent companies and surging legions we have
nothing to show for our armour but the name of the Lord our God.

Daniel’s primary concern is the constant battle of the saints of Christ with the
forces of Satan, and yet in his writing there is a continual blurring of boundaries
between the demonic forces of ‘the ruler of this world’75 and those of the human
world-rulers. The call to the saints to prepare themselves for holy warfare, an
old Syriac ascetic theme already found in Aphrahat,76 is also striking here, and
it is a powerful and provocative message in a time when his church was under
attack as never before. In a similar manner, Daniel makes good use of the
frequent requests in the Psalms for deliverance from evildoers. Although he
usually links these pleas to times of persecution in David’s life, it often seems
that Daniel is also referring to the trials and tribulations of his own day:77

The forces of the Enemy are accustomed to stir up violent wars against those who trust
in the Lord and hope in him, in order that they might drag them towards the divine
whirlwind, and even more in an age when it appears that they are wrongfully persecuted
by those who are considered believers. And we should learn these things from the
blessed David, he who was simultaneously king and prophet. For when persecution
arose against him due to Saul his enemy, and those who did not know supposed of
Saul that he was a just and righteous man, and concerning David they thought, in
ignorance, that perhaps he was justly put to flight and pursued by Saul, amongst these
things what more ought David, who knew the substance of the reality, to have said
[than ‘In the Lord I take refuge’]?

It is not a great hermeneutical leap when reading this passage to identify

Saul with Justinian, and David with the Miaphysites, and indeed any other
identification would be rather implausible. (Daniel’s exegesis of the Psalms
regularly depends upon his belief that David was not only a prophet through
whom the Holy Spirit or Divine Word spoke all the Psalms, but also that in
his life and deeds he was a type of Christ and of the faithful church). So, like
David, who took refuge in the Lord when wrongfully persecuted by the tyrant
Saul, the faithful must have trust in God when dragged before kings:78

75)
Cf. John :.
76)
See Robert Murray, ‘The Exhortation to Candidates for Ascetical Vows at Baptism in
the Ancient Syrian Church’, New Testament Studies  (), pp. –.
77)
Commentary on Ps. :.
78)
Commentary on Ps. :.
 David G.K. Taylor

‘How abundant is your grace which you reserve for those who fear you, for those who put
their trust in you before people …’ And through this he explained that when a persecution
takes place it is not right that we should conceal our confession and our hope in him,
but before kings and before rulers we should put our trust in him and should not fear.

Although unjust persecution by the emperor is the common experience of the

church, without any hope of human assistance, there is no hint in any of this of
actual military revolt or political rebellion against the empire. Justice will only
come at the final judgement when all the kings of the earth will be troubled:79

As David said, he sent forth his arrows and scattered them, he multiplied his lightnings
and troubled them. For then, in the likeness of lightnings, his angels will issue forth
against the earth, flashing out from the clouds of fire and that bank of flame in which
our Lord will come, and they will hasten to burn up the tares with their mighty blasts,
and the faces of all the kings of the earth will be troubled, and of all the mighty ones
and leaders of the wicked.

At the judgement people will finally realize that kings are just humans, and
nothing more:80

Arise Lord! and may no human prevail, and may the peoples be judged before your face. For
these who are judged before your face are judged with justice and with uprightness,
and when the judgement goes out against them which convicts them and vindicates
the righteous, then they will know that they are not Lords as they had supposed, but
the subjects and servants of their creator, and the peoples will know that they are [but]
humans and not masters.

And the faithful saints will be crowned once more:81

‘All the horns of the wicked I will cut off, but the horns of the righteous shall be exalted ’.
… God the Word … will cut off the wicked leadership, and will humble the rulers of
iniquity, and will bring to an end the leadership which rebelled against him, and he
will remove the crowns of the kingdoms, and the diadems of the princes, and one king,
the true one, will appear, and he will give the kingdom and exaltation to the hosts of
the saints.

And again:82

79)
Commentary on Ps. :.
80)
Commentary on Ps. :–.
81)
Commentary on Ps. :.
82)
Commentary on Ps. :.
 The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah 

Blessed are all who trust in him! The rich have grown poor and hungry, but those who seek
the Lord shall lack no good thing. Do you see the good thing of God’s relief? When the
rich are deprived of their wealth, and the exalted are cast down from their pride, and
the great ones fall from their dominions, and kings are stripped of the adornments on
their fine clothes, and the diadems of command are removed from their heads, then
those who sought the Lord will reign with diadems of incorruption, and because of
this they will lack no good thing.

Then, finally, the true King will reign over one people, united once more and
no longer divided by faith or language:83

The Lord sits as king for ever, and the Opponent will not again grow strong [enough]
to become king through rebellion. And every chief, and every ruler, and all powers will
cease, and kingdoms will relinquish command, and one true kingdom will appear, and
then the Lord will give power to the children of his kingdom, as the prophet said: The
Lord will give power to his people, the Lord will bless his people with peace. He did not speak
the noun ‘peoples’ here for there are no ‘peoples’ in the kingdom of the Lord, because
the people is one and speaks with one language. And the Lord is one, he who sits in
royal majesty for ever, and one is his government, to whom be praise for ever, Amen.

In all of these passages of the Psalms which are interpreted by Daniel as being
prophecies of the final judgement it is noteworthy that none contains any
reference to kings or rulers, but it is Daniel who on each occasion introduces
these subjects into his exegesis. For Daniel the vindication of the saints and
the downfall and humiliation of the unrighteous kings is the major item of
business for the divine judge.
From these passages it would appear that Daniel of Salah was using his
commentary to reinforce changing Miaphysite attitudes towards the Byzan-
tine monarchy, and to provide his co-religionists with biblical and prophetic
justification for their new stance. Like all effective propagandists he made use of
pre-existing beliefs and traditions, rather than inventing new ideas that might
face opposition, but he sharpened and enhanced these, and often introduced
them into new contexts where they suited his contextual arguments, even if
there were no obvious links to the text of the Psalm being commented upon.
In none of these passages is there any suggestion of political rebellion against
the emperor, the local guarantor of military security, although ‘kings’ are often
linked to the ‘ruler of this world’ and his forces of evil, which echoes John
of Ephesus’ comparison of Justinian to Satan cited above. Instead, Daniel sys-
tematically undermines the belief that human kings have any role as special

83)
Commentary on Ps. .
 David G.K. Taylor

mediators of divine revelation or truth. They are as ephemeral as other humans,

and are of the same nature as their subjects. Such outward signs of their status
as wealth and power are due to the accidents of birth, and their glory is mere
pomp and corruption. The true king is the crucified Christ, and in his image
the mind or reason of each human was created, the internal king who ‘is truly
a free-being that does not submit to servitude, and this is he who rules over the
conduct of our person’,84 whose guidance is to be followed in religious matters
until the final judgement when worldly kings will be overthrown and all the
faithful receive the crowns promised through Adam at their creation. Political
allegiance is owed to kings and emperors, but, as noted long before by Ephrem,
their role should not be confused with that of priests.
Throughout the two thousand years that separate the authors of the Habak-
kuk Pesher of the Dead Sea Qumran community85 from the liberation the-
ologians of Latin America,86 biblical exegetes belonging to separatist groups
or resistance movements have understood the importance of developing their
own distinctive exegesis of biblical texts as a means not only of shaping their
community’s religious beliefs but also of addressing larger political issues and
of fighting for independence from rivals and oppressors. By transforming the
reading of the key religious texts of their group they also transformed their
readers’ understanding of the entire world around them, so integrating them
as a community and providing them with the spiritual armour necessary for
sustained resistance. As I hope I have been able to demonstrate, Daniel of Salah
with his commentary on the Psalms is to be placed firmly within this exegetical
tradition, and played a key role in the formation of a distinctive and indepen-
dent Syrian Orthodox identity in the sixth century that was also to serve them
well in the political turmoil of the seventh century and the arrival of new rulers,
the Muslim Arabs.
David G.K. Taylor
University of Oxford
david.taylor@orinst.ox.ac.uk

84)
Commentary on Ps. .
85)
See Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, (Oxford, ); William
H. Brownlee, The Midrash Pesher of Habakkuk (Society of Biblical Literature Monograph
series ; Missoula, ).
86)
See Gustavo Gutiérrez, A Theology of Liberation (Maryknoll, ); J. Severino Croatto,
Exodus: A Hermeneutics of Freedom (Maryknoll, ).
 Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation

Muriel Debié*

Abstract
Historiographical texts are here read as literary compositions of their time, providing us with
various elements of the process of identity construction or reconstruction. The first West
Syrian historical texts were produced in the sixth century, when the history of what would
become the Syrian Orthodox Church began. An examination of contemporary sources
and myths of origins shows that the ethnic origins of the Abgarid dynasty played no part
in Syrian ‘ethnogenesis’, but that there existed a notion of Syro-Mesopotamian origins,
closely related to a supposed homeland, that of Aram. An acknowledged common ancestry
going back to the Chaldean and Assyrian Empires relies on a common language more
than a common homeland or sovereign. Whereas the Assyrians came to personify the ever-
hostile Persian neighbour, a sort of stereotypical enemy, the Hellenistic kings were perceived
as having effected a synthesis of the double Syro-Mesopotamian and Greek culture. The
Seleucid era, as adopted by the Edessans, thus remained in use regardless of the prevailing
political powers and is an assertion of independence and a strong local identity marker,
being a rejection of the local Antiochene as well as the imperial Byzantine eras. The Syrian
Orthodox also developed an innovative method of writing the history of their separated
Church, producing a new genre consisting of lengthy chronicles written in several parts
or columns, in which political and ecclesiastical history were kept separate. This Syrian
Orthodox method of writing history is the only truly distinctive Syrian Orthodox literary
genre.

Keywords
Historiography; chronicles; church histories; Seleucid era; Syria; northern Mesopotamia;
Aram; Assyrians; Aramaic; –.

It should come as no surprise that such an important part of the Leiden research
project under discussion in the present volume is devoted to historical writing,
not only because, in the particularly rich West Syrian tradition, Michael the
Great’s work is both a unique source for past events and a symbol of Syrian

*)
I am most grateful to my colleague Michael Featherstone for checking the English of my
text.
 Muriel Debié

Orthodox learning, but also because it is here that the communal memory is
at once created, kept, and transmitted.1 Since identity is not given but is socially
and culturally constructed, historical writing participates in the constitution of
a collective memory and thus shapes the communal identity. As Walter Pohl
has pointed out ‘c’est par les textes que ces constructions (sociales et culturelles)
sont achevées et communiquées’.2 Historiographical texts can thus be read as
literary compositions of their time, providing us with various elements of the
process of identity construction or reconstruction.
Nor is it any coincidence that historical texts are so numerous in the Syr-
ian Orthodox tradition since the record and interpretation of the past was
a necessary means of enforcing the legitimacy of the separatist Church and
community. The first historical texts were produced in the sixth century, when
the history of what would become the Syrian Orthodox Church began. The
process of writing history did not however start in the same way as it did
for the Armenians who became a Christian nation instantaneously3 and cre-
ated for themselves, together with a new alphabet, a new memory based on
biblical history in order to replace the pagan folklore of their national cul-
ture.4 The history of the Syrian Orthodox was already Christian, deeply rooted
in Greek Christianity, albeit occasionally in Semitic dress. The same is true
also for the East Syrians who began writing history when they were forced to
defend their religious identity against fellow Christians of other confessions
or heretical groups.5 Historiography was one of the tools used for expressing

1)
See Michael G. Morony, ‘History and Identity in the Syrian Churches’, in Jan J. van
Ginkel, Heleen L. Murre-van den Berg, and Theo M. van Lint (eds.), Redefining Christian
Identity. Cultural Interaction in the Middle East since the Rise of Islam (OLA ; Leuven,
), pp. –.
2)
Walter Pohl, ‘Nouvelles identités ethniques entre Antiquité tardive et haut Moyen Âge’,
in Véronique Gazeau, Pierre Bauduin, and Yves Modéran (eds.), Identité et ethnicité: concepts,
débats historiographiques, exemples ( iii e–xii e siècle) (Caen, ), p. .
3)
See Theo M. van Lint in this volume.
4)
Jean-Pierre Mahé, ‘Entre Moïse et Mahomet: réflexions sur l’historiographie arméni-
enne’, Revue des Études arméniennes  (), pp. –; Robert W. Thomson, ‘The
Writing of History: The Development of the Armenian and Georgian Traditions’, in Il
Caucaso: cerniera fra culture dal Mediterraneo alla Persia: (secoli IV–XI): [settimana di studio],
– aprile  (Settimana di Studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’alto Medioevo ;
Spoleto, ), pp. –; Robert W. Thomson, ‘Christian Perception of History. The
Armenian Perspective’, in Van Ginkel, Murre-van den Berg, and Van Lint (eds.), Redefining
Christian Identity, pp. –.
5)
On East Syrian historiography, see Muriel Debié, ‘Writing History as “Histoires”. The
Biographical Dimension of East-Syriac Historiography’, in Muriel Debié, Hugh Kennedy,
 Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation 

confessional identity, in opposition first to other Christians and then to others

in general, i.e. ‘heretics’, Muslims, and later Turks and Mongols.

The Conversion of Abgar and the Question of Kingship

Since the identity of the Syrian Orthodox was mainly Christian, what sort
of myth of their origins, if any, did they share and accept? The myth of
Creation as told in the Bible was a common legacy of all Christian groups who
pretended to be legitimate heirs to the covenant of God with his chosen people,
taking the place of the Jews who no longer participated in the history of the
divine Economy.6 This common Christian heritage is present in the universal
chronicles in Syriac going back to the beginning of history, that is, to the
Creation, or at least to the beginning of the history of mankind with Adam. Of
course, the myth of the origins of the Syrian Orthodox is not to be found there.
This does not mean, however, that there were no such myths, but simply that
they were elaborated in the margins of the official history taken from the Bible.
The Acts of the Apostles reported that there were Mesopotamians amongst the
peoples present at Pentecost,7 but there was no history of the conversion of
the Syrians. Nevertheless, this event was related in apocryphal texts. Syriac-
speaking communities retold the stories of their origins in such texts as the
Doctrina Addai, the Acts of Thomas and, later, Mar Mari. According to the
Doctrina Addai, the conversion of the city of Edessa occurred under Abgar
Ukkama (– bc), though even the alleged conversion of King Abgar VIII is
a myth and Christianity in fact took hold only in the fourth century.
Even the Syriac historians did not consider Edessa to be the first Christian
kingdom. As Lucas Van Rompay has rightly observed, in the second Appendix
to Michael the Great’s Chronography, Jacob of Edessa says that the first king
who converted to Christianity was Constantine.8 This explains the representa-
tions of Constantine on horseback in Syrian churches. However, references to

and Arietta Papaconstantinou (eds.), Writing ‘True Stories’: Historians and Hagiographers in
the Late Antique and Medieval Near East (Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the
Middle Ages ; Brepols, forthcoming in ).
6)
See Jan van Ginkel, ‘Jacob of Edessa and the West-Syrian Identity’, in Van Ginkel, Murre-
van den Berg, and Van Lint (eds.), Redefining Christian Identity, p. .
7)
Acts :.
8)
Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (–
) (Paris, –; repr. in  vols., ): Chabot, Chronique, App. II, ed. Vol. ,
p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
 Muriel Debié

the story of Abgar do appear in almost all the Chronicles, except the Chronicle
of Edessa, that of Jacob and that of the year  where the historical data are
given but without any mention of conversion.9 Furthermore, beginning with
Eusebius, the story of Abgar’s correspondence with Jesus and his conversion
became the accepted history of the origins of Christianity at Edessa, undergo-
ing iconographic adaptation (though to a lesser extent than in the Armenian
tradition, where this history pervaded manuscript illumination).10 But how-
ever widely accepted it became, this myth did not fit easily into the schema of
the succession of empires in World History borrowed from Eusebius, despite
Jacob’s attempt to add it to the Eusebian model.
The theme of kingship is of great importance. Both Jacob and Dionysius
of Tel Mahre try to demonstrate that the Syrian Orthodox also once pos-
sessed political power and kings who supported their identity as a people, in
spite of what ‘the Greeks’—here meaning Chalcedonians—said to the con-
trary. We should also note the implication here that it was the Greeks who
called the Assyrians and Chaldeans ‘Syrians’.11 These disparate origins, involv-
ing a Semitic language and a Greek-Christian identity, were reconciled in the
supposed existence of an Assyro-Chaldean kingdom in Greek guise. The Hel-
lenistic kings were perceived as having effected a synthesis of this double Syro-
Mesopotamian and Greek culture. Hence the importance of the Hellenistic
period, which became a chronological knot where the two cultures (and lan-
guages, though this is never stated in the texts) were combined. Since Jacob of
Edessa is one of the most philhellenic of all Syriac authors, it is not surprising
that he considers Constantine as the legitimate heir of all earlier kingdoms,
being the first king who converted to Christianity.12 Jacob completely accepts
this notion, present in all the writings of Eusebius, particularly the Ecclesiasti-

9)
Lucas Van Rompay, ‘Jacob of Edessa and the Early History of Edessa’, in Gerrit Jan
Reinink and Alex C. Klugkist (eds.), After Bardaisan: Studies on Continuity and Change
in Syriac Christianity in Honour of Professor Han J.W. Drijvers (OLA ; Leuven, ),
pp. –, esp. pp. –.
10)
See Ter Haar Romeny et al., ‘The Formation of a Communal Identity’, in this volume,
Section .
11)
As quoted by Michael the Syrian, ed. Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans.
Vol. , p. : ‘Tous les rois qui furent dans ce pays et qu’on appelle Assyriens et Chaldéens,
appartenaient à notre langue et leurs noms furent changés par les Grecs qui régnèrent plus
tard en Asie’; Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. : ‘les rois Chaldéens
et Assyriens qui furent appelés Syriens (suryoye)’.
12)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
 Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation 

cal History and Chronicle. Dionysius of Tel Mahre also attempted to demon-
strate the continuous existence of a Syrian Empire, the Chaldeans and Assyri-
ans being considered as belonging to ‘the people’ ( #ammā) of the Syrians. This
empire came to an end with the death of Darius on account of Alexander’s
conquest, but the heirs of Seleucus are also presented as Syrian kings, and their
revival of the Syrian Empire is reckoned to have lasted until the beginning of
the Roman Empire when Christ was born under Augustus. The successor state
to the Syrian Empire was thus the Roman Empire, which is deemed legitimate
because it is Christian. Constantine’s successors are recognized as legitimate
kings, though only in so far as they are ‘faithful and Orthodox’. The Roman-
Byzantine kingdom is thus acknowledged, but only during the period before
it ordered the enforcement of the Chalcedonian position.
When the political power began to persecute the anti-Chalcedonians, there
followed a separation of Church and State. This was to become a sticking point
in the relationship between the Chalcedonians and anti-Chalcedonians, with
the Chalcedonian Greeks asking the Syrian Orthodox who the kings were that
could protect them, as implied in the last part of the Appendix to Michael
the Great’s Chronography. According to Dionysius of Tel Mahre, the Greeks
claimed that no king was ever descended from the Syrian Orthodox people and
that the latter had been cut off.13 Thereafter, no political power took the side
of the anti-Chalcedonians and they were forced to create a new identity solely
on religious grounds. Called ‘akephaloi’ by the Greeks, the Syrian Orthodox
had to compensate for their lack of sovereign and thus declared that their head
was none other than Christ himself.14 In conclusion Jacob declares that his
fellow Christians should not glorify themselves in worldly kingship but in
Christ whose realm is not in this world. Since there was no longer—and would
never again be—any political power which could be considered legitimate, the
Syrian Orthodox had chosen to be spiritually independent of it, whether non-
Orthodox Christian (that is, Byzantine or Frankish), or Muslim.
Now, such an attitude had practical consequences in the very way history
was written. After Jacob of Edessa, the Syrian Orthodox started writing history
as large chronicles in two separate parts, one ecclesiastical and the other secular,

13)
Interestingly, according to him it was the Greeks who decided to separate from the Syrian
Orthodox, while the contrary of course is stated by Byzantine sources.
14)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
 Muriel Debié

either in two books or in two or three columns.15 Political events were banished
from the realm of ecclesiastical history, which was all that really mattered. And
even this latter was more or less confined to the Syrian Orthodox world.16
In the very first decades of the confrontation with the Muslims, the Syrian
Orthodox were again mocked because they did not have an easily identifiable
head, either political or religious. In the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius17 as
well as in the Revelations and Testimonies about Our Lord’s Dispensation we find
the same provocative question from the Muslim side: ‘Where is the Saviour of
the Syrian Christians and who is their father, since the Jews have Abraham and
the Arabs Ishmael, son of Abraham?’ To the question of religious identity and
ancestry, the answer ran: ‘We Christians are the chosen people, the sacerdotal
tribe for the heavenly Kingdom, according to the Prophets’.18 To the question
of a political saviour, the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius replied that the Greek
Christian Empire founded by Alexander, which would survive until the end
of time, would deliver the Christians from the hands of their Muslim rulers.
Though hostile to the Chalcedonians, Syrian Christians, lacking a kingdom of
their own, recognized the Byzantine Empire as the only Christian state which
remained the protector of all Christians. However, this position changed later,
and Dionysius of Tel Mahre considered it better for the Syrian Orthodox to
be under Arab rule than Chalcedonian domination.19
The Lives of the Eastern Saints by John of Ephesus attest that in answer to
the abuses of the Emperor and the Chalcedonian bishops (even Agapetus of
Rome), the Suryāyē proclaimed that they received no orders except from the
true King, God.20 In the absence of a secular kingdom, the Syrian Orthodox
transferred their regard to a religious, spiritual, and eschatological level. They
defined their identity primarily in cultural terms, without political support in
this world, and perceived their ancestry as spiritual. There is, then, no present
relationship with any earthly kingdom.

15)
Muriel Debié, ‘L’héritage de la chronique d’Eusèbe dans l’historiographie syriaque’,
Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies  (), pp. –.
16)
See Morony, ‘History and Identity’, pp. –.
17)
It is still a debated question to know if the author was a Syrian Orthodox or a Chalce-
donian.
18)
Gerrit Jan Reinink, Die syrische Apokalypse des Pseudo-Methodius (CSCO –, Syr.
–; Leuven, ).
19)
See Morony, ‘History and Identity’, pp. –.
20)
Ernest W. Brooks, John of Ephesus, Lives of the Eastern Saints – (PO ., ., .;
Paris, –), Vol. , p. .
 Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation 

History and Geography

The notion of belonging to any particular nation never appears in the histories
or chronicles, nor is there any specific place which the Syriac-speaking Chris-
tians are stated to consider their home. There is, however, in the West Syrian
organization and calculation of time a strong geographical dimension which
clearly reveals a close attachment to one region, namely Syria. Interestingly, the
Suryāyē never ceased counting years according to the Seleucid era,21 a curious
habit since they themselves called this the era ‘of the Greeks’ or ‘of Alexan-
der, son of Philip of Macedon’, which was patently ‘foreign’ and, moreover,
non-Christian, whereas they could have easily adopted the Antiochene variety
of the Mundane era, which was reckoned from the moment of Creation as
recounted in the Bible, or have switched, later on, to the Christian era. The
Seleucid computation began with the death of Alexander and the advent of
Seleucus in Syria.22 To be sure, Alexander held a special place as the founder of
a Greek Empire in Asia, and it was because of his prestige that the era came to
be known by his name or that of the Greeks, though it was in fact inaugurated
by Seleucus to celebrate his entrance into Babylonia.23 Commencing on the
first of October, as did the Macedonian year, this reckoning is still used for
inscriptions in Syriac and Garshuni in the Lebanon, and in Syrian Orthodox
manuscripts, alongside Christian era dating. The Syrian Christians clearly felt
themselves part of this Syro-Macedonian cultural history.
Significantly, in his discourse on the peoples who rebelled against Greek rule
and chose their own kings, Jacob of Edessa considers the dynasty of Abgar to
be Syro-Macedonian because the Abgarids allegedly came with Alexander from
Edessa in Macedonia and rebuilt Urhoy as their capital, re-naming it Edessa.24

21)
F.M. Abel, ‘L’ère des Séleucides’, Revue Biblique  (), pp. –.
22)
Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Chronicon anonymum ad annum Christi  pertinens  (CSCO
, , Syr. , ; Leuven, , ), ed. pp. –, trans. pp. –.
23)
Venance Grumel, La Chronologie (Bibliothèque Byzantine. Traité d’études byzantines I;
Paris, ), p. . Barhebraeus in his astronomical treaty, the Book of the Ascension of the
Spirit, says that the chronology of ‘us, the Syrians/Suryoye’ begins with ‘Seleucos Nicator, the
th year of the death of Alexander, although it is called “of Alexander”’, François Nau, Le
livre de l’ascension de l’esprit sur la forme du Ciel et de la Terre: cours d’astronomie rédigé en 
par Grégoire Aboulfarag, dit Bar Hebraeus (Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études, Scien-
ces philologiques et historiques ;  vols.; Paris, –), ed. p. , trans. p. .
24)
Chabot, Chronique ., ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , pp. –. Van Rompay,
‘Jacob of Edessa’, says that ‘this does not necessarily mean that Jacob regarded the Syro-
Macedonians as the original founders of the city’ (p. ).
 Muriel Debié

On account of this supposed link, the Edessan dynasty is presented as Greek.

And since in the Christian tradition it was Alexander who shut the infamous
tribes of Gog and Magog behind the Iron Gates of the Caucasus, he was a
perfectly ‘Orthodox’ ruler and thus bridged pagan Greek and biblical history.25
It is no surprise that his reign became a key point in Christian chronography,
regardless of its political importance. Likewise, the alleged early conversion of
Edessa fits perfectly with its claims to Macedonian origin.
It seems clear that the ethnic origins of the Abgarid dynasty played no
part in Syrian ‘ethnogenesis’. The royal family were thought to have been of
Arab descent, but Jacob of Edessa (and consequently Michael the Great and
the Chronicle of the year )26 adds that the people who had settled in
Edessa before its Macedonian re-foundation were of Armenian stock. As Lucas
Van Rompay concludes ‘as far as the ethnic descent of the Abgarid kings is
concerned, we cannot ascertain whether they were Arabs (as some of the names
may indicate), Aramean, Parthian, or Armenian’.27
Jacob of Edessa is the only Syriac historian who speaks of the direct Mace-
donian origins of Edessa. The Mesopotamian city is in fact only one of many
others in the Roman Near East whose names recall the Macedonian conquest,28
but this was not sufficient to lead Syriac historians to consider Macedonia

25)
See Gerrit J. Reinink, ‘Alexander the Great in th century Syriac “Apocalyptic” Texts’,
in The Acts of Alexander the Great. The Unique Monument of Medieval Toreutics Found in
the Village Muzhi of Yamal-Nenetz Autonomic District. Proceedings of the colloquium held
by the Saint-Petersburg Society for Byzantine and Slavic Studies, September th–th, 
= Byzantinorossica  (), pp. –, for the Christianized Alexander stories where
the pious king Alexander is the founder of Daniel’s fourth world-empire, the Christian-
Byzantine one, that would exist until the end of time; C.A. Ciancaglini, ‘Gli antecedenti
del Romanzo siriaco di Alessandro’, in Rosa Bianca Finazzi and Alfredo Valvo (eds.), La
diffusione dell’eredità classica nell’età tardoantica e medievale II: ‘Romanzo di Alessandro’ e
altri scritti (L’eredità classica nel mondo orientale ; Alexandria, ), pp. – (Shorter
English version in Muséon  (), pp. –); Gerrit Jan Reinink, ‘Alexandre et
le dernier empereur du monde: les développements du concept de la royauté chrétienne
dans les sources syriaques du septième siècle’, in Laurence Harf-Lancner, Claire Kappler et
François Suard, Alexandre le Grand dans les littératures occidentales et proche-orientales: Actes
du Colloque de Paris, – novembre  (Paris–Nanterre, ), pp. –.
26)
Chabot, Chronique ., ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
27)
Van Rompay, ‘Jacob of Edessa’, pp. –.
28)
Fergus Millar, ‘Empire, Community and Culture in the Roman Near East’, JJS 
(), pp. –, who cites Gindarus, Cyrrhus, and Doliche to the North, Jordan,
Pella, and Dium to the south, Beroea to the east and finally Edessa to the north-east as
the cities whose names were borrowed from ‘the homeland of the Macedonian conquerors’
(p. ).
 Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation 

as their homeland. Nevertheless, the memory of Macedonian origins can be

found in almost all historical texts, though not in the form of a link with Mace-
donia itself, but rather with Seleucus, the ruler of Syria. In some texts Edessa is
said to have been founded by Seleucus at the same time as the other important
Hellenistic cities (around  bc) and its name is explained by the origins of
its founder.29 The Chronicle of  gives a traditional aetiological explana-
tion, according to which these cities were named after the sons and daughters
of Seleucus. According to this text, derived from Edessan sources, Edessa was
the first city to be (re-)founded in the ‘region of Syria’ and to receive its new
name from the elder daughter of Seleucus. According to Eusebius, however,
followed by the chronicler of Zuqnin and Michael the Elder, Antioch was the
first Seleucid foundation,30 dating from Seleucus’ first year, at the beginning of
the era in ‘Greek years’.
Whatever the rank of Edessa in the list of foundations, the Edessans used a
Syrian Hellenistic chronological system whose beginning marked the (re)birth
of all the great Syro-Mesopotamian cities. In order to explain why reckoning
by this era came into being and spread so widely, Michael the Great retells the
story that Seleucus ordered all records of other systems of reckoning in local
languages to be burnt.31 This is, of course, intended to legitimize the use by
Syriac-speaking communities of a Greek era rather than a Syriac or Aramaic
one. It should be noted, however, that although Greek, the adopted era was
not of Byzantine origin, but a legacy from Hellenistic times. This was clearly an
assertion of independence, through the rejection of the local Antiochene as well
as the Byzantine eras officially used in the Empire. As the historians declare,
the Seleucid era is the one ‘We Suryāyē use’.32 Considered to be of Edessan
origin, it was associated with an Edessan kingdom—of very brief duration33—

29)
Chabot, Chronicon anonymum, ed. p. , trans. p. . A list of Seleucid foundations
is also given in the Chronicle of Zuqnin, Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Incerti auctoris chronicon
anonymum Pseudo-Dionysianum vulgo dictum  (CSCO , , Syr. , ; Leuven, ,
), ed. p. , trans. p. . The information ultimately comes from Eusebius’ Chroni-
cle.
30)
Chabot, Incerti auctoris a. , ed. p. , trans. p. ; Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. ,
p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
31)
Chabot, Chronique ., ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. , citing Eusebius’ chronicle.
32)
Chabot, Chronique ., ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
33)
The accepted dates are / bce–s ce. See Fergus Millar, The Roman Near East,
 bc–ad  (Cambridge, MA, ), pp. –.
 Muriel Debié

which had adopted it as its own, and was used in documents kept (allegedly)
in the city archives.34
The boundaries of the homeland were thus marked out by this ‘local chrono-
logical reckoning’ which remained in use for a surprisingly long time. Dat-
ing back to the classical period of Syriac Christianity, before the separation of
the Churches, it remained a common feature of Syriac culture. Although the
East Syrians used this era for dating inscriptions and manuscripts,35 they never
employed it in historiography except when treating western events or citing
western sources.36 The Melkites and the Maronites also used this era, almost
down to the present day. It cannot however be called a national era since it had
no official status after the Edessan dynasty, though it remained a cultural fea-
ture. With it the Syrian Christians could assert their Greek ‘Syrian’ identity in
relation to their fellow Christians (Byzantines, Armenians and, later, Franks),
who used other computational systems (such as indictions, the Byzantine world
era, the Antiochene era, the Armenian era and cycle, the Christian era), and the
non-Christian kingdoms of the Arabs, Turks, and Mongols.37 This system of
dating was not political, which is not surprising, since no political entity sup-
ported their religious identity; but neither was it religious, which might seem
odd. The Seleucid era, as adopted by the Edessans, remained in use regardless
of the prevailing political power, as a strong local identity marker. Its success
is probably also to be explained by the geographical connection with Syria
(apparently including Mesopotamia, since Edessa was perceived as a Syrian
city), together with the prestige of the Greek Empire founded by Alexander
and his heirs. The cultural identity of Edessa had been staunchly Hellenistic,

34)
See the deed of sales from Dura Europos, the tale of the drought in the Chronicle of
Edessa of  ce or the Acts of the Edessan martyrs.
35)
On the dating of manuscripts, see Françoise Briquel-Chatonnet, ‘Le temps du copiste:
notations chronologiques dans les colophons de manuscrits syriaques’, in Françoise Briquel-
Chatonnet and Hélène Lozachmeur (eds.), Proche-Orient ancien: temps vécu temps pensé
(Antiquités sémitiques ; Paris, ), pp. –; Sebastian P. Brock, ‘The Use of Hijra
Dating in Syriac Manuscripts: a Preliminary Investigation’, in Van Ginkel, Murre-van den
Berg, and Van Lint (eds.), Redefining Christian Identity, pp. –.
36)
See Muriel Debié, ‘Writing History as “Histoires”. The Biographical Dimension of East
Syriac Historiography’, in Debié, Kennedy, and Papaconstantinou (eds.), Writing ‘True
Stories’.
37)
Barhebraeus used the Hijra dating for the Muslim period but went back to the Seleucid
era for the Mongol times when he stopped using Arabic sources; cf. Françoise Micheau,
‘Le Kāmil d’Ibn al-Athı̄r, source principale de l’histoire des Arabes dans le Muhta.sar de
Barhebraeus’, Mélanges de l’Université Saint-Joseph  (), pp. –, esp. p. .
 Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation 

and it remained so during both the city’s short-lived independence (when an

era of ‘the freedom of Antoniniana Edessa’ came into use)38 and Roman rule.

The Biblical Past

One would expect to find some legacy from Mesopotamia in Syriac Christian-
ity, but in the absence of almost any direct written contact39 it is very difficult
to ascertain how and in what degree such a transmission of a non-Greek cul-
ture took place. The history of Ahiqar the Wise,40 the survival of the literary
genre of dialogue poems,41 and perhaps also the use of archives and practices
of record keeping as exemplified by the Edessan archives or reminiscences of
Assyrian rites and assemblies in the Acts of Mar Mari42 are some of the few
recognizable traces of the Mesopotamian past. The well-known reference to
Nimrod as founder of Edessa43 was intended to evoke the biblical origins of
the city.
The notion of Mesopotamian origins is closely related to a supposed home-
land, that of Aram. Ephrem had already spoken of his homeland as the ‘land
of Aram’.44 In the Chronicle of Zuqnin the Syrian Orthodox are said to be
descendants of Aram (one of the three sons of Noah) in a context where the
biblical past serves as a paradigm for contemporary events and confrontation.
According to that biblical typology, the Arabs are the ‘sons of Hagar’, the Syr-

38)
Alfred R. Bellinger and C. Bradford Welles, ‘A Third-Century Contract of Sale from
Edessa in Osrhoene’, Yale Classical Studies  (), pp. –.
39)
Millar, ‘Empire, Community and Culture’, pp. –; Stephanie Dalley (ed.), The
Legacy of Mesopotamia (Oxford, ).
40)
Françoise Briquel-Chatonnet, ‘L’histoire et la sagesse d’Ahiqar: fortune littéraire de la
vie d’un dignitaire araméen à la cour assyrienne’, in Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont, Angel
Pino, and Samaha Khoury (eds.), D’un Orient à l’autre (Cahiers de la Société asiatique ns ;
Paris–Leuven, ), pp. –; Riccardo Contini and Cristiano Grottanelli (eds.), Il saggio
Ahiqar. Fortuna e trasformazioni di uno scritto sapienzale. Il testo più antico e le sue versioni
(Studi biblici ; Brescia, ).
41)
See the numerous articles and translations by Sebastian P. Brock.
42)
Françoise Briquel-Chatonnet, Christelle Jullien, and Florence Jullien, ‘Traces d’un
ancien rite assyrien dans les Actes de Mar Mari?’, Semitica  (), pp. –; Amir Har-
rak, The Acts of Mar Mari the Apostle (Writings from the Greco-Roman World ; Atlanta,
), pp. xxii–vi about the assemblies, with a bibliography on the subject.
43)
See Van Rompay, ‘Jacob of Edessa’, p. .
44)
Sydney Griffith, ‘Christianity in Edessa and the Syriac-Speaking World: Mani, Bar
Daysan, and Ephraem; The struggle for allegiance on the Aramean frontier’, Journal of the
Canadian Society for Syriac Studies  (), pp. –, esp. p. .
 Muriel Debié

ian Orthodox the ‘sons of Aram’, the Persians and Abbasids (the Muslims of
the east) the Assyrians or ‘sons of Atur’.45 And the author of the title of the
Appendix46 to the Chronicle of Michael the Great says that he belongs to the
race or nation (umtā) of the Arameans who have come to be called Syrians
(suryāyē) or people of Syria (bnay suryā).47 This is one of the few instances
where the word ‘race’ or ‘nation’ is used for the Syrians. The title, contrary to
most of the Appendix itself, appears to have nothing to do with Jacob of Edessa
but to have been added by Michael himself. This could be evidence that by the
time of Michael the Syrians considered themselves an ethnos, which was not
the case before, perhaps as a consequence of contact with the Byzantines and
the Franks.
What strikes us in this Appendix is that the question of origins has more
to do with the use of a language than ethnicity or geographical location. Jacob
of Edessa also stresses the fact that the Chaldean or, synonymously, Assyrian
kings, the alleged ancestors of the Syrians, ‘used our Aramaic tongue and script’
and ‘belonged to our tongue’.48 He adds that the Arameans were called Syrians
‘by the Greeks’.49 Jacob says that he wants to demonstrate that ‘an empire of
our tongue and script existed until the time of Cyrus the Persian’.50 The same
was shown by Dionysius of Tel Mahre, who made use of Jacob’s material on
the subject, and Michael the Great placed the testimony of both, one after
the other, in his Appendix. According to Dionysius, there existed kingdoms
to the east of the Euphrates: that of the Assyrians (with Nebuchadnezzar who
spoke Aramaic with the magicians summoned to interpret his dream), that of
the Abgarids in Edessa, and that of the #araba (with Sanatruq).51 All this is
intended to show that Aramaic was spoken in these kingdoms. According to
this historian the conversion to Christianity was the reason why ‘our people’,
full of zeal for the new religion, destroyed the books which recorded the
memory of their ancient kings. At issue again is language and the loss of
written records of ancient local history (presumably in Aramaic, since this was
the language of the kingdoms) on account of the Greeks. This is, as it were,

45)
Amir Harrak, ‘Ah! The Assyrian is the Rod of My Hand! Syriac View of History After
the Advent of Islam’, in Van Ginkel, Murre-van den Berg, and Van Lint (eds.), Redefining
Christian Identity, pp. –, esp. p. .
46)
Chabot, Chronique, App. II, ed. Vol. , pp. –, trans. Vol. , pp. –.
47)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
48)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
49)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
50)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
51)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
 Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation 

a symbolic explanation of the rupture in the transmission of Mesopotamian

culture and its Semitic origins because of the supremacy of the Greek language
and Hellenistic culture after the conquest of Alexander.
Syrian origins were usually illustrated by means of the Bible, but Greek
mythology was also used to write the history of Syria and the Syrian kings.
Dionysius of Tel Mahre retells the story of Syrus and Cilicus, the brothers
who divided between themselves the lands of Cilicia and Syria. It is also no
coincidence that the history falsely attributed to the philosopher Diocles was
not only translated, but also copied several times in Syriac, for it preserves a
similar story of the sons of Agenor, king of Tyre, as well as the discovery by
Heracles of the purple-producing murex on the Syrian coast.52 This history
reports that the Syrian kings were the first to wear purple garments but omits
the account, related in the Chronicle of Malalas, of the subsequent transmis-
sion of the purple to other nations, including the Romans (with the implica-
tion that the Byzantine emperors were not ‘porphyrogenetoi’). Furthermore,
the reign of Agenor is chronologically synchronized with biblical history (after
the division of the tongues under Peleg).53 A strong attachment to the land
of Syria is thus expressed through mythology, albeit a historicized mythology,
transmitted exclusively in historical texts.
Various factors are in play here. Firstly, the common ancestry going back
to the Chaldean and Assyrian Empires relies upon a common language more
than a common homeland or acknowledged sovereign. The difference between
Chaldeans and Assyrians was apparently not really understood by the authors.
Thus they stress the use of a common language, namely Aramean. This question
is bound up with that of the primeval language, about which opinions in the
chronicles vary. Hebrew was one of the options,54 Syriac, that is Aramean, the
other; and from this latter, according to the Chronicle of , all the others

52)
Paul Anton de Lagarde, Analecta syriaca (London, ), pp. –; trans. by Ben-
jamin Harris Cowper, Syriac Miscellanies (London, ), p. . Pseudo-Dioclis fragmentum,
ed. and trans. Ernest W. Brooks, Ignazio Guidi, and Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Chronica minora
 (CSCO –, Syr. –; Paris, , ), ed. pp. –, trans. pp. –.
53)
Muriel Debié, ‘Jean Malalas et la tradition chronographique de langue syriaque’, in
Sandrine Agusta-Boularot and Joëlle Beaucamp et al. (eds.), Recherches sur la chronique de
Jean Malalas . Actes du colloque: La Chronique de Jean Malalas (VI e s. è. Chr.) Genèse et
transmission, – mars , Aix-en-Provence (Centre de Recherche et de Civilisation de
Byzance, Monographies ; Paris, ), pp. –, esp. pp. –.
54)
According to Michael the Great this was the opinion of Jacob of Edessa and John of
Litarba (Chabot, Chronique ., ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. ).
 Muriel Debié

were descended and mixed together.55 By way of compromise, Michael the

Great posited that the primeval language was Aramean, from which Hebrew
was descended.56 Thus, Assyro-Chaldean ancestry is acknowledged only in the
use of a common language (and script!), and the common identity is called
‘Syrian’.
A second important factor is the traditional view of the Assyrians. They are
never presented in a positive way but are considered as enemies, beginning
with the promise given by Jesus to Abgar that Edessa would hold against its
enemies, the Assyrians, for, as the Chronicle of  reports, Atur, ‘that is
Mosul’, continuously harassed the kingdom of Abgar.57 Thus, being associated
with the foreign territory of Atur, which belonged to the Persian Empire, the
Assyrians personified the ever-hostile Persian neighbour. A sort of stereotypical
enemy, presented in biblical terms as ‘the rod of [God’s] hand’ in all historical
texts,58 the Assyrians were not ancestors of whom one could be proud.

Language, Religion, and Ethnicity

There is no doubt that the conversion of the cradle of Syriac Christianity,
Edessa, was a turning point in the formation of the identity of Syriac-speaking
communities, for thereby Syriac was diffused as a Christianized version of
Edessan Aramaic outside Osrhoene and Mesopotamia. In the grammar of
Jacob of Edessa, the Syriac language is in fact called mamllā Urhāyā (a)
or leššānā Urhāyā (b, –), mamllā Nahrāyā (b, –), the Edessan or
Mesopotamian tongue or language.59 Dionysius of Tel Mahre also states that
Edessa is ‘the root and foundation of the Syriac language’.60 This does not mean
that all ‘Syrians’ actually spoke Syriac, that is, the Edessan literary language
which was both written and spoken at Edessa but was apparently only read
and written ‘in other districts’. This can be inferred from a passage in Jacob’s
Syriac grammar about the inadequacies of the Syriac script where he says: ‘Even
some of the Edessans, those, that is, who speak this Mesopotamian language
(most) correctly, cannot read correctly, not only sounds foreign to the language

55)
Chabot, Chronicon anonymum , ed. p. , trans. p. .
56)
Chabot, Chronique ., ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
57)
Chabot, Chronicon anonymum , ed. p. , trans. p. .
58)
Harrak, ‘Syriac View of History’; Morony, ‘History and Identity’, p. .
59)
Van Rompay, ‘Jacob of Edessa’, p. ; Lucas Van Rompay, ‘Past and Present Perceptions
of Syriac Literary Tradition’, Hugoye. Journal of Syriac Studies . (Jan. ), § , note .
60)
Chabot, Chronique, App. II, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
 Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation 

they use but also native sounds’.61 There is a double implication here: first,
that not all Aramaic speakers used the Edessan version of the language and,
second, that written Syriac was not necessarily the same as the language spoken
outside Osrhoene or Mesopotamia.62 The geographical boundaries of spoken
Syriac unfortunately remain extremely vague. Jacob seems to draw a distinction
between the standard, literary Syriac as opposed to a more colloquial form,
less ‘correct’, in his opinion, than Edessan Syriac. The same could apply to
his distinction between ‘Greek’ and ‘Byzantine’ for foreign words that entered
Syriac (together with others from Hebrew and Persian, though not Arabic!):
this may well indicate the difference between Classical and more colloquial
Byzantine Greek. The parallel with standard literary Arabic and Arabic dialects
is perhaps a good model for understanding the differences between literary
Syriac and local dialects of Aramaic.63 Edessan Syriac became the standard
literary Aramaic generally—though to what extent?—understood and read,
but correctly spoken only in the environs of Edessa, at least in Jacob’s time.
Thus the existence of an eastern and western form of Syriac may not be due
to any internal evolution of the language affected by grammatical practices
independent from one another through the political separation of the two
spheres,64 but may be explained by the influence of spoken local dialects on
grammar and, more particularly, on phonology, resulting in the creation of two
different systems of diacritical marks and vowels. The difference between the
dialects was perceived as more than anecdotal, for Barhebraeus goes so far as to
say that West and East Syrians needed the help of an interpreter to understand
each other.65 It should be noted however that at this time (thirteenth century)
spoken Syriac had declined as a living language and became a scholarly and
ecclesiastical language. Thus the dialects now evolved even more independently
of one other.
Apart from the linguistic differences within Syriac, the role played by the
script used to note western and eastern variations should also be taken into

61)
English translation by Judah B. Segal, The Diacritical Point and the Accents in Syriac
(London oriental series ; Oxford, ; repr. Piscataway, NJ, ), pp. –.
62)
David G.K. Taylor, ‘Bilingualism and Diglossia in Late Antique Syria and Mesopotamia’,
in J.N. Adams, Mark Janse, and Simon Swain (eds.), Bilingualism in Ancient Society: Lan-
guage Contact and the Written Text (Oxford, ), pp. –.
63)
For the situation at the time of the decline of Syriac, cf. Van Rompay, ‘Past and Present’,
§ , who says that ‘Jacob of Edessa may have been the last Syrian author whose knowledge
of Syriac was deeply rooted in the spoken language’.
64)
Segal, The Diacritical Point, p. .
65)
Cited in Segal, The Diacritical Point, p. .
 Muriel Debié

account as an identity marker. Estrangela was a common heritage of all Syriac

communities, but from the end of the seventh or early eighth century it
was replaced by scripts varying from one confession to another. The Syrian
Orthodox now began to copy books in the Serto script, previously used only
for everyday purposes and documents (contracts, inscriptions, colophons of
manuscripts),66 whereas the East Syrians and Melkites developed their own
‘Nestorian’ and ‘Melkite’ scripts. But since none of these scripts was adequate
to represent the language, chiefly (though not solely) on account of the lack of
written vowels as Jacob of Edessa and Barhebraeus complain,67 two forms of
diacritical marks for the respective scripts were invented in the sixth century, in
order to note more precisely—probably under the growing influence of foreign
words—the different phonological systems of the western and eastern dialects.
Moreover, a system of ‘Greek vowels’ was later developed in the west on the
basis of the writings of Jacob of Edessa and came into use from the eighth
century in Syrian Orthodox milieux. The distinctive Melkite script did not use
these vowels, but they were adopted by the Maronites.68 Thus the script itself
enabled one to recognize at once the communal identity of the scribe and the
textual tradition. Depending on the geographical setting, the Syrian Orthodox
used either the western or eastern Syriac dialect.
It may be this difference of dialect which underlies Dionysius of Tel Mahre’s
tentative definition of Syria and who should be called Syrians (suryāyē).69
According to Dionysius, the Syrians are only one part of a larger group of
Aramaic speakers stretching from the shores of the Mediterranean to the east
of the Euphrates, into Persia and Babylonia. He tries to demonstrate through
citations from the Book of Kings that Syria proper is situated west of the

66)
To the point of forgetting the Estrangela script: Gilbert Dagron mentions that the new
head of the monastery of Qartamin, around , had to reintroduce the use of the Estrangela
script which had completely fallen out of use, Gilbert Dagron, ‘Minorités ethniques et
religieuses dans l’Orient byzantin à la fin du xe et au xie siècle: l’immigration syrienne’,
Travaux et Mémoires du Centre de Recherche d’Histoire et Civilisation byzantines  (),
pp. –, esp. p. .
67)
Segal, The Diacritical Point, pp. , , .
68)
Two possible origins have been proposed: a Qarqaphian one, in the Qarqaphta monas-
tery, or a Maronite one if one accepts the idea that the astrologer Theophilos of Edessa was
the inventor of that system; see Segal, The Diacritical Point, p. .
69)
That passage is reproduced in the Chronicle of , Chabot, Chronicon anonymum
, ed. p. , trans. p. , and twice in that of Michael the Great who gives the name of
his source (Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. ; App. II, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. ,
pp. –).
 Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation 

Euphrates and that the ‘Syrians’ live there. It is only metaphorically (aššilā"it)
that the Aramaic speakers living east of the Euphrates are called Syrians.
What are the implications here for the definition of the Suryāyē as an
ethnos, a people ( #ammā), as Dionysius calls it? The Greeks in Antiquity defined
themselves culturally as having a Hellenic identity based on the use of a
language (all others were called barbaroi, that is, those who did not speak
Greek). This identity was predominantly centred around the city.70 If a Syrian
identity can be defined, it is not on civic or political grounds, as we have seen,
but through the use of a common language, Syriac. However, as Fergus Millar
asks: ‘Were “Suroi”, meaning speakers of the “Syrian Language” in general,
conceived of as a distinct “people”, and if so, did this attribution of “ethnicity”
based on language apply anywhere in the Near Eastern provinces (“Oriens”, in
the narrowest of its contemporary uses)?’71 What we call an ethnic identity and
what was considered an ethnos in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages need not
be the same thing. In the Acts of Chalcedon (), one of the bishops is said
to be ‘of the ethnos’ of the Saracens.72 We cannot find anything as explicit for
the Syrians, but there was the perception of a Syrian identity even at the far
end of the Mediterranean world. At the western Council of Narbonne in ,
Syri are mentioned as a distinct people, together with Goths, Romans, Greeks,
and Jews, though the word gens is not used.73
But in the Lives of the Eastern Saints by John of Ephesus there is a curious
allusion to a Syrian genos. Not surprisingly, Z#ura the stylite is called a Syrian
(suryāyā) by the Chalcedonians in Constantinople,74 which may be a reference
to his place of origin as well confessional affiliation. But four deacons are
presented as Syrians (suryāyē and even men suryā b-gensā), although it is said
at the same time that they came b-gensā from Maipherqat, the country of
the Persians, Ingilene, and Armenia respectively.75 The only way to make
sense of this is to understand ‘Syrian’ not as a regional, but as a religious
identity, meaning Syrian Orthodox. By extension (‘metaphorically’), ‘Syria’
would be the symbolic homeland for the Syrian Orthodox, whatever their

70)
Pohl, ‘Nouvelles identités ethniques’, p. .
71)
Fergus Millar, A Greek Roman Empire. Power and Belief under Theodosius II (–)
(Berkeley–Los Angeles–London, ), p. .
72)
Millar, A Greek Roman Empire, p. .
73)
Magali Coumert, ‘La notion de gens dans la péninsule Ibérique des VIe–VIIe siècles:
quelques interprétations’, in Gazeau, Bauduin, and Modéran (eds.), Identité et ethnicité,
p. .
74)
Brooks, John of Ephesus , pp. , .
75)
Brooks, John of Ephesus , p. .
 Muriel Debié

family origin. However this may be, it is certain that the Syrian Orthodox called
themselves Suryāyē. The word ‘Orthodox’ is used only in deliberate contrast to
‘Chalcedonian’, which functioned as an identity marker for the Byzantines.76
At the time of the Byzantine reconquest (middle of the tenth century),
the Syrians are mentioned in the Taktikon of Nikephoros Ouranos on the
side of the Armenians and Margarites (Christians who apostatized to Islam).77
The Syrian Orthodox were subsequently identified as a religious group or
Church, for the Emperor Nikephoros Phokas made an agreement with their
patriarch whereby the Syrians should move to Melitene, which was almost
deserted when reconquered from the Muslims in . Although ‘heretics’,
the Syrians were chosen because they were a frontier people, used to living
78
between the two peoples and Empires of the Greeks and the Arabs (Tayyāyē).
.
The reward for repopulating a city in which the Romans did not wish to
settle, due to its proximity to the border with the Arabs, was full religious
liberty and peace with the Chalcedonians. There followed a golden age for the
wealthy Syrian Orthodox community (coming from Syria as well as Tagrit).
Gilbert Dagron has shown that the community, as well as its ecclesiastical
hierarchy, was geographically organized along an Antioch-Tagrit axis, but that
its network spread far beyond, regardless of political frontiers.79 The state of
peace and relative harmony came to an end at the beginning of the eleventh
century when the Emperor Romanos Argyros was defeated by the Arabs and
decided to blame this upon his weakness in allowing the Jacobite ‘heretics’ to
prosper in his Empire: ‘l’accueil des Syriens pose un problème d’assimilation
qui renvoie forcément à la notion d’Orthodoxie constantinopolitaine comme
au seul principe d’unité politique’.80 The Syrian patriarch then fled back to the
lands under Arab dominion in order to escape anti-Chalcedonian persecution
(that is, imprisonment). The ethnic identity of the Syrians was perceived by
the Byzantine as heretical and did not admit of assimilation.
Although bearing the title of ‘Patriarch of Antioch in Syria’, the head of the
Syrian Orthodox Church was almost never able to reside in Antioch itself, and
the Church had no permanent geographical centre. The patriarch was forced to

76)
Peter Charanis in his article on ‘Ethnic Changes in the Byzantine Empire in the th
Century’, DOP  (), pp. –, limits his subject to the Armenians and the Slavs.
77)
Citation in Dagron, ‘Minorités ethniques et religieuses’, p. .
78)
Dagron, ‘Minorités ethniques et religieuses’, p.  (using Chabot, Chronique, trans.
Vol. , p. ).
79)
Dagron, ‘Minorités ethniques et religieuses’, p. .
80)
Dagron, ‘Minorités ethniques et religieuses’, p. .
 Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation 

live in various monasteries outside Antioch, or in Harran, Kallinikos, Edessa,

and Melitene. As an institution, the Syrian Orthodox Church was the only one
whose geographical organization did not match the administrative divisions of
the political entity in which it found itself. Even the Syro-Oriental Church,
whose religious beliefs were alien to the Zoroastrian Sassanid Empire, demar-
cated its bishoprics and metropolitanates according to the geographic organi-
zation of the State. From this it is clear that the Syrian Orthodox Church was
not simply a ‘negative copy’ of the Chalcedonian Church, and indeed from the
very beginning it had appointed a bishop for the territory beyond the frontier,
for the Persian Empire. Political frontiers and administrative bounds imposed
no meaningful limitations on the Syrian Orthodox, although they could lead to
difficulties in communication, and therefore also administration, that required
pragmatic solutions; for reasons such as these a ‘secondary patriarchate’, enti-
tled the ‘maphrianate’81 was created to look after the Suryāyē in the Persian
Empire. This double hierarchy, that survived the end of the Sassanid Empire
and the abolition of the political frontier, may well have enabled the Church
to encompass the double identity of the ‘Arameans’ on the east bank of the
Euphrates and the ‘Syrians’ proper on the west bank. So whereas the East Syr-
ian Church became, in spite of ceaseless persecutions, the ‘national’ Church of
the Sassanid Empire, the Syrian Orthodox Church remained neither Byzantine
nor Persian but Syrian. This ‘international’ structure could be advantageous.
When the Persians invaded Syria and wanted to replace the local ecclesiasti-
cal hierarchy with one that they considered more politically loyal and reliable,
the Syrian Orthodox people would not accept (unsurprisingly) the proposed
Nestorian bishops, but instead they were able to persuade the Persians to grant
them Syrian Orthodox bishops who came from the Sassanid Empire.
As anti-patriarch of the Orient, the patriarch of the Syrian Orthodox Church
would never be accepted by the Chalcedonians but he became, under Islamic
rule, the official and only representative of the Syrian Orthodox commu-
nity (Michael Morony has demonstrated the importance of the conferral of
a diploma by the Arab rulers82 for the recognition of his power over the com-
munity). Considered as one among other Christian communities, the Syrian
Orthodox Church was treated no differently from the other confessions and
could compete with the latter in trying to gain the good will of their new rulers,

81)
‘Maphrian’ is a Syriac term, meaning ‘the one who makes fruitful’, ‘the propagator’.
82)
Morony, ‘History and Identity’, pp. –.
 Muriel Debié

as they had done during Sassanid times when seeking the protection of the
Shahs. As a consequence, when the Byzantines reconquered Syria, the situation
of the Syrian Orthodox had changed significantly, and they were now consid-
ered as an ethno-religious minority with their patriarch as their porte-parole.
That is why when the Byzantine emperor wished to negotiate with them, or to
conclude an agreement, he, like the caliphs, addressed himself to the patriarch.
Being identified on religious grounds as belonging to the Jacobite Church—as
their enemies put it—the Syrian Orthodox no longer needed to insist upon
the use of Syriac. Since they had almost completely abandoned their use of
Greek because of their enmity with the Chalcedonians, and no doubt due also
to the loss of their communities in Greek-speaking regions, they were able
to adopt Arabic first as their colloquial language and then as a literary one,
thanks in part to the toleration of their religious particularism by their Muslim
rulers who considered them only as Christians. Eventually, however, in order
to reassert their Syrian roots, and to distinguish their texts from those of the
Muslims, the Syrian Orthodox started to write religious texts in Garshuni, that
is Arabic written with Syriac letters. Once again language and even script play
a part in the affirmation of a religious and specifically Syrian identity.

Conclusion
Whereas in the sphere of influence of the Greek Church new alphabets were
created for the barbarian peoples when they converted to Christianity (Arme-
nian, Georgian, Caucasian Albanian, Slavonic) in order to translate the Scrip-
tures, the Bible was brought by the Syrian missionaries (whatever their con-
fession) to the far ends of Asia—India, Central Asia, and China—in Syriac.
This language was perhaps the strongest common religious marker for all the
Syriac-speaking Churches and remained so even in Central Asia where Syriac
was used as a script for other local languages as a sign that they belonged to
this Christian communion.
The Syriac-speaking Christians seem to have thought of themselves as the
sons of Aram, that is as speakers of the Aramean language in the regions on both
banks of the Euphrates. As far as the Syrian Orthodox are concerned, their very
name Suryāyē testifies to a clear link with Syria, understood as the west bank of
the Euphrates. They thus identified themselves as forming one specific part of
the common Aramean heritage, a western part deeply influenced by Hellenism.
The adoption of the Seleucid era as their preferred chronology was a means
of acknowledging their long history prior to their conversion to Christianity,
in contrast to the Armenian model, in which the reckoning of time started
 Syriac Historiography and Identity Formation 

anew after the conversion.83 Syrian Orthodox identity is thus not only based
on religion but also on culture rooted in Hellenistic Syria, and hence the role
played by the figure of Alexander in Syriac literature.
The Syrian Orthodox writing of history started with the beginning of the
persecutions against the opponents to the Council of Chalcedon, when these
latter were negatively defined by the Chalcedonian power as heretical and
unacceptable. The Ecclesiastical histories of John of Ephesus and Pseudo-
Zachariah followed the Eusebian pattern of the history of the martyrs under a
heretical empire. But even if the emperors could be criticized in such works
for their theological positions and the ways in which they enforced them,
they were not themselves considered to be illegitimate. But together with
the ending of Church unity, and the might of the empire being put on the
side of the Chalcedonians, came the end of the genre of ecclesiastical history.
The Eusebian model of a history of the Universal Church embodied in the
Roman Empire with an integration of State and Church was no longer valid.
Ecclesiastical history now became a history of the different Churches. Even
on the Greek side ecclesiastical histories ceased to be written at this time, the
last such work being that of Evagrius Scholasticus. The concept of an ideal
Christian State was fractured by the repression of the opponents to Chalcedon,
and what was intended as yet another instance of the imperial authorities
removing heretical leaders and leading their followers back to the right path
instead developed into a major shift in the relationships between Church
and State. The Syrian Orthodox then developed an innovative method of
writing the history of their separated Church, producing a new genre consisting
of lengthy chronicles written in several parts or columns, in which political
and ecclesiastical history were kept separate. The first who wrote in this way
was apparently—our information is entirely dependent upon later historians,
since his own work is lost—Dionysius of Tel Mahre, who was himself a
patriarch of the Syrian Orthodox Church, and who describes the growing
importance of a new powerful elite, the hierarchs of the new Church, whether
the Patriarch, the bishops, or the archimandrites. It is no surprise, then, that
control over the writing of the past was placed in the hands of senior members
of the Church, such as John of Ephesus (Bishop, representative of the Syrian
Orthodox in Constantinople), Dionysius of Tel Mahre (Patriarch), Michael
the Great (Patriarch), and Barhebraeus (Maphrian). The shape of their histories

83)
François Nau, Le livre de l’ascension de l’esprit, ed. p. , trans. p. .
 Muriel Debié

thus reflects the new role played by the Church hierarchy as the communal
leaders of a group at best tolerated, but sometimes persecuted, by the dominant
political powers—whether hostile Christians or Muslims.
Given their use of a culturally determined dating system, independent of
contemporary political rulers and eras, and a historical literature that also
clearly manifests an independence from contemporary political powers and the
influence of external political ideologies, it may thus be declared with some
justification that the Syrian Orthodox method of writing history is the only
truly distinctive Syrian Orthodox literary genre.

Muriel Debié
Institut de recherche et d’histoire des textes (IRHT-CNRS), Paris
muriel.debie@irht.cnrs.fr
 Michael the Syrian and Syriac Orthodox Identity

Dorothea Weltecke

Abstract
This paper discusses the concept of Syriac Orthodox identity in the chronicle by Michael
the Great as it is expressed in terms for the self-designation (like mhaymnē, Suryōyē) and
in the structure of the narrative. The heritage of the ancient Near East, based on the
ethnical and historical conception of the Arameans (including the Chaldeans and the
Ōturōyē as well as the Ōrōmōyē) since the times of the ancient empires was a very important
element of the identity. Just as important to him was the historical legitimacy of the
Orthodox Church as a group excluding other Aramaic-speaking Christians. This conception
of identity was complex, dialectic, and multi-layered, comprising ethnic, historic, cultural,
and religious elements. Not unlike modern people, he and the members of the Syriac
Orthodox communities participated in different and overlapping cultures and identities
throughout the Syriac Orthodox world. The Syriac Orthodox identity had been under
polemical attack for a long time, against which both historical and theological answers were
formulated over the centuries. At the same time, Michael can be a witness only for a certain
group and a certain region. He speaks mainly for the Syriac-speaking regions of the Syriac
Orthodox world and the clergy. Neither the Syriac Orthodox identity of Arabic speaking
Syriac Orthodox Christians, for example in Takrit, nor the identities of laymen are of his
concern.

Keywords
Michael the Great; chronography; Arameans; Suryoye; Oturoye; Chaldeans; Rum Ortho-
dox; Syriac Orthodox Church.

Introduction
The important and interesting work of the Leiden pionier Project on the
formation of a communal identity among the Syriac Orthodox is coming to a
conclusion. The project has now fully proven its worth, so this is an occasion
not only to discuss but also to celebrate the achievements. There is and has
been for some time a very inspiring Dutch scholarly tradition in the field
of Aramaic studies and the history of the Christian Near East, developed in
several universities, and with a considerable number of scholars taking part.
 Dorothea Weltecke

This tradition is influential internationally through a combination of admirable

philological expertise, and at the same time inspiring analytical questions and
up-to-date-methods. The present pionier Project is a commendable example
of this Dutch School of Aramaic Studies.
In what follows I will confine myself to commenting on some of the find-
ings, in view of my own impressions of the identity of the Syriac Orthodox in
the Chronicle of Patriarch Michael Rabo.1 Most importantly, the hypothesis
that there had been a process of ethnicization of a religious group has now been
confirmed with empirical data. I would also like to highlight the usefulness of
the theoretical frame of the group. As it combined the concept of ‘invention of
tradition’ with theories of ethnogenesis it connected the best of both the con-
structivist position and the empiricists, insisting on the contents and specific
historical nature of traditions.
The Syriac Orthodox communities present a good opportunity to rethink
theories on nationality, ethnicity, and ethnogenesis, because the origins of this
distinct group do not lie in the dark prehistoric past. The known theories have
to stand up to well-illuminated beginnings, and to the changes which can be
observed over the turn of not too many centuries. At the same time there are
obvious elements of long continuity, which are just as surprising, given the
dynamic circumstances under which this continuity survived. Through a happy
choice of fields of research, even conflicting answers to the question were the
result, which shows the need for dialectical descriptions and paves the way for
further historical investigations.

Syriac Orthodox Identity in the Chronicle of Michael the Syrian

Over the past years the discussion about history and identity among Syriac
Orthodox laymen, clergy, and academics has been of lively interest. Syriac
Orthodox intellectuals feel the need to reflect on their received identity, facing
new challenges and interests in the present. One important challenge is the
under-representation of Syrians in the narratives of the history taught at school,
and covered in the media in Germany.
Michael the Syrian’s achievement of a universal history told from a Syriac
Orthodox perspective is usually recognized among these groups. On the other

1)
Dorothea Weltecke, Die ‘Beschreibung der Zeiten’ von Mor Michael dem Großen (–
). Eine Studie zu ihrem historischen und historiographiegeschichtlichen Kontext (CSCO
, Subs. ; Leuven, ).
 Michael the Syrian and Syriac Orthodox Identity 

hand, world chronicles as part of a long tradition of historiography can be seen

as an imperialist method of writing history. As it integrates the history of differ-
ent peoples under one universal narrative, it tends to concentrate on dominant
factors. It therefore seems not necessarily fit for the representation of the his-
tory of stateless peoples, minorities, and victims of history. Experiments in the
theory and practice of historiography for persecuted peoples currently under-
taken at the Institute for Genocide Studies in the city of Bochum (Germany),
therefore hope to construct better models for the history of Syrians as well as
of Jews and Armenians.2 Apart from the problem of the adequacy of specific
forms of history writing, the question of identity arises in its most concrete and
basic form. Are we the same people as the Biblical Arameans, or the Assyrians,
both, or one, or the other?
In this context I too have been asked occasionally whether it is not objec-
tively wrong to identify present-day Suryoye with Assyrians. It does not help to
answer that ethnicity is a matter of history rather than biology; that also in the
ancient Near East identity was a matter of culture, not of nature. The objective,
natural, even biological answer is wanted, in the hope of bringing the destabi-
lizing conflicts to an end, of defining an identity under attack unambiguously
once and for all. Western scholars are in no position to lecture people in need of
political and historical recognition, or to decide any of the political questions.
They can only take part in the ongoing discussion.

Self-Designation
Of course there is the one integrating, non-ethnical and universal self-designa-
tion: mhaymnē, the believers, which is used by Michael and by other chroni-
clers writing in Syriac. Mhaymnē are usually Syriac Orthodox, but often mem-
bers of the larger Miaphysite party, also designated as ‘Egyptians’ or ‘Armeni-
ans’ respectively.3 Mhaymnō could also be some very trustworthy person. The
term mhaymnē, then, points towards the continuing importance of the reli-
gious identity at that time and towards some limits of ethnicization. Someone
who apostatized to Islam or to Greek Orthodoxy stopped being mhaymnō. At

2)
Concerning the background to the programme see Kristin Platt and Mihran Dabag
(eds.), Generation und Gedächtnis (Opladen, ); http://suryoye.com/archive/tebe//
//fundatio-ns.php (as accessed on  August ).
3)
Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien. Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (–
) ( vols.; Paris –, reprinted Brussels, ), ed. Vol. , pp. –, trans.
Vol. , p. .
 Dorothea Weltecke

the same time he also stopped being Suryōyō, as Michael did not see him as a
member of his group any more. On a trip to the Tur #Abdin some years ago,
I was informed that people in a certain village were ‘really’ Suryoye, although
they had become Muslims in the beginning of the twentieth century. Ethni-
cization now goes beyond religious borders, and this is one of the important
differences between the late twelfth century and the present state of affairs.
These were not the only possible self-designations of Syriac Orthodox in the
twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. One term Michael would never use in
his Chronicle apart from the one occasion where he gave an explanation for
its meaning was ‘Jacobite’.4 But the term ‘Jacobite’ was in use elsewhere in the
Syriac Orthodox world. It can be found in Palestinian sources as well as quite
frequently in the Anonymous Chronicle to the Year .5 It was at the same time
a pejorative term in use by the Greek Orthodox Church. Far away from the
Byzantine Empire in the south and in the east this pejorative use seems to have
mattered less than it did to Michael, for it seems to have been a rather neutral
Arabic term in that area.

Orthodoxy
In Michael’s Chronicle the paramount position of the succession of the patri-
archs, which structures the periods of his history as a whole, underlines the
importance of religious identity for Michael. He incorporated the succession
of the patriarchs systematically from even before the creation onwards, via the
Hebrew patriarchs and the early four Christian patriarchs (Alexandria, Anti-
och, Constantinople, Rome) into the succession of the Miaphysite patriarchs
as a backbone of history. Michael’s succession of patriarchs included the dates
of the succession of at least the Coptic patriarchs, and he often mentions the
dates of succession of the Armenian Catholicoi, even if his narration presents
much more material on the Syriac Orthodox patriarchs.6

4)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , pp. –, trans. Vol. , pp. –.
5)
See, for example, ed. Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Anonymi auctoris Chronicon ad annum Christi
 pertinens  (CSCO , Syr. ; Paris, ), p. ; trans. Albert Abouna, Anonymi
auctoris Chronicon ad annum C.  pertinens  (CSCO , Syr. ; Leuven, ),
p. ; Andrew Palmer, ‘The History of the Syrian Orthodox in Jerusalem, Part Two: Queen
Melisende and the Jacobite Estates’, Oriens christianus  (), pp. –.
6)
See Weltecke, Michael dem Großen, pp. –.
 Michael the Syrian and Syriac Orthodox Identity 

Being Suryoyo
Things become less clear when we try to decide his position concerning secular
and ethnic identity. It is obvious that for Michael the ancient Near East had
a very special importance. The ancient Near East recurred in the Chronicle.
In the heading of his Appendix II Michael states: ‘With the help of God we
write down the memory of the kingdoms which belonged in the past to our
Aramean people, that is, sons of Aram, who are called Suryoye, that is people
from Syria.’7
This statement seems to be straightforward enough. But compared to other
phrases, some contradictions arise. Following the work by Flavius Josephus
(–after  ce) through intermediaries, Michael explains the change of
name of ancient Near Eastern people and empires through changes by the
Greeks: ‘The Arameans were called Syrians by the Greeks and the Ōturōyē
were called Assyrians.’8 This statement is in accordance with the sentence just
quoted. But when he named those descendants of Shem who possess a script
he says the following: ‘These are the names of the people who have script
among the descendants of Shem: Chaldeans, Oturoye, who are the Suryoye,
Hebrews, Persians, Medes, Arabs’.9 A few pages before he said: ‘These are the
descendants of Shem: Oturoye, Chaldeans, Lydians, Ōrōmōyē, that is, Sur-
yoye’.10 Who are the Suryoye to Michael: Assyrians or Arameans? While it
is painful for outspoken Arameans to be identified with the Assyrians, one has
to bear in mind, that, following Jacob of Edessa, Michael also supports the
hypothesis that the Assyrians are descendants of the Arameans.11 For Michael,
Aramaic is the original language spoken not only in all of the ancient Near
Eastern empires but by mankind in general, before the confusion of the lan-
guages after the building of the Tower of Babel took place.12 While Michael

7)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , pp. –, trans. Vol. , pp. –. On this par-
ticular passage, see Lucas Van Rompay, ‘Jacob of Edessa and the Early History of Edessa’,
in Gerrit J. Reinink and Alex C. Klugkist (eds.), After Bardaisan. Studies on Continuity and
Change in Syriac Christianity in Honour of Professor Han J.W. Drijvers (OLA ; Leuven,
), pp. –.
8)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
9)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
10)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
11)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
12)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , pp. –, trans. Vol. , pp. –.
 Dorothea Weltecke

was not the first to hold this opinion,13 his position will be underlined here to
highlight the difference between his and modern viewpoints of Assyrians and
Arameans.
The language for Michael is the common element shared by the kingdoms
of Assyria, of Babylonia, Chaldea, the Aramean kingdoms, and the Syriac
Orthodox. And of course the language was very dear to him as it was to all the
other writers of Syriac historiography, and to those who shared in the revival
of Syriac writing in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But the language is
also a vehicle for Michael to prove the historical identity of the Suryoye: ‘Our
intention is to show that until the time of Cyrus the Persian there existed an
empire with our language and our script’ and therefore ‘those are not right who
say that from our people there never existed a king’, Michael states clearly in
one of the appendices to his work. These appendices function as indices and
systematic summaries to the entire text.14
The identification with the ancient Near East is strengthened not so much by
the existence of Islam as by the quarrel between the churches, more precisely,
the quarrel with the Greek Orthodox and their attack on Syriac Orthodox
identity. This makes sense for the original homeland of Michael, the city of
Melitene in Cappadocia, with its Armenian Melkite rulers and its Christian
population of different confessions:

We have gathered this material in this book against the Greeks, who are full of vain
pride, and whose pride is their shame, because, when they saw our holy fathers depart-
ing from them, because they themselves had departed from Christ, they complained
and lamented, because they wanted to deceive the simple ones, and they said, that
never a king arose from our people, and that we never accept any ruler at all, as they
do, and that this was the reason why we had abandoned them.

And he continues ‘We however have shown that from our people there had
been empires stronger than all the others.’15 The situation Michael was living
in during the twelfth century was different from the past of those mighty
empires. The worldly empires are gone now, and: ‘Today, as we renounce
the temptations [of the Greeks] we belong to the anointed king of all.’16

13)
Milka Rubin, ‘The Language of Creation or the Primordial Language: A Case of Cultural
Polemics in Antiquity’, JJS  (), pp. –.
14)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
15)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
16)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
 Michael the Syrian and Syriac Orthodox Identity 

Michael’s construction refutes an attack on Syriac Orthodox identity, which

clearly conflated religious and historical polemics.
This attack on Syriac Orthodox identity was at one and the same time
traditional and specific. As early as in the time of the Patriarch Dionysius of
Tel Mahre (d. ) in the ninth century, there were some un-named people
who proclaimed that the Syrians had never had kings. Pši.tē, simple minds,
Dionysius calls them.17 In contrast to Michael, however, Dionysius does not
identify the Suryoye with the ancient Near Eastern empires but only with the
Aramean kingdoms of the west. The result of this identification comes as a
surprise: ‘Therefore we can conclude that those west of the Euphrates are the
real Syrians.’ Those Syrians living east of the Euphrates are Syrians only in
a metaphorical sense, he says, because they also speak Aramaic and ‘the root
and the basis of the Syriac language, that is the Aramaic language, is Edessa.’
This argument is difficult to understand, especially because Edessa is east of
the Euphrates. But it is clear that Dionysius splits the ethnic identity from
the linguistic identity. For him, the parentage going back to Syrus, who lived
in the west, was more important than the shared language. He also wanted
to make a difference between real Suryoye and Suryoye in a metaphorical
sense.18
One problem in the process of ethnicization of the Syriac Orthodox Church
obviously was the existence of Aramaic-speaking Greek Orthodox Christians
and the Aramaic-speaking Church of the East. For Michael, the Greek Ortho-
dox Aramaic-speaking people, who also designated themselves as Syrians,19 and
who are known as suriani in the Latin sources,20 were strongly felt competi-
tors. To Dionysius it was the mighty Church of the East, as members of the
Church of the East held high positions in the Abbasid Caliphate, where he

17)
The chronicle by Dionysius of Tel-Mahre is lost. See Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Anonymi
Auctoris chronicon ad annum Christi  pertinens  (CSCO , , Syr. , ; Paris,
, Leuven, ), ed. pp. –; trans. pp. –; Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. ,
pp. –, trans. Vol. , pp. –, where similar excerpts of this passage of his work are
extant.
18)
Ibidem.
19)
Milka Rubin, ‘Arabization versus Islamization in the Palestinian Melkite Community
during the Early Muslim Period’, in: Arieh Kofsky and Guy G. Stroumsa (eds.), Sharing
the Sacred. Religious Contacts and Conflicts in the Holy Land, First-Fifteenth Centuries ce
(Jerusalem, ), pp. –.
20)
Johannes Pahlitzsch, Graeci und Suriani im Palästina der Kreuzfahrerzeit (Berliner His-
torische Studien ; Berlin, ).
 Dorothea Weltecke

himself sought for recognition.21 Their respective solutions to the problem dif-
fer accordingly. Michael Graecized the Rum Orthodox by invariably address-
ing them as ‘Greeks’. He identified the Syriac Orthodox with the powerful
empires of the ancient Near East. Dionysius, on the other hand, de-Syriacized
the Church of the East. He identified the Syriac Orthodox with the Aramean
kingdoms of the west. It was Barhebraeus who was the first Syriac Orthodox
chronicler to write a history of the ‘Eastern Church’. With this term he des-
ignated an integrated history of the Syriac Orthodox and the Church of the
East.
What triggered the ethnicization of the Syriac Orthodox in Michael’s writ-
ing? The most important factors are similar to the present-day situation—
polemical questions and also attacks from outside, as well as a certain pres-
sure to comply with the values and norms of a society with better access to
resources. In the twelfth century, kings, power, and secular success mattered. In
Michael’s region the historical relation to the neighbouring and still powerful
Byzantine Empire was an important element. The memory of Byzantine rule
in the eleventh century was still vivid, the Byzantine influence over Crusader
Antioch was considerable,22 and the emperor had close relations with Michael
by way of interconfessional diplomacy.23 A religious position was evaluated by
measuring its secular success. In polemic struggles the past was included in the
arguments.24

Intertextual Discourse
Chronography as a universal Christian way of writing history at the same time
seems to have been a factor in itself. In the intertextual discourse a place needed
to be found within Christian world history. As chronography was a transcul-
tural Christian genre, which spread all over the area of the greater Roman
Empire and its adjacent regions, it was used by Latin Christianity as well as

21)
Cécile Cabrol, ‘Les secrétaires nestoriens dans l’empire abbasside de  à ’, Parole
de l’Orient  (), pp. –.
22)
Ralph-Johannes Lilie, Byzantium and the Crusader States – (Oxford, ),
pp.  ff.
23)
Jean Baptiste Abbeloos and Thomas J. Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon Ecclesias-
ticum  (Paris, ), p.  (p. ).
24)
For a more elaborate discussion of the sources and the historical implications see Wel-
tecke, Michael dem Großen, pp. –.
 Michael the Syrian and Syriac Orthodox Identity 

Greek-, Armenian-, and Aramaic-speaking Christians.25 The descendants of

gentes who had brought down the Roman Empire had to find a historical
place for themselves within this transcultural narrative. As they received the
chronographic genre, they were faced with Antiquity and the ancient Near
Eastern empires, which had a much longer history accounted for in written
records and in the Holy Scriptures. Compared to the efforts of medieval and
early modern European chronographers to connect their history to ancient
Troy or to ancient Egypt, Michael’s historical rooting of the Syriac Orthodox
in the ancient Near East is source based and academically sound.

Limits of Michael’s Chronicle

Michael is a crucial source for studying the formation of Syriac Orthodox
identity. At the same time his historical construction should not be generalized.
The results of the art-historical research of Mat Immerzeel and Bas Snelders
have shown that there are distinct regional cultures within the Syriac Orthodox
Church. There is, for example, the Levantine world of the coast and the
Mesopotamian culture. There were different political allegiances, depending
on the secular power ruling a given territory. Patriarch Michael himself always
remained politically independent and felt free to change alliances.26 Local elites
and metropolitans, however, did not always have a choice.
Researchers interested in different regions and social groups realize that
Michael’s panorama is limited geographically. We hear for example less about
the Syriac Orthodox on the coast, in the Holy Land, Cilicia, or the Jazira than
about happenings in Mardin, let alone the regions under the jurisdiction of
the maphrian. The patriarch visited them less, he knew them less, and per-
haps he shared less with them than he did with his homeland. One element
of limited uniformity among Syriac Orthodox Christians was the spoken lan-
guage. The future Maphrian Lazarus in the twelfth century came from the
Syriac West, as was the custom. He was somewhat worried after his appoint-

25)
Anna-Dorothee von den Brincken, Studien zur lateinischen Weltchronistik bis in das
Zeitalter Ottos von Freising (Düsseldorf, ); Alexander Randa (ed.), Mensch und Welt-
geschichte. Zur Geschichte der Universalgeschichtsschreibung (Salzburg–Munich, ); Hans-
Werner Goetz, Geschichtsschreibung und Geschichtsbewußtsein im hohen Mittelalter (Berlin,
); see the interdisciplinary proceedings of the Society for the Medieval Chronicle, like
Erik Kooper (ed.), The Medieval Chronicle . Proceedings of the International Conference on
the Medieval Chronicle, Driebergen/Utrecht, – July  (Amsterdam, ).
26)
See Weltecke, Michael dem Großen, pp. –.
 Dorothea Weltecke

ment, because he did not speak any Arabic. The Syriac Orthodox community
of Takrit on the other hand spoke no Syriac. They reassured him however and
welcomed him by telling him that they had a very friendly Armenian Mus-
lim Emir, who still had no command of Arabic either, although he had lived
with them for  years. They certainly had good relations with him, and the
emir would honour the new maphrian most certainly.27 This anecdote, told by
Barhebraeus, corresponds to Bas Snelders’s findings concerning the dominance
of Arabic inscriptions in parish churches in the Mosul area as opposed to Syriac
inscriptions in monastic churches.28 For the people of Takrit and Mosul, Syr-
iac or Aramaic can only have been a symbolic element of their specific Syriac
Orthodox identity. Michael does not elaborate on differences like these in his
chronicle.
Michael’s picture is also limited socially. That the clergy was instrumental in
bringing about a common tradition of the Syriac Orthodox has been shown
by Bas ter Haar Romeny.29 To some extent, they are also responsible for the
loss of other historical traditions of the Syriac Orthodox. There once had also
been a lay culture. Dionysius bar Salibi in the twelfth century scolded the laity
of Melitene for their worldly interests, and particularly their love of stories.30
The exact forms of these stories as well as the lay historical narratives of kings
and scholars are lost forever.31 The chronicle by the Patriarch did not express
much interest in them.

Conclusion
To conclude, for Michael, both the heritage of the ancient Near East and
the historical legitimacy of the Orthodox Church were important elements
of his identity, or the identity of the Syriac Orthodox as he construed it. His
own identity was complex, dialectic, and multi-layered, comprising ethnic,
historical, cultural, and religious elements. Not unlike modern people, he and

27)
Abbeloos and Lamy, Barhebraei Chronicon Ecclesiasticum  (Paris, ), p.  (p. ).
28)
See in this volume Bas ter Haar Romeny et al., ‘The Formation of a Communal Identity
among West Syrian Christians: Results and Conclusions of the Leiden Project’, § ..
29)
Romeny et al., ‘The Formation of a Communal Identity’, § .
30)
Chabot, Chronique, ed. Vol. , p. , trans. Vol. , p. .
31)
Cf. Barhebraeus, ed. Paul Bedjan, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon Syriacum (Paris, ),
p. ; trans. Ernest A.W. Budge, The Chronography of Gregory Abû’l Faraj, the Son of Aaron,
the Hebrew Physician Commonly Known as Bar Hebraeus, Being the First Part of his Political
History of the World  (Oxford–London, ), p. .
 Michael the Syrian and Syriac Orthodox Identity 

the members of the Syriac Orthodox communities participated in different

and overlapping cultures, and assumed diverse identities throughout the Syriac
Orthodox world.
Studying this identity confronts the scholar with a situation unfamiliar to
the medievalist. It is no research in and for the ivory tower, but with direct
consequences for the present political and social situation in our countries.
The results of the interdisciplinary approach of the Leiden pionier Group
contribute to the development of new historical and social identities not only
for the Syriac Orthodox in the diaspora, but for all the inhabitants of the new
and rapidly changing Europe.

Dorothea Weltecke
Universität Konstanz
Dorothea.Weltecke@uni-konstanz.de
 Iconography and Identity:
Syrian Elements in the Art of Crusader Cyprus

Annemarie Weyl Carr

Abstract
The murals of triumphal arch in the Church of the Panagia Phorbiotissa, Cyprus, painted
in the late thirteenth century when Cyprus was a Crusader state, adopt an iconography
paralleled not in Byzantium but in the Miaphysite churches of the Syrian and Egyptian
mainland, and best analyzed in relation to Miaphysite liturgical exegesis. As such, they
suggest three revisions to current ways of thinking about the roles of Cyprus and the
mainland in shaping the art of the Crusader era: ) rather than for a ‘maniera cypria’ or a
‘maniera tripolitana’, we must look for an intricate, two-way reciprocity; ) it is a reciprocity
not simply between Cyprus and the mainland Crusader states, but between Cyprus and the
far larger terrain of Syrian and Egyptian eastern Christendom; and ) it engages not only
style but also iconography and content.

Keywords
Iconography; identity; Crusader Cyprus.

This article addresses the relation of artistic developments on the Syrian main-
land to those on the island of Cyprus during the thirteenth century.1 Cyprus
lies, at closest point, just  miles off the coast of the Syro-Palestinian main-
land, and though those miles were as much a buffer as a bridge, there can
have been few periods when the two areas were artistically independent of
each other. Their relationship in the thirteenth century has assumed espe-
cially vivid interest for historians because of its role in what we call ‘Crusader

1)
This article is based on a paper read on  December  in the conference entitled
‘Religious Origins of Nations?’ to which this volume is dedicated. I owe warm thanks to
Professor Bas ter Haar Romeny for the opportunity to participate in the conference. The
paper builds further upon research done for a monograph on Asinou to be published by Har-
vard University Press under the sponsorship of Dumbarton Oaks, and I express my gratitude
to Dumbarton Oaks and the Samuel H. Kress Foundation for supporting that research.
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

art’.2 The areas affected by the crusader implantation saw a period of vigorous
artistic productivity in the thirteenth century, still registered in the rich roster
of frescoed churches and portable objects, especially panel painted icons, that
survive on both Cyprus itself and the mainland. On Cyprus the thirteenth-
century monuments published already in the s and ’s by Athanasios
Papageorgiou,3 Doula Mouriki,4 and Andreas and Judith Stylianou,5 have been
augmented since with newly published icons, ceramic ware, and archaeological
sites.6 On the mainland, in turn, the great trove of icons at the Monastery of
St Catherine, Mount Sinai, is especially rich in panels from the thirteenth—
particularly the late thirteenth—century.7 The dedicated work of Erica Cruik-
shank Dodd, Nada Hélou, Lucy-Anne Hunt, Mat Immerzeel, Karel Innemée,
Lévon Nordiguian, Andrea Schmidt, and Stefan Westphalen, in turn, has
expanded dramatically both the number of published Syrian wall paintings,
and the range of our knowledge about them.8

2)
On the complexities of this term, and the vast inventory of artifacts subsumed under it,
see Jaroslav Folda, Crusader Art in the Holy Land, From the Third Crusade to the Fall of Acre,
– (New York, ), pp. – and passim.
3)
Athanasios Papageorgiou, ‘L’art byzantin de Chypre et l’art des Croisés. Influences réci-
proques’, in Report of the Department of Antiquities of Cyprus (Nicosia, ), pp. –;
Athanasios Papageorgiou, ‘Ιδι ζουσα βυζαντινα τοιχογραφαι το ου ανος ν Κπρω’,
in T. Papadopoullos (ed.), Πρακτικ το
πρτου διενο
ς κυπρολογικο
συνεδρου (Λευ-
κωσα, – Απριλου ), Τμος Β’: Μεσαιωνικ τμ μα (Nicosia, ), pp. –.
4)
See above all Doula Mouriki, ‘Thirteenth-Century Icon Painting in Cyprus’, The Griffon
NS – (–), pp. –; Doula Mouriki, ‘The Wall Paintings of the Church of the
Panagia at Moutoullas, Cyprus’, in I. Hutter (ed.), Byzanz und der Westen (Vienna, ),
pp. –.
5)
Andreas Stylianou and Judith A. Stylianou, The Painted Churches of Cyprus. Treasures of
Byzantine Art (nd ed.; Nicosia, ), initially published in  under the same title.
6)
See Annemarie Weyl Carr, ‘Art’, in Angel Nikolaou-Konnari and Christopher Schabel
(eds.), Cyprus. Society and Culture – (Leiden, ), pp. –.
7)
For the panels of the thirteenth century, see especially Kurt Weitzmann, ‘Icon Painting
in the Crusader Kingdom’, DOP  (), pp. –, and Kurt Weitzmann, ‘Thirteenth-
Century Crusader Icons on Mount Sinai’, ABull  (), pp. –, both reprinted
in Kurt Weitzmann, Studies in the Arts at Sinai (Princeton, ), articles , ; Doula
Mouriki, ‘Icons from the th to the th Century’, in Konstantinos A. Manafis (ed.), Sinai.
Treasures of the Monastery (Athens, ), pp. –; Helen C. Evans (ed.), Byzantium.
Faith and Power (–). The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, March –July ,
 (Exhibition Catalogue; New York, ), pp. –.
8)
See in particular Erica Cruikshank Dodd, Medieval Painting in the Lebanon (Wiesbaden,
); Erica Cruikshank Dodd, The Frescoes of Mar Musa al-Habashi (Toronto, );
Nada Hélou, ‘L’icône bilatérale de la Vierge de Kaftoun au Liban: une oeuvre d’art syro-
byzantin à l’époque des croisés’, Chronos  (), pp. –; Lucy-Anne Hunt, ‘The
 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

This expanding body of artistic evidence emerges from an era fraught with
political and military change. The implantation on Cyprus in  of the
Lusignans, a dynasty of career Crusaders from France who ruled the island
as kings from  to , seems to have cost Cyprus a substantial portion
of its archon class and thus of its customary art patrons, who either fled or fell
into poverty.9 The mainland, in turn, was harrowed in the second half of the
century as the Mamluk rulers of Egypt fought their way northward, snuffing
out the surviving Crusader states in a series of violent campaigns designed
to consolidate their containment of the yet more violent Mongols. People
displaced by warfare migrated to new homes, and Cyprus especially saw a major
influx of mainland Christians, both Frankish and indigenous, as Latin knights
sought new fiefs, artisan freemen sought employment, merchants moved their
custom to the burgeoning commercial center of Famagusta, and Latin religious
houses moved their sacred implements and holy objects to safer haven.10 The
mobility of people and things surely stimulated new artistic production, but

Fine Incense of Virginity: A Late Twelfth-Century Wall Painting of the Annunciation

at the Monastery of the Syrians, Egypt’, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies  (),
pp. –; Lucy-Anne Hunt ‘Christian-Muslim Relations in Painting in Egypt of the
Twelfth to mid-Thirteenth Centuries: Sources of Wallpainting at Deir es-Suriani and the
Illustration of the New Testament MS Paris, Copte-Arabe /Cairo, Bibl. ’, CArch 
(), pp. –, reprinted in Lucy-Anne Hunt, Byzantium, Eastern Christendom and
Islam: Art at the Crossroads of the Medieval Mediterranean ( vols.; London, ); Mat
Immerzeel, ‘Holy Horsemen and Crusader Banners. Equestrian Saints and Wall Paintings
in Lebanon and Syria’, Eastern Christian Art in its Late Antique and Islamic Contexts 
(), pp. –; Mat Immerzeel, ‘Medieval Wall Paintings in Lebanon: Donors and
Artists’, Chronos  (), pp. –; Mat Immerzeel, Identity Puzzles: Medieval Christian
Art in Syria and Lebanon (OLA ; Leuven, forthcoming in ); Karel Innemée’s
extensive reports on Deir al-Suriani from – in Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies (see
http://syrcom.cua.edu/Hugoye); Lévon Nordiguian and Jean-Claude Voisin, Châteaux et
Églises du moyen âge au Liban (Beirut, ); Andrea Schmidt and Stefan Westphalen (eds.),
Christliche Wandmalereien in Syrien. Qara und das Kloster Mar Yakub (Wiesbaden, ).
9)
Peter Edbury, The Kingdom of Cyprus and the Crusades, – (Cambridge, ),
pp. –.
10)
On immigration to Cyprus, see especially David Jacoby, ‘The Rise of a New Emporium
in the Eastern Mediterranean: Famagusta in the Late Thirteenth Century’, Μελ!ται και
Υπομν#ματα  (), pp. –, reprinted in David Jacoby, Studies on the Crusader
States and on Venetian Expansion (London, ), article ; Jean Richard, ‘Le peuplement
latin et syrien en Chypre au XIIIe siècle’, Byz. Forsch.  (), pp. –, reprinted in
Jean Richard, Croisés, missionaries et voyageurs (London, ), article . On the transfer of
sacred objects from Syria see Jean Richard, ‘Un but de pèlerinage: Notre-Dame de Nicosie’,
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

Fig. . Moutoullas, Church of the Panagia, interior. Photo: Gerald L. Carr

has complicated the efforts of art historians to understand the movement of

styles and techniques, and the messages of identity they might have borne.
The present article endeavours to illuminate the relation of Cyprus and the
mainland through a specific case of artistic migration.
Significant throughout the study of art in the Crusader era has been a large,
relatively homogeneous body of mural and panel painting on Cyprus that
belongs to the thirteenth, and particularly to the later thirteenth century.11
It still reflects features of the island’s earlier, twelfth-century Komnenian tra-
dition, but it is more strongly linear, uses simpler red and green color schemes
emphasizing locally available pigments, and displays novel technical features
like raised gesso ornament. It survives above all in the village churches of the
Troodos, the mountain massif that dominates the island’s interior. The pop-
ulation in the mountains was overwhelmingly indigenous, and though the
patronage of these works may in some cases have belonged to the new Frank-
ish landlords, the works themselves adhere in media, functions, and imagery

in Judith Herrin, Margaret Mullett, and Catherine Otten-Froux (eds.), Mosaic. Festschrift
for A.H.S. Megaw (Studies of the British School at Athens ; London, ), pp. –
regarding the Virgin of Tortosa.
11)
Carr, ‘Art’, pp. –; Mouriki, ‘Thirteenth-Century Icon Painting’, pp. –.
 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

to Orthodox conventions, and it is to the Orthodox populace that the dom-

inant patronage is customarily assigned. Evidence of artistic patronage in the
coastal regions, on the other hand, where the immigrant population settled,
is unfortunately meager in the extreme, for the art of the thirteenth-century
cities has been lost.
The sole securely dated monument of this era on Cyprus is the mural cycle
of the tiny Church of the Panagia in the mountain village of Moutoullas, spon-
sored by one John of Moutoullas and his wife Irene in the year  (Fig. ).
Meticulously published by Doula Mouriki,12 the Panagia of Moutoullas is the
seminal monument through which Cyprus’s thirteenth-century art has been
studied. It is also the monument in which the question of a Syrian element in
the art of Lusignan Cyprus was first brought out.
In both programme and imagery, the murals reflect Cypriot tradition. The
figures flanking the templon—the Virgin Paraklesis and the Baptist on one
side, Christ Eleemon and the Mother of God enthroned on the other—repeat
the programme used at Lagoudera in , itself possibly based upon the
programme of Asinou in /; the Annunciation placed within the
bema, flanking the apse figure of the Mother of God orant with Emmanuel in
a medallion on her breast, repeats the early twelfth-century apse programme
at Asinou; the feast scenes that ring the naos repeat familiar compositions; and
the insistently oval faces of unbearded figures recall the pure ovoids of the faces
at Lagoudera (Figs. –). In all of these respects, Moutoullas adheres to the
Cypriot past.
Deeply rooted as it is in local tradition, however, the cycle at Moutoullas
is at the same time strikingly novel. Its adaptation of its received imagery to
the walls of its little, wood-roofed building initiates a form of programmatic
organization, with a narrow band of Gospel scenes running over a larger
register of standing saints, that would be repeated often in the future. Its
uniform, red background stands out, as does the pervasive schematization
of the compositions, which are flattened onto the surface, and the figure
forms, which are more linear. Many of the ornamental patterns are novel
to Cyprus. Together, these changes differentiate Moutoullas sharply from its
twelfth-century precursors.
Features seen at Moutoullas, especially its ovoid, linear faces and red colors,
unite it not only with panel paintings on Cyprus, but with panels now at

12)
Mouriki, ‘Wall Paintings’, pp. –; Stylianou and Stylianou, The Painted Churches,
pp. –.
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

Fig. . Moutoullas, face of St Michael the Archangel. Photo: Gerald L. Carr.

 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

Fig. . Lagoudera, Church of the Panagia tou Arakos,

Ascension, face of the Mother of God. Photo: author.
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

Fig. . Mount Sinai, Monastery of St Catherine. Icon of Sts Catherine and Marina.
Photo: Courtesy of the Michigan, Princeton, and Alexandria Expedition to Sinai.

Mount Sinai (Fig. ).13 The initial wave of scholarly attention to these panels
associated their schematic forms with western European, especially with Italian
Romanesque, forms and called them ‘Crusader’.14 Mouriki, by contrast, argued
that they were not by Crusader artists, but by local, eastern Christian painters.
Her emphasis on Cyprus’s close relation with the Syro-Palestinian mainland
finds interesting corroboration in the murals of Syria and Lebanon, especially
those of Mar Tadros (St Theodore) in Bahdeidat,15 which offer striking coun-
terparts to both the facial forms and the ornamental motifs of Moutoullas.

13)
Mouriki, ‘Wall Paintings’, Figs. – offer good comparisons of figures in Moutoullas
with panels in both Cyprus and Sinai. For color images of the panels she illustrates, see
Athanasios Papageorgiou, Icons of Cyprus (Nicosia, ), Pl.  (St Marina from Pedoulas,
now in the Byzantine Museum, Nicosia), and Kurt Weitzmann et al., The Icon (New York,
), p.  (Sinai, icon of Sts. Catherine and Marina).
14)
See especially Weitzmann, ‘Icon Painting in the Crusader Kingdom’, pp. –.
15)
Mouriki, ‘Wall Paintings’, pp. –. I owe the ensuing comparisons with Bahdeidat
to Mouriki’s suggestion.
 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

Thus the interlace that fills the arcades above the standing saints in Bahdei-
dat’s apse is seen again in the arcades over the Virgin and Christ Eleemon at
Moutoullas;16 the alert face of the Annunciate Virgin at Moutoullas is readily
aligned with that of her counterpart in the Lebanese church;17 and the range
of rider saints at Moutoullas finds many parallels in the art of Lebanon, Syria,
and Egypt.18 These comparisons gave the murals of Moutoullas new, regional
roots, and Mouriki assigned them to Cyprus—to what she called the ‘maniera
cypria’.
Mouriki’s argument was transformative: with it, the eastern Christian artist
became a factor in our assessment of the art of the Crusader era. That these
might have been predominantly Cypriot artists, practicing a Cypriot manner,
has remained an attractive possibility, given the island’s wealth, its strong
legacy of twelfth-century art, and its extensive—if late—body of thirteenth-
century painting. Certainly Moutoullas has seemed demonstrably local, given
its small scale, local patron, and setting high in the mountains, far from the
tumultuous influx of immigrants on the coast. At the same time, however,
Mouriki’s attribution posed new questions for the art of Cyprus itself. If a
monument like Moutoullas incorporated Syrian elements, as the comparisons
with Bahdeidat suggested, then it could not be seen simply as local.
Cyprus did absorb large numbers of Syrian as well as Latin émigrés from the
Crusader mainland in the course of the thirteenth century; Famagusta in par-
ticular, according to Jean Richard, was probably largely Syrian in population.19
The Syrians brought with them the special privileges that they had enjoyed on
the mainland, including the right to hold their own courts, and though they
are only sparsely represented among the surviving funerary slabs that attest to

16)
Compare Cruikshank Dodd, Medieval Painting, Pl. LXXX, no.  with Mouriki, ‘Wall
Paintings’, Fig. .
17)
Compare Cruikshank Dodd, Medieval Painting, Pl. LXXXIV, no.  with Mouriki,
‘Wall Paintings’, Fig. . They are reproduced side by side in Annemarie Weyl Carr and
Laurence Morrocco, Lysi. A Byzantine Masterpiece Recovered (Austin, ), pp. –,
Figs. –.
18)
Mat Immerzeel, ‘Divine Cavalry. Mounted Saints in Middle Eastern Christian Art’, in
Krijnie Ciggaar and Herman Teule (eds.), East and West in the Crusader States. Context–
Contacts–Confrontations (Leuven, ), pp. –; Mat Immerzeel, ‘Holy Horsemen
and Crusader Banners’, pp. –; Elizabeth Bolman (ed.), Monastic Visions. Wall Paintings
in the Monastery of St. Anthony at the Red Sea (New Haven, ), pp. – and passim.
19)
Jean Richard, ‘The Institutions of the Kingdom of Cyprus’, in Harry W. Hazard and
N.P. Zecour (eds.), Kenneth M. Setton (gen. ed.), A History of the Crusades . The Impact of
the Crusades on the West (Madison, ), p. .
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

their owners’ ability to afford burial apud ecclesiam,20 prominent ‘white Vene-
tian’ families like the Audeth or ‘white Genoese’ families like the Bibi assumed
significant wealth and status.21 At the same time, the Syrian population seems,
precisely, to have been closely associated with the Frankish émigrés,22 and to
have been overwhelmingly urban.23 The cities were polyglot, heavily populated
by mainland immigrants, and coastal. The Greek population was rural, and
dominant above all in the mountains, where the immigrant groups, whether
Frankish or east Christian, left few traces of their presence. Accordingly, Cyprus
has been understood dichotomously as having on the one hand a largely native
population in the mountains, which maintained its indigenous culture rooted
in Byzantium and Orthodoxy, and on the other hand a far more heterogeneous
population in the coastal areas, which was dominated by immigrants, both
Frankish and east Christian. It is in the light of this dichotomy that the paint-
ing of Moutoullas has most characteristically been read, as inherently Cypriot,
reflecting a rural and stubbornly traditional Orthodox community that—in
contrast to coastal areas—sustained its own, indigenous culture. Yet if it was
colored by Syrian features, it was hardly impervious to developments on the
coast. What Moutoullas defined as ‘Cypriot’ was not unmixed, even up in the
mountains. It is the implications of this mingling for our understanding of
identity that engages me.

20)
Brunehilde Imhaus (ed.), Lacrimae Cypriae. Les larmes de Chypre  (Nicosia, ),
p. , for an inventory of Frankish, Greek, and Syrian funerary slabs. On burial apud
ecclesiam, see Caroline Bruzelius, ‘The Dead Come to Town. Preaching, Burying, and
Building in the Mendicant Orders’, in Alexandra Gajewski and Zoë Opačić (eds.), The Year
 and the Creation of a New European Architecture (Turnhout, ), pp. –.
21)
Jean Richard, ‘Une famille de “Vénetiens blancs” dans le royaume de Chypre au milieu
du XVème siècle: les Audeth et la seigneurie du Marethasse’, Rivista di studi bizantini e slavi
 = Miscellanea Agostino Pertusi  (Bologna, ), pp. –, reprinted in Jean Richard,
Croisés, missionaires et voyageurs (London, ), article ; W.H. Rudt de Collenberg,
‘Études de prosopographie généalogique des Chypriotes mentionnés dans les Registres du
Vaticane’, Μελ!ται και Υπομν#ματα  (), pp. –. On the Monastery of St John
founded in the fourteenth century by the Bibi, see Panos Leventis, Twelve Times in Nicosia
(Nicosia, ), p. .
22)
See Imhaus (ed.), Lacrimae Cypriae , p. , who notes that the majority of Syrians
inscribed their funerary slabs in French rather than Greek.
23)
Though see the Syrian Thomas, known in his religious life as Theodosios, who is recorded
at the monastery τ!ν "Ιερ$ων in the Troodos mountains: Jean Darrouzès, ‘Un obituaire
chypriote: le Parisinus graecus ’, Κυπριακα% Σπουδα  (), pp. –, reprinted
in Jean Darrouzès, Littérature et histoire des textes byzantines (London, ), article ,
pp. – (fol. v).
 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

Fig. . Moutoullas, Church of the Panagia, St George. Photo: author.

The features that Mouriki singled out at Moutoullas as similar to Syrian

art were almost exclusively stylistic. She did not, for instance, point out the
fact that although equestrian warrior saints were no strangers by this time
in Cypriot churches, the inclusion of a manus Dei in the composition is
paralleled only in the mainland churches (Fig. ).24 That the mainland aspects
of Moutoullas were defined above all in terms of style helped, I believe, to blur
the issue posed by their presence in an environment defined as indigenous.
Style can move in some sense by osmosis. It need not move as a matter of
choice. One can ask, however, if this is equally true of iconography. This article
turns to a fairly articulate and conscious use of an iconographic motif that was
current in Syrian and not Byzantine painting. It suggests that iconography
may raise more pointedly than style the question of selectivity, and thus of
self-definition, in artistic decisions.

24)
She notes that it is exceptional: Mouriki, ‘Wall Paintings’, p. . See St Theodore in Mar
Sarkis, Qara, in Immerzeel, ‘Holy Horsemen’, Pl. ; St Theodore in Mar Tadros, Bahdei-
dat, in Immerzeel, ‘Holy Horsemen’, Pl. , and Cruikshank Dodd, Medieval Painting,
Fig. .; St George at Sayyidat al-Rih, Enfe, in Cruikshank Dodd, Medieval Painting,
Pl. XXIV, no. ; and the equestrian saint in Mar Saba, Eddé, in Cruikshank Dodd, Medieval
Painting, Pl. LXI, no. . The blessing hands above these saints are interestingly paralleled
with the hands that extend wreaths to the mounted warrior saints in Coptic tradition, a
tradition still very much alive in the thirteenth century as seen at St Anthony on the Red
Sea; see Bolman (ed.), Monastic Visions, pp. –.
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

Fig. . Asinou, Church of the Panagia Phorbiotissa, apse. Photo: Gerald L. Carr.

The motif at issue takes us to the church of Asinou, in the foothills of

the Troodos some forty miles from Nicosia.25 More even than Moutoullas,
Asinou is deeply lodged in Cypriot sensibility. No church is more lovingly
embraced than Asinou; it is a site of religious as well as of cultural pilgrimage,
and thousands of Cypriots each year, both resident and in diaspora, come
to baptize their children there. Asinou is best known for its famous mural
cycle of /, but the little building is virtually layered with subsequent
additions, substitutions, and replacements that reflect its centuries-long life
as the catholicon of a monastery dedicated to Mary. Some seven phases of
fresco follow the first of /. This article focuses upon one of these
later additions. It is undated, but attributed on the basis of its style to the late
thirteenth century. It includes two portions: a votive portrait in the narthex of
the church,26 and the frescoes of the apse conch and triumphal arch (Fig. ).
The latter paintings respond to a catastrophe that occurred at some time in the
thirteenth century, when the original conch of the apse collapsed, taking with it
its early twelfth-century images; the present paintings adorn a solid but clumsy

25)
Stylianou and Stylianou, The Painted Churches, pp. –.
26)
Stylianou and Stylianou, The Painted Churches, Pl. .
 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

Fig. . Asinou, Church of the Panagia Phorbiotissa, St Anastasia. Photo: Gerald L. Carr.
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

replacement. They show the Mother of God Pantanassa between archangels

in the conch itself, and the Sacrifice of Isaac and John of Damascus on the
triumphal arch. The votive in the narthex, in turn, displays Saint Anastasia
Pharmakolytria with her devotee and namesake, a substantial woman named
Anastasia Saramalyna. Clothed in the attire of a well-to-do Cypriot, Anastasia
was surely portrayed as a supporter of the monastery, and she was very plausibly
the patron not only of the votive, but of the restored apse mural, as well, for
the two are surely by the same painter.
The painter is a person of vivid, piquant expressive individuality, seen espe-
cially in his sweet, asymmetrical faces. That of St Anastasia (Fig. ) shows
well both his adherence to a code of forms related to those exemplified by
Moutoullas (Fig. ), and his distinctive, characterful sweetness. The youths
who watch Abraham’s donkey on the triumphal arch exhibit especially well
the pungent sweetness of his art (Fig. ). We have no other work by him.
But he is almost surely a local Cypriot, for his deft linearity and concentrated
sweetness are best paralleled in Cypriot paintings like the icon of the Mother
of God from Asinou itself, now in the Byzantine Museum in Nicosia, or the
Eleousa in Kalopanagiotis.27 Painter and patron, then, must both have been
Cypriot.
Anastasia’s intervention in the apse was needed because the original apse
had collapsed. The original apse had belonged to an exceptionally beautiful
bema programme, painted in /. Distinctive to the programme is its
meditation on the Eucharist in the body of Mary. On one side of the sanctuary
is the scene of Mary’s birth; on the other is the scene of her Presentation
in the Temple. As indicated in a poem that accompanies it, Mary’s birth
marks the coming of the flesh that would bring resurrection and life. In the
Presentation, in turn, in the person of Mary—the pure and priceless gift—
we see that flesh offered as a type of the Eucharistic bread, the living matter
that would become great with God. Above, we see the little girl being fed
by angels in the holy of holies. Angels’ bread is a metaphor of the Eucharist.
Seated as she is before the angel, the child in the temple anticipates the form
of the Annunciate Virgin. The Annunciation, displayed just above her on the
triumphal arch above the apse, signals God’s advent to the pure matter that

27)
Papageorgiou, Icons of Cyprus, Pl. ; Christodoulos Hadjichristodoulou and Kyriakos
Papaioannou, ‘Φορητ$ς εικ(νες στ)ν "Ιερ* Μητρ(πολη Μ(ρφου (ος–ος ανας)’, in
'Ιερ Μητρπολις Μρφου.  χρνια τ!χνης κα% ,γιτητος, exhibition catalogue, Cultural
Foundation of the Bank of Cyprus, Nicosia,  (Nicosia, ), p. , Fig. .
 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

Fig. . Asinou, Church of the Panagia Phorbiotissa,

youths with the donkey of Abraham. Photo: author.

he will occupy. Finally in the apse itself stood Mary, most probably in the
form in which she appears over the door to the church, bearing on her breast
the mysterious image of God’s indwelling within her. Standing radiant with
God within, she embodies the saving grace of the Eucharist. With corporeal
immediacy, the space of the sanctuary is articulated with the imagery of Mary,
who is both the body of the church that contains God and the flesh that bears
him.
This eloquent scheme was then brusquely disrupted at some time in the
thirteenth century, when the conch of the apse collapsed. The conch that
replaced it, and survives today, is thicker in its fabric than the initial one,
projecting forward to cover the original Annunciation and creating a broad
triumphal arch of its own.
We have no way to know when the original apse collapsed, or how long the
rebuilt masonry sat empty of adornment before Anastasia funded its frescoes.
Thus we cannot know how likely it was that the original iconography was still
known. Nonetheless, the imagery of the conch is striking. Its omission of the
medallion on the Virgin’s breast, exceptional in apses at this date throughout
Cyprus, is the more notable in view of the fact that the image of /
over the door to the church portrays Mary with it. Apparently, the painter or
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

Fig. . Asinou, Church of the Panagia Phorbiotissa, Sacrifice of Isaac. Photo: author.
 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

Fig. . Asinou, Church of the Panagia Phorbiotissa, St John of Damascus. Photo: author.
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

the person who determined his imagery did not feel bound to honour tradition.
This attitude is even more visible on the triumphal arch. It shows the Sacrifice
of Isaac (Fig. ) and John of Damascus (Fig. ). Neither theme was familiar in
the bema programmes of Cyprus at this date, and must have been the product
of deliberate choice.
Like the early twelfth-century scenes of Mary that it in part replaces, the
Sacrifice of Isaac is readily read as a Eucharistic theme.28 In this sense it can
be read as complementing their message. It is, however, a far fiercer and
more paternal image of willing sacrifice. Among the Eucharistic themes of
Middle Byzantine art, it had only a very tenuous presence. Though cited in
the Early Byzantine liturgies of Basil and James, the Sacrifice of Isaac was
no longer included in the liturgy of John Chrysostom, the most customary
liturgy in Orthodox usage, and the scene itself was rarely depicted in the bema
programmes of the Middle Byzantine period. Of the ten published instances
of the Sacrifice in Middle Byzantine mural programmes, only two are in the
bema. They are of widely different date and character. One is in the elaborate
mid-eleventh-century bema programme at the Church of Hagia Sophia in
Ohrid, where it accompanies other Old Testament theophanies flanking the
Communion of the Apostles.29 The second, in the Saviour’s Church, Megara, of
around , occupies the prothesis, along with the Philoxenia and Moses with
the Burning Bush.30 Of the remaining eight instances of the Sacrifice, seven are
in the naos, most often in its western end.31 The final example occupies a niche

28)
Speyart van Woerden, ‘The Iconography of the Sacrifice of Abraham’, Vigiliae Chris-
tianae  (), pp. –, esp. pp. –; Gertrud J.M. van Loon, The Gate of
Heaven. Wall Paintings with Old Testament Scenes in the Altar Room and Hūrus of Coptic
¯
Churches (Leiden, ), pp. – and passim.
29)
On the programme at Ohrid, see Annabel Wharton Epstein, ‘The Political Content of
the Paintings at Saint Sophia at Ohrid’, JöB  (), pp. –.
30)
Karin M. Skawran, The Development of Middle Byzantine Fresco Painting in Greece
(Pretoria, ), p. , Fig. .
31)
Three—in the Cappella Palatina in Palermo, in the Duomo at Monreale, and in the
Church of the Saviour at Nereditsa—are subsumed in Old Testament narrative cycles that
adorn the nave walls: see Otto Demus, The Mosaics of Norman Sicily (London, ),
Figs.  and ; Victor Lazarev, Old Russian Murals and Mosaics (London, ), pp. –
. Those in St John, Çavuşin (seventh to ninth century), and Ballı Kilise in Soğanlı (before
) are independent votive panels: see Catherine Jolivet-Lévy, Églises de Cappadoce. Le Pro-
gramme iconographique de l’apside et de ses abords (Paris, ), pp. , . The remaining
two—in Hagia Sophia in Kiev and in the Virgin’s Church at Samari—are located at the
west of the naos in conjunction with scenes of the Three Hebrews in the Furnace and the
Hospitality of Abraham: see Victor Lazarev, ‘Regard sur l’art de la Russie prémongole . Le
 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

in the eastern passageway to the north church at the Church of St John the
Baptist at Güllü Dere, Cappadocia (–),32 a unique position associated
with an adjacent tomb. Only in the fifteenth century does the Sacrifice finally
become a frequent theme in Byzantine church programmes, and it is at this
point that it settles firmly in the bema, most usually—as at Megara—in the
area of the prothesis.33
On Cyprus itself the iconographic history of the Sacrifice follows much
the same pattern: the theme appears in two instances before it was painted
at Asinou, both in the west end of the naos. Thus it was used in the eleventh
century at St Anthony, Kellia, on the south-western pier of the naos, where it
was overpainted in the twelfth or thirteenth century,34 and again at a date close
to that at Asinou beside the Crucifixion in the western arm of St Herakleidios,
Kalopanagiotis. Only in the fifteenth century did it become frequent, and then
it was in the bema.35 In Cyprus, as in Byzantium at large, the Sacrifice of Isaac
was a rarity when Asinou’s apse was painted, and an even greater rarity in the
bema. Not once does it occupy the triumphal arch.

système de la décoration murale de Sainte-Sophie de Kiev’, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale

 (), pp. – and Figs. F, G, H; Hélène Grigoriadou-Cabagnols, ‘Le décor peint
de l’église de Samari en Messénie’, CArch  (), p. .
32)
Catherine Jolivet-Lévy, ‘Les programmes iconographiques des églises de Cappadoce au
Xe siècle. Nouvelles recherches’, in Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus and His Age. Second
International Byzantine Conference (Delphi, – July, ) (Athens, ), p. .
33)
See for instance the examples in Crete cited in Iohannes Spatharakis, Byzantine Wall
Paintings of Crete. Rethymnon Province  (London, ): above the prothesis in Agia Trias,
Agia Trias of c. (p. ); over the prothesis niche on the north side of the bema in Agios
Konstantinos, Artos, Church of St George,  (p.  and Fig. ); on the north bema
wall in St George in Ano Viannos (p. , note ); and on the north side of the bema vault
in the Church of the Panagia, of  in Roustika (p.  and Fig. ).
34)
For the earlier layer, see Stylianou and Stylianou, Painted Churches, p.  and Pl. ;
for the later layer, see Ewald Hein, Andrija Jakovljević, and Brigitte Kleidt, Zypern-byzanti-
nische Kirchen und Klöster. Mosaiken und Fresken (Ratingen, ), p. , Pl. .
35)
It appears in the Archangel Church in Pedoulas of  (Stylianou and Stylianou,
Painted Churches, p. ); in the late fifteenth century at St Mavre, Kilani, in the north-east
bema recess, balancing the Philoxenia in the south-east bema recess (ibid., p. ) and on the
north wall of the bema at St Mamas, Louvaras, facing the Philoxenia on the south wall; in
the sixteenth century at St Sozomenos, Galata, paired with the Philoxenia flanking the apse
(ibid, p. ), at the Archangel-Theotokos Church, Galata, on the north bema wall facing
the Philoxenia (ibid., p. ), at the Holy Cross Church, Agia Eirene, on the south bema wall
(ibid., p. ), at the Church of the Transfiguration of the Saviour, Palaichori, on the north
bema wall facing the Philoxenia on the south bema wall (ibid., p.  and Fig. ), on the
north bema wall in St Christina, Askas (ibid., p. ), on the north bema wall of the Holy
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

A steady tradition of using the Sacrifice of Isaac, and of using it in the space
just in front of the apse did exist, however. It is attested from the late twelfth
through the thirteenth century, the very period when Asinou was restored.
This was not in Byzantium, but in the churches of Syria and Egypt. Four and
perhaps five examples from the late twelfth and thirteenth centuries survive
in Egypt: seen at the Monastery of St Anthony on the Red Sea, signed in
/,36 it is found also in the Chapel of St George in the Church of
St Mercurius (Abu Sayfayn), Old Cairo;37 in St Mark at the Monastery of St
Makarios and the Virgin’s Church at the Monastery of the Romans (Deir al-
Baramūs), both in the Wadi Natrūn,38 and possibly also in the monastery at
Mount Sinai.39 In the Coptic churches it is one of a cluster of Old Testament
Eucharistic types that are placed in the spandrels of the haykal, the space
just before the apse.40 In St Anthony, Deir al-Baramūs, and St George in
Old Cairo, the Sacrifice of Isaac edges the apse opening itself, in essence
assuming a position comparable to that on the triumphal arch at Asinou.

Cross Church, Paleomylos (ibid., p. ), at the Church of the Mother of God, Kaminaria,
on the north bema wall facing deacon saints on the south bema wall (ibid., p. ), and
at St Nicholas, Galataria, on the north side of the bema vault balanced by the Philoxenia
(ibid., p. ).
36)
Bolman (ed.), Monastic Visions (as in note  above), p. , Fig. .; Paul van Moorsel,
Les peintures du monastère de Saint-Antoine près de la Mer Rouge (Mémoires publiés par
les membres de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale de Caire ;  vols.; Cairo,
/), Vol. , pp. –, Vol. , Pls. –.
37)
Van Loon, The Gate of Heaven, pp. , –, Figs. –. Van Loon dates it between
 and . A date early in the second quarter of the thirteenth century was proposed
by Hunt, ‘Christian-Muslim Relations’ (as in note  above), p. .
38)
On Abū Makar, see Van Loon, Gate of Heaven, pp. , –, Figs. –, who attributes
it to the mid-twelfth century; Jules Leroy, La peinture murale chez les Coptes . Les peintures
des couvents du Ouadi Natroun (Mémoires publiés par les membres de l’Institut français
d’archéologie orientale de Caire ; Cairo, ), Pls. –. On the Church of the
Mother of God in Deir al-Baramūs, see Van Loon, Gate of Heaven, pp. , –, Figs. –
.
39)
The apse of the Justinianic church at Sinai is flanked by encaustic murals showing
the Sacrifice of Isaac on one side and the Daughter of Jephthah on the other. They were
attributed to the seventh century by Kurt Weitzmann, The Monastery of Saint Catherine at
Mount Sinai. The Icons . From the Sixth to the Tenth Century (Princeton, ), pp. –,
Pls. LXXVII–LXXVIII, but to the thirteenth century by Lucy-Anne Hunt, ‘Christian Art
in Greater Syria and Egypt: A Triptych of the Ascension with Military Saints Reattributed’,
Al-Masāq. Islam and the Medieval Mediterranean  (), pp. –.
40)
I am grateful to Gertrud van Loon for her explanation of the haykal and its characteristic
forms.
 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

At Abu Makar, in turn, the Annunciation rims the apse, with the Sacrifice
of Isaac on one side and Moses on Sinai on the other. The Sacrifice of Isaac
may occupy a place to north or south of the apse opening, but it is always
composed so that Abraham, in turning to the Lord’s command, turns in the
direction of the apse. In St Anthony, as also in Deir al-Baramūs, Abraham’s
sacrifice on one side of the apse is balanced by Melchizedek’s offering of bread
and wine on the other, a typological image that is included in the haykal at
Abu Makar, as well. Beside the Sacrifice of Isaac at St Anthony, in turn, is
a more exceptional scene: the sacrifice of Jephthah’s daughter. The pairing of
Abraham and Jephthah immediately recalls the similar pairing in the encaustic
murals flanking the apse in the monastery church at St Catherine, Mount
Sinai. The appearance of this pairing is so striking that Lucy-Anne Hunt has
wondered if the paintings at Sinai, usually dated in the seventh century, should
not be regarded as belonging instead to the thirteenth, contemporary with
those at St Anthony.41 While her attribution remains to be confirmed, she
is surely right that use of these scenes at Sinai may have stimulated their
choice at St Anthony. Certainly both clearly align Abraham’s sacrifice with
the apse. A comparison of Abraham by the apse at St Anthony on the one
hand and Asinou on the other brings out a kinship in their placement. The
Sacrifice of Isaac is recurrently aligned with the apse opening in Egypt, in
association especially with the typological scenes of Abraham and Melchizedek
and Moses receiving the Law on Sinai, and the New Testament scene of the
Annunciation.
The Sacrifice of Isaac is seen again, at much the time of its installation
at Asinou, on the triumphal arch of three Syrian churches: at St Theodore
in Bahdeidat,42 Lebanon, at St George (Mar Girios) in Rashkida,43 and at
St James in Qara, Syria.44 In these churches the scene was placed on the
triumphal arch itself, facing the scene of Moses receiving the Law on Sinai.
At Bahdeidat Abraham’s sacrifice and Moses receiving the Law are just over
the Annunciation. Once again, an alignment of the Sacrifice of Abraham in

41)
See note  above.
42)
Nordiguian and Voisin, Châteaux et Églises, pp. –, Fig. , and Cruikshank
Dodd, Medieval Painting, pp. –, Pl. LXXVIII.
43)
Nordiguian and Voisin, Châteaux et Églises, p. , Plate on p. ; Cruikshank Dodd,
Medieval Painting, p. , Pl. .. I am indebted to Mat Immerzeel for drawing my
attention to this.
44)
Stefan Westphalen, ‘Das Kloster Mar Yakub und seine Wandmalereien’, in Schmidt and
Westphalen (eds.), Christliche Wandmalereien, p. .
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

Bahdeidat on the one hand and Asinou on the other implies the conclusion
I suggest, which is that Asinou, too, reflects the late twelfth- and thirteenth-
century efflorescence of the theme in Egypt and Syria. Of these six and perhaps
seven examples on the mainland, only Bahdeidat itself and Rashkida are in
one of the Crusader States—the theme was clearly far widerspread than the
Crusader world alone.
Like the twelfth-century programme that it intrudes upon, the Sacrifice at
Asinou is surely Eucharistic in content. This content is underscored by the
figure of John of Damascus (Fig. ). No less than the Sacrifice of Isaac, John
is a surprise here. He was a latecomer to Byzantine monumental imagery. He
is first seen in monumental painting at Nerezi of , and it is only later
still, in  at Lagoudera on Cyprus itself, that he is first portrayed as an
independent figure in a mural programme.45 He does not appear again in
Cypriot painting until he appears here at Asinou. As at Asinou, he is depicted
above the triumphal arch at Lagoudera, and it may have been his presence
at Lagoudera that suggested his use here. But his context is quite different.
At Lagoudera he bears a text relating to the Mandylion, which is painted just
above him. At Asinou, too, his text is crucial, but it has been entirely rethought
in content. Thus it seems that he has been specifically tailored to the content
of the programme at Asinou. His text, identified by Sophia Kalopissi-Verti
as coming from the opening of a canon to the Theotokos that honours her
Annunciation,46 reads:

What praiseworthy ode will our weakness offer to you (other) than the cheerful one
that Gabriel initiated to us? Rejoice, you who gave birth to God, Virgin, unmarried
Mother.

45)
On John of Damascus, see Nancy Patterson Ševčenko, ‘The Five Hymnographers at
Nerezi’, in P. Schreiner and O. Strakhov (eds.), Χρυσα/ Π0λαι. Златая врата, Essays
presented to Ihor Ševčenko on his Eightieth Birthday by his Colleagues and Students = Palaeosla-
vica . (), pp. –; Olga Ovcharova, ‘Images of the Holy Hymnographers in
the Iconographical Programme of the Church of St. Panteleemon in Nerezi, Macedonia
()’, Al-Masāq. Islam and the Medieval Mediterranean  (), pp. –; Ida
Sinkević, The Church of Saint Panteleimon at Nerezi. Architecture, Programme, Patronage
(Wiesbaden, ), p. , and Andreas Nicolaïdès, ‘L’église de la Panagia Arakiotissa à
Lagoudera, Chypre: Étude iconographique des fresques de ’, DOP  (), p. .
46)
Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, Asinou. The Church and Murals of the Panagia Phorbiotissa, Cyprus
(Cambridge, forthcoming in ). John’s text varies from image to image. I am indebted
to Nancy Patterson Ševčenko for her fine inventory of the inscriptions in the images of John
of Damascus.
 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

The theme of the Annunciation was a standard one on the triumphal arches
of Byzantine churches; it had flanked the apse at Asinou itself before the new
masonry was built. It had not, however, been paralleled with the Old Testament
images of divine intervention. On the other hand, this pairing is precisely what
is seen in the churches of the mainland, and nowhere more clearly than at
Bahdeidat, where—as we saw—the apse is flanked by the Annunciation, the
Sacrifice of Isaac, and the Giving of the Law to Moses. The triumphal arch
at Asinou, in sum, seems to be a compressed abbreviation of the programme
seen at Bahdeidat and Abu Makar, joining Eucharistic typologies with the
Annunciation.
This is not a pairing that I am aware of in Middle Byzantine churches. It
strikes me, however, that these are precisely the scenes that Sebastian Brock
cites when discussing the use of the verb aggen, overshadowed, in Syriac biblical
translations and Eucharistic theology. In his words:

All the Syriac versions chose to translate 1πισκι2σει in the annunciation narrative of Lk.
: by naggen #al (af#el of gnn, ‘cover over’, ‘overshadow’). That the verb was already
established at a very early date in Syriac tradition as a technical term for a special type
of salvific activity on the part of God is shown by the fact that it is used in a number
of other important New Testament passages translated quite different Greek verbs …
In the Peshitta Old Testament aggen #al occurs a number of times with God as subject,
sometimes with ‘hand’ as direct object. In all these passages the idea of divine protection
is uppermost.47

Of these, he cites Noah in the Ark, the covenant with Abraham, and Moses
protected by the hand of God on Sinai. Above all, the word aggen was used in
the epiclesis to define the action of the Spirit of the Most High, as the Logos,
relative to the Offertory elements. As he says:

The use of the word ‘overshadow’ in the epiclesis deliberately draws attention to the
important parallelism between the activity of the Spirit over Mary and the activity of
the Spirit over the eucharistic Offerings.48

47)
Sebastian P. Brock, ‘Passover, Annunciation and Epiclesis: Some Remarks on the Term
aggen in the Syriac Versions of Luke :’, Novum Testamentum  (Leiden, ), pp. –
, reprinted in Sebastian P. Brock, Fire from Heaven: Studies in Syriac Theology and Liturgy
(Variorum Collected Studies Series ; Aldershot, ), Ch. .
48)
Sebastian P. Brock, The Bible in the Syriac Tradition (nd ed.; Piscataway, NJ, ),
p. .
 Annemarie Weyl Carr

This word, then, is used of the action of God in the mystery of the Eucharist
itself, of the action of God at the Annunciation, and of the action of God in Old
Testament events in which he both overshadows and protects. The programme
at Bahdeidat seems a visualization of this conjunction in a single word of mul-
tiple actions, past, present, and recurrent. The programme visualizes the verb
that takes place in the space defined by the triumphal arch. The programme at
Asinou seems to reflect much the same conjunction of ideas, as John elicits our
exclamation of awe at the overshadowing that God has enacted in the biblical
past and the Christian present.
A striking conjunction of themes and ideas seems to emerge here, bind-
ing Asinou in the late thirteenth century to the iconography of the Syrian
and Coptic churches of the mainland. This convergence cannot be regarded as
involuntary, as the adoption of stylistic conventions might be. It is ideological
and selective. It is a cluster of interrelated images at a sensitive point in the
church that seems to draw upon ideas about the performance of a sacred mys-
tery that were formulated necessarily and distinctively in Syriac, and not in the
Greek that was by this time truly native to the religious behavior of Cyprus’s
Orthodox population. Yet this cluster of images was adopted by a painter who
seems to have been Cypriot, working in a Greek Orthodox monastery at the
behest of a local citizen of substance. The programme is a fundamentally min-
gled one. As such, the apse at Asinou begs an attentive reevaluation of cultural
interchange between Cyprus and the mainland in the thirteenth century.
The triumphal arch at Asinou is, at present, an isolated case: I have not
encountered other comparable instances of imagery that drew on Syrian
sources in Cyprus. Nonetheless, I believe that its presence implies at least three
principles that might guide further evaluation of Cyprus’s relation to the main-
land in the thirteenth century. First and most visible, perhaps, is the matter of
direction: the imagery at Asinou would of necessity imply the movement of
artistic conventions into Cyprus from the mainland, balancing and complicat-
ing the movement of artistic conventions from Cyprus that the term ‘maniera
cypria’ suggested. Plausible as it is to believe that Cypriot painters, stripped of
their customary patrons in the wake of the Lusignan implantation, would have
moved to mainland venues, bringing their styles and skills with them, one must
also assume that artisans and artistic conventions flowed back into Cyprus from
the mainland. The interchange must be understood as going both ways. The
chronological pattern of surviving works on Cyprus, escalating sharply toward
the century’s end, suggests that the influx from the mainland, too, escalated
as conditions on the mainland worsened. These conventions then became not
marginal—bound to the coastal margins—but endemic to the art on Cyprus.
 Iconography and Identity in the Art of Cyprus 

A second principle, I believe, concerns the definition of ‘mainland’. The

‘mainland’ must not signify simply ‘Crusader’, or the Crusader states. Though
Cyprus’s Syrian Christian immigrants were closely associated with the Latins
and resided largely in the heavily Latin cities, they belonged to a culture that
extended far beyond the territories along the Levantine coast comprising the
Crusader states, that reached into Syria itself, and that functioned in close
reciprocity with the Miaphysite culture of Egypt. The ‘mainland’ must embrace
this broader cultural and intellectual realm.
And finally, there a principle of method. Mouriki’s ‘maniera cypria’ has
played a vital role in generating debate, and this debate has given cultural
weight to the Syrian components, emphasizing the vitality of thirteenth-
century Syrian art. The term ‘maniera tripolitana’ is brandished in response
to ‘maniera cypria’. Both terms are rooted in stylistic method. But style was
from its very inception a method designed to segregate, to divide. It is by no
means clear that it can adequately address an era like the thirteenth century
in the eastern Mediterranean, in which the most telling feature is the inter-
penetration of cultures. Key insights into the period will surely come when we
balance style with other kinds of evidence, including—as here—the testimony
of iconography.

Annemarie Weyl Carr

Southern Methodist University
acarr@smu.edu
 Art and Identity in an
Amulet Roll from Fourteenth-Century Trebizond

Glenn Peers*

Abstract
This article examines a unique survival from the Middle Ages: an amulet roll, now divided
between libraries in New York City and Chicago, which now measures approximately  m in
width and – cm in width, which has Greek texts on the obverse and Arabic on the reverse,
and a series of very fine illustrations on the Greek side. Analysis of the roll reveals that it
originated in Trebizond in the second half of the fourteenth century, and the roll is therefore
considered within the cultural and political context of that small but active Greek kingdom.
The article pays particular attention to the text and representation of a rare figure, Evgenios
of Trebizond, who is included among a series of saints and prophets in order to enact that
saint’s protection of the (evidently elite) patron of the roll. And through the series of texts
and images about the letter and self-portrait of Christ, the Mandylion, the roll also stated
the sacred destiny of Trebizond. The roll generated identity through its Greek Christian
texts and images, and made clear the special role God had chosen for Trebizond.

Keywords
Evgenios of Trebizond; Trebizond; Mandylion; Abgar of Edessa; magic; amulet roll; Byzan-
tine art.

Art can be an enduring material declaration of the religious origins of a nation

or polity, and this article is concerned with a very unusual survival of this
type of art: an amulet roll now divided between the Regenstein Library of the
University of Chicago (Cod. ) and the Pierpont Morgan Library in New
York City (M ). The point at which the roll was divided is not clear, but
it happened before the separate acquisitions by those libraries. The New York
fragment was bought by John Pierpont Morgan, Jr (–) in  from
Léon Gruel (–), but it had passed through the hands of a Dominican

*)
This essay is a reworked excerpt from a book written in collaboration with Dr Barbara
Roggema, Orthodox Magic in Trebizond and Beyond: A Fourteenth-Century Greco-Arabic
Amulet Roll in America (Geneva, forthcoming in ).
 Glenn Peers

priest, Luis Albert Gaffre (–), who claimed to have purchased the
fragment from ‘a very old Coptic or Egyptian Christian family’ in Egypt.1 The
Chicago fragment came to the United States by a different route, having been
bought by the University of Chicago in ; the fragment had been owned by
Baron d’Honnecourt of Paris and M. Stora.2 The roll was divided apparently
before it passed into these European hands, and as each fragment shows damage
at their ends, the division occurred in the nineteenth century or before.
The striking features of the composite object are plain: the roll, when the
two extant sections are added together, reaches a length of . m and a width of
around – cm. The texts are oriented on the vertical axis of the roll, and they
point to the purposes for which the roll was intended. On the obverse, texts
in Greek include, in order from top to bottom and starting with the Chicago
piece, the initial passages from the Gospels of Mark (:–), Luke (:–) and
John (:–), with Matt. :– following, then the Nicene Creed, Psalm ,
and on the New York fragment, Ps.  and , the Epistle of the Abgar legend,
and short, poetic invocations to eleven saints. All but one of these last texts
were taken from the eleventh-century collection of Christopher of Mitylene
(c., d. after  or ).3
The length of the extant pieces of the extant Chicago-New York roll—over
 m—makes clear that the patron’s height was not a determining factor in the
scale of the roll. In fact, most of the roll may have survived, because the Arabic
text on the reverse appears to be complete. Yet the Arabic prayers do not run
to the very bottom of the roll as it is today, so they are not absolute indicators

1)
On Gaffre, see José Espose é Hijos (ed.), Enciclopedia Universal Illustrada Europeo-
Americana: etimologías sánscrito, hebreo, griego, latín, arabe, lenguas indígenas americanas
 (Barcelona–Madrid, ), p. . On the manuscript, see Sunday New York Journal-
American, May , , and L’illustration Vol. , no.  (April , ), pp. –,
the latter written by Gaffre, who also published it as a pamphlet entitled L’image d’Edesse.
On Morgan as collector, see Annabel Jane Wharton, Selling Jerusalem: Relics, Replicas,
Theme Parks (Chicago–London, ), pp. –.
2)
See Nadezhda Kavrus-Hoffmann, ‘Catalogue of Greek Medieval and Renaissance Man-
uscripts in the Collections of the United States of America. Part IV.. The Morgan Library
and Museum’, Manuscripta  (), pp. –; Gary Vikan (ed.), Illuminated Greek
Manuscripts from American Collections. An Exhibition in Honor of Kurt Weitzmann (Prince-
ton, ), p. ; Hans Belting, Das illuminierte Buch in der spätbyzantinischen Gesellschaft
(Heidelberg, ), p. , note .
3)
See Enrica Follieri (ed.), I calendari in metro innografico di Cristoforo Mitileneo ( vols.;
Brussels, ). The two lines for Evgenios are not in the collection of Christopher, nor in
that of Theodore Prodromos (b. c., d. –), for which see Augusta Acconcia
Longo (ed.), Il calendario giambico in monostici di Teodoro Prodromo (Rome, ).
 Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

of original length. The damage may have occurred by the time Sulayman, a
Christian Arab, came into possession of the roll, but that loss would imply
heavy usage between its creation in the third quarter of the fourteenth century
and the Arabic colophon of .
Evidence exists on the roll that identifies another centre of Greek Christian
culture of the fourteenth century: not Constantinople, as has been assumed,
but the Empire of Trebizond. The empire was one of the great ‘pocket empires’
of the late Middle Ages, a splinter of the eleventh-/twelfth-century ruling
family, the Komnenoi, of Constantinople. It lasted from  until , eight
years after the fall of the great city itself. The character of the empire’s culture
was largely determined by two elements: the ruling dynasty’s relationship to
Constantinople, which led to cultural forms strongly associated with the glories
of that former world capital, and the empire’s geographical relationship to the
Christian kingdoms of the Caucasus, in Georgia and Armenia, and to the
south and south-east, Muslim Turkmen and the Persian Empire. Indeed, the
political character of the Empire of Trebizond was very much in keeping with
other groups in eastern Anatolia. Less a Byzantine kingdom, despite outward
forms, than a Christian kingdom beholden to stronger regional forces that
were Muslim, the Trapezuntine Empire has been called a ‘Greek emirate’.4 A
‘mainstream’ Byzantine culture no longer existed by the fourteenth century,
only various tributaries that ran off from that original source, and Trebizond’s
culture was a particular tributary that admitted Byzantine water, to be sure,
but also sources from the Caucasus, Anatolia, and Persia.5
This situation complicates, in a compelling way, the ways in which the
roll can be situated in its originating context. Byzantium and other Islamic
polities were major points on the Trapezuntine compass, and the needle swung
according to needs of the moment. Most scholars who have discussed the
roll have assumed a Constantinopolitan provenance on account of the high
quality of the images. But the general situation for manuscript painting in
the fourteenth century is complex and still not entirely understood, and, as

4)
Michael Angold, ‘Byzantium in Exile’, in David Abulafia (ed.), New Cambridge Medieval
History . c. –c.  (Cambridge, ), p. .
5)
Antony Eastmond, Art and Identity in Thirteenth-Century Byzantium. Hagia Sophia and
the Empire of Trebizond (Birmingham Byzantine and Ottoman Monographs ; Aldershot,
), is excellent, and see also his ‘Local Saints, Art, and Regional Identity in the Ortho-
dox World after the Fourth Crusade’, Speculum  (), pp. –, and ‘Art and Iden-
tity in the Thirteenth-Century Caucasus’, in Antony Eastmond, Art and Identity (Middle
Eastern Identities Series; G.E. von Grunebaum Center for Near Eastern Studies, UCLA,
Colloquium Series; Los Angeles, ), pp. –.
 Glenn Peers

Robert Nelson has written about a similar context, it is ‘characterized by a

series of discrete accommodations to the artistically more powerful cultures of
Byzantium and Islam’.6
Revealing of the movement of style and linguistic dexterity is the illustrated
manuscript of Chronicles of Constantine Manasses (c.–c.), produced
at the Bulgarian capital of Tirnovo for the Tsar John-Alexander (r. –
) probably in / and now in the Vatican Library (Cod. Vat. slav.
).7 The manuscript reveals its history through the presence of Bulgarian and
Latin, while the text is itself a translation from the Greek. Like the Chicago-
New York roll, the Manasses manuscript uses standard compositional devices
like reclining royal figures and architectural backdrops, and the use of these
devices can be explained by shared conventions for types of scenes. Such
conventions, then, characterize manuscript illumination in all these satellites
orbiting the Byzantine centre or, perhaps better, they are part of the visual
culture of the entire Byzantine commonwealth, that large, loosely defined
group of cultures that filtered Byzantine tradition for their own purposes. In
this set of monuments, the degree of interconnectedness is high due to the
migration of conventions throughout the commonwealth.8
The provenance of the roll in Trebizond is based in part on the stylistic
elements of the figural passages on the Greek obverse of roll. The closest
comparandum for the Chicago-New York roll in terms of figure style is the

6)
Robert S. Nelson, ‘An Icon at Mt. Sinai and Christian Painting in Muslim Egypt During
the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries’, ABull  (), pp. –. On Palaiologan
style generally, see Olympia Chassoura, Les peintures murales byzantines des églises de Lon-
ganikos, Laconie (Athens, ), pp. –; Tania Velmans, ‘La diffusion inégale du mod-
èle constantinopolitain dans la peinture medievale. Le Coeur, le centre et les peripheries’,
in Evangelos Chrysos (ed.), Το Βυζ2ντιο ως οικουμ!νη (Athens, ), pp. –; Tania
Velmans, ‘De l’élaboration et de la déviation de la renaissance des Paléologues (–)’,
in Guntram Koch (ed.), Byzantinische Malerei. Bildprogramme-Ikonographie-Stil: Symposion
in Marburg vom .-.. (Spätantike, Frühes Christentum, Byzanz Reihe B, Studien
und Perspektiven ; Wiesbaden, ), pp. –.
7)
Ivan Dujcev, The Miniatures of the Chronicle of Manasse (trans. Marguerite Alexieva; Sofia,
); Bogdan Dimitrov Filow, Les miniatures de la Chronique de Manassès à la Bibliothèque
du Vatican (Cod. Vat. slav. II) (trans. Tatiana E. Kirkova; Codices e Vaticanis selecti quam
simillime expressi iussu Pii PP. XI consilio et opera curatorum Bibliothecae Vaticanae ;
Sofia, ).
8)
See the recent catalogue, Jenny Albani, Το Βυζ2ντιο ως οικουμ!νη. Βυζαντιν και Χρι-
στιανικ Μουσεο: Οκτβριος –Ιανου2ριος  (Athens, ), and its companion
volume of essays, Chrysos (ed.), Το Βυζ2ντιο ως οικουμ!νη, for a broad presentation of this
situation.
 Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

Romance of Alexander the Great, now in Venice (Hellenic Institute, Codex gr.
), but it could also represent challenges of trying to assign a provenance to the
Chicago-New York roll using stylistic comparisons. The manuscript manifests
strong Palaiologan tendencies, as well as Frankish and Islamic, as Andreas
Xyngopoulos (–) argued, and that scholar was himself not certain
as to its place of origin, as he suggested Syria or Palestine, with Crete and
Cyprus also as possibilities.9 However, more recent scholarship by Nicolette
Trahoulia has established a provenance in the Empire of Trebizond during the
reign of Emperor Alexios III Komnenos (r. –).10 Not only has the
provenance of the manuscript proven to be challenging, but the manuscript
itself also betrays an extraordinary range in its cultural references. The presence
of Georgian script in the manuscript indicates a strong probability that the
artists were originally Georgian;11 the Greek palaeography is of high quality,
and the later addition of Turkish rubrics, probably after  when Trebizond
fell to the Ottomans, provides one further cultural and linguistic overlay.
Stylistically, moreover, the Venetian Alexander Romance best approximates
the characteristics of the Chicago-New York roll. For instance, the arrival of
the portraitist and the delivery of Alexander’s portrait at fol. v has striking
similarities in terms of the handling of figures.
Such similarities in form and style can be accounted for in various ways,
such as the weight of tradition and the ideological associations such tradition
had, as it was expressed in visual art. Or itinerant groups of painters brought
along their individual traits as they accomplished commissions for different
patrons. The former possibility is based on an assumption of a weak hand of

9)
Andreas Xyngopoulos, Les miniatures du Roman d’Alexandre le Grand dans le codex de
l’Institut Hellènique de Venise (Athens–Venice, ), pp. –.
10)
See Nicolette S. Trahoulia, The Greek Alexander Romance: Venice, Hellenic Institute, Codex
Gr.  (Athens, ); idem, The Venice Alexander Romance, Hellenic Codex Gr. : A Study of
Alexander the Great as an Imperial Paradigm in Byzantine Art and Literature (Unpublished
Doctoral Dissertation, Harvard University, ); idem, Η Βενετα των Ελλ#νων, η Ελλ2δα
των Βενετν. Σημ2δια στο χρο και το χρνο (Athens, ), pp. –; Liam Gallagher,
‘The Alexander Romance in the Hellenic Institute at Venice. Some Notes on the Initial
Miniature’, Thesaurismata  (), pp. –.
11)
See Doula Mouriki, ‘The Formative Role of Byzantine Art on the Artistic Style of the
Cultural Neighbors of Byzantium: Reflections of Constantinopolitan Styles in Georgian
Monumental Painting’, JöB . (), pp. –, with remarks on the fourteenth
century at pp. –; Hans Belting, ‘Le peintre Manuel Eugenikos de Constantinope, en
Géorgie’, CArch  (), pp. –, here late fourteenth century. On linguistic issues
raised by this region, see Georges Drettas, ‘Sur quelques aspects de la polyglossie pontique
durant la période médiévale (XIIe–XVe siècles)’, Mésogeios  (), pp. –.
 Glenn Peers

the artist, malleable to the situation and patron, and the latter on a strong hand
that maintains over different commissions.
On its own terms, then, style cannot be a clinching argument for fourteenth-
century manuscript provenance, but combined with other evidence, a close
relationship of the Chicago-New York roll and the Romance of Alexander is
nearly certain. At the bottom of the roll, in the midst of the poetic invocations
to warrior saints and the prophet Daniel, two lines invoke the high credentials
of St Evgenios. Two standing saints are depicted above the two lines, the other
of whom is unidentifiable, but the two lines are legible, ‘A sword slays Evgenios,
and three fellow-strugglers along with him, on account of nobility of soul.’
Unlike the four other pairs of military saints, the feast day of St Evgenios is not
given, which is in itself a possibly telling point.
The crucial point in these two lines, from the point of view of provenance,
is the mention of the three companions, because only one Evgenios had three
companions: Valerianos, Kanidios, and Akylas, junior-martyrs of Evgenios of
Trebizond, himself patron saint of the city and of the empire.12 The cult of
Evgenios was self-consciously supported by the Trapezuntine Komnenoi, and
its popular base is not clear at all from the evidence that survives. The typikon
of the monastery of Evgenios, outside the walls of the capital, described the
order of all participants in the feast celebration of  January, and it made
clear that the elite, clergy, and ‘people’ all took part.13 But Evgenios was seldom
represented; the depiction on the roll is rare, so one must assume that the
selection of Evgenios and his three fellow-martyrs was purposeful and due to
a selection process involving on some level painter and/or programmer and

12)
The work of Jan Olof Rosenqvist is key here. For example, see his ‘Local Worshippers,
Imperial Patrons: Pilgrimage to St. Eugenios of Trebizond’, DOP  (), pp. –,
and The Hagiographic Dossier of St. Eugenios of Trebizond in Codex Athos Dionysiou 
(Studia Byzantina Upsaliensia ; Uppsala, ). And no mention of Trebizond can occur
without invoking Anthony A.M. Bryer and David Winfield, The Byzantine Monuments and
Topography of the Pontos ( vols.; Washington, DC, ), esp. Vol. , pp. –, pp. –
; see also Anthony A.M. Bryer, ‘Epilogue’, in Gülden Erkut and Stephen Mitchell (eds.),
The Black Sea: Past, Present and Future. Proceedings of the International, Interdisciplinary
Conference Istanbul, – October  (London–Istanbul, ), pp. –, and the
studies in Anthony A.M. Bryer (ed.), The Empire of Trebizond and the Pontos, (London,
). See also Raymond Janin, Les églises et les monastères des grands centres Byzantines (Paris,
), pp. –.
13)
Aleksej Dmitrievskii, Opisanie liturgicheskikh rukopisei khraniashchikhsia v bibliotekakh
pravoslavnogo vostoka . Typika (Petrograd, ; reprint in Hildesheim, ), pp. –
, here pp. –.
Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

Fig. 
 Glenn Peers

patron. The saint is not given any priority over the other warrior saints, like
George, Demetrios or Merkourios. The Chicago-New York roll was likely a
product of an imperial court, and it was intended at an essential level as an
expression and determinant of pro-Trebizond ideology. The roll manifests that
ideology through Evgenios’ standing in the ranks with the great warrior saints
of the eastern Christian world; shoulder to shoulder, as it were, those saints are
the strong host of the righteous (Fig. ).
Moreover, the feast day is omitted in Evgenios’ two lines, while a third line
was added for the others that specified the day of the month, if not the month
itself. The omission of feast day is potentially important because of the history
of the reckoning of Evgenios’ celebration at Trebizond. The day of his martyr-
dom,  January, celebrates his beheading, a fate he shared with his compan-
ions, at the command of the arch-enemy of Christians, the Emperor Diocletian
(r. –). And yet that date was not an auspicious choice on account of the
severity of Trapezuntine winters, which made celebration difficult enough for
natives, let alone for a panegyris, or saint’s fair, that would attract outsiders.14
The story of a new feast day for the saint is intimately connected to the impe-
rial house. John Lazaropoulos, Bishop of Trebizond from –, wrote
two hagiographies about the saint and his history in the empire. He described
the origins of the celebration of the saint’s birthday on  June in the reign of
Basil I, the Byzantine emperor who reigned from –. Under pressure of
the Seljuks, who were causing great difficulties for the Byzantine Empire, that
date was forgotten until the fourteenth century. According to Lazaropoulos, the
Trapezuntine Emperor Alexios II Megas Komnenos (r. –) revived the
spring feast after killing a dragon that was ravaging a part of his kingdom. He
claimed that the saint had aided him, and he visited his monastery afterwards
to give thanks; while there, he read an earlier account of the saint’s deeds that
included Basil I introducing the second feast for the saint. As a thank offering,
he reinstituted the feast. The imperial role in this history of devotion is not
subtle, and the parallel glorifying of Alexios as dragon slayer is clearly a cross-
fertilization of saintly warriors like George, whose prowess in the field was
well-known and popular with Christians and Muslims alike.15 Subsequently,

14)
See Speros Vryonis, ‘The Panegyris of the Byzantine Saint’, in Sergei Hackel (ed.), The
Byzantine Saint (London, ; reprint in Crestwood, NY, ), pp. –.
15)
See Ethel Sara Wolper, ‘Khidr, Elwan Celebi and the Conversion of Sacred Sanctuaries in
Anatolia’, Muslim World  (), pp. –, and Ethel Sara Wolper, Cities and Saints,
Sufism and the Transformation of Urban Space in Medieval Anatolia (Buildings, Landscapes,
and Societies Series ; University Park, PA, ).
 Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

Trapezuntine coinage changed representations of the usual figures of emperor

and Evgenios from standing to riding a horse.16
The description of Evgenios on the roll departs from the official line in two
possibly significant ways, though it is difficult now to say what its particular
significance might be. However, the absence of the day of the month, either
the st or the th (of January and June, respectively) seems to indicate that
no special attention was being drawn to imperial involvement in the cult of
Evgenios, and the iconography of the saint is also not strongly referencing
imperial parallels. While this particular passage at the bottom of the roll is
badly abraded, and specific features are not at all clear now, the figure is not on
horseback, and so an iconographic element that could have made a clear case
for imperial allegiance is apparently lacking.
And yet the very inclusion of the saint can only be due to some strong
attachment to Trebizond and its holy patron. Medieval selection of saints
was always made with the full character of the saint in mind, and the figure
of Evgenios is rarely enough mentioned for one to presume a Trapezuntine
connection for the roll. Even if the imperial status of the commission was
not declared as forthrightly as the Romance of Alexander, where Alexios III is
represented and lauded, the figure of Evgenios has inevitable associations with
the imperial dynasty of Trebizond. For Alexios III, association with the saint
not only forged a bond with the holy protector of Trebizond, but also through
him with imperials figures of the past, most obviously Basil and his namesake,
Alexios II. Alexios III took his name after he assumed the throne in , and
he was crowned under that name in an imperial ceremony held on the feast
day of Evgenios in January . And like any hagiography, sacred history
was meant to illuminate the present, and the defeat of the dragon was likely
equated in the minds of the audience for the hagiography with Alexios III’s
victory over forces of the Emir of Bayburt at Matzouka in . And like other
processions in the history of the empire, such as Andronikos I Gidon (r. –
) parading the icon of the Hodegetria and the head of St Evgenios, and
Alexios’ parading of the dragon’s head, so the younger Alexios celebrated with
triumphal display.17
Other references in the hagiographies written for Evgenios have potentially
meaningful connections with the texts and images on the roll. Biblical refer-
ences in the hagiographies do not make a conclusive match; general references

16)
Otto Retowski, Die Münzen der Komnenen von Trapezunt (nd ed.; Braunschweig,
), pp. – (Alexios II), Pl. , and pp. – (Alexios III), Pls. –.
17)
See Eastmond, Art and Identity, p. .
 Glenn Peers

to Luke  and the Psalms may perhaps be so commonplace as not to be remark-

able at all.18 But the word play in the two lines on the roll is a common feature
of the hagiographies too. The ‘nobility of soul’ is a pun based on the meaning
of Evgenios’ name, and this repetition of the qualities inherent in his name as
determinant of his merit and fate is a common feature of the hagiographies. For
example, the encomium of Constantine Loukites (fl. first half of the fourteenth
century) made this connection self-evident:

But these [martyrs] also [made] them famous […] not even himself (?) perhaps insignif-
icant and ignoble, as in fact the noble spirit of his soul clearly declared and as his very
name will teach us.

And that play is frequent in the texts, as other examples attest.19 Moreover,
Evgenios’ circle of friends extends beyond his co-martyrs, Valerianos, Kanidios,
and Akylas, as his hagiographers make clear. In Lazaropoulos’ Logos, Alexios II
and his victory over the dragon is glorified, as is the victory of Andronikos I
Gidon over the ‘Melik’, the anonymous Muslim foe who had threatened
Trebizond but was repelled with the help of the saint. Lazaropoulos ended with
a plea to the saint to look after his followers and defeat enemies like the Melik:

You enjoy a stable intimacy with God, which you have earned with your blood. You
also have the great helpers of the Christians allies: George the Invincible, the famous
Theodores and the celebrated Demetrios, those conspicuous great martyrs, luminaries
of the world and soldiers that share the spirit of your own company. For these this
city too always eagerly celebrates their annual festivals, honouring their struggles and
striking the tunes of their hymns and glorifying their prizes, while the struggles and
hymns and festivals of your Magnificence are being enhanced from on high.20

18)
Luke :–, see Rosenqvist, The Hagiographic Dossier, p. ,–; Psalm (),
Rosenqvist, The Hagiographic Dossier, p. ,.
19)
Rosenqvist, The Hagiographic Dossier, p. ,– (). See also Rosenqvist, The Hagio-
graphic Dossier, p. ,, ‘By these noble words of the noble Evgenios the duke Lysias
was struck in hearing and mind and heart as by a flash of lightning’, where the repetition
of ‘eugenios’ occurs in different forms three times within four words in the sentence; and
Rosenqvist, The Hagiographic Dossier, p. ,, ‘noble Evgenios’, who proclaims the one
God of the Christians. See also the use of ‘synathlos’, to signify his fellow-martyrs, Rosen-
qvist, The Hagiographic Dossier, pp. ,, ,, ,, as well as in Xiphilinos’ Miracles,
see Rosenqvist, The Hagiographic Dossier, p. ,; Lazaropoulos’ Logos, Rosenqvist, The
Hagiographic Dossier, pp. ,, ,, ,; Lazaropoulos’ Synopsis, pp. ,,
,–, ,.
20)
Rosenqvist, The Hagiographic Dossier, p. ,–; Andrew C.S. Peacock, ‘The
Saljuq Campaign against the Crimea and the Expansionist Policy of the Early Reign of
 Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

This plea of Lazaropoulos may well have had contemporary incentive, per-
haps the  victory of Matziuka by the Emir of Chalybia, which is the most
serious threat of the period between the ascent of Alexios III and the compo-
sition of the Logos by Lazaropoulos.21
The saints specified here correspond to four saints found in the series of
metrical entries and illustrations at the base of the roll in which Evgenios
is also found: namely, Sts George, Theodore Stratelates, Theodore Tyro, and
Demetrios. The litany of saints’ images and invocations includes not only the
local, imperial hero, but also the famous fighters for Christians, who were
the common currency of all Christians of the east, regardless of origins and
creed. In that way, the roll makes a subtle assertion of the place in the cosmic
hierarchy to which Trebizond’s champion belongs. Even though the date-less
two lines about Evgenios and his companions do not belong to Christopher
of Mitylene’s corpus of metrical synaxarion entries, the figure is assimilated
into the liturgical, sacred calendar of the great warriors and prophets. The very
rareness of illustrated synaxaria shows the full weight of intentionality behind
the roll’s conception and making.22 With the exception of that last figure, the
saints at the base share function as protectors, and this occupational harmony
strengthens the sense of Evgenios’ own power. Originally a secular martyr, by
the fourteenth century Evgenios was primarily a military figure; evidently, this
was the saint the times demanded for Trebizond.
The order of texts and holy figures on the roll refer to the unfolding of
sacred time, from the Gospels to (what we call) apocrypha to the martyrs, in a
way that included Trapezuntine history in the greater calendar of the Christian
economy.23 With references to monumental decoration possible in the choice

#Alā" al-Din Kayqubad’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland .
(), pp. –.
21)
See Rosenqvist, The Hagiographic Dossier, p.  and Anthony A.M. Bryer, ‘Greek and
Türkmens: The Pontic Exception’, DOP  (), p.  (= Bryer, The Empire of Trebizond
and the Pontos  (London, ), Ch. V).
22)
On the genre, see John Duffy, ‘Revelations and Notes on a Byzantine Manuscript
at Harvard’, in David H. Warren, Ann Graham Brock, and David W. Pao (eds.), Early
Christian Voices in Texts, Traditions and Symbols. Essays in Honor of François Bovon (Biblical
interpretation series ; Boston–Leiden, ), pp. –; Nancy Patterson Ševčenko,
‘Illuminating the Liturgy: Illustrated Service Books in Byzantium’, in Linda Safran (ed.),
Heaven on Earth: Art and the Church in Byzantium (University Park, PA, ), pp. –
; Mirjana Gligorijeviæ-Maksimoviæ, ‘Slikani kalendar u Treskavac i stixovi Christofora
Mitilenskog’, Zograf  (), pp. –.
23)
The eleventh-century manuscript in Milan, Ambrosiana E  sup., is best known as
a Phyiologus, but it contains more than that text, namely apocryphal texts of prophets
 Glenn Peers

and depiction of the scenes and figures, another way of approaching the roll can
be suggested, one that takes a spatial, hierarchical reading into account. The
church of Hagia Sophia, for example, has figures of Christ and the Evangelists
in the upper zones of the church, along with narrative scenes, and the tower
chapel likewise combines hierarchic and narrative scenes in its programme.
In the lower zones of the churches, standing saints are arrayed, closest to the
worshipper, nearest to that human realm. In that way, the roll unfolds through
both Christian history and Christian holy spaces, each with a strongly local,
communal perspective.
Therefore, a good deal of circumstantial evidence—most strongly the very
presence of Evgenios and his three compatriots—points to Trebizond as the
place of origin of Chicago-New York roll. The stylistic similarities with the
Venice Romance of Alexander are sufficiently convincing for a common work-
shop to be posited, which narrows the time frame to the reign of Alexios III.24
The terminus ante quem is the Arabic colophon on the reverse, so a good case
can be advanced for the roll being produced at Trebizond in the period between
–.

One clear approach to the Chicago-New York roll used this filter of a medieval
religious ideology and statement of divine origins of nation. Several monu-
ments are extant, then, from late fourteenth-century Trebizond that contain
similar collections of saints, and the  chrysobull likewise draws on these
precedents, perhaps even a well-known example at the time, establishing visu-
ally the imperial pedigree of the ruling couple.25 In that way, the Chicago-New
York roll belongs to a context where devotional art is also imperial art. Con-
stantine and Helena on the roll are similar to Alexios and Theodora in the
disposition of figures, frontal, standing, and clasping a cross between them
(Fig. ). The formal similarities of two standing imperial couples with a cross
displayed on a roll are strong. Evgenios’ appearance on the roll along with

and apostles, lists of names, excerpts from writings of John Chrysostom, an account of the
Resurrection, as well as the Letter of Jesus to Abgar. See C. Benzoni and L. Montemagno
Ciseri, ‘Dalla formica alla balena: sul ciclo illustrativo del Fisiologo ambrosiano (XI secolo)’,
Physis  (), p. . In other words, every manuscript contains a history of the world,
and the Letter often falls into these capacious treatments of the Christian economy.
24)
Trahoulia, The Venice Alexander Romance.
25)
Imperial portraits at Hagia Sophia, likely the burial church of the Komnenians, are now
lost, along with much of the interior decoration. The imperial and religious iconographies
of the church are examined by Eastmond, Art and Identity.
Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

Fig. 
 Glenn Peers

other saints also found on Trapezuntine monuments allows, moreover, a way

of understanding the Chicago-New York roll as statement of politico-religious
ideology.
The alignment of the saints on one’s side and presentation of a perfectly
devout Christian self through the arrangement of the texts and images on the
Chicago-New York roll are not unusual or even remarkable in themselves. But
the format again gives a particular reading to the text and images here. The elite
associations of saints’ images, particularly Evgenios, and of the imperial couple
place the roll within a circle close to the emperor himself. The patron is not
known, but probably he was not the emperor or within his immediate circle,
or one would expect a stronger accent placed on the figure of Evgenios himself.
And yet the patron was evidently someone with Trapezuntine connections, or
else Evgenios would likely not have appeared at all. One could also contend
that the selection of saints and texts was made for private devotional purposes,
and that selection is clearly very personal on one level.
Each of these texts and images express elements of devotion that could oper-
ate on an individual level, but the communal aspect of the Christian faith
was also stressed through the inclusion of the Nicene Creed headed by an
image of the Virgin and Child. The dedication of the empire to the Virgin
was well in keeping with the convention of Byzantine-eastern Christian devo-
tion; it is one of the strong unifying features of medieval religious practice of
the east.26 In Lazaropoulos’ Synopsis, an ‘immaculate icon’ of the Virgin and
Child is mentioned, possibly a copy of the Hodegetria type, and this icon may
be another way for the Komnenoi to keep alive their Constantinopolitan evo-
cations.27 And at the monastery of the Theotokos of Soumela, the most presti-
gious monastery in the empire, a famous icon of the Virgin and Child painted
by the Apostle Luke—the Panagia Gorgoepekoos—was housed, and indeed
the icon was credited with saving Alexios III from sea peril; in , conse-
quently, he had the monastery rebuilt and fortified.28 A fresco on the south

26)
See Zuzana Skálová and Stephen Davis, ‘A Medieval Icon with Scenes from the Life of
Christ and the Virgin in the Church of Abu Seifein, Cairo: An Interdisciplinary Approach’,
Bulletin de la Société d’Archéologie Copte  (), p. ; Alexandra Cuffel, ‘ “Hence-
forward All Generations Will Call Me Blessed”: Medieval Christian Tales of Non-Christian
Marian Veneration’, Mediterranean Studies  (), pp. –; Bissera V. Pentcheva, Icons
and Power: The Mother of God in Byzantium, (University Park, PA, ).
27)
Rosenqvist, The Hagiographic Dossier, p. ,, and also p. ,–.
28)
Eastmond, Art and Identity, p. ; William Miller, Trebizond: The Last Greek Empire of
the Byzantine Era, – (New York, ; reprint in Chicago, ), pp. –.
 Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

wall of the main church seems to have had a series of imperial portraits that
included Alexios III.29 The Virgin was a strong communal symbol throughout
the medieval world, and her connection with the imperial house of Trebizond
is typical of all Christian kingdoms. Her appearance on the roll could certainly
have borne that association, as could the appearance, above a Psalm, of the
God-favoured monarchs, Constantine and Helena, be comparable in many
ways to the display on the chrysobull of , though this is found with other
meanings in other contexts too.
The corporate aspect of faith was inherent in all the illustrations and text
on the roll, but it was most forcefully expressed in the longest section of the
roll: the legend of the letter and image of Christ sent to King Abgar of Edessa
(Fig. ).30 The Abgar cycle is at the heart of the roll, as other scholars understood
the object. This interpretation is, however, not based on how it relates to other
monuments with cycles of this legend, but rather on how it defines the purposes
and meanings of this roll. The legend of King Abgar of Edessa and his amazing
correspondence with Christ were famous throughout medieval Christendom
and beyond. Here, the text describing the writing of the letters, the promises
made by Christ in his letter and the miraculous creation of Christ’s image is by
far the longest on the roll, and it falls in the middle of the length of the roll;
for that reason, the images, which comprise a cycle of fourteen units, are the
best preserved on the roll, as the inside of the roll suffered least in the process
of rolling and unrolling. Because the cycle clearly received emphasis on the roll
through placement and illustrative elaboration, it calls special attention to the
legend’s significances.

29)
Bryer and Winfield, Byzantine Monuments, pp. –.
30)
Recent work on the Mandylion includes: Ewa Balicka-Witakowska, ‘The Holy Face
of Edessa on the Frame of the Volto Santo of Genoa: the Literary and Pictorial Sources’,
in: Jan Olof Rosenqvist (ed.), Interaction and Isolation in Late Byzantine Culture. Papers
Read at a Colloquium Held at the Swedish Research Institute in Istanbul, – December 
(Istanbul, ), pp. –; Christoph Luitpold Frommel and Gerhard Wolf (eds.),
L’immagine di Cristo dall’acheropite all mano d’artista. Dal tardo medievo all’età barocca (Studi
e testi ; Vatican City, ); Gerhard Wolf, Colette Dufour Bozzo, and Anna Rosa
Calderoni Masetti (eds.), Intorno al Sacro Volto: Genova, Bisanzio e il Mediterraneo (XI–XIV
secolo) (Venice, ); Hugo Meyer, ‘Copying and Social Cohesion in Rome and Early
Byzantium: The Case of the First Famous Image of Christ at Edessa’, in Colum Hourihane
(ed.), Interactions. Artistic Interchange between the Eastern and Western Worlds in the Medieval
Period (The Index of Christian Art Occasional Papers ; Princeton, ), pp. –;
Irma Karaulashvili, ‘The Abgar Legend Illustrated: The Interrelationship of the Narrative
Cycles and Iconography in the Byzantine, Georgian, and Latin Traditions’, in Hourihane,
Interactions, pp. –.
 Glenn Peers

Fig. 
Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

Fig. 
 Glenn Peers

The story of the letters of Abgar and of Christ was well known from the early
Christian period, most famously in Eusebius (c.–c.), and it remained
one of the core legends of Christian apocrypha. The story begins with a simple
exchange of letters.31 Abgar, the king of Edessa, learned of the activities and
persecutions of Christ in Jerusalem, and, perhaps persuaded by his wife, he sent
a letter asking Christ to join him in his kingdom of Edessa (present-day Urfa,
in south-eastern Turkey). Abgar was not simply altruistic, as he was suffering
from an illness, and so he wrote in praise of the power of Christ to heal. Abgar
sent his messenger, unnamed in this text, to deliver the message. Christ also
sent back a letter expressing his regrets to Abgar, and his eternal protection of
the city; his blessing extended to anyone and over his home, for one is thrice
blessed, he said, if one believes but does not see, a nice biblical topos of course
(Fig. ).
Christ promised that he would send an apostle, Thaddeos, and he included
the seven characters comprising his own seal, with an explanation of its mean-
ing to guarantee the efficacy of those signs. Anyone carrying those signs, and
who would put them on his house or possessions, would be protected from
all danger and suffering, Christ stated. The signs described in the text are a
kind of acronym: the meaning of the first sign, the cross, is obvious; the psi
stands for ψιλ(ς: Christ stated that he is not man merely or apparently but
truly; the chi states that Christ stands over the cherubim; the epsilon states that
Christ, the ego, is God, that is above all and except for him no other God
exists; the upsilon represents his status as high king, the .ψηλ/ς βασιλες and
God of Gods; the rho stands for him as deliverer, 0 1στης, of humanity; and
the alpha designating his primacy and eternity (Fig. ). According to the text,
Christ also recognizes Abgar’s messenger and gives him his miraculously pro-
duced likeness on a cloth, called here a σινδν; the messenger had been unable
to take the likeness of Christ, and Christ washed himself and left an imprint
on the towel used for drying his face.
On the return journey, the messenger stopped the night at the city of
Hierapolis, and to safeguard the miraculous image, he left it under a brick
outside the city gate. In the middle of the night, a pillar of fire descended from

31)
Richard Adelbert Lipsius and Max Bonnet, Acta apostolorum apocrypha ( vols.; Leipzig,
–), Vol. , pp. –; See, for instance, Judah B. Segal, Edessa, The Blessed City
(Oxford, ), pp. –, François Nau, ‘Une inscription grecque d’Édesse. La lettre de
N.-S. J.-C. à Abgar’, ROC  (–), pp. –, and Ernst von Dobschütz, ‘Der
Briefwechsel zwischen Abgar und Jesus’, Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche Theologie  (),
pp. –.
Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

Fig. 
 Glenn Peers

heaven and struck the spot. When guards sounded the alarm, the messenger
discovered that the towel had left an imprint of itself on the brick. The image
was hailed by the citizens of Hierapolis as a miracle, and the brick was kept
there, while Abgar’s messenger carried on to Edessa. In the end, the letter and
image arrived in Edessa, Abgar and others were healed, and true to Christ’s
promise, the apostle Thaddeos eventually arrived in the city to convert and to
heal its inhabitants. The text here ends, unusually, with a prayer that combines
the corporate and the personal:

You are the wall of our city Edessa, and so is your undying gospel, almighty Christ our
God. He who puts his trust in you will never fail, but will possess life eternal. For you
are the one who revives those who are destroyed and raises up the fallen. And to you
glory, to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, now and forever for ages of ages, Amen.

Christ is the wall of the city, and he is the saviour.

While this summary is rather extended, the weight of that narrative within
the context of the roll needs to be taken into account, for the text and the
fourteen illustrations that accompany it take up far more space than any other
text or illustrative cycle on the roll. The other texts on the roll are Psalms,
excerpts from longer texts, or short, devotional pieces, and the illustrations
are never as clustered or as concentrated as they are in the Letter of Abgar
section of the roll. The cycle of illustrations depicting the legend of the letter
and image of Edessa has been practically the only element that has attracted
scholarly attention to this point. And such attention is not surprising since
it is, as already mentioned, the longest cycle extant in eastern Christian art,
and for that reason scholars have viewed this cycle in relation to its cousins
in other monuments, in manuscripts, frescoes, metalwork, and icon painting.
That kind of attention to tracing connections to other monuments and their
ultimate connections to an original cycle marks one path opened up by this
group of monuments. However, the peculiarities of the cycle on this roll are
not made clear on that path, and the fact that the work of the images and
text on this amulet roll point towards a goal both of communal protective
commemoration and personal piety needs some attention also.
The letter of Abgar was a powerfully popular tradition in the Christian East
and well beyond.32 The Epistula Abgari, of which the roll represents a version,

32)
The bibliography on this tradition is daunting and continues to grow. Most relevant for
the following are Sebastian P. Brock, ‘Transformations of the Edessa Portrait of Christ’, Jour-
nal of Assyrian Academic Studies  (), pp. –, and Averil Cameron, ‘The History
 Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

may date as early as the sixth century, but the legend itself was known as early
as the fourth, when Eusebius described it in his Historia ecclesiastica (.).
He told of finding the letter in the royal archives at Edessa, translated it and
made a case for its veracity.33 The image of Christ appeared for the first time
in the Doctrina Addai, but in a secondary way: the king’s messenger, Hannan,
took the likeness himself.34 The historian Procopius (c.–c.) described
the miraculous role of the letter in the defence of Edessa from the Persians in
.35 Writing soon after and concerning the same events generally, Evagrius
Scholasticus ascribed the salvation of the Edessans to the image of Christ ‘made
without hands’:

And the work was completed, but when they applied the flame their plan failed, since
the fire did not have a passage from which it might receive air and get a hold on
the wood. So, when they came to complete despair, they brought the divinely created
image, which human hands had not made, the one that Christ the God sent to Abgar
when he yearned to see Him. Then, when they brought the all-holy image into the
channel they had created and sprinkled it with water, they applied some to the pyre
and the timbers. And at once the divine power made a visitation to the faith of those
who had done this, and accomplished what had previously been impossible for them;

of the Image of Edessa: The Telling of a Story’, in Cyril Mango and Omeljan Pritsak (eds.),
Okeanos: Essays Presented to Ihor Ševčenko on his Sixtieth Birthday by his Colleagues and Stu-
dents (Harvard Ukrainian Studies ; Cambridge, MA, ), pp. –. On the widespread
veneration of the letter and image, see—out of many—Janet Hamilton, Sarah Hamilton,
and Bernard Hamilton, Hugh Eteriano: Contra Patarenos (The Medieval Mediterranean ;
Leiden, ); K. Popkonstantinov, ‘The Letter of Abgar on a Tenth-Century Amulet’, in
Karsten Grünberg and Wilfried Potthoff (eds.), Ars Philologica: Festschrift für Baldur Panzer
zum . Geburtstag (Frankfurt, ), pp. –; Theo M. van Lint, ‘Seeking Mean-
ing in Catastrophe: Nerses Snorhali’s Lament on Edessa’, in Krijnie Ciggaar and Herman
Teule (eds.), East and West in the Crusader States. Texts-Contacts-Confrontations . Acta of
the Congress held at Hermen Castle in May  (Leuven, ), pp. –; Imre Kovács,
‘Liszt’s Devotional Image: A Seventeenth-Century Abgar Image and Its Two Possessors’,
Acta Historiae Artium  (), pp. –; Máire Herbert and Martin McNamara, Irish
Biblical Apocrypha (Edinburgh, ), pp. –; Martin McNamara, The Apocrypha in the
Irish Church (Dublin, ), pp. –; P. Considine, ‘Irish Versions of the Abgar Legend’,
Celtica  (), pp. –.
33)
See Irma Karaulashvili, ‘King Abgar of Edessa and the Concept of a Ruler Chosen
by God’, in Aziz Al-Azmeh and Janos M. Bak (eds.), Monotheistic Kingship: The Medieval
Variants (Budapest–New York, ), pp. –.
34)
George Howard, The Teaching of Addai (Early Christian Literature Series ; Texts and
Translations ; Chico, CA, ), pp. –.
35)
Prokopios, De Bello Persico .–, ed. and trans. Henry B. Dewing, Procopius (Loeb
Classical Library;  vols.; Cambridge, MA–London, –).
 Glenn Peers

for at once the timbers caught fire and, being reduced to ashes quicker than word, they
imparted it to what was above as the fire took over everywhere.36

From the sixth century, miraculous icons become increasingly common and
popular, and this phenomenon has been treated by many art historians in the
past.37 Likewise, heavenly letters are increasingly attested in this period, though
Abgar’s correspondence always maintained priority, even over the opposition of
some church figures who questioned Christ’s literacy.38 But apocryphal letters
endured such scepticism, and they were common to Islam and Judaism, too.39
The Abgar tradition was not unpopular in Anatolia generally, and in the region
of Trebizond, too, judging by epigraphic evidence.40

36)
Evagrius Scholasticus, Ecclesiastical History ., ed. Michael Whitby, The Ecclesiastical
History of Evagrius Scholasticus (Liverpool, ), pp. –.
37)
Most well-known are the magisterial studies of Hans Belting, Likeness and Presence: A
History of the Image before the Era of Art (trans. Edmund Jephcott; Chicago–London, ),
and Ernst Kitzinger, ‘The Cult of Images in the Age before Iconoclasm’, DOP  (),
pp. – (= The Art of Byzantium and the Medieval West, ed. Walter Eugene Kleinbauer
(Bloomington–London, ), pp. –).
38)
On this tradition, see Irena Backus, ‘Lettre de Jésus-Christ sur le dimanche’, in Pierre
Geoltrain and Jean-Daniel Kaestli (eds.), Écrits apocryphes chrétiens  (Paris, ), pp.
–; Alfred Hiatt, The Making of Medieval Forgeries, False Documents in Fifteenth-
Century England (London–Toronto, ), pp. , ; Giles Constable, ‘Forged Letters
in the Middle Ages’, in Jasper Detlev (ed.), Fälschungen im Mittelalter: Internationaler Kon-
greß der Monumenta Germaniae Historica, München .–. September   (Schriften der
Monumenta Germaniae historica ; Hannover, ), pp. –; Dennis Deletant, ‘The
Sunday Legend’, Revues des études sud-est européennes  (), pp. –; W.R. Jones,
‘The Heavenly Letter in Medieval England’, Medievalia et Humanistica  (), pp. –
; R. Priebisch, Letter from Heaven on the Observance of the Lord’s Day (Oxford, );
Rudolf Stübe, Der Himmelsbrief: Ein Beitrag zur allgemeinen Religionsgeschichte (Tübingen,
); Maximilian Bittner, ‘Der von Himmel gefallene Brief Christi in seinem morgen-
ländischen Versionen und Rezensionen’, Denkschriften der kaiserlichen Akademie der Wis-
senschaften. Philosophisch- Historiche Klasse  (), pp. –; J.G. O’Keefe, ‘Cáin Dom-
naig’, Ériu  (), pp. –.
39)
Daniel De Smet, ‘Les epîtres du propagandiste druze Baha’ Ad-Din Al-Muqtana aux
empereurs de Byzance. Un episode méconnu des relations arabo-byzantines’, in Bart Jans-
sens, B. Roosen, and Peter Van Deun (eds.), Philomathestatos, Studies in Greek and Byzantine
Texts Presented to Jacques Noret for his Sixty-Fifth Birthday (Leuven, ), pp. –;
H. Aydin, The Sacred Trusts. Pavilion of the Sacred Relics, Topkapı Palace Museum, Istanbul
(trans. A. Köse et al.; Somerset, NJ, ), pp. –, on Muhammad’s letters.
40)
The bibliography includes B. van Elderen, ‘A New Inscription Relating to Christianity
and Edessa’, Calvin Theological Journal  (), pp. –; Franz Cumont, ‘Nouvelles
inscriptions du Pont’, Revue des études grecques  (), pp. –; J.G.C. Anderson,
‘Pontica’, JHS  (), pp. –.
 Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

The legend is both attractive to Christians on personal (Abgar is healed

and saved) and communal (his city is promised protection henceforth) levels,
and so it appeals in different ways at different moments to different people.
Clearly, the Chicago-New York roll is itself not meant for public display or
consumption, and so it operated within a relatively small group. But that
group, whether a group of one or several, was invested in the belief of Christ as
protector of his city, that is, a city that was wholly faithful to him. Taking the
roll on these terms, the combination of Constantine and Helena, Abgar and
Evgenios, has a great deal of tradition of the God-led king behind it. Read this
way, the Chicago-New York roll reveals itself as an ideological assertion of the
protection that comes to Christians who follow the right path: Evgenios and
his warrior brethren lead that local path, but Constantine, David, and Abgar
showed the way in which Christ protects all his faithful.
Such interpretations are fully in keeping with approaches to Abgar and
his legend prior to the fourteenth century. The best-known assimilation of
the King of Edessa with the emperor is the tenth-century icon now at the
Monastery of St Catherine on Mount Sinai, where the features of the Byzan-
tine Emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitos (r. –) are melded with
Abgar’s. Constantine the Great was also depicted with Abgar in some early
medieval examples, like at Deir al-Surian,41 or with military saints, like the
frescoes at Tavsan Adasi, south-western Turkey, where Abgar is depicted along
with George and Theodore.42 From the entry of the miraculous image, the
Mandylion, into Constantinople in  and of the Letter of Christ in ,
these touch relics were considered palladia of the capital city.43 Likewise, in a

41)
Karel C. Innemée and Lucas Van Rompay, ‘Deir al-Surian (Egypt), New Discoveries of
–’, Hugoye [http//syrcom.cua.edu/syrcom/Hugoye] . (), §§ –, Fig. 
(last accessed  November ).
42)
Vincenzo Ruggieri, La Caria Bizantina: topografia, archeologia ed arte (Soveria Mannelli,
), pp. –; Vincenzo Ruggieri, ‘Emmanouel: Variazioni semantiche’, Römische
Historische Mitteilungen  (), p. ; Vincenzo Ruggieri and Franco Giordano, ‘La
penisola di Alicarnasso in età bizantina .. Le chiese di Tavsan Adasi e Monastir Dag:
eredità monofisita?’ OCP  (), pp. –.
43)
See Glenn Peers, ‘Masks, Marriage and the Byzantine Mandylion: Classical Inversions
in the Tenth-Century Narratio de translatione Constantinopolitim imaginis Edessenae’, in
Johanne Villeneuve, Envisager (Intermedialités: histoire et théorie des arts, des lettres et
des techniques ; Montréal, ), pp. – (see also Glenn Peers, ‘Icons’ Spirited Love’,
Religion and the Arts  (), pp. –); Alexander Mirkovic, Prelude to Constantine:
The Abgar Tradition in Early Christianity (Frankfurt, ); Rosemary Morris, ‘Beyond
the De Ceremoniis’, in Catherine Cubitt (ed.), Court Culture in the Early Middle Ages: The
 Glenn Peers

manuscript with extensive references to the status and power of the emperor,
the Madrid Skylitzes (Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, vitr. -, fols. r and
r) has the arrival of the letter and the Mandylion in Edessa, and reference to
the blessed realm of the Sicilian king, Roger II (r. –), must have been
intentional.44 The manuscript was represented for the first time in Sicily, and
it has to have been intended to state significant claims by the Sicilian king
and court. The inclusion of the Abgar reference was certainly one of these
statements.45
In other words, the legend of Abgar was a not uncommon way to express
God’s proven special protection of his chosen people, and that protection
extended from his person, which stands in for the individual Christian, but
also the community of Christians, which represents the body of chosen people.
Abgar is strongly emphasized on the Chicago-New York roll, but that is not
a difficult decision: he is the centre of the story in the most important ways,
both as a convert who is healed, and as a leader of a people turned to God and
held in favour ever after.
In that sense, the Chicago-New York roll is at the same time a personal
object and a public, or communal, proof of divine origins and protections.
Certainly, many difficulties had beset the Empire of Trebizond in the period
preceding and including the reign of Alexios III, and those difficulties made
the example of Abgar’s Edessa possibly very compelling indeed. The empire
itself was always negotiating its existence.46 It was a small kingdom hedged in

Proceedings of the First Alcuin Conference (Turnhout, ), pp. –; M. Amerise, ‘La
scrittura e l’immagine nella cultura tardoantica: il caso di Abgar di Edessa’, OCP  (),
pp. –; Ilaria Ramelli, ‘Alcune osservazione sulle origini del cristianesimo nelle regioni
ad est dell’Eufrate’, in Rosa Bianca Finazzi and Alfredo Valvo (eds.), La diffusione dell’eredità
classica nell’età taroantica e medievale: Il ‘Romanzo di Alessandro’ e altri scritti (Alessandria,
), pp. –. Strikingly, this function did not carry over to Genoa where a copy of
the Mandylion is kept to this day, at the church of S. Bartolomeo degli Armeni. See Jane
Garnett and Gervase Rosser, ‘The Virgin Mary and the People of Liguria: Image and Cult’, in
Robert N. Swanson (ed.), The Church and Mary: Papers Read at the  Summer Meeting and
the  Winter Meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society (SCH ; Woodbridge, ),
pp. –.
44)
See Vasiliki Tsamakda, The Illustrated Chronicle of Ioannes Skylitzes in Madrid (Leiden,
), pp. , –.
45)
See Elena Boeck, The Art of Being Byzantine: History, Structure and Visual Narrative in the
Madrid Skylitzes Manuscript (Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, Yale University, ).
46)
See A.A.M. Bryer, ‘Byzantium and the Pontos during the “Time of Troubles” (–
)’, in XVIIIe Congrès International des études Byzantine. Rapports pléniers, Moscou –
août,  (Paris, ), pp. –.
 Art and Identity in an Amulet from Trebizond 

by nomadic Turkman groups that attacked and disrupted settled communi-

ties; the attack in  was so brutal that not only the contemporary Andreas
Livadenos, but also Bessarion (–), the most famous Trapezuntine of
all, wrote of it.47 From without, the western commercial powers of Venice and
Genoa were intermittently allied and antagonists. From within, the empire
was often disabled by civil conflict, and the period leading up to the corona-
tion of the eleven-year old Alexios in  was marked by intense internecine
battles. Much of this uncertainty was mitigated by policies of the young Alex-
ios, including the forced monasticising of his predecessor, Michael, but more
importantly a series of strategic marriages between Trapezuntine princesses and
regional Muslim allies.48 Technically illegal, such bonds allowed the empire to
survive within a complicated network of reciprocal interests in Anatolia and
the Caucasus.
Beginning in , plague also struck Black Sea communities before spread-
ing across the Mediterranean, and Trebizond was devastated.49 Other con-
temporary monuments mark that tragedy, too, as Annemarie Weyl Carr has
shown.50 Perhaps the roll recognized a need for protection from that mortality,
as a prophylactic in its own right, but also as a tool to demonstrate its user as
God-immunized, unlike wrong-thinking Christians, Muslims, and Jews.51

47)
Andreas Livadenos, ‘Περι)γησις’, in O. Lampsides (ed.), Ανδρ!ου Λιβαδηνο
βος κα%
8ργα (Περιοδικο «Αρχε3ον Π(ντου» παρ ρτημα ; Athens, ), pp. –; Βησσαρων,
‘Εγκμιον ες Τραπεζοντα’, Ν!ος 'Ελληνομν#μων  (), p. .
48)
Dimitri A. Korobeinikov, ‘Orthodox Communities in Eastern Anatolia in the Thir-
teenth to Fourteenth Centuries . The Time of the Troubles’, Al-Masaq  (), pp. –
; M. Kurasankis, ‘Relations matrimoniales entre Grand Comnènes de Trébizonde et
princes géorgiens’, Bedi Kartlisa  (), pp. –.
49)
Rosenqvist, The Hagiographic Dossier, p. ; more generally, Stuart J. Borsch, The Black
Death in Egypt and England: A Comparative Study (Austin, ); Michael W. Dols, The
Black Death in the Middle East (Princeton, ). On Christians being blamed by Muslims
for the plague, see Leslie S.B. MacCoull, ‘The Rite of the Jar: Apostasy and Reconciliation
in the Medieval Coptic Orthodox Church’, in Diane Wolfthal (ed.), Peace and Negotiation:
Strategies for Coexistence in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance (Turnhout, ), p. ,
and Theodore H. Patrick, Traditional Egyptian Christianity. A History of the Coptic Orthodox
Church (Greensboro, ), p. .
50)
Annemarie Weyl Carr, ‘Cypriot Funerary Icons: Questions of Convergence in a Com-
plex Land’, in Stephanie Hayes-Healy (ed.), Medieval Paradigms: Essays in Honor of Jeremy
Duquesnay Adams  (The New Middle Ages Series; New York, ), pp. –.
51)
On the class and religious strife introduced by the Black Death, see Samuel K. Cohn,
Jr, ‘The Black Death and the Burning of Jews’, Past and Present  (), pp. –.
 Glenn Peers

In the event, Alexios’ forty-year reign was auspiciously begun on the feast
day of Evgenios, and his successes compared this to his great ancestor, Alexios.
The victory at Matzouka in  was evident proof of God’s favour. Healthy
and whole, Alexios and his kingdom were comparable to Abgar and Edessa,
faithful kings in the middle of unbelievers who led their Orthodox subjects
through the favour God promised his own. Christ showed it with his hand
and face—through his letter, signs and self-portrait—and he was the wall of
Edessa and Trebizond both.

Glenn Peers
University of Texas at Austin
gpeers@mail.utexas.edu
 Reflections on Identity.
The Suryoye of the Twelfth
and Thirteenth Centuries: Bar Salibi,
Bar Shakko, and Barhebraeus

Herman Teule

Abstract
The present article studies some aspects of the literary output of three Syriac Orthodox
authors, Dionysius bar Salibi, Jacob bar Shakko, and Gregory Barhebraeus, who are con-
sidered the most important representatives of the period known as ‘the Syriac Renaissance’
(twelfth and thirteenth centuries). The focus of this study is on the growing importance
of Arabic, the concern for the preservation of Syriac, considered as an important identity
marker, the influence of Muslim cultural patterns and the West Syrian attitude to Islam as
a religious system, and, finally, the emergence or rejection of ideas which tend to consider
the Christologies of the East Syrians and Chalcedonians acceptable.

Keywords
Language; identity; Syriac; Arabic; Syriac Renaissance; Islam; Christology.

The objective of the present paper is to discuss some elements in the writings
of the authors Bar Salibi,
. Bar Shakko, and Barhebraeus which can help our
reflection on the process of identity formation in the complicated period
of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, sometimes characterized as a Syriac
Renaissance.1

1)
On the renaissance, see Herman Teule, ‘The Syriac Renaissance, an Introduction’, in
Herman Teule, Bas ter Haar Romeny, and Jan van Ginkel (eds.), The Syriac Renaissance:
A Period of Interreligious and Intercultural Dialogue (Eastern Christian Studies; Leuven,
forthcoming in ); Herman Teule, ‘La renaissance syriaque’, Irénikon . (),
pp. –, with further literature.
 Herman Teule

Why These Three Authors?

Firstly, it is important to study different, authoritative, more or less contem-
porary authors together, since this is the only way to collect information about
mainstream thinking in a certain period, which is somewhat obscured when
one focuses on the literary production of a single author.
Secondly, all three writers are, to a certain extent, also considered by the
present-day Suryoye as bearers of their identity and thus still relevant for our
modern times. For instance, the Luqbal Tayyōyē
. (Against the Arabs), of Diony-
sius bar Salibi remains extremely popular reading among the West Syrians of
today, as appears from the number of handwritten copies circulating in Sur-
yoye diaspora circles or in the Middle East.2 The same holds true for his Fuššōq
evangilyon (Gospel Commentary) still intensively studied by the Syriac clergy.3
Severus bar Shakko’s theological and monastic handbook, Ktōbō d-simōtō (the
Book of Treasures), was recently made available to the Suryoye who no longer
read Syriac by the publication of an Arabic translation.4 As to Gregory Barhe-
braeus, modern editions and handwritten copies of most of his works abound
not only in the diaspora, but also in the Middle East or India.5

2)
A few recent manuscripts: Ms. Rabban Said Cakici, Mor Afrem Monastery, Glanerbrug,
copied in  in Mezizah;. Ms. Hori Gabriel Kaya, copied in  in Hengelo by the owner,
a manuscript in the possession of Raban Eliyo Öztaş (Mor Afrem Monastery, Glanerbrug),
written in Damascus in ; a manuscript in the possession of Priest Samuel Essen,
Enschede (no date). With thanks to Gabriel Rabo (Göttingen) and G. Acis, who refers to
these manuscripts in his unpublished MA-thesis: Traktaat van Dionysius Bar Salibi tegen de
moslims. Inleiding en commentaar. Ktōbō d-ōrū#ōthō luqbal Tayyōyē (Nijmegen, ), pp. –
. See Joseph P. Amar, Dionysius bar Salı̄bı̄.
. A Response to the Arabs (CSCO , ,
Syr. , ; Leuven, ), ed. pp. v–vii (Amar lists  manuscripts), and Acis, Traktaat,
pp. –, who gives a list of  manuscripts.
3)
A recent copy was made by Hori Gabriel Kaya from Hengelo (see note  above), who
considers the copying of this manuscript as one of ‘most important services he can offer to
his community’. About this commentary, see now Stephen D. Ryan, Dionysius Bar Salibi’s
Factual and Spiritual Commentary on Psalms – (Cahiers de la Revue Biblique ; Paris,
), pp. –.
4)
By Behnam Daniel al-Bartali, Syriac Patrimony , Damascus , with foreword by
Bishop Hanna
. Ibrahim (Aleppo). See Herman Teule, ‘Jacob bar Šakkō, the Book of Trea-
sures and the Syrian Renaissance’, in Juan Pedro Monferrer-Sala (ed.), Eastern Crossroads.
Essays on Medieval Christian Legacy (Gorgias Eastern Christian Studies ; Piscataway, ),
pp. –.
5)
Hidemi Takahashi, Barhebraeus: a Bio-Bibliography (Piscataway, ), pp. –.
 Suryoye of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries 

In this sense, these authors are not only important for the study of the for-
mation of identity in the Syriac Renaissance, but also play a role in the modern
debate on identity and on the issue of how to relate to other confessions and
other cultures.

The Islamic Cultural World

The first issue to be discussed is the position of these ecclesiastical authors
towards the cultural environment in which they lived, that is, the world of
Islam as a cultural and linguistic system, not so much as a religion. In the
case of Bar Shakko, we know very clearly that he had a good command of
Arabic—which for the Syriac Orthodox of this period is not self-evident (see
infra). He studied logic, philosophy, and Arabic with the Muslim polymath
Kamāl al-Dı̄n ibn Yūnus in Mosul, who, according to his biographer Ibn
Khallikān, explained the Injı̄l and the Thora to many Jews and Christians more
proficiently than members of these religions themselves.6 This contact with
Kamāl al-Dı̄n and possibly other Muslim scholars importantly influenced his
literary output as we can see in his Book of Dialogues, which partly consists
of a reworking of scientific theories elaborated by Muslim scholars, such as the
Kitāb al-mabāhith
. al-mashriqiyya by Fakhr al-Dı̄n al-Rāzı̄—or rather a similar
treatise in Arabic7—a work also known to Barhebraeus.
For our subject, it is important to note that he had a great interest in his
native Syriac tongue and in maintaining the standards for a correct use of
the language and the traditional literary styles, as appears from the sections
on language, grammar, poetry, and metre in the Book of Dialogues.8 We
must however accept the reality—at least for Bar Shakko, but he is not an
isolated case—that, in the cultural and scientific field, the Syriac Orthodox
community of Mosul was no closed entity, but shared the general culture

6)
See Ibn Khallikān’s Wafayāt al-a #yān, Biographical Dictionary , trans. William Mac
Guckin de Slane (nd ed.; New York–London, ), pp. –.
7)
Hidemi Takahashi, ‘Fakhr al-Dı̄n al-Rāzı̄, Qazwı̄nı̄ and Bar Shakko’, The Harp  (),
pp. –, esp. –.
8)
See Adalbert Merx, ‘Historia artis grammaticae apud Syros’, Abhandlungen für die Kunde
des Morgenlandes . (Leipzig, ), pp. –; J.P.P. Martin, ‘De la métrique chez les
Syriens’, Abhandlungen für die Kunde des Morgenlandes . (Leipzig, ), pp. –; Mar-
tin Sprengling, ‘Antonius Rhetor on Versification with an Introduction and Two Appen-
dices’, The American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literatures . (), pp. –,
esp. – (= Appendix I); Martin Sprengling, ‘Severus bar Shakko’s Poetics, Part II’, The
American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literatures . (), pp. –.
 Herman Teule

and science of its time. In the same way maybe also, in the field of arts
in the Mosul area, it would be difficult to distinguish between Muslim and
Christian artists or specific Muslim or Christian styles, as is highlighted in the
introductory paper of this volume. It would be challenging to portray a person
such as Barhebraeus, a polymath himself, as a scholar who tried to emulate the
careers of contemporary Muslim scholars, such as Kamāl al-Dı̄n or the Persian
philosopher/scholar Nāsir. al-Din al-Tūsı̄.
.
This brings me to an important subject, which, in my opinion, is somewhat
underestimated in the discussions about the identity of the Suryoye, but which
has its consequences for the debate of today. With Bar Shakko and Barhebraeus
we have two authors who both wrote grammars of the Syriac language, which
was for them an identity marker par excellence,9 but who were also familiar
with Arabic and who found a good command of this language important. Of
course, this situation was not entirely new. As early as in the tenth century, we
have at least two important authors defending the religious identity of their
Church exclusively in Arabic, Yahyā . ibn #Adı̄, with numerous works intended
for both a Muslim and a Christian readership10 and Yahyā . ibn Jarı̄r with his
Kitāb al-Murshid (the Book of the Guide), a massive handbook of Christian
theology,11 entirely forgotten in the later tradition of the Suryoye.12
What is new, is that in the twelfth and especially the thirteenth centuries,
this knowledge of Arabic also spread from Baghdad to the north, to the heart-
lands of Suryōyutō. Knowledge of Arabic became more and more necessary,
not only to understand the Muslim cultural and scholarly achievements, as
explained earlier, but also for the contacts with the outside world, be it the Cru-
saders or the Muslim authorities. But did Arabic, in this period, also become a
means of expression of the Syrians among themselves, a language which they
could consider as a vehicle for expressing their own identity and which they
had assimilated?
The answer is not so easy to give: there are a number of indications that
Arabic became more important, but we can also find that the knowledge

9)
See the remarks by Barhebraeus in the introduction to his Ktōbō d-Sem
. hē
. (ed. Syrianska
Riksförbundets Kultur Kommité i Sverige, ), p. .
. ibn #Adı̄
10)
. there is abundant literature, see, for example, Samir Khalil, Yahyā
On Yahyā,
(–). Tahdı̄b al-Ahlāq (Beirut–Cairo, ); Georg Graf, ‘Geschichte der christlichen
˘
arabischen Literatur ’, Studi e testi  (Città del Vaticano, ), pp. –.
11)
For recent literature, see Ray Jabre Mouawad, ‘La prière selon Yahyā . ibn Ğarı̄r (XIe
siècle)’, Parole de l’Orient  (), pp. –.
12)
It is, for instance, not mentioned in The Scattered Pearls of Ignatius Aphram I Barsoum
(nd ed.; Piscataway, ).
 Suryoye of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries 

of Arabic was not self-evident even among the higher clergy; for instance,
Patriarch Dionysius VII needed an interpreter for his contacts with Muslim
officials.13 And if Arabic had been widespread, it would not have been necessary
for Barhebraeus to make Muslim culture and especially philosophy available
in Syriac translations.
Barhebraeus had of course an excellent knowledge of Arabic, but is it right
to consider him as an important representative of Syriac Orthodox Arabic
literature? As a matter of fact, he only composed a very limited number of
original writings in Arabic. The most important one is his abbreviated world
history, Mukhta.sar ta’rı̄kh al-duwal,14 but this is a case apart, since it not so clear
whether he intended it for members of his own community. According to his
brother Barsaumo,
. he wrote it at the request of Muslims.15 If this is true—
there are no compelling reasons to doubt it, but some scholars such as Larry
Conrad16 or Françoise Micheau17 prefer to think of a Christian readership—
it would be a work meant for outsiders. Two other original Arabic treatises,
Maqāla mukhta.sara fi al-nafs-al-bašariyya (Treatise on the Human Soul), based
on some writings of Moses bar Kepa, and Mukhta.sar fi #ilm al-nafs al-insāniyya
(Shorter Treatise on the Human Soul) may have been composed for a Christian
public that no longer could read it in the original language, but these writings
never enjoyed great popularity.18
I would suggest that, for the period of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,
the acceptance of Arabic as a ecclesiastical and theological language, by which
it became a marker of identity of the Suryoye, started with Barhebraeus and
some of his successors and contemporaries. In the first place, one should think

13)
Jean Baptiste Abbeloos and Thomas Joseph Lamy, Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon ecclesi-
asticum (Leuven, –), Vol. , Col. . See also Teule, ‘The Syriac Renaissance, an
Introduction’.
14)
Barhebraeus, Mukhta.sar ta’rı̄kh al-duwal, ed. Anton Salihani (Beyrouth, ; nd ed.,
).
15)
Abbeloos and Lamy, Chronicon ecclesiasticum , Col. .
16)
See Lawrence I. Conrad, ‘On the Arabic Chronicle of Barhebraeus: His Aims and
Audience’, Parole de l’Orient  (), pp. –, esp. ; for a discussion of the
readership of the Mukhtasar,
. see Herman Teule, ‘Barhebraeus’ Syriac and Arabic secular
Chronicles’, in Krijnie Ciggaar, Adelbert Davids, and Herman Teule (eds.), East and West
in the Crusader Sates. Context-Contacts-Confrontations (OLA ; Leuven, ), pp. –.
17)
Françoise Micheau, ‘Le Kāmil d’Ibn al-Atı̄r,
. source principale de l’Histoire des Arabes
dans le Muhta.sar de Bar Hebraeus’, Mélanges de l’Université Saint-Joseph  (), pp. –
˘
, esp. .
18)
Takahashi, Bio-bibliography, pp. –.
 Herman Teule

of Bar Ma#dani—who is praised by Barhebraeus for his excellent command

of Arabic19—, not so much for his Arabic confession of faith, which was
meant for the outside the world, the Latin Christians,20 but for his collections
of Homilies to be read at the great liturgical feasts and intended for the
faithful of his community.21 I also refer to Ibn al-Mahrūma
. from Mardin and
his polemical and apologetic Hawāshı̄
. (Notes, Comments) inserted into the
22
Tanqı̄h. of Ibn Kammūna or Daniel ibn Khat.tāb, . also from Mardin, and his
Kitāb u.sūl al-dı̄n, a compendium on the Syriac Orthodox Faith,23 as well as the
many translations or Arabic summaries he made of the work of Barhebraeus,
making them accessible to a Christian public that apparently did not read them
in Syriac.24 This means that the acceptance of Arabic as a language for the
community happened somewhat later than in the case of the East Syrians,
where there is more continuity between the authors writing in the ninth and
tenth century in Baghdad and those of the twelfth and thirteenth century in
Mesopotamia.25

The Religion of Islam

The next question we have to ask ourselves is how the Suryoye reacted to
Islam as a religious phenomenon. In this period, Bar Salibi wrote an important
treatise against the Tayyōyē,
. mentioned supra. In the first chapters, the author
displays an excellent knowledge of the divisions in the Islamic world: he gives
the names and nicknames of the different Muslim theological schools, which
indicates that he was well informed about Islam. This impression is reinforced
by the fact that he gives his Syriac readers a great number of sometimes
substantial quotations from the Qur"ān in a Syriac translation, many more than

19)
Abbeloos and Lamy, Chronicon ecclesiasticum , Col. –.
20)
Herman Teule, ‘It Is Not Right To Call Ourselves Orthodox and the Others Heretics.
Ecumenical Attitudes in the Jacobite Church in the Time of the Crusaders’, in Ciggaar
and Teule (eds.), East and West, pp. –, esp. .
21)
Yuhannon Dolabani, Mimrē w-mushhōtō. d-simin l-Mor Yuhannon
. bar Ma #danı̄, Patry-
arkō d-Antyokyā (Jerusalem, ; nd ed., Hengelo, ).
22)
H. Bacha, ‘Hawāšı̄
. (notes) d’Ibn al-Mahrūma
. . d’Ibn Kammūnā’, Patri-
sur le “tanqı̄h”
moine arabe Chrétien  (Jounieh–Zouk Mikhael–Rome, ).
23)
Floris Sepmeyer, ‘Book of the Principles of Faith, attributed to Daniel Ibn al-Hat.tāb’,
˘ .
Parole de l’Orient  (), pp. –.
24)
Graf, Geschichte , pp. –; Takahashi, Bio-Bibliography, p. .
25)
See Teule, ‘The Syriac Renaissance, an Introduction’.
 Suryoye of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries 

in comparable treatises.26 It remains to be determined whether this knowledge

was firsthand or whether he relied on former works and on an extant Syriac
translation of the Qur"ān. For our purposes, it is important to underline that
the main aim of this work is to expose the inconsistencies of Muslim theology
and to give the members of his community the tools to formulate answers to
questions or objections formulated by Muslims. Bar Salibi’s work is clearly an
attempt at demarcation, at drawing borderlines: the Muslims are clearly ‘the
others’. In this way, his works resembles the Ktōbō d-simōtō of Bar Shakko.
This work, probably written for the novices in the Monastery of Mar Mattai,
contains some sections on Islam.
The Muslims—he calls them hanpē,
. Tayyōyē
. or mhaggrōyē—are said to ‘prof-
fer accusations against us’. The author does not make clear which accusations,
but he gives a brief description of the Muslim faith in a chapter devoted to the
different heresies:

This [sect] came into existence through someone called Muhammad. They say that he
was a prophet and the messenger of God. They confess one God, Creator and Lord
of all, who was not begotten nor did he beget (Q. ) and who has no companion
(shawtōpō). They say that the Tora, the Gospel and the [Book of the] Prophets were
given by God and that they accept them. As a matter of fact, they do not comply with
them at all. About Christ they think that he was truly the one who was foretold by the
prophets, but that he was only an ordinary man and a righteous person as one of the
prophets, but not the Son of God. They call him the Word of God and his spirit (cf.
Q. :), namely that through the Word of God he came into being without sexual
union. They also say that Christ was not crucified and did not die, but that he only
seemed to the Jews as the one whom they had crucified, and he hid himself from them
(cf. Q. :). They confess the Resurrection, the Judgment and the Retribution of
Good and Evil. They also say that they have angels in Paradise, drinking and marriage,
and many other things.27

This relatively neutral and de facto description is put into perspective when
read together with some other remarks about Islam and other religions in
general. At the end of Memro II of this work, he discusses why Christians
pray in the direction of the east and why they venerate the Holy Cross, which
he calls—almost a challenge—the Sign of Christianity, symbol of victory
and of redemption. At his second coming, Christ will bring it with him to

26)
See especially the chapters –: Amar, A Response, ed. pp. –, trans. pp. –
.
27)
Teule, ‘Jacob bar Šakkō’, pp.  ff.
 Herman Teule

confound the kōpurē ‘pagans’. The last chapter bears the title: ‘The religion of
the Christians has more truth than all other confessions’, which for Bar Shakko
means that truth is to be found only in his own community.
According to the author, his views expressed in the Ktōbō d-simōtō are only
a summary of a more elaborate treatise which he had composed on this subject
and which was called Šrōrō galyō, the Evident Truth. This work is lost, but it
was meant as a response to the questions and objections of heryōyē
. ‘heretics’.
These heretics are essentially the Muslims, as appears from the following argu-
mentation. Truth, he declares, is strong and can therefore subsist in itself,
without the assistance of someone or something else. This is not the case for
falsehood, which is weak and needs support, and is comparable to a sick per-
son, who in order to stand or walk needs to lean on something. Falsehood is
supported by three things: wealth (‘corrupting rulers and judges’), power (‘a
monarch has the power to impose what is not true’), and the use of clever,
cunning (mhirut leššōnō), and even deceitful language. It is clear that for our
author those reasons which prompt some people to accept something which
is not true, are allusions to Islam, without mentioning it. Bar Shakko only
follows here some previous or contemporary theologians who reflected on the
human motifs which brought some people to accept Islam.28 We may conclude
that the Book of Treasures is an attempt to demarcate and establish border-
lines.
In the case of our third author, Barhebraeus, the approach is somewhat
different. His overall attitude towards Islam has to be studied more closely.
On the one hand, he follows the lines of thinking of Bar Salibi. Some passages
in his Civil Chronicle go back to a work/works (possibly Michael the Syrian’s
29
Chronicle), used by Bar Salibi in his Luqbal Tayyoye.
. But, unlike Bar Shakko
or Bar Salibi, Barhebraeus never wrote a Luqbal Tayyoye
. or a work to confound

28)
One might think of Abū Rā’ita . from his own community or a number of East Syrian
theologians, from Hunayn
. . to Isho#yahb bar Malkon, see Teule, Jacob bar Šakkō,
ibn Ishāq
pp. –.
29)
Cf. Paul Bedjan, Ktōbō d-maktbōnut zabnē d-sim l-Mōr Grigorios Bar #Ebrōyō (Paris,
), pp. –; Ernest Wallis Budge, The Chronography of Gregory Abû"l-Faraj, the Son of
Aaron, the Hebrew Physician, commonly Known as Bar Hebraeus  (London, ), pp. –
; Amar, Response to the Arabs, pp. – (both Syriac text and trans.). Barhebraeus possibly
used here passages from the Chronicle of Michael the Syrian, ed. Jean-Baptiste Chabot,
Chronique de Michel le Syrien, patriarche jacobite d’Antioche ( –) (Paris –),
Vol. , pp. –, trans. Vol. , pp. –, but he used other sources as well. Some
passages of the text of Bar Salibi have parallels in the Chronicle of Michael the Syrian. Amar
suggests that Bar Salibi borrowed from Michael rather than the other way round.
 Suryoye of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries 

the infidels. Despite the fact that in a number of passages in several works, he
makes some apologetic efforts to explain and defend his Christian beliefs and to
counter the objections from Muslim interlocutors,30 his profound knowledge
of and admiration for the scientific and cultural world of Islam has brought
him implicitly to recognize in Islam some spiritual values, which he mainly
discovered in the work of Abū Hāmid
. al-Ghazālı̄, still a popular author in the
Islamic world of his time. Ghazālı̄ was for him a representative of a spiritual—
non legalistic—Islam, whose views on ascetic mystical life, mutatis mutandis,
could also be of relevance to his own community.31 It remains to be seen to
what extent this vision was also accepted by later Syriac Orthodox generations,
despite the popularity of Barhebraeus’ ascetical and mystical writings.

Inter-Christian divisions
When speaking about borderlines, we also have to discuss the traditional inter-
Christian divisions and the extent to which a distinct Christology was still
thought to be important for the community’s identity.
I begin again with Bar Salibi, or rather, with a further unknown Rabban
Yeshu#, a West Syrian monk from this period. This person is responsible for
an interesting reflection on the traditional cleavage between the Christian
communities of his time, asking himself: ‘Is it right to consider only ourselves
as orthodox and the others as heretics? Is it right to constitute ourselves the
judge of other Christians?’ His reflection did not earn him the sympathy of Bar
Salibi, who, in his Ktōbō d-durrōšē, tries to demonstrate that, as a matter of fact,
truth is ultimately only to be found within the Syriac Orthodox community;
Chalcedonians and ‘Nestorians’ are to be refuted, not only on account of their
diverging Christology, but even for their other ways of celebrating liturgy or
different religious practices.32 How strongly he feels that his community has to
be protected from foreign influences appears from the fact that he also attacks
his fellow Miaphysites, the Armenians, for some superficial differences which
do not have any bearing on the essence of religion. This opposition to the

30)
I limit myself to giving one example from Barhebraeus’ Treatise on the Incarnation, see
J. Khoury, Le candélabre du Sanctuaire de Grégoire Abou’l-Faraj dit Barhebraeus. Quatrième
base, de l’incarnation, (PO .; Paris, ), pp. –, –.
31)
See Teule, ‘Barhebraeus’ Ethicon, Al-Ghazâlî and b. Sînâ’, Islamochristiana , pp. –
.
32)
Teule, ‘It Is Not Right To Call Ourselves Orthodox’, pp. –.
 Herman Teule

Armenians is very strange indeed,33 since, in other Christological treatises, the

West Syrians rather emphasize that their faith is in agreement with them and
the Copts (for instance, Bar Ma#dani).
To a certain extent, a comparable picture is found in the work of Bar Shakko.
Like Bar Salibi, he is convinced that the ultimate truth is only to be found
within his own community. This becomes visible in the distinct way in which
the West Syrians make the sign of the Cross—as Miaphysites, of course, with
one finger—, which is also an identity marker for Bar Salibi, or in the typical
West Syrian wording of the trisagion. How deeply convinced he is of the
exclusive truth of his own community can be seen in the somewhat strange,
but original way in which he defends his Christology against the Dyophysites.
Their objection that the term Mother of God is not biblical, is countered with
the argument that the issue, the matter itself, precedes description and not vice
versa:    ! "  #. In other words, since also
the Dyophysites agree that Christ is God, and that therefore the term Mother
of Christ is equal to Mother of God, it is not necessary to find this term in the
Holy Scripture, in the same way as the basic truth of Christianity, ‘Trinity’, is
not explicitly mentioned in the Bible either. It is clear that Chalcedonians and
Dyophysites belong to the heretics. In this respect, Bar Shakko thinks like Bar
Salibi, be it in a much more scholarly and moderate way.34 He does not make
any pronouncements on the Armenians, most probably for the simple reason
that there were none in the regions where he lived.
When turning to our last author, we know that his views were relatively
different. On the one hand, we find a number of writings, his Candelabrum of
the Sanctuary or his Letter to the East Syrian Patriarch Mar Denhā, . in which
he emphasized the importance of a correct Christological formula, that of
his own community. On the other hand, he did not see the other Christian
communities as heretics, and, at the end of his life, in his Book of the Dove,
he is even prepared to recognize the relativity of the Christological formulas,
including that of his own Church,35 or in other words, to give up the identity

33)
As remarked by Stephen Ryan, an explanation for the polemical tone in his durrāshā
against the Armenians may be found in the fact that as newly appointed bishop of Mar#ash
he was carried off as a prisoner of war by the Armenians who captured the city in , see
Ryan, Dionysius bar Salibi’s Commentary on Psalms, pp. –.
34)
Teule, Jacob bar Šakkō, pp. –.
35)
For a survey of Barhebraeus’ ecumenical thinking, see Herman Teule, ‘Gregory Barhe-
braeus and his Time: the Syrian Renaissance’, Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac
Studies  (), pp. –, esp. –.
 Suryoye of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries 

markers which played such an important role in the past. In this respect,
his attitude is very different from that of Bar Shakko or Bar Salibi. And we
know that this inclusive, ecumenical way of thinking was not just his personal
intuition, but was already found in the writings of some earlier theologians
of the West Syrian community. We heard an echo in the voice of Rabban
Yeshu#—though it is extremely difficult to establish where Barhebraeus found
inspiration for this way of thinking.

Conclusion
For this paper, we selected three Syriac authors who can be considered impor-
tant representatives of the period of the Syriac Renaissance and whose writings
are still read today. We discussed a few works characteristic of their attitude
towards the cultural world of Islam, their concern about the preservation of
Syriac and, at the same time, their acceptance of Arabic, their views on Islam
as a religion and their relationship with the other Christian communities. It is
clear that the same issues are still important for the discussions on identity of
today, where Suryōyutō is often reduced to an exclusively ‘Syrian’ or ‘Assyrian’
identity, ignoring the long history of cultural (and religious) interaction with
the Arabic, Muslim world, as exemplified by the writings of the three selected
authors.

Herman G.B. Teule

Radboud University Nijmegen and Catholic University Leuven
H.Teule@ivoc.ru.nl
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’:
Christian Recourse to Non-Ecclesiastical
Judicial Systems under Early Islam

Uriel Simonsohn*

Abstract
The phenomenon of Christian recourse to non-ecclesiastical judicial systems during the first
few centuries following the Muslim conquest is at the core of this paper. This phenomenon
not only alludes to a reality of legal diversity but also to the social heterogeneity that has
characterized Near Eastern societies long before the Arab takeover. Through the adoption of
the legal-anthropological paradigm of legal pluralism and the examination of West Syrian
legal sources, the paper seeks to identify the social agenda of West Syrian ecclesiastical
leaders. Much of the discussion revolves around the term ‘outsiders’, barrāyē, and attempts
to delineate the term’s various meanings within the legal discourse.

Keywords
West Syrians; episcopal courts; dhimmah; canon law; legal pluralism; society; Islam; com-
munity; boundaries; disputes.

The term ‘outside’ and its cognates were employed by early Christian sources
in a variety of senses and contexts, among which are ‘pagan’, ‘catechumens’,
‘excommunication’, ‘heresy’, ‘a position outside of the ranks of clergy’, ‘an
outer circle of believers’, ‘profane’, and ‘secular institutions’. This diversity of
meanings and the classification of things as within or without reflect an effort to
draw a physical line within a given social setting.1 Thus in Mark : we read:

*)
I am grateful to Professor Michael Cook, Professor Hubert Kaufhold, Dr Emmanuel
Papoutsakis, and Mr Jack Tannous for their useful comments on parts of this paper. The
paper is based on materials which I have used in my dissertation, ‘Overlapping Jurisdictions:
Confessional Boundaries and Judicial Choice among Christians and Jews under Early
Muslim Rule’.
1)
For the various uses of the expression ‘those of the outside’ in early Christian sources in
 Uriel Simonsohn

‘And he said to them, “To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God,
but for those outside, everything comes in parables.” ’2 Similarly,  Cor. :–
states:

But now I am writing to you not to associate with anyone who bears the name of
brother who is sexually immoral or greedy, or is an idolater, reviler, drunkard, or robber.
Do not even eat with such a one. For what have I to do with judging those outside? Is
it not those who are inside that you are to judge? God will judge those outside. ‘Drive
out the wicked person from among you.’

The passage in Mark distinguishes between those who have been ‘given the
secret of the kingdom of God’ and those who do not, ‘those outside’, but leaves
room for ambiguity on the distinction between these groups. The Pauline pas-
sage, however, reflects an attempt to create a physical separation between two
groups of believers, the moral as opposed to the sexually immoral, covetous,
idolatrous, drunkard, and so forth. Whereas the former, the well-behaved, are
part of the internal zone of the community, ‘insiders’, the latter group, the
offenders, are kept outside.
Both in the East Syrian Church (so-called Nestorian) of the fifth century and
the West Syrian Church (so-called Jacobite) of the seventh, the term ‘outsiders’
was increasingly used as reference to non-Christian groups. In this paper I will
address the following two questions: in what context were these expressions
used during the first few centuries of Muslim rule, and can these expressions
tell us anything about the social formation of eastern Christian communities in
general and that of West Syrians in particular during the early Islamic period?
Social scientists, in their discussions of legal pluralism, have argued that
a multiplicity of legal orders exists within every social setting. In modern
societies, this multiplicity can be seen in the amalgamation of coinciding orders
such as the laws of the village, municipality, state, district, or regional, as
well as national and transnational orders. In addition, many societies follow
other forms of legal systems, such as custom, indigenous, and religious law, or

Greek see ‘7ξω’, in G.W.H. Lampe, A Patristic Greek Lexicon (Oxford, ). For sources
in Syriac see ‘
’, in Carl Brockelmann, Lexicon Syriacum (Halle, ). Although not
within the scope of the present discussion, it should be noted that the term ‘outsiders’ as
referring to Muslims appeared also in Christian Arabic polemical treatises; see for example:
Sidney H. Griffith, Theodore Abū Qurrah. A Treatise on the Veneration of the Holy Icons
(Eastern Christian Texts in Translation ; Leuven, ).
2)
All verses quoted in this paper are from the New Revised Standard Version (Anglicized
Edition).
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

laws related to ethnic and cultural affiliations.3 Quite often we find that these
systems do not coincide but overlap. Thus an individual may find himself tied
to a variety of legal orders because of his or her multiple social affiliations.
Since these legal orders are exploited by various power groups as a means for
social control, these groups ‘make competing claims of authority’ and ‘may
impose conflicting demands of norms’.4 Assuming that legal pluralism can be
found in almost any society, the most fascinating aspect of legal pluralism is
not its existence but rather the identities of those who take part in it, their
agendas, and the grounds on which they make their claims. In simple terms,
the phenomenon of legal pluralism can be used as a means to unveil the social
context in which it exists.5
With this in mind, I will show that there was nothing exceptional to the
efforts of West Syrian ecclesiastical leaders to counter legal pluralism during
the first centuries of Muslim rule. Rather, it is their particular attitude towards
legal pluralism under Islam which deserves our attention, since it reveals a
concern for maintaining the socio-confessional boundaries of a West Syrian
community. The efforts of ecclesiastical leaders to maintain judicial authority,
a judicial exclusiveness, should be seen in the context of an ecclesiastical concern
with maintaining communal boundaries.
I will begin my analysis by surveying some of the late antique origins of
Christian judicial systems, as well as some contemporary demands made by
Christian religious leaders for judicial exclusiveness. In doing so, I hope not
only to provide the necessary historical background, but also to draw attention
to the prevalence of legal pluralism prior to the rise of Islam. In the next stage of
my analysis, I will focus on a few points of context essential for understanding
the state of the ecclesiastical judiciary under Muslim rule, particularly the
Muslim legal principle that granted legal autonomy to those who fell under the
protection, or dhimmah, of Islam, and the factors that prompted Christians
to turn to non-ecclesiastical judicial systems, despite this formal autonomy.
This will lay the groundwork for a presentation of West Syrian legal responses

3)
See especially Boaventura de Sousa Santos, ‘Law: A Map of Misreading. Toward a
Postmodern Conception of Law’, Journal of Law and Society . (), pp. –; Sally
Engle Merry, ‘Legal Pluralism’, Law and Society Review . (), pp. –; Jaques
Vanderlinden, ‘Return to Legal Pluralism: Twenty Years Later’, Journal of Legal Pluralism
and Unofficial Law  (), pp. –; Brian Z. Tamanaha, ‘Understanding Legal
Pluralism: Past to Present, Local to Global’, Sydney Law Review  (), pp. –.
4)
Tamanaha, ‘Understanding Legal Pluralism’, p. .
5)
Lawrence Rosen, The Justice of Islam: Comparative Perspectives on Islamic Law and Society
(Oxford, ), p. .
 Uriel Simonsohn

to the recourse to non-ecclesiastical judicial systems taken by individuals of

West Syrian affiliation. These responses appeared predominantly in the form
of legislation of canon laws, but also through the formation of an ecclesiastical
civil jurisprudence. I will conclude my paper with a linguistic analysis of West
Syrian legislation dealing with the question of recourse to external judicial
systems. It is here that I will highlight some of the subtle differences between
earlier and later legal materials and suggest the social context for this legislation.

Christian Judicial Systems under the Late Roman Empire

Let us begin with a brief survey of some of the Christian judicial systems that
prevailed under the late Roman Empire. By ‘judicial system’, I am referring to
any legal arena in which the judgement of a third party was needed, whether
that of a judge, an arbiter, a mediator, or even a negotiator. By ‘Christian sys-
tems’, I am referring only to those systems that were patronized by men of spir-
itual authority: clergy, monks, or recluses of various sorts. Late Roman ecclesi-
astical courts were formally recognized as judicial venues by the fourth century.
In contrast to civil magistrates, ecclesiastical judges drew their authority and
legitimacy both from imperial recognition and from their spiritual reputation.
In  under the rule of the first Christian emperor, Constantine (reigned
–), the episcopal tribunal, or episcopalis audientia, received the state’s
formal recognition.6 Modern scholars often acknowledge that the background
of this step was rather mundane.7 Clearly, the formal embracing of the epis-
copal court was well suited to the purpose of Christianizing the empire, as

6)
Clyde Pharr, The Theodosian Code and Novels and the Sirmondian Constitutions (The Cor-
pus of Roman Law ; Princeton, ), ... For a comprehensive discussion on the evo-
lution of the episcopalis audientia, see Gitilio Vismara, Episcopalis audientia (Milano, );
Walter Selb, ‘Episcopalis audientia von der Zeit Konstatins bis zur Nov. XXXV Valen-
tinians III’, Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte—Romanistische Abteilung 
(), pp. –; Jill Harries, Law and Empire in Late Antiquity (Cambridge, ),
pp. –; Claudia Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leader-
ship in an Age of Transition (Berkeley, ), pp. –; John C. Lamoreaux, ‘Episcopal
Courts in Late Antiquity’, Journal of Early Christian Studies . (), pp. –. It
appears that, under Roman rule, the Miaphysite Churches had not yet established a sep-
arate judiciary; see Walter Selb, Orientalisches Kirchenrecht  (Vienna, ), p. ; Lucas
Van Rompay, ‘Society and Community in the Christian East’, in Michael Maas (ed.), The
Cambridge Companion to the Age of Justinian (Cambridge, ), p. . According to Van
Rompay, the Miaphysites in the mid-sixth century, despite their dissatisfaction, were still
able to come up with a ‘systematic construction of a new hierarchy’.
7)
Selb, ‘Episcopalis audientia’, p. .
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

this gave the bishop far greater means for serving his community. Yet the for-
mal endorsement of the ecclesiastical judiciary should be seen primarily as an
administrative adjustment in which local elites acted as agents of the imperial
government.8
A close reading of the New Testament and Church Orders reveals that the
episcopalis audientia was already in operation, albeit informally, prior to the
reign of Constantine.9 The episcopal judge differed from the civil magistrate
in three significant details. First, his jurisdiction was not purely religious, while
his secular counterpart dealt only with civil matters.10 The bishop’s court, while
initially lacking this authority, with time gained jurisdiction over both civil and
religious matters and was open to clergy and laymen alike. Second, ecclesiastical
judgement, despite being rendered in the conventional form of a ruling, was
legally considered a form of arbitration.11 Finally, the bishop drew his authority
from both the state and the faithful.12
By  bishops enjoyed the privilege of being tried only before their peers.
This was applied also to clergymen by  and extended to monks and nuns
as well by Justinian’s days.13 If laymen wished to pursue litigation before an
ecclesiastical judge, the consent of both litigating parties was required for the
tribunal to be considered lawful. With time, however, lawsuits could be trans-
ferred to an episcopal court at the request of only one of the parties, even if
the latter was not a Christian.14 Although the road leading to the full state
recognition of episcopal courts was not without obstacles, by the fifth and, to
a greater extent, sixth centuries, the state had begun to enforce ecclesiastical
judicial decisions on both religious and civil matters.15 Constantine’s plan to
extend the authority of Roman law by sanctioning ecclesiastical judicial power

8)
Peter Brown, Authority and the Sacred: Aspects of the Christianization of the Roman World
(Cambridge, ), pp. –.
9)
See Matt. :–;  Cor. :–; James Donaldson, The Apostolic Constitutions  (Edin-
burgh, ).
10)
Augustine understood his role as the head of the familia Dei, the family of God, also as
arbiter of disputes within his community, his family; see Peter Brown, Augustine of Hippo:
A Biography (Berkeley, ), p. .
11)
Harries, Law and Empire, p. .
12)
Peter Brown, Poverty and Leadership (Hanover, NH, ), p. .
13)
A.H.M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire  (Baltimore, MD, ), p. .
14)
Pharr, The Theodosian Code, N ..; Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity, p. .
15)
Jones, The Later Roman Empire , p. ; Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity, ;
Gerhard E. Lenski, Power and Privilege: A Theory of Social Stratification (New York, ),
p. ; John Meyendorff, Imperial Unity and Christian Divisions: The Church – A.D.
(New York, ), p. .
 Uriel Simonsohn

appears to have succeeded beyond expectations. By the sixth century, however,

the tables had turned and the imperial system found itself in competition with
the episcopal one. The requirement imposed by the Justinianic Constitution of
—that the Gospels be present in every courtroom—demonstrates that epis-
copal courts were acquiring increasing judicial power at the expense of secular
institutions.16 The provision of a religious veil to secular judicial proceedings
can be seen as part of a broader imperial policy to centralize the judiciary and
enhance control over it.

Christian Judicial Systems under the Sassanian Empire

The state of ecclesiastical courts under the rule of the Sassanians can be seen
in East Syrian testimonies such as the Life of Mar Aba, the Catholicos of
the East Syrian Church (fl. –), and an eighth-century legal treatise,
Maktbānutā d- #al Dinē (a collection of judgements), written by the East Syrian
cleric Isho#bokt (dates unknown). These allude to East Syrian attempts to draw
Christians to ecclesiastical courts.17 In the Life of Mar Aba we learn that the
Catholicos was originally a Zoroastrian who converted to Christianity. As a
result, he had to leave his official position in the Sassanian court and faced
charges from his previous co-religionists:

As the king released him the king announced: that you have trespassed our orders and
came, we forgive you. But these four very heavy charges, which the Magians (mgušē)
bring against you, are as following: that you have turned people away from the Magian
religion and converted them to Christianity; that you did not permit your fellow people
to take multiple wives; that you drew lawsuits from the Magian way to yourself ; that you
were first a heathen (hanpā)
. and later became a Christian (italics added).18

16)
See especially Caroline Humfress, ‘Judging by the Book: Christian Codices and Late
Antique Legal Culture’, in W.E. Klingshirn and L. Safran (eds.), The Early Christian Book
(Washington DC, ), pp. –. See also William K. Boyd, The Ecclesiastical Edicts
of the Theodosian Code (New York, ), p. .
17)
See Oskar Braun, Ausgewählte Akten persischer Märtyrer (Kempten, ); Manfred
Hutter, ‘Mar Aba and the Impact of Zoroastrianism on Christianity in the Sixth Century’,
in Carlo G. Cereti, Mauro Maggi, and Elio Provasi (eds.), Religious Themes and Texts of Pre-
Islamic Iran and Central Asia (Wiesbaden, ), p. ; Eduard Sachau, ‘Corpus Juris des
Persischen Erzbischofs Jesubocht’, in Eduard Sachau, Syrische Rechtsbücher  (Berlin, ).
18)
Braun, Ausgewählte Akten, pp. –; Paul Bedjan, Histoire de Mar Jab-Jabalaha
(Paris, ), p. .
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

The concern of the accusers of Mar Aba—that he was drawing Christians

away from the Sassanian judiciary—indicates that such recourse was an option.
Isho#bokt’s work may provide further evidence for Christians’ use of Sas-
sanian courts. The treatise attempts to harmonize legislative measures that
had previously been established under the Sassanians and were later applied
by the episcopal tribunal.19 Isho#bokt’s work refers to two kinds of judges:
ecclesiastical and secular. As a Christian clergyman, Isho#bokt likely sought to
restrict Christians to the jurisdiction of the ecclesiastical judge. If we accept the
assumption that Isho#bokt was drawing from earlier materials which pre-dated
the Muslim period, this provides further evidence that non-Zoroastrians had
recourse to Sassanian courts. Thus both Isho#bokt’s treatise and the Life of Mar
Aba point not only to Christians’ use of Sassanian courts, but they also attest
to the existence of an ecclesiastical judiciary under Sassanian rule.
The reign of the Sassanian monarch Yazdegerd I (fl. –) marked the
beginning of an era of toleration towards non-Zoroastrian minorities under
Sassanian rule. One of the expressions of this policy was a growing cooperation
between the Sassanian rulers and local bishops.20 This immediately benefited
the Church by granting it the ability to organize itself and consolidate the
authority of its leaders, although they remained in constant dependence on the
whim of their sovereigns. Modern scholarship views the Synod of , in which
Yazdegerd’s ‘Edict of Toleration’ was announced, as the historical moment
in which the East Syrian Church gained autonomous standing within the
Sassanian Empire.21 The synod marks the first official recognition of the Bishop
of Seleucia-Ctesiphon, the Catholicos, as the head of the East Syrian Church.22
In this capacity, the Catholicos was also the supreme judicial authority of his

19)
Nina V. Pigulevskaja, Les villes de l’État iranien aux époques parthe et sassanide: contribu-
tion à l’histoire sociale de la Basse Antiquité (Paris, ), p. .
20)
Scott J. McDonough, Power by Negotiation: Institutional Reform in the Fifth-Century
Sasanian Empire (Los Angeles, , unpublished dissertation), p. .
21)
Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Synodicon Orientale ou recueil de synods nestoriens (Paris, ),
pp. –, , , ; Mesrob K. Krikorian, ‘Autonomy and Autocephaly in the Theory
and Practice of the Ancient Oriental Churches’, Kanon  (), pp. –; Michael
Morony, Iraq After the Muslim Conquest (Princeton, ), –; Wolfgang Hage, ‘Die
Kirche “des Ostens”: Kirchliche Selbständikeit und Kirchliche Gemeinsamkeit im fünften
Jahrhundert’, in Gerrit J. Reinink and Alex C. Klugkist (eds.), After Bardaisan: Studies
on Continuity and Change in Syriac Christianity in Honour of Professor Han J.W. Drijvers
(Leuven, ), p. .
22)
McDonough, Power by Negotiation, p. .
 Uriel Simonsohn

Church.23 Generally speaking, the fifth century marks the beginning of the
organizational consolidation of the East Syrian Church and its permanent
presence within Sassanian society. It is within this context that we begin to
notice bishops and monastic leaders functioning as ‘religious judges in addition
to their sacerdotal duties’.24
Ecclesiastical courts under Roman and Persian rule shared features of form
and jurisdiction. They did not, however, share the same legal source of ref-
erence for questions pertaining to civil law. Whereas the ecclesiastical judge
in the Eastern Roman Empire referred to Roman civil law, his counterpart in
Persia seems to have either already possessed or to have been in the process of
developing a comprehensive ecclesiastical legal code that covered both religious
and civil questions.25

Non-Ecclesiastical Christian Judicial Authority

The churches were not the only sources of judicial authority. Judicial services
performed by recluses, monks, and rural priests were of particular significance
in those times and places in which ecclesiastical institutions were lacking.26
As small-scale egalitarian communities often lacking autonomous institutions,
local villages had a constant need for the intervention of external figures for
direction, protection, and mediation.27 Thus, for example, one version of the
Life of the Syrian holy man Simeon the Stylite (d. ), authored by the
bishop-writer Theodoret of Cyrrhus (d. ), mentions Simeon’s role as an
arbiter:

He can be seen sitting in judgment and handing down proper and just sentences. These
and similar activities are dealt with after three in the afternoon, for he spends the whole
night and the day up till three p.m. in prayer. After three p.m. he first delivers the divine

23)
Cf. William F. Macomber, ‘The Authority of the Catholicos Patriarch of Seleucia-
Ctesiphon’, OCA  (), p. .
24)
Victoria Erhart, ‘The Development of Syriac Christian Canon Law in the Sasanian
Empire’, in Ralph W. Mathisen, Law, Society, and Authority in Late Antiquity (Oxford,
), p. .
25)
Selb, Orientalisches Kirchenrecht , p. .
26)
Robin Lane Fox, ‘The Life of Daniel’, in M.J. Edwards and Simon Swain (eds.), Portraits:
Biographical Representation in the Greek and Latin Literature of the Roman Empire (Oxford,
), p. .
27)
See especially Ernest Gellner, Saints of the Atlas (Chicago, ), p. ; Peter Brown,
‘The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity’, JRS  (), p. .
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

teaching to those present and then, after receiving the request of each and affecting
some healings, he resolves the quarrels of the disputants.28

Yet as Brown himself admitted in his reassessment of his  paper on the
rise and function of the holy man in Late Antiquity, holy men were not merely
a late antique version of the classical holy fool.29 The holy man should not be
imagined solely in the guise of a distant ascetic. A variety of evidence serves as a
constant reminder of the judicial roles fulfilled by monks and rural priests out-
side the formal setting of the church. The Syriac treatise best known as the Liber
Graduum, or the Book of Steps, is a fourth-century work outlining the struc-
ture and principles of an ideal Christian society.30 The work is thought to have
been composed over a stretch of time in the setting of a monastic community. It
addresses two principal groups of Christians, the ‘Upright’, kênē, and the ‘Per-
fect’, gmirē. While it regards the members of both groups as having reached
a high level of spirituality on ‘a road to salvation’, the different designations
denote a hierarchy in which the Perfect are superior to the Upright in their
spiritual stature. Thus, while the Upright assume roles of leadership within
Christian communities, the Perfect are depicted as homeless individuals who
wander about, begging and mediating disputes among the believers. Chapter
four of the Liber Graduum instructs the Perfect one in the following manner:

When you meet people who are at enmity with each other, say, Brothers, blessed are
the peacemakers ( #ābday šlāmā), for they shall be called sons of God [Matt. :]. Now
peacemakers are those who reconcile enemies who belong to other churches, away
from their own [‘that is, they act as outside arbitrators, able to act because they do not
represent any local interest’31]. They make peace in the land of their Father, and are
mediators (me.s#āyē) who reconcile people by imploring them, demonstrating lowliness
to them, and admonishing them.32

An examination of late antique Christian literature on the topic of the role of

Christian leaders as judges and mediators yields an image of two, somewhat
overlapping, spheres of judicial activity: that of the ecclesiastical organization

28)
Robert Doran, The Lives of Simeon Stylites (Kalamazoo, MI, ), pp. –.
29)
Peter Brown, ‘The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity, –’,
Journal of Early Christian Studies  (), pp. –.
30)
Robert Kitchen and Martien F.G. Parmentier, The Book of Steps: The Syriac Liber
Graduum (Kalamazoo, MI, ).
31)
Kitchen and Parmentier, The Book of Steps, p. .
32)
Kitchen and Parmentier, The Book of Steps; Michael Kmosko, Liber Graduum (Patrologia
Syriaca ; Paris, ), p. .
 Uriel Simonsohn

and that of the monastic community. Whether addressed to a bishop or a

stylite, the principle that emerges from Christian sources is that all human
problems ought to be dealt with according to Christian ideals. With regard to
judicial authority, these ideals can be summarized with three basic rules. First,
worldly rulers, that is secular rulers, should not pass judgement over Christians.
Second, contending parties should try to reconcile, and thus avoid the need
for their dispute to be resolved by a judicial decision. Finally, if a judgement is
unavoidable, then it is to be rendered by a holy one, that is a bishop, or, as we
have seen in the Liber Graduum, by a group of chosen Perfects.

Early Responses to Legal Pluralism

If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the
two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if
you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may
be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If he member refuses to listen
to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church,
let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax-collector.33

The above passage from the Book of Matthew presents the principal Christian
approach to disputes between believers: they are to be settled quietly and are
to be brought before the arbitration of the Church only as a last resort.
The New Testament’s concern with believers pursuing litigation before non-
Christians is found in the Pauline command from  Cor. :–:

When any of you has a grievance against another, do you dare to take it to court before
the unrighteous, instead of taking it before the saints? Do you not know that the saints
will judge the world? And if the world is to be judged by you, are you incompetent
to try trivial cases? Do you not know that we are to judge angels—to say nothing of
ordinary matters? If you have ordinary cases, then, do you appoint as judges those who
have no standing in the church? I say this to your shame. Can it be that there is no
one among you wise enough to decide between one believer and another, but a believer
goes to court against a believer—and before unbelievers at that?

The command seeks to underscore the judicial authority of Christian leaders,

ambiguously referred to as ‘saints’. Furthermore it clearly rejects the authority
of the ‘unrighteous’ and ‘unbelievers’. The expressions ‘unrighteous’ and ‘unbe-
lievers’ refer in this case to either secular or non-Christian figures.

33)
Matt. :–.
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

The Apostolic Constitutions were composed in the post-Constantine era. By

this time, appearing before an ecclesiastical judge was a legitimate and legal
judicial option. Written in Syria around the end of the fourth century, the
Apostolic Constitutions is considered a comprehensive church order comprised
of earlier church orders such as the Didascalia and the Didache.34 As such, it is
a useful source for considering early ecclesiastical positions regarding Christian
recourse to non-ecclesiastical tribunals:

If by any management or temptation a contest arises with any one, let him endeavour
that it be composed, though thereby he be obliged to lose somewhat; and let it not
come before a heathen tribunal. Nay, indeed, you are not to permit that the rulers of
this world should pass sentence against your people; for by them the devil contrives
mischief to the servants of God, and occasions a reproach to be cast upon us, as though
we had not one wise man that is able to judge between his brethren [ Cor. :], or to
decide their controversies.35

In addition to legislation and normative Christian behavior, examples of the

application of Christian principles to the question of judicial practices can also
be found in early Christian treatises of questions and answers.36 Despite the
objection to any form of judicial contention, there appears to have been a
pragmatic recognition, already in the New Testament, that such ideals could
not be imposed upon all believers. Thus, if a lawsuit were to arise, it should be
kept within the community rather than brought before worldly judges. Decrees
against clergy taking their lawsuits outside the Church had already been given
in the early fourth century by two of the bishops of Rome, Sylvester (fl. –
) and Julius (fl. –). Both had decreed that clerics should not enter
a court for any reason and should confine their legal concerns to ecclesiastical
boundaries.37 About a century later, far beyond the eastern frontiers of the

34)
For an up-to-date source analysis of the various church orders, see Paul F. Bradshaw, The
Search for the Origins of Christian Worship: Sources and Methods for the Study of Early Liturgy
(Oxford, ), pp. –; Hubert Kaufhold, ‘La literature pseudo-canonique syriaque’,
in M. Debié et al. (eds.), Les apocryphes syriaques (Paris, ), p. . On the inclusion
of earlier orders in the Apostolic Constitutions concerning the issue of litigating before non-
ecclesiastical tribunals, see Vismara, Episcopalis audientia, p. .
35)
James Donaldson, The Apostolic Constitutions . (Edinburgh, ), p. .
36)
See, for example, John Chryssavgis, Barsanuphius and John: Letters  (Washington, DC,
), Letters –, pp. –.
37)
Raymond Davis, The Book of Pontiffs (Liber Pontificalis): The Ancient Biographies of
the First Ninety Roman Bishops to ad  (Translated Texts for Historians, Latin Series ;
Liverpool, ), pp. , .
 Uriel Simonsohn

Roman Empire, a canon from the East Syrian Synod of Bet Lapat of  states
the following:

A clerk or a monk who has a charge against a lay person may not voluntarily and
under no coercion turn to the tribunal of the outsiders (barrāyē). Whoever goes out
and willingly commits an offence by making an oath before pagans (hanpē) . or gives a
false testimony, will be listed in a special book. He shall be received after pleading and
giving penance according to the rules of the priests.38

In , another East Syrian synod addressing the issue refers to certain mem-
bers of the Christian community who seek to defy ecclesiastical judgement by
seeking refuge and aid from certain circles outside of the church:

It is said in the synod that there are men who are excluded from the Church since
they refuse to submit to what is just, they wish to cling to their defiance and their
infidelity, seeking refuge among the pagans (hanpē)
. and the worldly ( #ālmānāyē); they
trouble those who have excommunicated them. They demand pardon though they do
not deserve it. With regard to their matter this synod has decreed that once they submit
[to the Church] and do the proper thing, they shall remain outside the Church under
affliction and penitence, for a certain time, whereupon they shall be forgiven.39

The context is missing; we do not know the specific background to these

canons. We may assume that in light of its minority status under Sassanian
rule, the East Syrian community, or rather the East Syrian leadership, was the
first to develop greater sensitivity to questions of communal boundaries. At
the same time, it may very well be that these canons were targeting a narrower
sector, such as the clergy or even Christological rivals who were seeking the
intervention of external elements in the course of ecclesiastical clashes.40 Thus,
while it seems clear that from the outset ecclesiastical authorities were preoccu-
pied with maintaining a judicial monopoly, there is less clarity as to the iden-
tity of those who undermined it. The matter is slightly clearer when we turn
to examine the contents of canon laws from the early Muslim period. A rela-
tively rich corpus of regulations issued by East Syrian, West Syrian, and Coptic
legislators sheds light on the face of extra-ecclesiastical judicial systems.41 These

38)
Chabot, Synodicon, pp. –.
39)
Chabot, Synodicon, pp. , –.
40)
See especially Erhart, ‘Christian Canon Law’.
41)
Since my paper discusses the case of West Syrian communities, my analysis will be
limited to West Syrian regulations. For a selection of East Syrian materials, see especially
Chabot, Synodicon; Eduard Sachau, Syrische Rechtsbücher ( vols.; Berlin, –);
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

regulations appear to have a vocabulary and tone similar to those of the pre-
Islamic period, while still including additional linguistic elements that suggest
the context in which they were given.

Legal Pluralism under Islamic Rule

Modern studies agree that the structure and character of most local communi-
ties was almost inconceivably affected in the aftermath of the Arab conquests.42
Archaeological surveys in the region of the Fertile Crescent point to the survival
of ecclesiastical institutions, most notably churches, as part of the traditional
landscape of urban and rural settlements. Clive Foss argues that in Antioch
‘the survival of churches into the Muslim period indicates a certain vitality of
the city and its Christian community.’43 We may assume that a similar vital-
ity on the rural level supported hundreds of small villages, the majority of
which were centered on small churches that served the spiritual needs of their
local congregations.44 Historians also agree that the Arabs sought to maintain

W. Hoenerbach and O. Spies, Ibn Al-Taiyib. Fiqh al-Na.sraniya—Das Recht der Christenheit
(Leuven, –); Hubert Kaufhold, Die rechtssammlung des Gabriel von Ba.sra und
ihr Verhältnis zu den anderen juristischen Sammelwerken der Nestorianer (Berlin, );
For Coptic materials see O.H.E. Burmester, ‘The Canons of Christodulos, Patriarch of
Alexandria (ad –)’, Le Muséon  (), pp. , ; Aziz S. Atiya, Yassā #Abd
. and O.H.E. Burmester, History of the Patriarchs of the Egyptian Church . (Cairo,
al-Ması̄h,
), p. ; O.H.E. Burmester, ‘The canons of Cyril II, LXVII Patriarch of Alexandria’, Le
Muséon  (), pp. , ; Wilhelm Riedel, Die Kirchenrechtsquellen des Patriarchats
Alexandrien (Aalen, ), p. .
42)
Hugh Kennedy, ‘From Polis to Madina: Urban Change in Late Antique and Early
Islamic Syria’, Past and Present  (), pp. –; Pau Figueras, ‘The Impact of the
Islamic Conquest’, Aram  (), pp. –; Robert Schick, The Christian Communities
of Palestine from Byzantine to Islamic Rule (Princeton, ), pp. –; Anne-Marie
Eddé, Françoise Micheau, and Christophe Picard, Communautés chrétiennes en pays d’Islam:
du début du VIIe siècle au milieu du XIe siècle (Paris, ), pp. –; Clive Foss, ‘Syria
in Transition, ad –’, DOP  (), pp. –; Lawrence Conrad, ‘Varietas
Syriaca: Secular and Scientific Culture in the Christian Communities of Syria after the
Arab Conquest’, in Reinink and Klugkist (eds.), After Bardaisan, p. ; Chase Robinson,
Empire and Elites after the Muslim Conquest: the Transformation of Northern Mesopotamia
(Cambridge, ), Ch. ; Arietta Papaconstantinou, Le culte des saints en Egypte des
Byzantins aux Abbasides (Paris, ), p. ; Peter Brown, The Rise of Western Christendom
(Malden, MA, ), pp. –.
43)
Foss, ‘Syria in Transition’, p. .
44)
For a general survey of late antique settlements in the region of the Limestone Massif,
see Georges Tchalenko, Villages antiques de la Syrie du Nord: le massif du Bélus à l’époque
 Uriel Simonsohn

previous Roman and Persian administrative organizations, a significant ele-

ment of which was the judicial organization.45 In general, Islamic law formally
stipulated that the traditional prerogatives of confessional elites in dhimmı̄
communities would be maintained. Accordingly, the Protected People were
able to obtain formal sanction for maintaining their laws and tribunals. This
position is confirmed by archival documents and by a great number of Muslim
legal authorities.46
Despite this freedom to run an independent judicial organization, both
Christians and Jews regularly had recourse to Muslim judicial systems in addi-
tion to or instead of those of their religious communities. Both legal codes
and canon laws issued by individual synods in the period following the Mus-
lim conquest reflect an ongoing ecclesiastical preoccupation with Christians’
recourse to non-ecclesiastical courts. This alone should testify to the frequency
of such recourse.47 Before I consider some of the specific reasons why Chris-
tians sought judgement outside of the Church, it is worth noting a few broader
factors which may have contributed to this trend. One such factor may have
been the apparent, continuous decline of the good name of clergy and monks.
It is outside the scope of the present paper to discuss the details of this phe-
nomenon.48 This decline may explain some of the difficulties experienced by
ecclesiastical leaders when demanding loyalty to the Church, since their per-
sonal integrity was in question.

romaine (Paris, –); Georges Tate, Les campagnes de la Syrie du Nord du IIe au VIIe
siècle: un exemple d’expansion démographique et économique à la fin de l’antiquité (Paris, );
J.-P. Sodini et al., ‘Déhès (Syrie du Nord), Campagnes I–III (–). Recherches sur
l’habitat rural’, Syria  (), pp. –; Foss, ‘Syria in Transition’, p. .
45)
See, for example, Petra Sijpesteijn, ‘The Arab Conquest of Egypt and the Beginning of
Muslim Rule’, in Roger S. Bagnall (ed.), Egypt in the Byzantine World, – (Cambridge,
), pp. –.
46)
On the question of dhimmı̄ legal autonomy and a summary of its treatment by the four
Sunni legal schools, see Antoine Fattal, Le statut légal des non-musulmans en pays d’Islam
(Beyrouth, ); Gideon Libson, ‘Legal Autonomy and the Recourse to Legal Proceedings
by Protected People, According to Muslim Sources during the Gaonic Period’ (in Hebrew),
in Nahem Ilan (ed.), The Intertwined World of Islam: Essays in Memory of Hava Lazarus-Yafeh
(Jerusalem, ), pp. –; Neophyte Edelby, ‘The Legislative Autonomy of Christians
in the Islamic World’, in Robert Hoyland (ed.), Muslims and Others in Early Islamic Society
(Burlington, VT, ), pp. –.
47)
Kaufhold, Gabriel von Ba.sra, p. .
48)
For signs of this decline, see especially Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Incerti auctoris chronicon
anonymum pseudo-Dionysianum vulgo dictum (CSCO , Syr. ; Leuven, ), pp. –
; Ewa Wipszycka, Les ressources et les activités économiques des églises en Égypte du IVe au
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

Another factor contributing to ecclesiastical shortcomings was a recently

introduced and somewhat unfamiliar Christian civil code. Perhaps the most
instructive remark on this matter is that of the East Syrian Catholicos Timo-
thy I (d. ), who referred to ‘those who due to the non-existence of verdicts,
judgements, and laws, constantly have recourse to the courts and judgements of
the outsiders, due to the lack of verdicts and judgements which are required for
worldly life.’49 The Muslim judiciary possessed a number of crucial advantages
over the ecclesiastical judicial administration in this respect. The consolida-
tion of Muslim rule and its emphasis on domestic affairs testifies, among other
things, to the crystallization and elaboration of an Islamic jurisprudence. The
new legal system was in a position to offer an attractive alternative to that of the
Church. For one, it was a legal system sanctioned by the ruling authorities, and
thus possessed greater means of enforcement.50 Furthermore, as the Muslim
administration developed its bureaucracy, registered property, and conducted
oversight of business transactions in the local market, the need to validate eco-
nomic ties through a Muslim court grew stronger.
A further advantage of the use of Muslim courts stemmed from the role
played by Christian laymen in Muslim administration. These officials offered
their co-religionists useful means to achieve their personal ends. As servants
of the court and its administration, Christian officials were in a position to
intervene before the sovereigns, in favour of their co-religionists.51 Ecclesiastical
legislators were well aware of this process, as personal ties with Christian
courtiers could work against the Church itself. Thus Canon  of a West Syrian
synod held at Callinicum, presumably in , clearly attests to the presence of
Christian dignitaries who would intervene in favour of those condemned by
the Church:

If a presbyter or a deacon or a believing man or a believing woman under excommuni-

cation by the bishop for transgression of the law ( #bar nāmōsā), whatever it may be, has
recourse (metgawwas) to the secular rulers (šul.tānē #ālmānāyē) or to some other person
from those of another (cf. Vööbus: ‘a foreign’) tribe (hrānyay
. šarbtā), those who are

VIIIe siècle (Bruxelles, ), pp. –; Arthur Vööbus, The Synodicon in the West Syrian
Tradition  (CSCO –, Syr. –; Leuven, ), ed. pp. –, trans. p. ;
Andrew Palmer, Monk and Mason on the Tigris Frontier: the Early History of Tur . #Abdin
(Cambridge, ), p. .
49)
Sachau, Syrische Rechtsbücher  (Berlin, ), pp. –.
50)
Selb, Orientalisches Kirchenrecht , p. .
51)
Hans Putman, L’église et l’islam sous Timothée I (–): étude sur l’église nestorienne du
temps des premiers #Abbasides (Beirut, ), p. .
 Uriel Simonsohn

outside (l-bar) the fold of the Church, or to a man of the dignitaries of the Christians
so that the bishop is pressed by any one of all these actions and by the intercession
of these various persons, to loosen the law of God and the excommunication that has
been legitimately imposed …52

More practical and individual factors need to be considered as well. The rel-
ative frequency of references to questions of inheritance in Christian legal
sources suggests the extent to which Christian legislators were concerned with
such matters.53 Non-ecclesiastical courts served as a means for both securing
and escaping the implementation of wills. Ecclesiastical institutions were not
always able to secure the implementation of wills that included pledges of prop-
erty made to them. Canon  issued in a synod held by the West Syrian Patriarch
Dionysius (d. ) at Bet Mar Sila in  states the following:54

The wills coming from the people to the churches, monasteries, and the poor shall
be entrusted into the hands of the stewards, those who have been set apart for this
[duty], and not into the hands of the members of the family. A brother who is seen to
transgress (#bar) this regulation (thumā)
. and especially if he takes refuge (netgawwas)
with the outsiders, (barrāyē) is not allowed to enter the church of God until he no
longer transgresses the word of God …55

Marriage and the process leading to it are subjects which drew much atten-
tion on the part of Christian legislators.56 According to Walter Selb, regula-

52)
Arthur Vööbus, Synodicon , ed. p. , trans. p. .
53)
See, for example, in East Syrian legal collections: Hnanisho#’s
. judicial decrees in Sachau,
Syrische Rechtsbücher , pp. –; Timothy’s law book, in Sachau, Syrische Rechtsbücher
, pp. –; Isho# bar Nun’s law book, Syrische Rechtsbücher , pp. –; The legal
collection of Isho#bokt, Syrische Rechtsbücher , pp. –; Simeon’s canons, Syrische
Rechtsbücher , pp. –; John bar Abgare’s law book, in Hubert Kaufhold, ‘Der
Richter in den syrischen Rechtsquellen. Zum Einfluß islamischen Rechts auf die christlich-
orientalische Rechtsliteratur’, Oriens Christianus  (), pp. –; For West Syrian legal
collections, see Vööbus, Synodicon , trans. pp. –; Paul Bedjan, Nomocanon Gregorii
Barhebraei (Paris, ), pp. –.
54)
On Dionysius and this synod, see Vööbus, Synodicon , trans. p. ; Selb, Orientalisches
Kirchenrecht , p. ; Ignatius Aphram I Barsoum, The Scattered Pearls: A History of Syriac
Literature and Sciences (nd ed.; Piscataway, NJ, ), pp. –.
55)
Vööbus, Synodicon , ed. p. , trans. pp. –.
56)
See, for example, in East Syrian legal collections: Timothy’s law book, in Sachau, Syrische
Rechtsbücher , pp. –, –; Isho# bar Nun’s law book, Syrische Rechtsbücher ,
pp. –, , , –, , ; The legal collection of Isho#bokt, Syrische Rechts-
bücher , pp. –, –; Mar Aba’s matrimonial law, Syrische Rechtsbücher , pp. –
; for the West Syrian Church, see Vööbus, Synodicon ; Bedjan, Nomocanon, pp. –
.
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

tions dealing with matrimony are exceptional because legislators continuously

attempted to formalize them.57 The formal fixing of the wedding ceremony
and its Christianization were achieved at a relatively late stage. By the ninth
century, it was customary among Christian communities in Mesopotamia
that a marriage ceremony would include a delivery of a ring by the groom,
a priestly benediction, and the testimony of a Christian layman. The trend
of alternative matrimonial arrangements triggered a harsh response by West
Syrian legislators who considered ‘secular marriages’ synonymous to adultery.
Thus Canon , in a synod held by the West Syrian Patriarch Dionysius in
, stipulates: ‘If a believing man or a believing woman burns with lascivious
desire towards those [institutions] which are called secular marriages (zuwwāgē
#ālmānāyē), he truly commits the abominable impurity of adultery.’58 On the
face of it, conducting marriage ceremonies outside the Church does not suggest
an alternative judiciary. Yet there is some evidence, particularly from Egypt and
Palestine, that Christians made use of Muslim courts, or non-ecclesiastical civil
courts of some nature, in order to register their marriage agreements.59
A useful way to avoid or reverse the decisions of ecclesiastical judges was to
transfer the legal matter to some form of secular judicial authority that was
likely to be more forceful than the Church. By turning to a court outside
the Church, the defendant may have attempted to either manipulate the
alternative legal system in order to win a favourable verdict, or simply to
exploit what could have been an advantageous regulation within that system.
The appeal to an alternative court in order to counteract an ecclesiastical
verdict posed a major threat to the Church as this undermined its authority,
particularly that of its leaders. A recurrent theme within canons issued by West
Syrian synods is the problem of individuals who were either excommunicated
or received an unfavorable sentence. Some of these individuals chose to turn to
non-ecclesiastical elements in order to escape or remove ecclesiastical sentences.
Thus, for example, Canon  issued in a synod in , held at Kepharnabu
under the leadership of the West Syrian Patriarch Giwargi I (d. ):60

57)
Selb, Orientalisches Kirchenrecht , p. .
58)
Vööbus, Synodicon , ed. pp. –, trans. p. .
59)
See, for example, sixth-century marriage contracts issued in Roman civil courts in
Nessana, Palestine, in Casper J. Kraemer, Excavations at Nessana  (Princeton, ), pp. ,
; cf. ninth-century marriage contracts between Christians in Egypt in Adolf Grohmann,
Arabic Papyri in the Egyptian Library  (Cairo, ), pp. , .
60)
On Giwargi I and the background to this synod, see Vööbus, Synodicon , trans. p. ;
Selb, Orientalisches Kirchenrecht , p. ; Barsoum, The Scattered Pearls, pp. –.
 Uriel Simonsohn

One who has lawfully (nāmusā’it) been excommunicated (psiq) by his bishop and who
then goes to take refuge (gawsā) among pagans (hanpē)
. as someone who absolves
(nhassē)
. the canon and annoys (mallez) his bishop—the curse (hermā)
. of God from
the entire synod shall be upon him so that Christians shall not know him at all.61

The offense of ‘seeking refuge among pagans’ to which the canon refers is
somewhat ambiguous. The Syriac verb gws, translated by Arthur Vööbus as
‘seeking refuge’, can also be taken to simply mean ‘have recourse’. Thus in
Canon  of a West Syrian synod held in  at Bet Batin:

He who abandons his bishop and has recourse (metgawwas) to worldly rulers (šul.tānē
#ālmānāyē), he is like that one who harms (mahsar)
. his companion in one of the ways
…—we have determined by the dominical anathema (psāqā mārānāyā) that he should
62
not enter the church and have intercourse (nethall. .tun) with Christians.

The choice of an ambiguous expression in this case might not be accidental and
may indicate how recourse to external authorities was perceived by the legis-
lator. Simply put, recourse to an external authority in a way that undermines
Church authority was more than a mere betrayal of ecclesiastical jurisdiction;
it was an act of escaping justice by taking refuge in an illegitimate authority.
It is hard to determine the exact nature of the recourse to external authori-
ties involved in this case, but it seems clear that members of the West Syrian
community were seeking the protection and intervention of extra-ecclesiastical
authorities in order to escape or revoke ecclesiastical sentence. Furthermore, it
appears that many of these canons were issued in connection with petitions
made to Muslim authorities by the clergy during the course of disputes within
ecclesiastical circles.63 Thus, for example, the tenure of the West Syrian Patri-
arch Quryaqos (d. ) is known to have experienced internal ecclesiastical tur-
bulences because of disagreements over the celebration of the Eucharist.64 One

61)
Vööbus, Synodicon , ed. p. , trans. p. .
62)
Vööbus, Synodicon , ed. p. , trans. p. .
63)
See, for example, a report by Michael the Syrian of a dispute that broke out during
the time of Giwargi I in , trans. Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien:
patriarche jacobite d’Antioche (–) (Paris, –), Vol. , p. . The latter’s
ordination caused a schism within the Church over differences concerning who should be
appointed Patriarch.
64)
Indeed, not for the first time, these disagreements concerned the question of the litur-
gical formula Panem caelestem frangimus, ‘we break the heavenly bread’, in the celebration
of the Eucharist. See Chabot, Chronique , p. .
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

aspect of this state of affairs was a group of West Syrian clergy’s strong opposi-
tion to the Patriarch. The Patriarch tried to counter these threats by excommu-
nication. His adversaries responded to this by petitioning the #Abbāsid Caliph
Hārūn al-Rashı̄d in .65

Ecclesiastical Responses
Eastern Christian jurists, among whom were included West Syrians, responded
to Christians’ use of non-ecclesiastical judiciary in two ways. First, they em-
ployed the legislation of ad hoc canons to exhort both clergy and laity against
such external appeals. Second, they created an ecclesiastical civil jurisprudence.
While religious law pertains only to matters of religion, civil law pertains to
the ‘establishment, recovery, or redress of private and civil rights’.66 Although
both Islamic and Jewish jurisprudence encompass religious and civil questions,
Christian jurisprudence, in its formative stage, restricted itself to religious
concerns only.67 In an ideal Christian society, material concerns and personal
interests are of no importance. Thus Isho#bokt states in the introduction to
his legal code: ‘In no manner has our Lord nor his apostles said anything
regarding human judgements. For it is not fitting for my Lord to judge the
dead and living in his kingdom above, to fix laws regarding minor and human
judgements.’68 Hence there is no need for civil questions to be legally addressed.
Nevertheless, the acknowledgement of the need to provide legal means for
sustaining ‘temporal life’ can be seen as a later stage in the continued formation
of an ecclesiastical civil law. This process appears already to have begun prior
to the Muslim conquest, as we find civil regulations of the East Syrian Church
as early as the sixth century. Similar efforts were exerted within the Armenian
Church by the Julianist theologian Yovhannēs Mayragomec#i (d. c.–)
who, among other things, sought to extend ecclesiastical justice to matters
which until then had been dealt with according to customary practice under
the jurisdiction of a secular judge.69 These examples reflect a concern for

65)
Chabot, Chronique , p. .
66)
Henry Campbell Black, A Law Dictionary (St Paul, MN, ), ‘civil action’.
67)
Putman, L’église, p. ; Richard B. Rose, ‘Islam and the Development of Personal Status
Laws among Christian Dhimmis: Motives, Sources, Consequences’, The Muslim World
.– (), p. .
68)
Sachau, Syrische Rechtsbücher , pp. –.
69)
Aram Mardirossian, Le livre des canons Arméniens de Yovhannēs Awjnec #i: église, droit et
société en Arménie du IVe au VIIIe sièclie (Leuven, ), p. .
 Uriel Simonsohn

‘worldly affairs’ among various ecclesiastical circles even at a relatively early

stage. It is in the period following the Muslim conquest, however, that we find
far more examples of such endeavours.70
Our knowledge of the incorporation of civil law into West Syrian jurispru-
dence derives primarily from a synodic collection known as the Synodicon in the
West Syrian Tradition and the thirteenth-century canonical treatise of Barhe-
braeus, Ktōbō d-Huddōyē, the Nomocanon. The former is an edited manuscript
found in the collection of the Patriarchate of the Syriac Orthodox Church in
Damascus. The colophon dates it to .71 It is a collection of West Syrian
legislative texts, the earliest of which ‘claim[s] apostolic origin’ and extends up
to acts of a synod held in .72 Due to the literary nature of the West Syrian
Synodicon, it is difficult to identify the process by which civil regulations were
incorporated into West Syrian jurisprudence. Nevertheless, it may be useful to
note the compiler’s introduction to this collection:

We begin to write the book which contains all the new canons of the later patriarchs …
and all of the laws, judgments, sentences and heritages and the rest [of the administra-
tive affairs] of the Greek kings, as well as of all the judgments, laws, sentences, heritages,
[legislation regarding] liberation of slaves, and of all the properties and the rest [of the
administrative affairs] by the Arab rulers under whose sentences the believers act and
whose laws they accept.73

Clearly this statement ought to be regarded with caution, since it is given

by an anonymous figure. Yet the mere fact that the corpus includes civil
regulations, both Roman and Muslim, suggests that they were incorporated
into ecclesiastical legal jurisdiction.
Barhebraeus’ Nomocanon represents the most comprehensive West Syrian
legal codification known to this day, and consists of both civil and religious
regulations. Despite its relatively late date, the compilation testifies to the
judicial works of much earlier sources, thus suggesting an earlier West Syrian
concern for civil matters.74 Chapter  of the Nomocanon addresses the issue
of ‘worldly judgements’:

70)
Cf. Edelby, ‘The Legislative Autonomy’, p. .
71)
About Ms. ., see Vööbus, The Synodicon in the West Syrian Tradition  (CSCO –
, Syr. –; Leuven, ), ed. pp. ix–xix.
72)
Vööbus, Synodicon , trans. pp. –.
73)
Vööbus, Synodicon , ed. p. , trans. p. .
74)
On Barhebraeus’ Nomocanon, see Carlo A. Nallino, Raccolta di scritti editi e inediti 
(Roma, ), pp. –.
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

The divine Paul wrote on the tablets of the saints of the Church of God in Corinth:
if the world is to be judged by you, are you incompetent to try trivial cases? [ Cor. :]
Do you appoint as judges those who have no standing in the church? [ Cor. :]. As his
saying was made known: to the disgrace of those who were judged (metdinin) before
outsiders (barrāyē) and non-believers (la mhaymnē), He said these things. Their justice
is not that of the holy (qaddišē) and called ones (qrayyā), that is, the bishops shall not
bring (ndunun) worldly lawsuits (dinē #ālmānāyē) …75

Barhebraeus began his discussion of judicial procedures pertaining to civil mat-

ters by following a common literary pattern: he cited  Cor. :– concerning
recourse to worldly judges. He then made a distinction between the laity and
‘the saints’, that is, bishops, with respect to the sort of legal matters with which
each group should be preoccupied. Unlike the laity, bishops should not bring
forth ‘worldly lawsuits’. Despite the profane quality of worldly matters, they
should, nevertheless, be handled within the Church.
Muslim rule played an important role in triggering ecclesiastical initiatives
to incorporate civil jurisprudence. While East Syrian leaders had sought to
administer their organization as an autonomous entity prior to Muslim rule,
other Churches developed similar ambitions only after the withdrawal of the
Roman Empire. One way of explaining the difference between the develop-
ment of jurisprudence under the East Syrian Church and that of Churches
under past Roman rule is Roman law. As long as the Roman Empire contin-
ued to wield power, its civil legal code was valid in the eyes of ecclesiastical
legislators.76 This acknowledgment was based on the belief that the emperors
were ‘instruments of Divine Will’.77 With this belief in mind it has been argued
that ‘the innate respect of the faithful for the legislative role of the Roman civil
authorities led them to submit to and adopt many of the laws of the Cae-
sars’.78 Once Roman power gave way to Islam, however, the churches became
part of an empire with a civil code that was no longer identified with a Chris-
tian ruler. As Muslim jurisprudence gained greater importance within the new
theocracy, every aspect of life was regulated according to Islamic law. Under
such circumstances ecclesiastical leaders began to realize that without a uni-
form and detailed civil corpus they were in danger of losing control over their
communities.79

75)
Bedjan, Nomocanon, p. .
76)
Rose, ‘Islam’, p. ; see also Selb, Orientalisches Kirchenrecht , p. .
77)
Rose, ‘Islam’, p. .
78)
Rose, ‘Islam’, p. .
79)
Hubert Kaufhold, Syrische Texte zum islamischen Recht: das dem nestorianischen Katholikos
Johannes V. bar Abgare zugeschreibene Rechtsbuch (München, ), pp. –.
 Uriel Simonsohn

The second kind of ecclesiastical response to the phenomenon of legal

pluralism came in the form of numerous canon laws prohibiting recourse to
non-ecclesiastical judicial systems. These canons vary in tone, vocabulary, and
the level of detail which they provide on the subject matter. An early West
Syrian canon that prohibits recourse to non-ecclesiastical leaders is attributed
to Jacob of Edessa (d. ). It states the following: ‘It is not lawful for the clerics
when they have a lawsuit (dinā) to go to the outsiders (barrāyē) but to the
judgement (dinā) of the holy Church.’80 It appears that Jacob was concerned
with the possibility of disputes being settled not only by non-Christians or
seculars, but also by individuals who possessed spiritual authority outside
ecclesiastical ranks. In a question referred by John of Litarba (d. /)
to Jacob, the stylite asks if ‘it is right for the stylites to give proclamation
or admonition to the people or administer judgements and decree the laws
employing the word of God?’81 To this Jacob replied:

It is lawful … but it is not useful to them … therefore it is not right for them … They
have ascended the pillar not in order to become judges of the people and to administer
the laws … However, to say something [more] about this, they have not been called
nor appointed for this neither by God nor by the chiefs of the priests.82

It is plausible that John’s question reflects a certain measure of accepted prac-

tice, that is, of holy men assuming a judicial role among members of the laity.
Clearly, Jacob was not happy with this trend and sought to discourage it.
For the most part, West Syrian canons on the matter of non-ecclesiastical
judgement are found in the acts of synods from the late eighth to the tenth
centuries. Michael the Syrian describes the role of Patriarch Dionysius of Tel
Mahre (d. ) as a ‘healer to the torn body of the Church’.83 The introduction
to the acts of a synod held by Dionysius in  depicts contemporary difficul-
ties and confusion as a factor in the corruption of the believers in a way that
has caused them ‘to converse with those outside’. Canon  of this synod talks
about clergy and laymen who have had recourse to secular rulers, to men from
another tribe who are outside the fold of the Church. Expressions such as ‘those
who are outside’, ‘secular rulers’, people from ‘another tribe’, seem ambiguous
at first. Yet Canon  of a synod of  held at Callinicum leaves little room for
doubt as to the identity of these external authorities:

80)
Vööbus, Synodicon , ed. p. , trans. p. .
81)
Vööbus, Synodicon , ed. p. , trans. pp. –.
82)
Vööbus, Synodicon , ed. pp. –, trans. p. .
83)
Chabot, Chronique , p. .
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

Regarding the persons who shamelessly and ignorantly transgress ( #bar) the law (nāmō-
sā) in something which has been determined, be it because of mortal sins (h. .tāhē d-
mawtā) or canonical censure (taqnunitā) or punishment that was right to place on them
through the bishop or by another who has been appointed to correct this, who fall into
rage and bitter madness so that they become enemies (b #eldbābē) of the legislator (sā’em
nāmōsā) and devise a manner of perdition (abdānā) against him and who seek to have
their anathema (psāqā) abolished by means of worldly rulers (šul.tānē #ālmānāyē) or the
chiefs (rêšānē) of the Arabs (.tayyāyē) or the Christians whose force is hard.84

It is plausible that the phrase ‘of another tribe’ may indeed refer to ‘Arabs’,
but also to powerful Christian laymen, thus providing a nuanced image of
competing authorities.

Symbolic Power through Legislative Discourse

Ecclesiastical regulations regarding the issue of recourse to external judicial sys-
tems are almost unanimous in their objection. Yet the message which emerges
from both individual synods and canonical works can tell us more. This mes-
sage assumes special significance when we recall that ecclesiastical authorities
possessed few means of sanction and coercion in order to elicit and sustain
obedience. We are dealing here with authoritative figures whose main method
of control was ‘right’ rather than ‘might’ and who therefore resorted to means
of persuasion to achieve control.85 A particularly useful means of persuasion
for this effort was legislation. Beyond its immediate purpose to lay rules and
provide direction, legal discourse is also an important vehicle for articulating
symbolic power and promoting the social agenda of the elites.86
One way of examining the legislative wordplay in canon law is by placing a
particular phrase of legislation against its earlier legal manifestations. Two prin-
cipal early references to judiciary that are useful for the analysis of the devel-
opment of Near Eastern ecclesiastical legislation is the passage in  Cor. :–
and Chapter  in the Didascalia Apostolorum. The value of these sources is
a result of two unique factors. First, Christian legislative sources concerning
the question of extra-ecclesiastical litigation often include direct citations or

84)
Vööbus, Synodicon , ed. p. , trans. p. .
85)
On the use of words as means for asserting authority by elites that lacked coercive
power, see Peter Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire
(Madison, WI, ).
86)
See, for example, Lenski, Power and Privilege, p. ; Mary Douglas, How Institutions
Think (Syracuse, NY, ), p. ; Pierre Bourdieu, Language and Symbolic Power (Cam-
bridge, MA, ), pp. –.
 Uriel Simonsohn

paraphrases of these early materials. Second, both sources appeared in Syriac

at a relatively early stage and thus share linguistic details with regulations from
the Muslim period. The following table is a synoptic analysis of these early
sources along with those of the period under discussion:

Principal East Syrian East Syrian West Syrian West Syrian

terms NT Didascalia87 synods treatises synods treatises

Law/litigate/ ndun tetdinun netdinun; metgawwas; metdinin;

have recourse nehwōn qdam ešta#iw ndunun
par.sōpā;
nappqun
mellayhōn

Non- #awwālē; lā dayyānē hanpē;

. lā hanpē;
. šul.tānē barrāyē; lā
ecclesiastical mhaymnin d-hanpē
. mehaymnē; šul.tānā; #ālmānāyē; mhaymnē;
judge šalli.tay #ālmā; barrāyē; hrānyay
. dayyānē
barrāyē dayyānē men šarbtā; #ālmānāyē
da-l-bar; .tayyāyē;
dayyānē men barrāyē
d- #ālmā

Ecclesiastical qaddišē aylēn qaddišē;

judge d-sāymin #al qrayyā
dinā; prišay
men apisqōpā;
dayyānē
d-mhaymnē;
aylēn
dmetparšin
l-pusqānā
d-dinē

Render ndunun; netdinun me.s#āyē; dinā pyāstā d-

judgement/ našwē par.sōpā
mediate

Worldly aylēn #ālmānāyē

affairs da-d- #ālmā
ennēn hānā

Sorting the sources of the pre-Islamic and Islamic periods into adjacent cat-
egories of period, literary genre, and doctrinal affiliation not only enables us
to identify more clearly the different epithets used to denote non-ecclesiastical

87)
R. Hugh Connolly, Didascalia Apostolorum (Oxford, ), pp. –; for the Syriac
text, see Paul de Lagarde, Didascalia Apostolorum (Osnabruck–Wiesbaden, ), pp. –
.
 Seeking Justice among the ‘Outsiders’ 

judges, but perhaps also helps to explain these differences. While certain expres-
sions appear rather consistently in the sources, e.g. dinā for lawsuit or dis-
pute and the verb dwn for litigation and its synonyms, we can note differences
in the terms used to refer to non-ecclesiastical judges. In  Corinthians, non-
ecclesiastical judges are referred to as #awwālē, a term that could be translated
as any of the following: ‘unjust’, ‘unrighteous’, ‘lawless’, ‘evil’, ‘wrongdoers’, or
‘wicked men’. Another term used to signify such judges is lā mhaymnin, that is,
‘non-believers’. The seventh-century Syriac translator of the Didascalia, how-
ever, chose to use the term dayyānē d-hanpē,
. that is, ‘pagan judges’. Sources
from the Muslim period adopt some of these epithets and add a few of their
own which are variants of the words šalli.tay #ālmā, ‘worldly rulers’, and barrāyē,
‘outsiders’. Of particular interest are the epithets employed in West Syrian syn-
odica: hrānyay
. šarbtā, ‘those of another tribe’, and .tayyāyē, ‘Arabs’. Clearly, early
Christian legislators, when referring to external judges, chose to emphasize the
ethical and confessional attributes of such judges. At the same time, however,
both the depiction of these judges during the early Muslim period as outsiders
and the stress on their ethnic features is instructive. Thus, it may be argued
that ecclesiastical legislators sought to establish a social demarcation that was
not limited to confessional differences.
West Syrian and East Syrian legal sources, as well as the few examples
we have from Coptic sources, share certain features. The most striking of
these is the almost uniform objection to recourse to non-ecclesiastical judicial
systems. In addition, the insistence on judicial exclusivity is often accompanied
by terminology meant to invoke a notion of socio-confessional boundaries.
Thus the terminology of canon laws that address the issue of recourse to
external judges conveys an image both of life within and of life outside of a
properly ordered Christian community. Life within the community involves
attending the church, partaking in collective prayer and ritual, maintaining
social ties with fellow believers, submitting to ecclesiastical leadership, and
abiding by ‘divine law’. A vocabulary consisting of words such as ‘transgression’,
‘trespassing’, ‘having recourse’, ‘seeking refuge’, and so forth, creates an image
of passing from life within the community to life outside of it. Consequently,
the offenders find themselves forbidden to enter a church and mingle with
fellow Christians, suspended from office, excommunicated, and denied the
Eucharist. Furthermore, the reasoning behind the exclusion of offenders from
their community is expressed in similar terms, as they had ‘recourse with
the rulers’, conducted ceremonies ‘in the absence of priests and believers’,
drew litigants to secular judges, ‘took refuge among pagans’, ‘abandoned their
bishop’, and ‘turned away from the priests and Church’.
 Uriel Simonsohn

Conclusions
The marks of an underdeveloped civil jurisprudence, although less acute for
East Syrian legislators who had already experienced life under foreign rule, were
shared by all Churches which came under Muslim power. This made it difficult
for the ecclesiastical judiciary to compete with that of the Muslims as the latter
had the advantage of a better consolidated, state-administered judicial system.
This alone may have been sufficient to drive Christians to non-ecclesiastical
judicial systems. Yet there were also other factors involved. The testimony of
court records in Egyptian papyri, medieval chronicles, and legal stipulations
found in canonical treatises and synodical acts provides a vivid picture of the
motives behind Christians’ appeals to external forums of judiciary. These attest
to a combination of both pragmatic and ideological considerations. In the
eyes of ecclesiastical legislators, the intentions of certain individuals within
the fold of the Church to oppose its leadership merged with the concerns
of validating contracts and reversing unfavorable verdicts. For ecclesiastical
legislators, the motives and circumstances behind appeals to external courts
appear to have been less of an issue than the trend of seeking external justice
itself. Through extensive references both in synodica and canonical works
and the use of reprimanding rhetoric and legislative manoeuvres, ecclesiastical
legislators waged their battle against Christians’ recourse to non-ecclesiastical
judgement. The Church’s response, as it is presented in legal sources, shows
an agenda that went beyond merely safeguarding the vitality of ecclesiastical
judiciary. Rather, the sources portray the very essence of a discrete Christian
community as being at stake. It is for this reason that the question of loyalty
to ecclesiastical judiciary became of immense importance, as socio-confessional
boundaries were, to a great extent, sanctioned by the surveillance of the Church
law enforcers, the ecclesiastical judges.

Uriel Simonsohn
Leiden University
u.i.simonsohn@religion.leidenuniv.nl
 Tradition and the Formation of the ‘Nestorian’
Identity in Sixth- to Seventh-Century Iraq

Gerrit J. Reinink *

Abstract
Religious identities in ancient Near Eastern Christianity were mainly and primarily defined
along the lines of Christological positions held by the different Christian communities. This
article discusses the origin, development, and propagation of the East Syrian ‘Nestorian’
Christology of the two natures and two hypostaseis in Christ. It is argued that the process
of the formation of the East Syrian Christological identity took a relative long time due to
the complex and pluriform cultural tradition in East Syrian Christianity by the end of the
sixth century and the radically changing historical, political, and social conditions in late
sixth- and early seventh-century Iraq.

Keywords
Church of the East; identity; Christology; School of Nisibis; Henana of Adiabene; Theodore
of Mopsuestia.

According to the East Syrian monk John bar Penkaye, Christianity was divided
in three parts by the time of the Arab conquests. The ‘Easterns’ confessed
the true and Orthodox doctrine of Christ being God and man, one Son of
God, man who became God and God who became man, two natures and two
hypostases in union, one prosopon of sonship. The ‘Westerns’, on the contrary,
confessed the dogma of the passibility and mortality of the Divine Being on the
one hand and the dogma of the two natures and one hypostasis on the other
hand.1 In so defining the internal divisions of Christendom, John testifies that

*)
This article is an adapted and revised form of my (unpublished) paper presented to the
Fourth Workshop on Late Antiquity and Early Islam: Patterns of Communal Identity in
the Late Antique and Early Islamic Near East, London, – May, .
1)
John bar Penkaye, Ktābā d-rēš mellē, ed. Alphonse Mingana, Sources syriaques  (Mosul,
), pp. *,–*,. For this for the most part still unedited work, see T. Jansma,
‘Projet d’édition du ketâbâ derêš mellē de Jean bar Penkaye’, L’Orient Syrien  (), pp. –
 Gerrit J. Reinink

by the end of the seventh century it had become perfectly clear that the religious
identity of his own ‘Church of the East’ over against both Miaphysitism
and Chalcedonian Dyophysitism should be formulated on the lines of the
profession of faith that the East Syrian bishops had offered to the Persian Shah
Khusrau II in .2 Or, to put it in the words of a modern definition of social
identity, the ‘mode de discrimination à la fois cognitive et pragmatique’ of the
East Syrian community was at that time basically defined by the Christology
of the two qnōmē (the Syriac translation of the Greek hypostaseis)3 in Christ,
by which all those who were attached to the doctrine of one nature and one
qnōmā on the one hand, or to the doctrine of the two natures and one qnōmā in
Christ on the other, were declared ‘éléments étrangers’ to the community. The
‘unicité’ postulated by that ‘pratique discriminatoire’ consisted in the claim

. For recent publications on this work, see Gerrit J. Reinink, ‘Paideia: God’s Design in
World History according to the East Syrian Monk John bar Penkaye’, in Erik Kooper (ed.),
The Medieval Chronicle . Proceedings of the nd International Conference on the Medieval
Chronicle, Driebergen/Utrecht, – July  (Amsterdam–New York, ), pp. –
 (reprint in Gerrit J. Reinink, Syriac Christianity under Late Sasanian and Early Islamic
Rule [Aldershot, ], Ch. ); Gerrit J. Reinink, ‘East Syrian Historiography in Response
to the Rise of Islam: The Case of John bar Penkaye’s Ktābā d-rēš mellē’, in Jan J. van
Ginkel, Heleen L. Murre-van den Berg, and Theo M. van Lint (eds.), Redefining Christian
Identity. Cultural Interaction in the Middle East since the Rise of Islam (OLA ; Leuven,
), pp. –; Peter Bruns, ‘Von Adam und Eva bis Mohammed—Beobachtungen
zur syrischen Chronik des Johannes bar Penkaye’, Oriens Christianus  (), pp. –
; Hubert Kaufhold, ‘Anmerkungen zur Textüberlieferung der Chronik des Johannes bar
Penkāyē’, Oriens Christianus  (), pp. –.
2)
Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Synodicon Orientale ou Recueil de synodes nestoriens (Paris, ),
ed. pp. ,–,, trans. pp. –; see Luise Abramowski and Alan E. Goodman, A
Nestorian Collection of Christological Texts (Cambridge, ), ed. Vol. , pp. ,–,,
trans. Vol. , pp. ,–,. Also translated by Sebastian P. Brock, ‘The Christology
of the Church of the East in the Synods of the Fifth to Early Seventh Centuries’, in
George D. Dragas (ed.), Aksum-Thyateira: a Festschrift for Archbishop Methodios of Thyateira
and Great Britain (London, ), pp. – (reprint in Sebastian P. Brock, Studies
in Syriac Christianity [London, ], Ch. ). Micheline Albert’s suggestion that John
bar Penkaye, like Henana of Adiabene before him, belonged to ‘la mouvance d’opposants
à l’Église nestorienne établie’ is not confirmed by John’s Ktābā d-rēš mellē (see also ed.
Mingana, p. *,–); cf. Micheline Albert, ‘Une centurie de Mar Jean bar Penkayē’, in
R.-G. Coquin (ed.), Mélanges Antoine Guillaumont. Contributions à l’étude des christianismes
orientaux (Genève, ), p. .
3)
Cf. in general Marcel Richard, ‘L’introduction du mot “hypostase” dans la théologie de
l’incarnation’, Mélanges de science religieuse  (), pp. –, –. For the semantic
implications of the translation of hypostasis by qnōmā, see Brock, ‘The Christology’, pp. –
.
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

to Orthodoxy, that is, that only this community represented the true and
Orthodox tradition that was transmitted by Christ himself, the Apostles and
the true Teachers of the Church.4
It is this principle of distinction and self-identification that I call here the
‘Nestorian’ identity, although it was probably not before the eighth century that
the East Syrian Dyophysite Christians themselves took over the name ‘Nesto-
rian’, which previously had been used as a term of abuse by their opponents.5
By the middle of the eighth century, however, we find in the treatise of Shah-
dost, Bishop of Tirhan, on the question ‘Why we Easterns separated ourselves
from the Westerns, and why we are called Nestorians’, the name ‘Nestorian’
closely connected with the above-mentioned principle of distinction:6

… it is evident that it was not ourselves [who] have turned aside from the foundation of
the faith, we who, in the orthodox way, believe that in Christ are two natures and two
hypostases. But Severus and his disciples have turned aside, they who confess Christ to
be one nature and one hypostasis. But we, the Nestorian Christians, cry with John the
evangelist: ‘The Word became flesh and dwelt among us’ …

It took a long time before the ‘Nestorian’ identity obtained a firm footing in
the different organizations (churches, monasteries, and schools) of the Church
of the East. If the dialogue between a ‘Nestorian’ and an ‘Orthodox’ preserved
in a Syriac Monothelete florilegium actually reflects the point of view taken
by Paul, the Metropolitan of Nisibis, and the delegation of Persian theologians
in a discussion held before Justinian, then we have to assume that the two-
qnōmē Christology was already formulated about /.7 But in none of
the five synods that took place in the period between the Fifth Ecumenical

4)
For the definition, see Fritz Valjavec, Identité sociale et évolution. Élements d’une théorie
des processus adaptifs (Frankfurt am Main–Bern–New York, ), p. .
5)
For a survey of the instances in sixth–seventh century sources, see Michael G. Morony,
Iraq After the Muslim Conquest (Princeton, ; nd ed.; Piscataway, NJ, ), p. ,
note . In addition, we may mention Babai’s Life of George, ed. Paul Bedjan, Histoire
de Mar-Jabalaha, de trois autres patriarches, d’un prêtre et de deux laïques nestoriens (Paris–
Leipzig, ), p. ,; Antoine Guillaumont, ‘Justinien et l’église de Perse’, DOP .
(–), trans. pp. –, ed. p. a–b.
6)
Abramowski and Goodman, A Nestorian Collection, ed. Vol. , p. ,–, trans. Vol. ,
p. ,–.
7)
Edition and translation by Guillaumont, ‘Justinien’, trans. pp. –, ed. p. a–b. For
the date of this discussion, see Guillaumont, ‘Justinien’, p. ; Antoine Guillaumont, ‘Un
colloque entre orthodoxes et théologiens nestoriens de Perse sous Justinien’, CRAI (),
p. . For the Monothelete origin of the florilegium in BL Add.  (ninth cent.), see
Sebastian P. Brock, ‘A Monothelete Florilegium in Syriac’, in Carl Laga, Joseph A. Munitiz,
 Gerrit J. Reinink

Council held at Constantinople () and the profession of faith of , did
the East Syrian bishops formulate a creed, in which the traditional Antiochene
formula of the two natures was extended by the addition of the two qnōmē
in Christ.8 And still after , when everyone outside or inside the Church of
Persia who in any way stuck to the doctrine of the one qnōmā was officially
declared heretical, much explanatory work still remained to be done, not only
for the ordinary faithful in the churches, but even for members of the clergy.9

and Lucas Van Rompay (eds.), After Chalcedon. Studies in Theology and Church History offered
to Professor Albert van Roey for his Seventieth Birthday (OLA ; Leuven, ), pp. –
(reprint in Brock, Studies, Ch. ). For the discussion between Syriac Orthodox and the
Chalcedonian bishops before Justinian some thirty years before, see Sebastian P. Brock, ‘The
conversations with the Syrian Orthodox under Justinian ()’, OCP  (), pp. –
 (reprint in Brock, Studies, Ch. ).
8)
For a discussion of the Christological formulae of the synods of , , , ,
and , see Brock, ‘The Christology’, p. . Brock pointed out that the Christological
phraseology of some of these synods is close to the Chalcedonian definition.
9)
Babai’s Life of George, written between  and  (see below), shows that after 
the ecclesiastical authorities had to deal with at least two related problems: first, to combat
the movement within the Persian Church which had opted for the one-qnōmā Christol-
ogy; second, to make the large group of scholars and clerics instructed in the traditional
Antiochene Christology of the two natures and one par.sōpā (prosopon)—as represented in
particular by Theodore of Mopsuestia—interpret and propagate this Christology in the form
of the two qnōmē. As appears from the problems around Sahdona and his supporters during
the Catholicosates of Maremmeh and Isho#yahb III, the ecclesiastical authorities still in the
forties of the seventh century had to deal with the tenacious opposition of the adherents
of the one-qnōmā doctrine (see below, note ). Two Christological letters of the seventh
century show a strongly instructive character regarding the two-qnōmē interpretation of the
‘traditional’ Christology. The letter of the Catholicos Isho#yahb of Gedala (–), which
probably was written at the time when Iso#yahb was bishop of Balad, explains the definition
of the two natures and two qnōmē being united in the unique par.sōpā of Christ to Abraham
of Bet Maday, correcting Abraham’s interpretation of the Theodoran concept of par.sōpā
(ed. Louis R.M. Sako, Lettre christologique du patriarche syro-oriental Īšō#yahb II de Gdālā
¯
(–) [Rome, ]). Isho#yahb is numbered among the composers of the profession
of faith of  in the Chronicle of Siirt , ed. Addai Scher, Histoire nestorienne (Chronique
de Séert)  (PO .; Paris, ), p. . In his letter of / to the priest and chorepis-
copus Mina, the Catholicos George I explains the Christology of the two natures and two
qnōmē united in one par.sōpā of sonship, emphasizing that this Christology was not invented
by Nestorius and Theodore; see Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, pp. ,–,, trans.
pp. –. Canon  of the synod of George () prescribes that the ordinary faith-
ful on every festal day and Sunday should be instructed in the (Christological) confession
of the Church, in order that they know how to define their religious identity over against
the ‘heretics’; see Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, p. ,–, trans. p. . See, most
recently, the present writer’s ‘The Cause of the Commemoration of Mary: Author, Date,
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

Why did the formative period of the ‘Nestorian’ identity (in the sense of the
two-qnōmē Christology being widely implemented as the distinctive factor par
excellence of the East Syrian ‘communal identity’) last such a long time?
Antoine Guillaumont suggested that the East Syrian Church until the first
decades of the seventh century was mainly preoccupied by problems raised
by ‘le danger monophysite’ and ‘le schism de Henana’, which directly affected
the Church. In fact, ‘l’orthodoxie nestorienne’—consisting in the doctrine of
the two qnōmē in Christ—existed long before , as appears from the report
of Paul of Nisibis’ mission to Justinian. It is also highly improbable that the
Nestorian two-qnōmē Christology was developed in reaction to the hypostasis
synthetos definition of the Fifth Council. Henana of Adiabene, the famous
Director of the School of Nisibis (about –), however, seceded from the
Nestorian Orthodoxy by introducing a one-qnōmā Christology resembling the
opinions of Justinian and the Fathers of the Fifth Council, and thus laid the
foundation for the schismatic movement, which caused so may serious troubles
in the East Syrian Church. Guillaumont therefore suggests, that a strong
opposition against the two-qnōmē Christology, which by that time was already
accepted as the Orthodox doctrine of the Persian Church, was initiated by
Henana of Adiabene in the School of Nisibis during the last decades of the sixth
century, although, in his opinion, it remains difficult to decide whether there
is an historical connection between Henana’s ‘innovations’ and the decisions
of the Fifth Council.10
A very different position had been taken by André de Halleux a good ten
years before Guillaumont’s / publications. According to de Halleux
we cannot speak of something like a definitely settled, normative ‘Nestorian
Orthodoxy’ determined by the two-qnōmē Christology before the beginning of
the seventh century. Until the seventh century the East Syrian Church was still
working out its Christological formulae and in the schools and monasteries
the doctrine of the one qnōmā could for some time freely compete with the
doctrine of the two qnōmē in Christ. By , and mainly as a result of the
increasing influence of Babai the Great, the Abbot of the Great Monastery
of Izla north-east of Nisibis (–), who was the great champion and

and Christology’, in G.A. Kiraz (ed.), Malphono w-Rabo d-Malphone: Studies in Honour of
Sebastian P. Brock (Piscataway, NJ, ), pp. –. This work, which belongs to the
genre of #ellātā (see below, note ), was composed in the School of Nisibis, probably not
long after . The anonymous author, most remarkably, does not mention the doctrine of
the two qnōmē in Christ in his long chapter dealing with the Christology of his Church.
10)
Guillaumont, ‘Justinien’, pp. –.
 Gerrit J. Reinink

theorist of the doctrine of the two qnōmē,11 the two-qnōmē Christology rapidly
became normative; after that time the freedom of the theologians to take a
different stand in Christological matters ceased to exist. Henana of Adiabene
and congenial spirits, who were attached to the doctrine of the two natures
of Christ being united in one qnōmā, are, according to de Halleux, not to be
explained by the assumption of an ‘heterodox’ movement within the Persian
Church, which came into being as a result of contacts with Chalcedonians
or Miaphysites, but rather have to be regarded as exponents of an internal
development of the East Syrian Dyophysite tradition, based first and foremost
on the theological thought of Theodore of Mopsuestia, the greatest authority
of the East Syrian tradition.12
Luise Abramowski, on the other hand, argued in favour of a direct connec-
tion between the neo-Chalcedonian formula of the one hypostasis synthetos
(propagated by the Emperor Justinian and ratified by the Fifth Council in
) and the formation of the two-qnōmē Christology in the Persian Church.
That Christology was, in her opinion, developed on the theological founda-
tion of Nestorius’ Book of Herakleides (accessible in a Syriac translation from
/),13 because the Persian Dyophysites felt obliged to take a stand against
the neo-Chalcedonian formula. However, for the time being the East Syrian

11)
Babai’s main work on Christology On the Union was edited by A. Vaschalde, Babai
magni liber de unione (CSCO –, Syr. –; Leuven, ), pp. –, trans. pp. –
. For Babai’s Christology, see V. Grumel, ‘Un théologien nestorien: Babai le Grand (VIe
et VIIe s.)’, Échos d’Orient  (), pp. –, –;  (), pp. –, –
, –, –; Luigi I. Scipioni, Ricerche sulla cristologia del ‘Libro di Eraclide’
di Nestorio: la formulazione teologica e il suo contesto filosofico (Freiburg, ), pp. –
; Luise Abramowski, ‘Die Christologie Babais des Grossen’, in Symposium Syriacum I
() (OCA ; Rome, ), pp. –; Luise Abramowski, ‘Babai der Grosse:
christologische Probleme und ihre Lösungen’, OCP  (), pp. –; Geevarghese
Chediath, The Christology of Mar Babai the Great (Kottayam, ).
12)
André de Halleux, ‘La christologie de Martyrios-Sahdona dans l’évolution du nestori-
anisme’, OCP  (), pp. –. De Halleux’s conclusions resulted in particular from
his analysis of Sahdona’s Christology in his Book of Perfection , Ch. , ed. André de
Halleux, Martyrius (Sahdona). Oeuvres spirituelles . Livre de la perfection, me partie (ch. –
) (CSCO –, Syr. –; Leuven, ), pp. ,–,, trans. pp. ,–,. For
the discussion of the sources dealing with Sahdona, who was definitively expelled from the
Church under Catholicos Isho#yahb III (d. /), and the historical background, see
André de Halleux, ‘Martyrios-Sahdona. La vie mouvementée d’un “hérétique” de l’Église
nestorienne’, OCP  (), pp. –. De Halleux’s study on Sahdona remains very
important, since it draws attention to the fact that the diversity of tradition itself could give
rise to different developments in the field of Christology in the East Syrian Church.
13)
For the date of the translation and the milieu (the School of Nisibis), see Luise Abra-
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

synods clung to the simpler and older Antiochene Christology of the two
natures and one prosopon. But when so influential a personality as Henana
applied the neo-Chalcedonian concept of the one compounded hypostasis to
the Christology of the two natures, it became too dangerous to leave open
the choice between the formula ‘two natures-one prosopon’ and the formula
‘two natures-two hypostases-one prosopon’. In  it was decided, ‘daß die
überkommene Christologie nur noch in der durch die zwei Hypostasen inter-
pretierten Form vertreten werden dürfe’, but the influence of Henana and his
pupils made itself felt long after in the East Syrian Church.14
All three of the above-mentioned scholars relate the long-term growing
process of the ‘Nestorian’ identity in the East Syrian communities in some way
to the effects of the teaching activity of the Director of the most important
centre of theological training of the East Syrian clergy since the end of the fifth
century.15 But it has still remained an open question, why Henana would have
moved from a standpoint which was considered by others to be ‘Orthodox’,
or what circumstances would have led him to feel obliged to introduce the
concept of qnōmā into Christology in the way he did, or why he would have
been disposed to the neo-Chalcedonian view unlike his fellow-theologians,
who were rather opposed to the neo-Chalcedonian formula? It is not easy
to find an answer to these questions. Only a few writings and fragments of

mowski, Untersuchungen zum Liber Heraclidis des Nestorius (CSCO , Subs. ; Leuven,
), pp. –.
14)
Abramowski, ‘Die Christologie’, pp. –.
15)
The most comprehensive study on the School of Nisibis is still Arthur Vööbus, History
of the School of Nisibis (CSCO , Subs. ; Leuven, ); cf. also Arthur Vööbus, The
Statutes of the School of Nisibis (Papers of the Estonian Theological Society in Exile ; Stock-
holm, ). Recent studies: Gerrit J. Reinink, ‘ “Edessa grew dim and Nisibis shone forth”:
the School of Nisibis at the Transition of the Sixth-Seventh Century’, in Jan Willem Drij-
vers and A.A. MacDonald (eds.), Centres of Learning. Learning and Location in Pre-Modern
Europe and the Near East (Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History ; Leiden–New York–Köln,
), pp. – (reprint in Reinink, Syriac Christianity, Ch. ); Adam H. Becker, Fear of
God and the Beginning of Wisdom. The School of Nisibis and Christian Scholastic Culture
in Late Antique Mesopotamia (Philadelphia, ). For the church-historical background
in Nisibis, see Jean Maurice Fiey, Nisibe, métropole syriaque orientale et ses suffragants des
origines à nos jours (CSCO , Subs. ; Leuven, ). The most comprehensive study
of Henana’s directorate is in Vööbus, History, pp. –. The best general introduction
(though in several respects antiquated) is still J. Labourt’s Le christianisme dans l’empire perse
sous la dynastie sassanide (–) (Bibliothèque de l’enseignement de l’histoire ecclésias-
tique; Paris, ), pp. –.
 Gerrit J. Reinink

Henana’s prolific literary activity are extant16 and scholars today in general are
aware of the fact that Babai’s fierce polemics against Henana, imputing all sort
of Origenist and Miaphysite ideas to the Director of the School of Nisibis,
may have created a distorted image of Henana’s ideological world; in any case,
they have to be treated with the greatest caution.17 After Babai’s charges against
Henana, the East Syrian Church tended more and more to consider him as the
arch-heretic, who had attempted to corrupt its Orthodoxy from the inside.18
Were we able to compare, for example, Henana’s (lost) Commentary on the Faith
with Theodore of Mopsuestia’s work on the same topic and Babai’s refutation
(also lost) of Henena’s Commentary, we should certainly have much greater

16)
Cf. Vööbus, History, pp. –. Two of Henana’s #ellātā (‘Causes’) of the ecclesiastical
feasts have survived: the Cause of the Golden Friday and the Cause of the Rogations, ed. Addai
Scher, Traités d’Išaï le Docteur et de Henana d’Adiabène sur les Martyrs, le Vendredi d’Or et les
Rogations (PO .; Paris, ), pp. –. Fragments of Henana’s exegetical works have
been preserved in East Syrian biblical commentaries on the Old and New Testaments from
the eighth–tenth centuries.
17)
Cf. de Halleux, ‘La christologie’, p. ; Guillaumont, ‘Justinien’, p. ; Antoine Guillau-
mont, Les ‘Kephalaia Gnostica’ d’Évagre le Pontique (Patristica Sorbonensia ; Paris, ),
pp. , –. Although Vööbus was well aware of Babai’s polemical representation of
Henana’s ideas, he nevertheless considered Henana an innovator, an ‘enfant terrible’, who
broke with the existing tradition in the field of exegesis and theology by allowing allegory to
play a role in exegesis, by manifesting a penchant towards Miaphysitism in his Christologi-
cal conceptions and by rejecting Theodore’s theological anthropology; cf. Vööbus, History,
pp. –. None of these ‘innovations’ can be found in the work of Barhadbshabba, who
vigorously defended the Director’s exegetical teaching and works (see below, note ).
18)
See, for example, Timothy I (Catholicos from  until ), who in a letter to Nasr
writes that the heretic Henana was excommunicated by the synod held under the Catholicos
Sabrisho# (), a statement which seems to be based rather on the presumption that Henana
also had something to do with the Miaphysite and Theopaschite ideas condemned by this
synod. To demonstrate Henana’s heretical Theopaschite sympathies, Timothy quotes a pas-
sage from Henana’s Commentary on Luke, dealing with the question, which necessity would
have compelled God the Word to be baptized by John the Baptist (Timothei patriarchae I
epistulae, ed. O. Braun [CSCO –, Syr. –; Leuven, –], pp. ,–,,
trans. p. ,–). Vööbus, History, pp. –, considered this passage the decisive evi-
dence for Henana’s Theopaschitism. However, Henana here shows in fact the influence of
the exegesis of John Chrysostom (In Matthaeum homiliae , PG , cols. –) and
he certainly did not intend to express Theopaschite views (cf. also below, note ). The
quotation is for other reasons quite interesting. It shows why Henana’s exegesis could be
considered dangerous by his opponents, since it could easily be misunderstood or abused
by the Miaphysites who were active in Nisibis.
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

insight into the question of how and under what conditions the different
Christological patterns developed during the second half of the sixth century
in the Persian Church.19
Hitherto, the only attempt to explain the role of Henana within a wider
(socio-)historical context has been undertaken by M.G. Morony, in particular
in his book Iraq after the Muslim Conquest, published in .20 Morony sug-
gests that Henana, because of the increasing Miaphysite penetration in Iraq in
the second half of the sixth century, intended to achieve a theological compro-
mise with the Miaphysites, by trying to find some common ground between
Chalcedonians and Miaphysites. For that purpose Henana would have rejected
the exegesis of Theodore of Mopsuestia in favour of that of John Chrysos-
tom, and introduced a Christology by which the Chalcedonian concept of the
hypostatic union of the two natures in Christ was carried to the Miaphysite
conclusion of one nature and one hypostasis. At the same time Morony sees
a connection between Henana (and the School of Nisibis) and the aristocratic
faction in the Persian Church, striving for lay control over the church, and
which was opposed to a second major faction represented by monks and cler-
gymen favouring ecclesiastical autonomy. Morony concludes that the distinc-
tive doctrinal position of the East Syrian Church (defined by the Christol-
ogy of the two natures and two hypostases and by the formal adoption of the
exegesis of Theodore of Mopsuestia) was developed in reaction to the threat
of a compromise with the Miaphysites, pursued by Henana and his support-
ers.21

19)
Theodore’s Commentary on Faith (the Nicene Creed), edited by Alphonse Mingana,
Woodbrooke Studies  (Cambridge, ), and by Raymond Tonneau and Robert Devreesse,
Les homélies catéchétiques de Théodore de Mopsueste (Studi e Testi ; Città del Vaticano,
), pp. –. For recent studies of this work, see Peter Bruns, Den Menschen mit dem
Himmel verbinden. Eine Studie zu den katechetischen Homilien des Theodor von Mopsuestia
(CSCO , Subs. ; Leuven, ); Simon Gerber, Theodor von Mopsuestia und das
Nicänum. Studien zu den katechetischen Homilien (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae ;
Leiden, ). Babai wrote a refutation of Henana’s Commentary which was accepted by an
assembly of the Fathers convoked by Yazdin some time after  (for Yazdin, see Labourt,
Le christianisme, pp. –). It is perhaps not too bold to presume that Babai also argued
in this work that Theodore is in conformity with the two-qnōmē Christology. Henana’s
Commentary on the Faith is also mentioned among his works in #Abdisho#’s Catalogue, ed.
Josephus Simonius Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis . (Rome, ), p. .
20)
See above, note .
21)
Morony, Iraq, pp. , –, .
 Gerrit J. Reinink

Morony’s rather strong view on Henana’s role (which seems to bear a slight
resemblance to the religious policies of Justinian!),22 attributing to Henana
a Christology bearing a Miaphysite signature, is primarily based on Babai’s
accusation, that Henana taught in accordance with the Severians the doc-
trine of the one nature and one qnōmā in Christ and Theopaschitism.23 How-
ever, this charge must definitely attributed to Babai’s efforts to discredit the
Henanaye (partisans of Henana). By accusing their teacher of Miaphysite sym-
pathies, their refusal to accept the two-qnōmē Christology, and their prefer-
ence for either the formula of the ‘two natures-one qnōmā’24 or for maintain-
ing the traditional formula of ‘two natures-one prosopon’, could be cast in a
most unfavourable light.25 One of the fragments of Henana’s Commentary on
Hebrews (Hebr. :) preserved in Isho#dad of Merv’s Commentary shows clearly
that Henana makes a sharp distinction between the human and the divine
nature in Christ, in order to exclude any possibility of Theopaschite ideas.26
In his Cause of the Golden Friday Henana is very close to the Christological
exegesis of Theodore of Mopsuestia, expressing a clear-cut Dyophysite point
of view.27 It is altogether out of the question that Henana in his capacity of

22)
For Justinian’s religious policies, the Fifth Council and its after-effects in general, see
Judith Herrin, The Formation of Christendom (Oxford, ), pp. –. For the the-
ological background, see Charles Moeller, ‘Le chalcédonisme et le néo-chalcédonisme en
Orient de  à la fin du VIe siècle’, in Alois Grillmeier and Heinrich Bacht (eds.), Das
Konzil von Chalkedon  (Würzburg, ), pp. –.
23)
Cf. Babai, Life of George, ed. Bedjan, pp. ,–,; Gerrit J. Reinink, ‘Babai the
Great’s Life of George and the Propagation of Doctrine in the Late Sasanian Empire’, in Jan
Willem Drijvers and John W. Watt (eds.), Portraits of Spiritual Authority. Religious Power
in Early Christianity, Byzantium and the Christian Orient (Religions in the Graeco-Roman
World ; Leiden, ), p.  (reprint in Reinink, Syriac Christianity, Ch. ).
24)
Babai, Life of George, ed. Bedjan, p. ,–. See further below, note .
25)
Babai, Life of George, ed. Bedjan, pp. ,–,. For the Theodoran background of
the two natures united in the prosopon of Christ professed by the synod held under the
Catholicos Akakios (), see W.F. Macomber, ‘The Christology of the Synod of Seleukia-
Ctesiphon, A.D. ’, OCP  (), pp. –; see also Richard A. Norris, Manhood
and Christ: A Study in the Christology of Theodore of Mopsuestia (Oxford, ), pp. –.
26)
The Commentaries of Isho #dad of Merv .–, ed. Margaret Dunlop Gibson (Horae
Semiticae ; Cambridge, ), p. ,–, trans. p. . Henana here is completely in
line with Antiochene exegesis; see Rowan A. Greer, The Captain of our Salvation: A Study
of the Patristic Exegesis of Hebrews (Tübingen, ), pp. – (Theodore), –
(John Chrysostom), – (Theodoret); for Cyril, see Greer, The Captain of our Salvation,
pp. –.
27)
Henana’s exegesis of Acts : posing and answering the question why Peter uses the words
‘In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth’ instead of ‘In the name of the Only-Begotten’ or
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

Director and mpaššqānā (exegete) of the School of Nisibis would have dissem-
inated Miaphysite-like Christological ideas, in order to achieve some sort of
Christological compromise between Chalcedonians and Miaphysites; the way
in which he expressed Dyophysite notions following Theodoran patterns could
at its best have pleased the Persian Dyophysites themselves.
The actual problem for Babai did not consist in a dangerous Christo-
logical innovation, by which the traditional Dyophysite Christology of his
Church was moved into a Miaphysite direction; his problem rather was the
circumstance that the two-qnōmē Christology was considered to be an inno-
vation by a considerable group of scholars and theologians within the Persian
Church. Even Babai himself cannot conceal that this group, in rejecting the two
qnōmē,could also refer to the tradition of their Church, not only pointing to the
Christological formulae of the former synods, but also to the traditions of the
highly respected, Orthodox ‘Fathers’, whose works were read in the schools and
used in the exegetical instruction of the students. In the Life of the Monk and
Martyr George (written between  and ) Babai reproaches the Henanaye,
who stick to the formula of the ‘two natures-one prosopon’, for abusing its
‘Orthodox meaning’ in the works of the ‘ancient Fathers’. At the time of these
Fathers, it was not yet necessary to explain the self-evident fact that two natures
imply two qnōmē. But after the Theopaschite heresy, beginning with Cyril of
Alexandria, identified hypostasis (qnōmā) with prosopon (par.sōpā), Nestorius
and others like him had to declare expressly ‘two natures and two qnōmē pre-
serving their properties in one prosopon of Christ’. Babai goes on to say that
already before Nestorius Theodore of Mopsuestia in the eighth book of his
work On the Incarnation, refuting Apollinarius, clearly expressed ‘two natures
and two qnōmē in one prosopon of Christ, the Son of God’.28 Thus there cannot

‘In the name of the Word’ or ‘In the name of the Son of God’ (ed. Scher, Traités, pp. –
) almost literally corresponds with Theodore’s exegesis of this verse as it is preserved in
the Anonymous Commentary in the manuscript Diyarbakır , fol. v, lines – (for the
Theodoran source of this commentary, see Gerrit J. Reinink, ‘Die Exegese des Theodor von
Mopsuestia in einem anonymen nestorianischen Kommentar zum Neuen Testament’, in
E.A. Livingstone (ed.), Studia Patristica  [Leuven, ], pp. –). For the following
exposé of Henana, explaining that after the resurrection the Apostles by the revelation of the
Spirit understood that Christ was also God, see Norris, Manhood, p. .
28)
Babai, Life of George, ed. Bedjan, pp. ,–,. For the testimony from Theodore,
see below, note .
 Gerrit J. Reinink

be any doubt about the question of what Orthodoxy means ‘according to the
tradition (mašlmānūtā) of the whole Church in the country of the Persians’,29
and of what appears as heresy in view of that tradition:30

Therefore everybody who says today—since this heresy, which mixes and mingles and
makes God suffer, has sprung up—‘two natures-one prosopon’, and who does not also
declare expressly together with these [words] ‘two qnōmē of the natures preserving their
properties in one prosopon of Christ, the Son of God, in one union and conjunction
for ever’, is a heretic and he is excommunicated from the whole Catholic Church under
the heaven.

However, in his treatise Against those who say that just like the soul and the body
are one qnōmā so God the Word and man are also one qnōmā Babai has to admit
that tradition is not unambiguous in this point, and that the ‘ancient Fathers’ in
their teaching used the words prosopon and qnōmā interchangeably.31 From the
context it may be inferred that this is precisely the argument of the East Syrian
theologians, who rejected the two-qnōmē Christology, and that these theolo-
gians, in defending the one-qnōmā Christology, adduced the same Theodore
of Mopsuestia as a witness for connecting prosopon with qnōmā.32

29)
Babai, Life of George, ed. Bedjan, p. ,–.
30)
Babai, Life of George, ed. Bedjan, p. ,–.
31)
This treatise was edited together with Babai’s work On the Union by Vaschalde (above,
note ), pp. –, trans. pp. –. With the ‘ancient Fathers’ and ‘holy Fathers’
mentioned by Babai, of course, authorities accepted in the East Syrian Church are meant,
among others, Theodore of Mopsuestia (see below, note ). These ‘holy Fathers’ wrote
qnōmā for par.sōpā and par.sōpā for qnōmā in their doctrinal treatises, since these termini were
not yet sorted out at that time; ed. Vaschalde, p. ,–, trans. pp. ,–,.
32)
Ed. Vaschalde, pp. ,–,, trans. pp. ,–,. Although Babai for polem-
ical reasons imputes the formula of ‘one qnōmā from two natures’ and Theopaschitism to
his opponents, it is clear that he in fact polemicizes against the East Syrian theologians who
accepted the one-qnōmā Christology. These theologians adduced testimonies from the tradi-
tion in support of their point of view, and it is probable that, in doing so, Theodore of Mop-
suestia’s work On the Incarnation played a predominant role. Babai states that the ‘ancient
Fathers’ had to dispute with the heretics in the matter of the perfect natures of Christ and not
in the matter of the qnōmā, ‘since Arius, Eunomius and Apollinarius did not confess perfect
God nor perfect man’. Now, it is just against these three heretics that Theodore wrote his On
the Incarnation (Robert Devreesse, Essai sur Théodore de Mopueste [Studi e Testi ; Città
del Vaticano, ], p. ). As is also suggested by Babai’s Life of George (above, note ),
the discussions may in particular have been focused on a passage in the eighth book of the
Syriac translation of this work (ed. Eduard Sachau, Theodori Mopsuesteni fragmenta syriaca
[Lipsiae, ], pp. ,–,, trans. pp. –). Both the point of view, that Theodore
expressed two natures and two qnōmē in one prosopon of Christ, and the point of view,
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

The last decades of the sixth and the first decades of the seventh century
show two streams among the East Syrian scholars who aimed at giving a
‘new’ Christological notion—namely, the concept of qnōmā—a place in the
Dyophysite tradition of their Church. One stream, mainly building on certain
explanations in the Syriac translation of Theodore of Mopsuestia’s work On
the Incarnation, accepted a close connection between the notion of prosopon
(par.sōpā) and that of hypostasis (qnōmā), whereas the other stream, following
the lines of Nestorius, associated the notion of nature (kyānā) with that of
hypostasis (qnōmā). Each group could accuse the other of introducing an
improper innovation, since each group could adduce the tradition of ‘ancient
Fathers’, considered as Orthodox in the East Syrian Church, in support of its
opinion. But the most embarrassing aspect of the controversy was the fact that
one side could accuse the other side of distorting the Orthodox Dyophysite
doctrine of the Church, since the prosopon/qnōmā proposition meant that
assuming ‘two natures-two qnōmē’ would lead to the rejectable conclusion
of two prosopa of Christ, whereas the nature/qnōmā proposition meant that
assuming one prosopon/qnōmā would lead to the Miaphysite conclusion of one
nature of Christ.33 Until about  representatives of both groups, teachers and

that Theodore explained the union hypostatically in his statement of one prosopon and one
qnōmā for the conjunction of the two natures of Christ, could appeal to the testimony of this
passage. It is also notable that the topic of Babai’s treatise, namely the comparison of the one
qnōmā of body and soul with the one qnōmā of God the Word and man, also occurs in this
same section of Theodore’s On the Incarnation (ed. Sachau, Fragmenta, p. ,–). The
modern discussion on the question, whether the one qnōmā of the conjunction in the Syr-
iac translation of the On the Incarnation has to be considered an interpolation by the Syriac
translator or not, is irrelevant for my present argument, since this old Edessene translation
(fifth cent.) was the authoritative and normative one in the School of Nisibis and remained
so for a long time, as appears from the quotations in later writers; see Theodore bar Koni,
Liber scholiorum , ed. Addai Scher (CSCO , Syr. ; Paris, ), p. ,–, trans.
R. Hespel and R. Draguet (CSCO , Syr. ; Leuven, ), p. . In favour of the
authenticity, see among others Richard, ‘L’introduction’, pp. –; de Halleux, ‘La chris-
tologie’, p. , note ; for the interpolation-theory, see among others Francis A. Sullivan,
The Christology of Theodore of Mopsuestia (Rome, ), pp. –; for other studies on this
topic, see Alois Grillmeier, Christ in Christian Tradition  (London–Oxford, ), p. ,
note . Luise Abramowski has convincingly demonstrated that the Syriac translation pub-
lished by Sachau is secondary in this point and shows the influence of the Syriac translator,
see Luise Abramowski, ‘Die Reste der syrischen Übesetzung von Theodor von Mopsuestia,
De incarnatione, in add. .’, Aram  (), pp. –; Luise Abramowski, ‘Über die
Fragmente des Theodor von Mopsuestia in Brit.Libr. add. . und das doppelt über-
lieferte christologische Fragment’, Oriens Christianus  (), pp. –.
33)
Both groups equally stuck to the traditional Theodoran concept of two natures and one
 Gerrit J. Reinink

students, were active in the School of Nisibis, but the most influential figure
of the School, the Director Henana of Adiabene, who occupied the important
chair of biblical exegesis, was probably an advocate of the first group—at least,
he was no pronounced supporter of the two-qnōmē option.34
It hardly can be doubted that the scholarly discussions in the East Syrian
Church concerning the Christological application of qnōmā were born of the
decisions of the Fifth Council.35 But the fact that these discussions resulted in
an open and strongly polarizing controversy, of which the School of Nisibis
became the epicentre, has, in my view, more to do with the consequences of
deliberate Miaphysite propaganda, trying to take advantage of the conflicting
tendencies and inner tensions in the East Syrian ‘tradition’ itself, than with
the presumption that Henana of Adiabene and his supporters simply accepted
the neo-Chalcedonian formula or tried to find some common ground between
Chalcedonians and Miaphysites, and in doing so, provoked the opposition of

prosopon. For the rejection of the ‘Nestorian’ formula of two prosopa, cf. Abramowski and
Goodman, A Nestorian Collection, ed. Vol. , pp. ,–,, ,–, trans. Vol. ,
pp. ,–, ,–.
34)
Sahdona was a student of the School of Nisibis during Henana’s directorate and he is
reported to have been a pupil of Isaiah of Tahal, who belonged to the loyalists of Henana
(cf. Vööbus, History, pp. –). Isaiah was a pronounced supporter of the one-qnōmā
Christology, as appears from the refutation of his Christological views by Henanisho# the
Monk; see Abramowski and Goodman, A Nestorian Collection, ed. Vol. , pp. ,–,;
trans. Vol. , pp. ,–,. Did Isaiah use the neo-Chalcedonian formula of the one
composite hypostasis, as is suggested by Henanisho#, or did he use the par.sōpā qnōmāyā
formula, inspired by Theodore’s On the Incarnation, as Sahdona did, a formula which the
two-qnōmē theologians alleged was equal to the (neo-)Chalcedonian point of view? It also
remains uncertain whether Henana himself expressly propounded the one-qnōmā. The only
place in the preserved fragments where qnōmā plays a role is Henana’s exegesis of Heb. :
(Isho#dad, The Commentaries .–, ed. Gibson, p. ,–, trans. p. ). However,
Henana’s use of ba-qnōmeh here is inspired by the Peshitta of Heb. : and a technical
Christological meaning is not apparent. The Dyophysite character of Henana’s exegesis of
this verse, however, is unmistakable.
35)
The only evidence for the Christological use of qnōmā before  is in Narsai’s homily
On the Mysteries, in which we encounter the formula ‘one prosopon, double in natures and
their qnōmē’ and ‘two natures and two qnōmē in one prosopon’; ed. Alphonse Mingana,
Narsai doctoris homiliae et carmina  (Mosul, ), p. , note ; see R. Hugh Connolly,
The Liturgical Homilies of Narsai (Cambridge, ), pp. , . However, the authenticity
of these passages is much questioned; cf. Vööbus, History, p. . However this may be,
the Christological use of qnōmā is not a central theme in Narsai’s Christology; see Frederick
G. McLeod, Narsai’s Metrical Homilies on the Nativity, Epiphany, Passion, Resurrection and
Ascension (PO .; Turnhout, ), p. , note .
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

the two-qnōmē Dyophysites and caused a schism within the Church. From
two reliable sources it may be deduced that Miaphysites were directly involved
in the growing tensions between two factions in the School of Nisibis during
Henana’s directorate.
The so-called Anonymous Chronicle or Khuzistan Chronicle (composed about
–) reports that before the time when Gregory of Kashkar took over the
seat of the Metropolitan of Nisibis () the great reputation of its School had
attracted many ‘foolish, seditious and quarrelsome people’ from every land,
even from territories belonging to the Byzantine Empire. The words used to
describe these people belong to the standard characterization of heretics, and
we may surmise that it is in particular Syriac-speaking Miaphysites who are
meant.36 After Gregory of Kashkar had become the Metropolitan of Nisibis, the
chronicler goes on to say, a conflict broke out between the new Metropolitan
and the Director, since Gregory, who was ‘a zealous man’, could not accept
that Henana in some points criticized ‘the universal Exegete’ (Theodore of
Mopsuestia) in his (Henana’s) mašlmānwātā, ‘traditions’.37
This report is for different reasons quite interesting. In the first place, it
should be noticed that the chronicler, who has a positive opinion of Gregory,
does not make mention of any heretical Christological aberration on the part
of Henana.38 Secondly, Gregory’s criticism of Henana concerns the practice

36)
For general surveys of the influence, mission and organization of Miaphysitism in Iraq
in the second half of the sixth century, see Labourt, Le christianisme, pp. –; Jean
Maurice Fiey, Jalons pour une histoire de l’église en Iraq (CSCO , Subs. ; Leuven, ),
pp. –; Morony, Iraq, pp. –. This influence threatened monastic circles in
particular. See, for example, Canon  of the rules of Dadisho#, Abbot of the Great Monastery
of Izla (–), binding the monks strictly to the doctrine of Diodore, Theodore and
Nestorius; Arthur Vööbus, Syriac and Arabic Documents regarding Legislation relative to
Syrian Ascetism (Stockholm, ), pp. –. In / the monks called d-Bar Qayti
of Mount Sinjar declared adherence to the Dyophysite Christology and the acceptance
of the writings, commentaries and teachings of Theodore and his co-workers; Synodicon
Orientale, ed. Chabot, pp. ,–,, trans. p. . It is also significant that the East
Syrian synods of ,  and  combine the apology of Theodore with an attack on
inter alia Miaphysite views and the defence of Dyophysitism.
37)
Chronica minora , ed. I. Guidi (CSCO –, Syr. –; Paris, ), p. ,–, trans.
p. ,–. By mašlmānwātā in a narrower sense exegetical instruction is meant, both in its
oral and in its written form. See also below, note .
38)
For the chronicler’s criticism of the Catholicos Sabrisho#’s role in the deposition of
Gregory, see Chronica minora , ed. Guidi, p. ,–, trans. p. ,–; M. Tamcke,
Der Katholikos-Patriarch Sabrı̄šō# I. (–) und das Mönchtum (Europäische Hochschul-
¯
schriften .; Frankfurt am Main–Bern–New York, ), p. , note .
 Gerrit J. Reinink

of the Director’s exegetical teaching, in which the authority of Theodore of

Mopsuestia, the Exegete par excellence of the East Syrians,39 was apparently
not beyond dispute in every respect. I shall return to the background of this
question below. Here, we have to pay attention first of all to the fact that
any criticism of Theodore was grist to the mill of the Miaphysites, just like
the condemnation of the ‘Three Chapters’ (Theodore of Mopsuestia, Ibas of
Edessa, and Theodoret of Cyrrhus) by Justinian and its ecclesiastical approval
at the Council of . Gregory of Kashkar demanded absolute loyalty to the
works of Theodore of Mopsuestia; and the reason for that may have been that
any criticism of Theodore was considered something which could give the
heretical propagandists the opportunity to stir up in Nisibis the Christological
disputes which over a century before had taken place in Edessa and led to the
end of its Dyophysite ‘School of the Persians’ and the foundation of the School
of Nisibis, since then the bulwark of Dyophysitism in the Sassanian Empire.40
The assumption that the Miaphysites at that time were actually trying to
subvert the main centre of learning and diffusion of Dyophysitism in the
Persian Empire from the inside may be corroborated by a source, written
around the period from  to , and giving us a direct entrée into the
circumstances in the School. In that period, Barhadbshabba, a member of the
School loyal to Henana, composed according to the pattern of the #ellātā (an
isagogic genre cultivated in the School of Nisibis in the sixth century)41 an
introductory speech for the students entitled Cause of the Foundation of the
Schools.42 This work offers an historical survey of the paideia of God in history

39)
See below, notes , , .
40)
See Vööbus, History, pp. –.
41)
Cf. Anton Baumstark, ‘Die nestorianischen Schriften “de causis festorum” ’, Oriens
Christianus  (), pp. –; William Francis Macomber, ‘The Theological Synthesis
of Cyrus of Edessa, an East Syrian Theologian of the Mid Sixth Century’, OCP  (),
pp. –; idem, Six Explanations of the Liturgical Feasts by Cyrus of Edessa, an East Syrian
Theologian of the Mid Sixth Century (CSCO , Syr. ; Leuven, ), pp. vi–x. For a
survey of the preserved and lost examples of the #ellātā and a discussion of the genre, see
Becker, Fear of God, pp. –; Gerrit J. Reinink, ‘The Cause of the Commemoration of
Mary’, pp. –.
42)
Ed. Addai Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba
. #Arbaya, évêque de Halwan
. (VIe siècle). Cause de
la foundation des écoles (PO .; Turnhout, ). In the title the work is attributed to
Barhadbshabba #Arbaya, Bishop of Halwan (ed. Scher, p. ). However, the author of the
Cause of the Foundation of the Schools probably has to be distinguished from Barhadbshabba
#Arbaya, who composed after  the Histories of the Holy Fathers who were persecuted for the
sake of the truth edited by François Nau, La première partie de l’histoire de Barhadbešabba
.
#Arbaïa (PO .; Paris, ); La seconde partie de l’histoire de Barhadbešabba
. #Arbaïa
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

and of the Old Testament, pagan and Christian ‘schools’, beginning with the
creation and extending to the foundation of the School of Nisibis together with
its history down to the time of the author.43 The final part of the survey deals
with the Director Henana, and begins as follows:44

His office45 was received by Mar Henana of Adiabene, who was adorned with all
things, with humility and with experience in all affairs required by the work of exegesis
(mpaššqānūtā). And if someone would say that he was elected for that from the
beginning, he would not be mistaken. For this appears from the manifest outcome
of the events, since he was tried and tempted by many things. Although he emptied

(PO .; Paris, ); cf. Vööbus, History, pp. –. However, Vööbus’s suggestion
(Vööbus, History, pp. –), that Barhadbshabba #Arbaya, the author of the Histories, has
to be distinguished from Barhadbshabba, Bishop of Halwan, who may have been the author
of the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, remains open to challenge. We rather have to
assume with Fiey, Jalons, pp. –, that Barhadbshabba #Arbaya, who wrote the Histories as
the chief of the bādōqē of the School of Nisibis (a category of teachers and scholars), is to be
identified with Hadbeshabba #Arbaya, Bishop of Halwan, who according to the Chronicle of
Siirt belonged to the teachers who left the School of Nisibis about  (Chronicle of Siirt ,
ed. Scher, Histoire nestorienne , pp. –). Barhadbshabba #Arbaya probably became
Bishop of Halwan after his departure from the School and he is mentioned in that function
among the subscribers of the synod of Gregory I in ; Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot,
p. ,, trans. p. . It is conceivable that Barhadbshabba, the author of the Cause of
the Foundation of the Schools, was later identified with Barhadbshabba #Arbaya, Bishop of
Halwan, since the latter was a very renowned author; see Chronica minora , ed. Guidi,
p. ,–, trans. p. ,–. See also Reinink, ‘Edessa’, p. . However, Becker, Fear of
God, pp. –, , does not exclude the possibility that the authors of the Cause of the
Foundation of the Schools and the Histories are the same person. There is more certainty with
regard to the date of the Cause. It was composed after the elevation of Isho#yahb of Arzun
as Catholicos in  and probably not later than the time when Sabrisho# was consecrated
Catholicos ()—in any event before the death of Henana of Adiabene (around );
see Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. pp. ,–,,
trans. pp. ,–,.
43)
Ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. pp. ,–,, trans. pp. ,–,. This main part
is preceded by a prologue and a theological-philosophical introduction to the doctrine of
God (ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. pp. ,–,, trans. pp. ,–,). It concludes
with an epilogue (ed. and trans. pp. ,–,). The work appears to be an inaugural
speech for the commencement of the academic year. It is possible that already Elisha bar
Quzbaye (Director of the School from  to about ) and Abraham of Bet Rabban
(Director from about  to about ) also wrote #ellātā on the same topic (now lost); cf.
Vööbus, History, pp. , –; Becker, Fear of God, p. .
44)
Ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. pp. ,–,, trans. pp. ,–,.
45)
The chair of exegesis which was occupied by Abraham of Nisibis; cf. Vööbus, History,
pp. –.
 Gerrit J. Reinink

his whole quiver against the flock of Satan, and the Adversary stirred up against him
many quarrels and a great strife and commotion and innumerable controversies and
schisms, still the Hidden Providence did not allow that he would be pierced by one of
the burning arrows of the Evil One, but having placed his foot on the rock of the Faith
and having bent his shoulder to the spiritual service, he worked continually, unceasingly
and assiduously, according to the divine will, in the spiritual arena …

As appears from other places in the speech, Barhadbshabba directs the phrase
‘the flock of Satan’ at heretics trying to corrupt the Orthodoxy of the Church.46
Barhadbshabba’s imagery suggests that Henana did everything possible to op-
pose the heretics, but that he could not prevent grave disorders from arising
in the School; notwithstanding all that, the Director, with the help of God,
fulfilled his task in the right way and in conformity with the Orthodox doc-
trine of his Church. It is quite natural to look for a relation between the ‘quar-
relsome people’ mentioned in the Anonymous Chronicle and Barhadbshabba’s
‘flock of Satan’. Could it be that the Miaphysite propagandists, using the neo-
Chalcedonian formula of the hypostasis synthetos but carrying it to the Mia-
physite conclusion of one nature of Christ, were trying to sow dissension in the
School? May we assume that the ‘schisms’ that followed are to be explained by
the fact that one faction in the School reproached the Director for not having
turned the right weapon against these heretics, namely the two-qnōmē point of
view, whereas another faction, supporting Henana, held to the opinion that the
traditional Dyophysite formula of their Church (if necessary, with the identifi-
cation of the notion of par.sōpā and qnōmā) was a sufficient guarantee for main-
taining the native East Syrian Dyophysite identity over against the Miaphysite
attacks? Barhadbshabba’s discussion on the position of Theodore of Mopsues-
tia in connection with the question of the mašlmānūtā, ‘tradition’, accepted by
the School, may indicate that there was a group of teachers and students in the
School that took a very strict and uncompromising stand against the teaching
practice of Henana and claimed an extremely normative and almost unassail-
able position for Theodore of Mopsuestia.47 It seems most plausible to suppose
that we have to seek the advocates of the two-qnōmē Christology in the same
camp.48

46)
Ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. p. ,–, trans. p. ,–, referring to the heresies
which sprang up after the death of the Apostles; ed. and trans. p. ,–, referring to the
Miaphysites in Edessa.
47)
See below, pp. –.
48)
The Chronicle of Siirt , ed. Scher, Histoire nestorienne , pp. –, mentions among
the teachers and students who left the School about  after the ‘zealous’ actions of the
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

This brings us to a further point advanced by Morony in connection with

his view of Henana’s role as compromiser, namely, the Director’s innovations
in the field of exegesis. Morony, following the opinion of a number of modern
scholars, thinks that Henana rejected the exegesis of Theodore of Mopsuestia
in favour of that of John Chrysostom.49 Morony seems to suppose that Henana
substituted John for Theodore, because the former was accepted as an Ortho-
dox authority by Miaphysites, Chalcedonians, and East Syrian Dyophysites
alike, whereas Theodore, who had always been considered as a heretic by the
Miaphysites,50 was now also anathematized by the Fifth Council.51 In what
follows I shall argue that this view cannot be upheld either.
The existence of a close connection between the condemnation of Theodore
by the Fifth Council, anti-Miaphysite polemic, and the controversy around
Henana in the School of Nisibis, is strongly suggested by the second canon
of the synod held under the Catholicos Isho#yahb I in , dealing with ‘the
apology of the writings and the traditions (mašlmānwātā) of the holy Theodore’
and ‘the refutation of the heretics who spread a false fame about him (that is,
Theodore)’.52 The first part of the canon certainly refers to the condemnation
of Theodore by the Fifth Council, which is presented as a victory of Satan, who
by means of the heretics (that is, the Miaphysites), deceived many people (that
is, the bishops of the Council and others) and made them refute ‘the divine
doctrines’ of Theodore.53 The second part, however, is aimed at people within
the Church of the East itself ‘who are called in name Orthodox, [but] who are

Metropolitan Gregory and his deposition (see below, note ) Isho#yahb of Gedala and
Michael the Doctor. Isho#yahb was an advocate of the two-qnōmē Christology (see above,
note ). Michael was the author of a Christological treatise against the Miaphysites (Cyril,
the Severians, the Julianists), in which he refuted the hypostatic union of God and man in
Christ; Abramowski and Goodman, A Nestorian Collection, ed. Vol. , pp. ,–,;
trans. Vol. , pp. ,–,.
49)
Morony, Iraq, p. ; Labourt, Le christianisme, pp. –, ; Vööbus, History,
p. .
50)
For the actions of Rabbula of Edessa against the works of Theodore in the thirties of
the fifth century, see Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
.
pp. ,–,, trans. pp. ,–,; Vööbus, History, pp. –; Becker, Fear of God,
pp. –.
51)
Cf. Louis Pirot, L’œuvre exégétique de Théodore de Mopsueste (Rome, ), pp. –
; Jacques-Marie Vosté, ‘L’œuvre exégétique de Théodore de Mopsueste au IIe Concile
de Constantinople’, Revue biblique  (), pp. –, –; Devreesse, Essai,
pp. –.
52)
Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, p. ,–, trans. p. .
53)
Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, pp. ,–,, trans. pp. –.
 Gerrit J. Reinink

[in fact] in their troublesomeness disturbers of the Orthodoxy, the doctrines

and the traditions (mašlmānwātā) of the Church, fighting with a powerless
opposing force against the powerful force of the doctrine of truth which is
stored up and laid down by the help of the [divine] Grace in the writings and
the traditions (mašlmānwātā) of the Exegete [that is, Theodore]’.54 It has long
been recognized that the ‘disturbers of the traditions’ mentioned in this canon
must refer to Henana and his pupils.55
It is significant that the dispute concerning the authority of Theodore at
the time was not so much focused on doctrinal questions, but rather on
the question of the acceptance of Theodore’s exegetical opinions on the Old
Testament Book of Job. It appears that Henana had composed a Commentary
on Job, in which he rejected Theodore’s opinion that the Book of Job was
written by a certain sophist; instead he held the view that Job was composed
by Moses.56 The anathema of Canon two is addressed to those who reject
Theodore’s ‘holy writings’ and accept that other Commentary (puššāqā) on
Job which is ‘strange to the truth’.57 The Acts of the Fifth Council expressly
condemn Theodore’s view that Job was composed by a writer who was a
paganica scientia eruditus.58 The later East Syrian exegetical tradition confirms
this opinion of Theodore’s: some Jew, who was very educated and trained in
Greek knowledge, composed the history of the righteous man Job after the
Babylonian exile. The opposite view, that Moses composed the Book of Job,
is by the same exegetical tradition attributed to ‘John Chrysostom and many
others’.59

54)
Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, p. ,–, trans. p. .
55)
Cf. Oskar Braun, Das Buch des Synhados oder Synodicon Orientale (Stuttgart–Wien,
), p. , note ; Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, p. , note ; Labourt, Le chris-
tianisme, p. .
56)
Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, pp. ,–,, trans. p. . Although Henana
is not mentioned by name, most scholars assume that the Commentary on Job, which is
denounced in Canon , was composed by Henana (cf. Vööbus, History, p. ). Fragments
of Henana’s commentary are preserved in Isho#dad of Merv’s commentary on Job, ed.
Ceslas Van den Eynde, Commentaire d’Išo#dad sur l’Ancien Testament . Livres des sessions
(CSCO –, Syr. –; Leuven, ), pp. ,–,, trans. pp. ,–
,.
57)
Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, p. ,–, trans. p. .
58)
Vosté, ‘L’œuvre exégétique’, p. ; Devreesse, Essai, p. .
59)
Cf. Isho#dad, Commentaire , ed. Van den Eynde, p. ,–, trans. pp. ,–,,
and the Anonymous Commentary in the manuscript Diyarbakır , fol. r, lines –
(almost literally corresponding with Isho#dad). Whereas these commentaries present both
traditions in a neutral way, Theodore bar Koni opposes the view of the Mosaic authorship,
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

The possibility is not at all excluded that Henana in his Commentary on Job
in fact adduced John Chrysostom as a witness for his point of view.60 But does
that mean that Henana, being aware of the condemnation of among others
Theodore’s Commentary on Job by the Fifth Council, wanted to please both
neo-Chalcedonians and Miaphysites by rejecting Theodore and replacing him
with John Chrysostom? Another possibility should at least not be dismissed
beforehand, namely that Henana was no slavish follower of Theodore’s exegesis
in every respect and that he felt free to pursue other courses of tradition,
when Theodore adopted rather exceptional positions, as was the case with
his judgement of the Book of Job.61 An analysis of the few fragments of

reflecting Theodore’s criticism of the Book of Job; Theodore bar Koni, Liber Scholiorum ,
ed. Addai Scher (CSCO , Syr. ; Paris, ), pp. –, note , trans. R. Hespel
and R. Draguet (CSCO , Syr. ; Leuven, ), pp. –.
60)
It could explain how the idea that John Chrysostom attributed the Book of Job to Moses
entered into the East Syrian exegetical tradition, since there seems to be no evidence for
John Chrysostom giving his opinion about the authorship; cf. Isho#dad, Commentaire ,
trans. Van den Eynde, p. , note . According to the prologue of the Commentary on
Job attributed to John Chrysostom, Moses did not mention Job (in the Pentateuch), since
it was not necessary to do so. This remark may have led to the conclusion that Moses in
John’s view knew the history of Job; ed. Henri Sorlin and Louis Neyrand, Jean Chrysostome.
Commentaire sur Job  (SChrét , Paris, ), pp. –. Since John Chrysostom did
not share the exceptional view of Theodore, Henana may have argued that John rather sided
with the older tradition concerning the Mosaic authorship (see below, note ). For only
one of the nine Henana-quotations does Van den Eynde refer to John’s commentary (trans.
p. , note ), and in one place Isho#dad opposes Henana’s exegesis to John’s view (ed.
p. ,, trans. p. ,).
61)
For a discussion of the fragments of Theodore’s Commentary on Job preserved in the Acts
of the Fifth Council and the grounds for Theodore’s criticism of the Book of Job, see Hein-
rich Kihn, Theodor von Mopsuestia und Junilius Africanus als Exegeten (Freiburg im Breisgau,
), pp. –; Pirot, L’oeuvre exégétique, pp. –; Christoph Schäublin, Unter-
suchungen zu Methode und Herkunft der antiochenischen Exegese (Köln–Bonn, ), pp. –
; Rudolf Bultmann, Die Exegese des Theodor von Mopsuestia (Stuttgart, ), pp. , –
; see also Michael Maas, Exegesis and Empire in the Early Byzantine Mediterranean (Stu-
dien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum ; Tübingen, ), pp. –. Theodore’s
brother, Polychronius of Apamea, rejected his brother’s criticism of Job and accepted the
Mosaic authorship; see Rudolphus Cornely, Historia et Critica Introductio in V.T. Libros
Sacros . (= Introductio specialis in Libros Sacros Veteris Testamenti) (Paris, ), pp. –
. The tradition of the Mosaic authorship appears in a scholion attributed to Ephrem
Syrus in the Catena of Severus; ed. P. Benedictus, Sancti patris nostri Ephraem Syri opera
omnia . Syriace et Latine (Rome, ), pp. –. Although the Ephremian provenance
is to be doubted, the fragment may represent post-Ephremian Edessene tradition; for the
question of its authenticity, cf. Charles Renoux, ‘Vers le commentaire de Job d’Éphrem de
 Gerrit J. Reinink

Henana’s exegetical works preserved in later East Syrian tradition shows that
his exegesis has a complex character, in which influences from both Theodore
of Mopsuestia and John Chrysostom, together with influences of the older
Edessene tradition (Ephrem Syrus taking a prominent place), come to the fore.
Moreover, the Syriac Bible text plays an important role in Henana’s exegesis.62
There is no question of Theodore being excluded nor of John Chrysostom
dominating in the few remains of Henana’s exegetical heritage.
For a better understanding of the various backgrounds of the controversy,
the pivot of which was the School of Nisibis and Henana’s exegetical activi-
ties, we should realize that during the eighties and nineties of the sixth century
the discussion on the authority of Theodore was connected with the question
of the ‘tradition’ (mašlmānūtā) defining the religious identity of the East Syr-
ian Church. This discussion, being the aftermath of the Fifth Council in the
Church of Persia, had become urgent, owing to aggressive Miaphysite pro-
paganda in Iraq. It soon led to highly polarized and, when more and more

Nisibe’, Parole de l’Orient – (–), p. ; Joseph Melki, ‘S. Ephrem le Syrien, un
bilan de l’édition critique’, Parole de l’Orient  (), p. . This tradition also appears
in a notice in the Armenian Commentary on Job attributed to Ephrem, ed. A. Vardanian,
Handès Amsorya  (), p.  (I am very grateful to professor Theo M. van Lint for
this information). Jacob of Edessa, in his Letter  to John of Litarba, states that it is the
‘tradition of the Fathers and the Doctors of the Church’ that the Book of Job was composed
by Moses; François Nau, ‘Traduction des letters XII et XIII de Jacques d’Édesse (exégèse
biblique)’, ROC  (), p. . Thus, Henana reverted to a well-known opinion in cir-
cles of Syriac-speaking Christianity, and I presume that his rejection of Theodore’s view has
not so much to do with his attempting to propagate ‘heretical’ ideas, but rather with the
high esteem that the Book of Job enjoyed in the tradition; see, for example, Narsai, who in
his homily On Job says that ‘the Creator’ wrote the record of Job in the Book of His Words’,
ed. Alphonse Mingana, Narsai doctoris homiliae et carmina  (Mosul, ), p. ,–.
62)
A few examples (in addition to the examples mentioned above in notes , , , ):
For Ephrem, see Isho#dad, trans. Ceslas Van den Eynde, Commentaire d’Išo#dad sur l’Ancien
Testament . Genèse (CSCO , Syr. ; Leuven, ), pp. ,, note , ,,
note , ,, note . For John Chrysostom, cf. ibid., p. ,, note . For Theodore
and the Syriac biblical text, cf. Isho#dad, The Commentaries .–, ed. Gibson, p. ,–,
trans. pp. –. In this quotation of Heb. :, Henana first follows the exegesis of
Theodore and then he continues with an exposé based on the expression ba-qyāmā in the
Peshitta of Heb. :. For the Theodoran exegesis of Heb. :, see Isho#dad, The Commen-
taries .–, ed. Gibson, pp. ,–,, trans. p. ; see also the Greek Theodore frag-
ment (Heb. :–) in Karl Staab, Pauluskommentare aus der griechischen Kirche (Münster,
), p. ,– (Heb. : is not explained in the Anonymous Commentary in Diyarbakır
).
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

political factors became involved, uncompromising positions, resulting in the

secession of the anti-Henana faction from the School of Nisibis in about
.63
The synods of  (Isho#yahb I),  (Sabrisho# I), and  (Gregory I) show
a frequent use of the concept of mašlmānūtā (plur. mašlmānwātā) in connec-
tion with the defence of the works and doctrines of Theodore. The synod of
Isho#yahb characterizes people who oppose the mašlmānwātā of Theodore as
disturbers of the mašlmānwātā of the Church.64 The synod of Sabrisho# con-
dems those who reject the commentaries, the mašlmānwātā and the doctrines
of Theodore, by introducing ‘new and strange mašlmānwātā’ and opposing the
true doctrine of Theodore and of ‘all true teachers, directors of the schools’,
who followed Theodore and transmitted the Orthodox faith in the Sassanian
Empire.65 The synod of Gregory devotes a lengthy paragraph to this subject,
condemning those who love ‘new inventions’ and ‘new thoughts’ and order-
ing ‘that all of us should accept and agree with all commentaries and writings
which are composed by the blessed Mar Theodore, the Exegete, the Bishop of
Mopsuestia’, since all true Fathers until the present time had done so.66
The emphasis placed by these synods on the normative role of the writings of
Theodore has as much to do with the dangerous increase of Miaphysite influ-
ence in Iraq, especially in monastic circles, as with the practice of Henana’s
exegetical teaching.67 Accordingly, the synod of  gives a full quotation of a
canon of the synod of Bet Lapat (Gundeshapur) in , in which the Ortho-
doxy of Theodore’s writings and commentaries is affirmed over against Mia-

63)
For the historical background, see below, note .
64)
Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, p. ,, trans. p. .
65)
Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, p. ,–, trans. p. .
66)
Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, p. ,–, trans. pp. –.
67)
See above, note . Babai the Great required an almost exclusive position for Theodore
in the exegetical training of the monks; cf. Vööbus, Syriac and Arabic Documents, p. . It
is interesting to note that according to the Life of Bar #Idta Abraham of Kashkar, the founder
and first Abbot of the Great Monastery of Izla (d. ), sent out his monks to found new
monasteries, with the exhortation to read Theodore, the Desert Fathers, Ephrem and Narsai;
ed. E.A. Wallis Budge, The Histories of Rabban Hôrmîzd the Persian and Rabban Bar- #Idtâ
– (London, ), p. , trans. p. . Besides the study of the Desert Fathers for
the ascetic life, only Theodore is mentioned by Babai for the exegetical instruction of the
monks; cf. Dadisho# Qatraya, On Solitude, trans. Alphonse Mingana, Woodbroke Studies 
(Cambridge, ), pp. –, ed. p. ; Babai, Life of George, ed. Bedjan, pp. ,–,
,–.
 Gerrit J. Reinink

physite propagandistic activity.68 In addition to this quotation, the synod of

 confers almost absolute and canonical authority on Theodore’s writings:69

… Therefore, we also have ordained and determined in agreement with these [Fathers],
that everyone who fulfils the work of teaching in the churches and in the congregations
which are in this illustrious Kingdom, should, according to the custom of the true
[teachers] and their tradition (mašlmānūtā) with us, study the writings of this man
[Theodore] and perform his teaching for his audience according to his [Theodore’s]
commentaries (puššāqē) and not go astray by the inventions of those who write or
speak or transmit that which conflicts with his [Theodore’s] words and views and who,
if they happen to possess something worthy of praise, have taken and acquired it from
the riches of the writings of this divine man. Therefore, we all ordain and determine
with one consent, that everyone who has refuted or will refute the words and views
of this man, the teacher of the fear of God, openly or secretly, through the spoken
or the written word, and who has written or will write things which are conflicting
with his writings and who does not agree whole-heartedly with the things which in
wisdom by the Divine Grace have been spoken and written by this divine man, will
be excommunicated and anathematized in heaven and on earth by the word of God,
holding height and depth, and the Divine Wrath will be upon him with the accord of
the whole congregation.

It is very remarkable indeed that in the judgement of none of these synods

which took place in the period of Henana’s directorate did the supposed
departures from the ‘traditions’ (mašlmānwātā) of the Church concern the field
of Christology. The reason for that may be that Henana’s Christological views
did not deviate essentially from the older Dyophysite formulations of the East
Syrian Church, whereas there still did not exist sufficient consensus on the
question of connecting the concept of qnōmā with the older Christological
tradition. The condemnation of the ‘Three Chapters’ by the Fifth Council, on
the contrary, was a dagger thrust through the heart of the East Syrian Church.
Theodore had not acquired his pre-eminent place in the East Syrian tradition
through the alleged subversive activities of Henana, who tried to exclude
Theodore completely from his exegetical teaching: already in the first half of the
sixth century Theodore’s writings had become dominant and normative to a
high degree in the School of Nisibis, both in the praxis of exegetical instruction
and in the formation of theology.70 The denunciation of Theodore by the Fifth

68)
Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, pp. ,–,, trans. pp. –; see S. Gero,
Bar.sauma of Nisibis and Persian Christianity in the Fifth Century (CSCO , Subs. ;
Leuven, ), pp. –.
69)
Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, p. ,–, trans. p. .
70)
Cf. Arthur Vööbus, ‘Abraham de-Bēt Rabban and his Rôle in the Hermeneutic Tradi-
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

Council, which could be used very well by Miaphysite propagandists active in

the territories of the Sassanian Empire (focusing on North Mesopotamia and
the School of Nisibis), made any form of ‘criticism’ of Theodore pronounced
by the important personality of the Director of the School of Nisibis too
dangerous, becoming, for that reason, altogether unacceptable for a number
of scholars, theologians and ecclesiastical authorities.
Already before the synod of , which ascribed almost absolute authority
to Theodore’s writings, a group of scholars and students in the School of Nisibis
could not tolerate the way in which Henana practised exegesis, and that group
took the increasingly polarizing position of requiring an extremely normative
and unimpeachable position for Theodore’s exegesis (in the way of: ‘Theodore is
always right’, when different or even conflicting possibilities of biblical exegesis
present in the tradition of the East Syrian schools were discussed). However,
one may presume that the controversy was not simply determined by the
circumstance that, on the one hand, Henana rejected Theodore and replaced
him by John Chrysostom, and, on the other, a group of scholars were opposed
to that ‘innovation’ and required the preservation of an allegedly ‘traditional’
exclusive position for Theodore.71 My suggestion would be, that the growing
conflict between the two opposing factions in the School was closely connected
with divergent views concerning the definition of the mašlmānwātā and the
degree to which these were allowed to play a role in the exegetical instruction of
the students. It is again Barhadbshabba who may give us a better understanding
of the backgrounds of this aspect of the controversy in the School of Nisibis
during that period (–).
Barhadbshabba’s apology for Henana not only bears upon the Director’s
right defence of the Orthodox Faith of his Church against the assaults of
the heretics, but also upon the fact that the mašlmānwātā of Henana are
in line with exegetical traditions accepted by the Church.72 Comparing the

tions of the School of Nisibis’, HThR  (), pp. –; Macomber, ‘Theological
Synthesis’, pp. –, –; Robert Macina, ‘L’homme à l’école de Dieu. D’Antioche
à Nisibe: Profil herméneutique et kérugmatique du movement scoliaste nestorien’, Proche-
Orient Chrétien  (), pp. –, –;  (), pp. – (with compre-
hensive bibliography); Becker, Fear of God, pp. –.
71)
See below, note .
72)
According to Barhadbshabba ‘tradition’ (mašlāmānūtā) and ‘explanation’ (puššāqā) of the
Scriptures can be either oral or written. In oral form ‘traditions’ (mašlmānwātā) can be trans-
mitted by the teachers in the practice of exegetical instruction (puššāqā). In written form
they can be transmitted in written commentaries (puššāqē); cf. Cause of the Foundation of
the Schools, ed./trans. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. pp. ,/, ,/–, ,/–,
 Gerrit J. Reinink

composition of commentaries on the Old and New Testament by Henana

with the exegetical work of the ‘blessed Exegete’ (Theodore),73 Barhadbshabba
emphasizes Henana’s creative originality in using and incorporating the rich
tradition (‘treasures’) of the Church into his own mašlmānwātā:74

… And just as the table of a king is adorned with all kinds of food, so is he [Henana]
also preparing before us a spiritual table filled with the delicacies of the Scriptures,
provided with various sorts of instruction of the holy lessons and seasoned with the
polished speech of the philosophers. Everybody who is nourished by him [Henana], is
not in need of other food, but just as it is said about every scribe which is instructed unto
the Kingdom of Heaven, that he brings forth out of his treasures new and old things [Matt.
:] and feeds the hungry souls, so he [Henana] also transmits to us in his writings
at one time some old things, at another time some new things, then again the writings
of the ancients.

It is for Barhadbshabba beyond dispute that Theodore of Mopsuestia occu-

pies an outstanding place in the history of the Christian paideia, of which
the School of Nisibis had become the true and Orthodox heir.75 He is the

–/–, /, ,/,, ,/, /, /, ,/, /–, /, ,/,
,/, ,/, ,/, /–, ,/.
73)
Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. p. ,–, trans.
p. ,–. This passage is very revealing as to the background of the controversy. It shows
that Barhadbshabba is giving Henana the right to compose commentaries on the entire
Bible, and in these commentaries to work over the tradition, just as Theodore himself in his
commentaries had taken up older, scattered traditions, and out of them, like a sculptor, made
‘a perfect and admirable image of the Divine Essence’ (Cause of the Foundation of the Schools,
ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. pp. ,–,, trans. pp. ,–,). At the same time
it shows that Henana’s opponents found that the Director, in so doing, deviated too much
from the ways of Theodore and that he would do better to concentrate on Theodore, so
that the students would be equipped with the right weapon against the Miaphysite threat.
Henana’s written commentaries undoubtedly reflected the practice of his exegetical teaching,
and it is clear that both were criticized by Henana’s opponents (Cause of the Foundation of
the Schools, ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. pp. ,–,, trans. pp. ,–,).
74)
Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. p. ,–, trans.
p. ,–.
75)
Barhadbshabba’s topic of the history of the divine paideia is rooted in Theodore’s con-
ception of the divine paideia, which prepares men in this mortal katastasis for the future
katastasis of immortality. Cf. David S. Wallace-Hadrill, Christian Antioch: A Study of Early
Christian Thought in the East (Cambridge, ), p. ; Norris, Manhood, pp. –;
Greer, The Captain, pp. –; Macina, ‘L’homme’,  (), pp. –; Ulrich Wick-
ert, Studien zu den Pauluskommentaren Theodors von Mopsuestia als Beitrag zum Verständnis
der antiochenischen Theologie (Berlin, ), pp. –; Becker, Fear of God, pp. –,
–.
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

mpaššqānā, ‘the Exegete’, par excellence, whose works were already translated
into Syriac in Edessa under the Director Qiyore.76 But Theodore is not the
only representative of the Orthodox mašlmānwātā. Basil of Caesarea, John
Chrysostom, and Evagrius Ponticus also received instruction in the ‘inter-
pretation (puššāqā) of the Scriptures and their mašlmānwātā’ from Diodore.
Together with Theodore they all belong to the ‘School of Diodore’ represent-
ing the Orthodox Antiochene tradition.77 But there is still another line in the
true and Orthodox tradition, and that line is connected with Syriac-speaking
Christianity of old. This line is represented by the ancient apostolic, orally
transmitted tradition which reaches back to the Apostle Addai, the founder of
the congregation of Edessa. This tradition was incorporated into the (written)
mašlmānwātā of Ephrem Syrus, but it also lives on in the orally transmitted
mašlmānūtā d-eskōlā, ‘tradition of the School’. Narsai, the last Director of the
‘School of the Persians’ of Edessa and the first Director of the School of Nisibis
included this mašlmānūtā d-eskōlā in his exegetical homilies and in his other
works.78 Thus the School of Nisibis, being the successor of the School of Edessa,
after the Byzantine Empire had fallen into theological error in the fifth cen-
tury, had become the guardian of the rich and pluriform tradition embracing
the entire Orthodox tradition of Greek- and Syriac-speaking Christianity and
its important centres of learning.79
Considering Barhadbshabba’s survey of the history of the divine paideia,
which culminates in his praise of the School of Nisibis and its Director Hena-
na as a whole, one gains the strong impression that Barhadbshabba was an

76)
Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. p. ,–, trans.
p. ,–.
77)
Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. pp. ,–,,
trans. pp. ,–,. It is striking that Barhadbshabba reckons Basil and Evagrius among
the pupils of Diodore. Evagrius’ Origenism was condemned by the Fifth Council, but his
Kephalaia Gnostica were widely read in the East Syrian Church in a Syriac translation in
which the Origenist-Evagrian Christology was eliminated. Babai the Great wrote a com-
mentary on this version, in which he tried to eliminate the remaining Origenist tendencies
(cf. Guillaumont, Les ‘Kephalaia Gnostica’, pp. –, –).
78)
Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. pp. ,–,,
trans. pp. ,–,. For a discussion of the ‘tradition of the School’, see also L. Van
Rompay, ‘Quelques remarques sur la tradition syriaque de l’œuvre exégétique de Théodore
de Mopsueste’, in Han J.W. Drijvers et al. (eds.), Symposium Syriacum IV () (OCA ;
Rome, ), pp. –.
79)
Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. p. ,–, trans.
p. ,–; Reinink, ‘Edessa’, pp. –.
 Gerrit J. Reinink

exponent of a more ‘liberal’ tendency in the School, one which approved of

the introduction of other influences beside Theodore in exegetical instruction,
provided that these belonged to the mašlmānwātā of authorities recognized as
Orthodox. On the other hand, there seems to have existed a ‘strict Theodoran’
tendency in the School, which, under the pressure of the above-mentioned
historical developments more and more inclined to the view that the pre-
eminent position of Theodore carried the implication that his works should
be the leading manual and indisputable norm for the instruction of biblical
exegesis.80 In response to this ‘strict Theodoran’ faction, Barhadbshabba defines
in his speech on the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools the mašlmānwātā
belonging to the School, and in so doing, he legitimizes the fact that the ‘table’
prepared by Henana for the students is supplied not with one but with various
dishes.81
In my opinion, behind the discussion on the mašlmānwātā being permit-
ted in the exegetical instruction of the School there may lie much the same
problem as in the discussion on the Christological application of the concept

80)
In the extreme standpoint of the Synod of , which required an almost absolute nor-
mative position for Theodore, we perhaps may discover the influence of Henana’s oppo-
nents, who had left the School not long after the Synod of .
81)
It is important to note that Barhadbshabba in every respect conforms to our picture of
the teaching of the School in the sixth century, where Aristotle was employed in the sys-
tematic formulation of theological knowledge and where the exegetical-theological legacy of
Theodore played an important role. For Barhadbshabba’s conception of the divine paideia,
see above, note . In his description of the ‘School of Paradise’, he presupposes Theodore’s
theological anthropology, namely the view of Adam’s being created mortal; Cause of the
Foundation of the Schools, ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. p. ,–, trans. pp. ,–
,; cf. Norris, Manhood, pp. –; Gerrit J. Reinink, ‘The East Syrian Monk Simon
the Persecuted and his Book of Chapters’ (forthcoming). In his description of the ‘School of
Alexandria’ he condemns, in a way closely related to Theodore’s polemics against Philo and
Origen, the allegorical exegesis that was introduced at the cost of the historicity of the Scrip-
tures; cf. Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. pp. ,–
,, trans. pp. ,–,, and Lucas Van Rompay, Théodore de Mopsueste. Fragments
syriaques du Commentaire des Psaumes (Psaume  et Psaumes –) (CSCO –,
Syr. –; Leuven, ), ed. pp. ,–,, trans. pp. ,–,. Nevertheless,
Barhadbshabba defends Henana’s exegetical teaching and expresses the hope that Henana’s
‘manner and way of teaching’ will be continued after the Director’s death by a successor
‘who holds fast to what he [Henana] has transmitted’ (Cause of the Foundation of the Schools,
ed. Scher, Mar Barhadbšabba,
. pp. ,–,, trans. pp. ,–,), since Henana,
in his view, remained within the boundaries of the tradition of the accepted and Orthodox
authorities of the School.
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

of qnōmā. Of course, neither before Henana’s Directorate nor after this period
did there exist the narrow outlook that the tradition of the East Syrian Church
should be strictly confined to the works of Theodore of Mopsuestia.82 However,
the pluriformity of that tradition, with its inner tensions and contradictions,
could under certain circumstances easily lead to a different outlook on the
implications of Theodore’s ‘pre-eminent position’. As a consequence, the ques-
tion of what was to be considered as ‘tradition’ and what as ‘innovation’ was in
no small measure dependent on the way in which these notions were defined
or perceived at that very moment. Thus Barhadbshabba could justify Henana’s
exegetical instruction and work—giving a place, for example, to Ephrem Syrus
and John Chrysostom and taking the peculiarities of the text of the Syriac Bible
into account—by pointing to the fact that these authorities also belonged to
the mašlmānwātā of the School, whereas the opposite faction in the School
could consider any departure from the views of the ‘blessed Exegete’ as ‘new
and strange mašlmānwātā’ threatening the religious identity of their commu-
nity.
The real threat, however, came from Miaphysite propagandists aiming at
the expansion and reinforcement of the Miaphysite community in Iraq. In
my view, it was, in the end, this threat that brought the anti-Henana fac-
tion in the School to the opinion that only the utmost clarity (and perhaps
simplicity) in the criteria defining the identity of the East Syrian community
could be an effective weapon against the increasing Miaphysite influence in
the Persian Empire, and this implied the unconditional acceptance of and the
highest normative standard for the writings of Theodore of Mopsuestia and
the ‘Nestorian’ interpretation of the Dyophysite Christology current in the
East Syrian Church, consisting in the formula of the two qnōmē in Christ.
In fact, however, the Miaphysites succeeded very well in sowing the seeds of
disruption in the East Syrian community. It was in reaction to their propa-
gandists who were active in Nisibis that Gregory of Kashkar, mobilizing the

82)
The strength of Barhadbshabba’s defence of Henana lies in the fact that not many people
would have disagreed with his historical survey of the divine paideia and his definition of
what belongs to the tradition of the School. Narsai’s exegetical homilies and the preserved
fragments of East Syrian exegetes after Narsai’s Directorate show that the exegetical tradition
of the School implied much more than the works of Theodore. Moreover, in this respect
Henana may have been less an ‘innovator’ and more ‘traditional’ than the sources would
have us believe, just as the opinion that Henana in matters of Christology deviated from
the path of ‘orthodoxy’ has to be reviewed and refined (see further, above note , and below,
note ).
 Gerrit J. Reinink

anti-Henana forces in the School, launched his attacks against the Director.83
Thereupon the conflict became polarized and politicized to such an extent
that in about  the anti-Henana faction could not maintain its position in
the School.84 At the same time, the influence of the Miaphysites made itself

83)
See above, p. . Gregory was ordained as Metropolitan of Nisibis by the Catholi-
cos Sabrisho# in . He succeeded Gabriel bar Rufina, who was deposed because of his
astrological practices. The tendentious anti-Henana report in the Chronicle of Siirt portrays
Gregory as a champion of Orthodoxy, who opposed Henana, since the Director read het-
erodox writings, opposed Theodore in his explanations, and propagated heretical doctrines
(Chronicle of Siirt , ed. Scher, Histoire nestorienne , pp. –). More trustworthy is
the report in the Anonymous Chronicle. According to this latter source, Gregory demanded
that Henana follows a strict Theodoran line in the exegetical instruction of the students,
with the purpose of erecting a barricade against dangerous influences from the outside (the
Miaphysite propagandists who were active in Nisibis). At least in this respect Gregory rather
was an ally of Babai (see above, note ), who honoured Gregory by composing his biogra-
phy (see Babai, Life of George, ed. Bedjan, p. ,–). We may assume that Babai’s Life of
Gregory (now lost), just like his Life of George, was of a highly propagandistic character (see
Babai, Life of George, ed. Bedjan, pp. ,–,).
84)
Not long after his election Gregory had to leave Nisibis by order of Shah Khusrau II. He
had lost the support of Sabrisho#, who even intended to depose him. Since the bishops did
not agree with Sabrisho#’s resolution, the Shah ordered Gregory to return to his homeland
Bet "Aramaye; Chronica minora , ed. Guidi, p. ,–, trans. p. ,–. Why did Sabr-
isho# desert the Metropolitan? Labourt, Le christianisme, p. , advances the possibility that
the Catholicos had a personal grievance against his former rival. Vööbus, History, p. ,
suggests that Henana had the support of the physicians at the royal court and that Sabrisho#
had to submit to power politics. Tamcke, Der Katholikos-Patriarch, pp. –, advances
Gregory’s fanaticism (in particular against the Messalians) and Henana’s protection by the
physicians at the court. According to the Anonymous Chronicle, Gregory’s different zealous
actions provoked such a heavy resistance of the Nisibenians, that the Shah had to recall
him from the city (obviously in order to prevent disorders from arising in the important
frontier town). Sabrisho# will have recognized that Gregory’s position had become unten-
able, and he may have proposed Gregory’s deposition in order to create the possibility for
the appointment of a more moderate character who would be able to achieve compromises
rather than to cause schisms (the bishops, on the contrary, may have argued that Nisibis
needed a vigorous Metropolitan to combat increasing Miaphysite influence in that region).
However, in the School the mischief was already done. After Gregory had lost the support
of the Shah and the Catholicos, the position of Henana’s opponents had become untenable
in the School (a different, but perhaps tendentious, picture is offered by the Chronicle of
Siirt , ed. Scher, Histoire nestorienne , p. , according to which the students left the
School, because Sabrisho# favoured the position of Henana). A less plausible explanation of
a possible reason why the teachers at that specific time departed from the School is given
by Vööbus, History, p. , who suggests that they feared ‘that revenge on behalf of Grı̄gōr
against Henānā
. and his adherents was not long delayed’.
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

increasingly noticeable even at the court of the Shah Khusrau II (–).

The influential Miaphysite court-physician Gabriel of Sinjar, supported by
the queen Shirin, tried to weaken the position of the East Syrian community
wherever possible, by influencing the state’s involvement in Church politics.85
But Gabriel was also very well aware of the internal tensions and difficulties
in the East Syrian Dyophysite community and he knew that pushing these
dissensions in the direction of a schism dividing that community would be
favourable to the further expansion of the Miaphysite community in the Sas-
sanian Empire.
It may be presumed that one of the main reasons for Gabriel to instigate
the disputation between the East Syrian Dyophysites and the Miaphysites at
Khusrau’s court in  was that he wanted to force the East Syrian bishops
into taking an officially pronounced, uncompromising stand in Christological
matters, by which East Syrian Dyophysites deviating from that standpoint
would be branded as heretics and possibly become easy prey for Miaphysite
propaganda. In any case, any schism within the Dyophysite community would
weaken their position in the Persian Empire. Gabriel may have had a shrewd
suspicion that the influence of Babai the Great, who since the death of the
Catholicos Gregory I (), when the chair of Catholicos remained vacant,
ran the affairs of the Church together with Aba, the Archdeacon of Seleucia,86
would make the bishops adopt a ‘hard-line’ position including the two-qnōmē
Christology over against the Miaphysites.87 By the two questions that were
posed to the East Syrian bishops at the disputation of  the Miaphysite
opponents clearly intended to add fuel to the fire of the internal dissensions
within the East Syrian community: ‘Is it the Nestorians or the monks88 who
have declined from the foundation of the Faith which the former teachers have
transmitted (ašlem[w])’, and: ‘Previous to Nestorius, is there anyone who says

85)
Cf. Chronica minora , ed. Guidi, p. ,–, trans. p. ,–; Labourt, Le christian-
isme, pp. –. The election of Gregory of Kashkar, the Shah’s and the bishops’ candidate
for the Catholicosate after Sabrisho#’s death in , was frustrated by the Miaphysites, since
they realized that this powerful personality would be very prejudicial to their cause at the
court. After the death of Catholicos Gregory of Prat in  they succeeded in preventing
the election of a new Catholicos (the chair remained vacant until ). In the meantime
Miaphysites confiscated East Syrian monasteries.
86)
Cf. Labourt, Le christianisme, pp. –.
87)
Cf. Brock, ‘The Christology’, p. .
88)
According to Brock, The Christology, p. , with the ‘monks’ here the ‘Syriac Orthodox’
or Syriac-speaking Miaphysites are meant.
 Gerrit J. Reinink

that Christ is two natures and two qnōmē, or not?’89 Both questions were most
embarrassing for the East Syrian community, since they touched the tender
spot of the controversy within that community regarding the discussion of the
‘tradition’ or the ‘traditions’ being decisive for the definition of the East Syrian
communal identity.
Paradoxally, the victory of the two-qnōmē Christology in  was in a
sense also a success for the Miaphysites, since that victory implied that the
religious leaders of the East Syrian community were now obliged to make
the ‘Nestorian’ identity the standard of Orthodoxy widely implemented in the
different organizations of the Church. Thus the ‘clarity’ which was created by
the decision of  favoured Miaphysite propaganda, since all those members
of the East Syrian Dyophysite community who henceforth refused to explain
its ‘traditional’ Christology in the form represented by the two qnōmē in Christ
could officially be charged with heresy and, as a consequence, be driven into
isolation by their own Church. Of course, the Miaphysite propagandists in
the first place, striving for the expansion of their community in the Sassanian
Empire, could reap profit from such a ‘pratique discriminatoire’ with the
Dyophysite community itself.

In conclusion, I would propose the following answer to the question raised

at the beginning of this article: the fact that it took a relatively long time
before the ‘Nestorian’ identity obtained a firm footing everywhere and in all
sectors of the East Syrian communities, cannot simply be explained by the
assumption that Henana of Adiabene strayed from the path of Orthodoxy
by introducing Christological innovations, and in so doing, caused a schism
which had long after-effects in the East Syrian Church. Justinian’s religious
policy, resulting in the decisions of the Fifth Ecumenical Council held at
Constantinople, had made it necessary for the East Syrian theologians in the
second half of the sixth century (a) to discuss the question of how the notion
of qnōmā should be introduced into the existing Dyophysite Christology (of
an Antiochene character) of the East Syrian Church, and (b) to reconsider
the implications of the already existing pre-eminent position of Theodore in
the East Syrian tradition. The fact that two main streams in the East Syrian
community, both concentrated in the School of Nisibis as its main centre of
learning, could follow different patterns and adopt different views in answering

89)
Synodicon Orientale, ed. Chabot, p. ,–, trans. p. ; cf. Babai, Life of George, ed.
Bedjan, pp. ,–,, adding a third question: ‘To whom did Mary give birth: God or
man?’
 The Formation of the ‘Nestorian’ Identity 

these questions, is directly related to the complex, pluriform and sometimes

in essential points ambiguous character of the ‘tradition’, of which the East
Syrian community considered itself to be the legitimate Orthodox heir. The
direct involvement of Miaphysites, in particular in Nisibis, who tried to take
advantage of these tensions within the East Syrian community, brought about
an increasing polarization of the various standpoints in the School, and the
increasing political influence of the Miaphysites in Iraq ultimately lead to the
Christological triumph of the anti-Henana faction in the Episcopal gathering
of . Once the ‘Nestorian’ identity as the official Christological doctrine
was established, the reception and assimilation of the rich Antiochene and
Edessene tradition as defined by Barhadbshabba was less a problem, as appears
from the writings of leading East Syrian exegetes and theologians belonging to
the seventh century.90 But in the following decades the religious leaders of the
East Syrian Church were facing the difficult task to introduce the ‘Nestorian’
identity into their communities by drawing and maintaining sharp boundary-
lines between the East Syrian Dyophysite and the Miaphysite communities
primarily on the basis of this principle of distinction. According to Morony
‘the final separation between Nestorians and Monophysites in Iraq occurred
in the second decade of the seventh century when mixed congregations and
monasteries were purged by both sides’.91 However, although the question of

90)
For the pluriform character of the exegetical tradition and the important place of John
Chrysostom in the biblical commentaries of the Catholicoi Henanisho# I (d. /) and
Mar Aba II of Kashkar (–), see Gerrit J. Reinink, ‘Fragmente der Evangelienexegese
des Katholikos Henanišo#
. I’, in R. Lavenant (ed.), Symposium Syriacum V () (OLA ;
Rome, ), pp. –; idem, Studien zur Quellen- und Traditionsgeschichte der Gannat
Bussame (CSCO , Subs. ; Leuven, ), pp. –, –, –; idem,
‘The Lamb on the Tree: Syriac Exegesis and Anti-Islamic Apologetics’, in Ed Noort and
Eibert Tigchelaar (eds.), The Sacrifice of Isaac. The Aqedah (Genesis ) and Its Interpretations
(Themes in Biblical Narrative ; Leiden–Boston–Köln, ), pp. – (reprint in
Reinink, Syriac Christianity, Ch. ); idem, ‘Bible and Qur’an in Early Syriac Christian-
Islamic Disputation’, in Martin Tamcke, Christians and Muslims in Dialogue in the Islamic
Orient of the Middle Ages (Beiruter Texte und Studien ; Beirut, ), p. . For the
way in which the East Syrian monk Dadisho# Qatraya (second half of the seventh century)
defines the position of the different exegetical lines (Theodore, Basil, John Chrysostom,
Evagrius, the ‘spiritual exegesis’) in the tradition of the Church, see D. Bettiolo, ‘Esegesi
e purezza di cuore. La testimonianza di Dadišo# Qatraya. (VII sec.), nestoriana e solitario’,
Annali di Storia dell’Esegesi  (), pp. –; Luise Abramowski, ‘Dadisho Qatraya
and his Commentary on the Book of the Abbas Isaiah’, The Harp  (), pp. –.
91)
Michael G. Morony, ‘Religious Communities in Late Sasanian and Early Muslim Iraq’,
JESHO . (), p. .
 Gerrit J. Reinink

what the ‘Nestorian’ identity meant was formally settled in the second decade
of the seventh century, the process of integrating this identity in the broadest
sections of the East Syrian community itself as its main principle of distinction
and self-definition still was not completed in early Muslim Iraq.

Gerrit J. Reinink
Groningen University
g.j.reinink@hetnet.nl
 The Formation of Armenian
Identity in the First Millenium

Theo Maarten van Lint

Abstract
In tracing three possible answers to the question what the ‘first millennium’ might be for the
Armenians, various layers of the Armenian tradition constitutive of the formation of Arme-
nian identity are presented. Three periods are distinguished: the Nairian-Urartian stretching
from about  bce to the conquest of the Armenian plateau by the Achaemenids; fol-
lowed by the Zoroastrian phase, in which political, religious, social, and cultural institutions
in Armenia were closely related to Iranian ones, lasting until the adoption of Christianity as
state religion in Armenia at the beginning of the fourth century. This heralds the third and
last phase considered in this contribution, concluding with the cornerstone of Armenian
identity formation in the direction given to Armenia and its Church by Yovhannēs Ōjnec#i
(John of Odzun, d. ), who opted for a moderate form of Miaphysitism after the rejection
of the Council of Chalcedon. The developments in each of the three periods are measured
against the criteria Smith considered central for the presence of an ethnie, while attention is
given to the Iranian aspects of Armenian society, the presence of a Hellenistic strand in its
culture, and its western turn upon the adoption of Christianity.

Keywords
Armenia; Armenian Apostolic Church; identity; Iran; John of Odzun; Miaphysitism.

The assertion contained in the title of this contribution, combined with the title
of the Symposium, Religious Origins of Nations? The Christian Communities of
the Middle East, suggests that Armenian identity was formed in the course of
the first millennium ce and was rooted in religious, that is, Christian concepts.
Testing both elements of this assertion against the available evidence is the main
task of this paper.
What is presented here is not an original contribution offering new insights,
or adducing new evidence; it merely presents a survey of the development of
Armenian identity over the course of history, following the results of research
 Theo Maarten van Lint

up to the medieval period conducted by authors such as Garsoïan, Mahé,

Thomson, Russell, and Zekiyan, to name but the most conspicuous contribu-
tors to the development of modern scholarly opinion on the matter.1
An ancillary aspect of the formation of Armenian identity is the interpreta-
tion or transformation of this process in later periods: the reflection on Arme-
nian identity within the tradition itself. Some attention will be given to this
actual aspect of identity formation as well.
This is not the place to rehearse the debate about the origin of nationhood
and nationalism. The continuous reference for over two thousand five hundred
years to an entity called Armenia, belies the assumption that ‘nations’ were born
at the end of the nineteenth century, as some maintain, while others have more

1)
Cf. Nina G. Garsoïan, Armenia between Byzantium and the Sasanians (Collected Studies
Series ; London, ); Nina G. Garsoïan, Church and Culture in Early Medieval Arme-
nia (Collected Studies Series ; Aldershot, ); Nina G. Garsoïan, The Epic Histories
Attributed to P #awstos Buzand (Buzandaran Patmut#iwnk#) (Harvard Armenian Texts and
Studies ; Cambridge, ); Nina G. Garsoïan, Thomas F. Mathews, and Robert W. Thom-
son (eds.), East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period (Washington,
DC, ); Robert W. Thomson, Studies in Armenian Literature and Christianity (Collected
Studies Series ; Aldershot, ); Nina G. Garsoïan and Jean-Pierre Mahé, Des Parthes
au Caliphat. Quatre leçons sur la formation de l’identité arménienne (Travaux et Mémoires du
Centre de Recherché d’Histoire et Civilization de Byzance, Monographies ; Paris, );
Jean-Pierre Mahé, ‘Entre Moïse et Mahomet: réflexions sur l’historiographie arménienne’,
Revue des études arméniennes  (), pp. –; Jean-Pierre Mahé, ‘L’Eglise arméni-
enne de  à ’, in Gilbert Dagron, Pierre Riché, and André Vauchez (eds.), Évêques,
moines et empereurs (–) (Histoire du Christianisme ; Paris, ); pp. –;
Jean-Pierre Mahé, ‘Die Bekehrung Transkaukasiens: Eine Historiographie mit doppeltem
Boden’, in Werner Seibt (ed.), Die Christianisierung des Kaukasus. The Christianization of
Caucasus (Armenia, Georgia and Albania). Referate des Internationalen Symposions (Wien . bis
. Dezember ) (Veröffentlichungen der Kommision für Byzantinistik ; Vienna, ),
pp. –; James R. Russell, Zoroastrianism in Armenia (Harvard Iranian Studies ; Cam-
bridge, ); James R. Russell, Armenian and Iranian Studies (Harvard Armenian Texts
and Studies ; Cambridge, ); Boghos Levon Zekiyan, The Armenian Way to Modernity.
Armenian Identity between Tradition and Innovation, Specificity and Universality (Eurasiatica
; Armeniaca Italica ; Venice, ); Boghos Levon Zekiyan, ‘Das Verhältnis zwischen
Sprache und Identität in der Entwicklung des armenischen Nationalbewusstseins. Versuch
einer begrifflichen Formulierung aus geschichtlicher Erfahrung’, in Gerd Hentschel (ed.),
Über Muttersprachen und Väterländer. Zur Entwicklung von Standardsprachen und Nationen
in Europa (Frankfurt am Main, ), pp. –; Boghos Levon Zekiyan, L’Armenia e gli
armeni. Polis lacerata e patria spirituale: la sfida di una soppravivenza (Carte armene; Milan,
); Boghos Levon Zekiyan, ‘Die Christianisierung und die Alphabetisierung Armeniens
als Vorbilder kultureller Inkarnation, besonders im subkaukasischen Gebiet’, in Seibt, Die
Christianisierung des Kaukasus, pp. –.
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

sympathy for the long-range, diachronic aspect of the formation and develop-
ment of ethnies and nations.2 The necessary link between identity formation
in a remote past and becoming a nation in modern times when studying the
Armenians has been eloquently expressed in two recent studies, namely Aldo
Ferrari’s Alla frontiera dell’impero. Gli armeni in Russia (–) and Razmik
Panossian’s The Armenians. From Kings and Priests to Merchants and Commisars.
Ferrari states:

The pre-modern Armenians did not constitute—nor obviously could they constitute—
a nation-state in the modern sense, but they were, and had the awareness, of being a
‘nation’ (azg), structured on a communality of language, territory, religion, as well as
shared memories and traditions, in the first place those of descent from the mythical
ancestor, Hayk. The political and cultural crisis caused by the end of statehood put into
danger the continuity and even the existence of the Armenian people, which however
succeeded to survive in very difficult circumstances, and rather different than the tra-
ditional ones—above all in the diaspora—without losing their historical memory and
their vivid ties with national traditions, particularly religious ones. Deprived of a terri-
tory of their own, subject to foreign domination, in the fatherland and in the diaspora
the Armenians became in this phase of their history essentially a religious community,
and were recognized as such by the outside world, in particular in the Ottoman millet
system. But when, in the modern period, the incentives which came from outside, in
the first place from an increasingly secular Europe, began to spread throughout the vari-
ous communities of which the Armenian people consisted, it began to reorganize itself,
gradually adopting the characteristics of the modern nation and inclining to the form
of social-political organization prevalent in the modern world, that of the nation-state.
Hence the processes of secularization, territorialization, politicization, that is to say
that whole range of phenomena of transformation and modernization of the national
identity which have certainly taken place within Armenian society, but the nature of
which has to be understood in a balanced way, not conditioned by ideology.3

2)
For a discussion of the literature on identity and nation formation with particular
application to the Armenian context, see Aldo Ferrari, Alla frontiera dell’impero. Gli armeni
in Russia (–) (Milan, ), pp. –, and Razmik Panossian, The Armenians.
From Kings and Priests to Merchants and Commissars (London, ), pp. –. The highly
stimulating study by Levon Abrahamian, Armenian Identity in a Changing World (Costa
Mesa, ) awaits scholarly reception, and will amply repay detailed study. The problem
of ‘nation’ before European nationalism is broached in its chapter entitled The Path of
Tradition. Identity Forged by Everyday Life, especially pp. –. All three studies give
extensive bibliographies. The term ethnie is defined in Anthony D. Smith, The Ethnic
Origins of Nations (Oxford, ), pp. –, cf. John Hutchinson and Anthony D. Smith,
Ethnicity (Oxford, ), pp. –.
3)
Ferrari, Alla frontiera, pp. –. ‘Ideology’ refers here to an exclusively modernist
approach, cf. Smith, The Ethnic Origins, p. .
 Theo Maarten van Lint

Ferrari advocates overcoming the dichotomy between an exclusively modernist

approach that loses sight of the historical dimension of the development of the
Armenian nation, and an essentialist view of it, which is blind to the construc-
tivist elements that must also be distinguished; he embraces the position of
Anthony D. Smith and approvingly adduces Miroslav Hroch’s work.4
Both Ferrari and Panossian are students of the modern period, who, looking
back on the Armenian tradition, set out to incorporate its presence of some
three millennia in their analysis of the modern and contemporary Armenian
nation. Here, we shall look forward, commenting on aspects of Armenian
identity formation from the earliest period onward. In doing so, the six criteria
for ethnicity identified by Hutchinson and Smith will be drawn upon. Most
of these were mentioned in the quotation from Ferrari’s study and include a
proper name, a myth of common ancestry, shared historical memories, a link
with a territory, elements of common culture, and solidarity.5
How do these constituent elements of identity formation apply to the
Armenians? The question invites us to return to the question of the first
millennium. What constitutes the first millennium for the Armenians? At least
three dates might be proposed. The earliest one would be to start reckoning
from the thirteenth–twelfth century bc, when we may have indications that
the forebears of the people we now designate as Armenians entered the area
called the Armenian plateau. A second possibility would be to take the earliest
mention of the Armenians in written records as a starting point, that is, 
bce. Finally, one could take the adoption of Christianity by the Armenian
state early in the fourth century ce as a point of departure. This poses the
question of what the origins of a people called (though not so by themselves)
the Armenians are, where and what ‘Armenia’ was, and when the ‘Armenians’
populated ‘Armenia’.6

4)
In particular Miroslav Hroch, ‘National Self-Determination from a Historical Perspec-
tive’, in Sukumar Periwal (ed.), Notions of Nationalism (Budapest, ), pp. –. While
both Ferrari and Panossian stress the importance of striking a balance, Ferrari puts greater
emphasis on continuity, Panossian on the constructed character of nations. Both fully
acknowledge the pre-modern and modern aspects of the problem.
5)
Hutchinson and Smith, Ethnicity, pp. –.
6)
On Armenian origins, see James R. Russell, ‘The Formation of the Armenian Nation’,
in Richard G. Hovannisian (ed.), The Armenian People from Ancient to Modern Times
. The Dynastic Periods: From Antiquity to the Fourteenth Century (Houndmills–London,
), pp. –, and Anne Elizabeth Redgate, The Armenians (The Peoples of Europe;
Oxford, ), pp. –, for the questions quoted here, see p. . For geography, see Robert
H. Hewsen, ‘The Geography of Armenia’, in Hovannisian, The Armenian People, pp. –;
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

Scholars have proposed to identify the Muški with the proto-Armenians,

who seem to have entered the Armenian plateau around  bce, and who are
mentioned in the annals of the Assyrian King Tiglath-Pileser I (–),
according to which in  the Muški invaded the land of Kadmukhu, in the
upper Tigris Valley, south-west of Lake Van.7 According to what has come to
be called the traditional theory, the Armenians would have been one of the
Indo-European groups that entered Asia Minor along with the Phrygians, and
would have mingled with other Indo-European and with indigenous groups,
from which they would have taken up elements of the language. With some of
these they may have formed part of the kingdoms of Nairi, which are likewise
mentioned in the annals of Tiglath-Pileser I. Later, from the ninth to the sixth
century bc, the Armenians may have formed part of the kingdom of Urartu.
A more recent theory, formulated by Gamkrelidze and Ivanov considers the
Armenians to be part of the indigenous population of the Armenian plateau;
so far, this theory has not gained general acceptance.8
The Armenians are first recorded in the trilingual (Old Persian, Babylonian,
and Elamite) Bı̄sotūn inscription of – bce, where they are mentioned as
Arminiya, one of the ‘lands’ or ‘peoples’ of Darius’ (– bce) Achaemenid
Empire. The Babylonian version of the inscription calls the land Uraštu, that is,
Urartu. A possible connection between Armenians and Urarteans is suggested
by the fact that the inscription mentions an Armenian called Ar(a)kha, son of
Haldita, who claimed to be the son of the king of Babylonia, who had been
subjected by Cyrus. Despite serious problems with linguistic aspects of the
equation, given that Armenian is attested only from the early fifth century
ad onward, the temptation to see in the name the designation of Ar(a)kha’s
function of king has not always been withstood: in Classical Armenian ark #a
means king. The name Haldita is interesting, since it contains Haldi, the name
of the highest god of the Urarteans.9
The name Armenia in the Bı̄sotūn inscription and among classical authors
like Herodotus requires explanation, and it seems plausible to look for that

for the historical geography of Armenia, see Robert H. Hewsen, Armenia. A Historical Atlas
(Chicago–London, ).
7)
Redgate, The Armenians, p. , following Igor M. Diakonoff, The Pre-History of the
Armenian People (Anatolian and Caucasian studies; New York, ).
8)
Thomas V. Gamkrelidze and Vjačeslav V. Ivanov, Indo European and the Indo-Europeans
(Berlin, ), edited translation of Tamaz V. Gamkrelidze and Vjačeslav V. Ivanov, Indo-
evropejskij jazyk i indoevropejcy (Tbilisi, ).
9)
Russell, ‘The Formation’, pp. –.
 Theo Maarten van Lint

in the Aramaic designation of the Armenians as the inhabitants of the land of

Arme-Šubria, west of Lake Van, since Aramaic was the administrative language
of the Achaemenid Empire. The Persians borrowed the name, as did the Greeks.
However, the Armenians have a different name for themselves, one that is
closely tied to a myth of origin. The eponymous ancestor of the Armenians
is Hayk, after whom the Armenians call themselves hay, plural hayk#, their
country Hayastan (‘the land of the Hay’), and their language hayerēn, as is
related in the work written by the man who in Armenian is often called the
Patmahayr, the ‘Father of Armenian History’.
Movsēs Xorenac#i’s History of the Armenians (Hayoc # patmut #iwn) was
ostensibly written in the fifth century, but in the form that we have it must
probably be dated to the eighth. It is among other things, a repository of
ancient Armenian oral tradition, which was rich in epic tales and other forms
of poetic expression, reluctantly mined by the Christian author where writ-
ten sources were not available. Xorenac#i relates the history of the Armenian
people from its inception to the death in  ce of Mesrop Maštoc#, the inven-
tor of the Armenian alphabet. One of Movsēs’ purposes is to link the Arme-
nian nation with the Christian nations of the world and thus to provide them
with a biblical ancestry. In the opening book of his work, ‘The Genealogy of
Greater Armenia’, he makes an interesting statement concerning the history of
the nation that tallies surprisingly well with the criteria for an ethnie set up by
Smith. Movsēs writes: ‘For although we are a small country and very restricted
in numbers, weak in power, and often subject to another’s rule, yet many manly
deeds have been performed in our land worthy of being recorded in writing.’10
Xorenac#i provides a diachronic perspective, grounded in a myth of origin. He
uses the inclusive, common denominator ‘we’, taking common ancestry as a
given, invoking ‘many manly deeds’, thus calling upon shared historical mem-
ories and culture, including shared value judgements. He links the Armenians
with a territory: ‘in our land’, here Greater Armenia (Mec Hayk#), and pro-
nounces on its political power in the world: the territory is ‘small’, the group
is ‘restricted in numbers’, it is ‘weak’, ‘often subject to another’s rule’, thereby
intimating that this was not always the case, and that autonomy and indepen-

10)
Robert W. Thomson, Moses Khorenats #i. History of the Armenians (Cambridge, MA,
; nd, rev. ed., Ann Arbor, ), . (hereafter quoted as Movsēs Xorenac#i); fur-
ther literature in Robert W. Thomson, A Bibliography of Classical Armenian Literature to
 ad (Turnhout, ), and Robert W. Thomson, ‘Supplement to A Bibliography of Clas-
sical Armenian Literature to  ad: Publications –’, Le Muséon .– (),
pp. –, both sub voce Movsēs Xorenac#i.
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

dence have been part of the ethnie’s experience. Solidarity is also implied as an
element of group cohesion, preventing its dissolution, despite political adver-
sity. This is all ‘worthy of being recorded’, a statement that encompasses all
Smith’s criteria. ‘In writing’ is an innovation, due to Movsēs’ championing of
the Greek tradition, as well as his veneration for the historical tradition of the
Chaldeans, Assyrians, Egyptians, and for the coming of Christianity. There is
no mention of religion in this quotation. Indeed, in looking back upon Arme-
nian, or to use the indigenous term, Haykazean origins, Movsēs stresses the
political, social, and cultural aspects of state- and nationhood.
Xorenac#i elaborates on Hayk to explain the genealogy of the Armenians
and their arrival on the Armenian plateau:

Hayk … was handsome and personable, with curly hair, sparkling eyes, and strong
arms. Among the giants he was the bravest and the most famous, the opponent of
all who raised their hand to become absolute ruler over all the giants and heroes. He
defiantly raised his hand against the tyranny of Bel … Hayk refused to submit to him,
and after begetting his son Aramaneak in Babylon he journeyed to the land of Ararad,
which is in the northern regions. … He came and dwelt in an elevated plain and called
the name of the plateau Hark #—that is, here dwelt the fathers of the family of the house
of T#orgom. (Movsēs Xorenac#i .)

This Hayk, son of T#orgom, son of T#iras, son of Gomer, son of Yapheth, was the
ancestor of the Armenians; and these were his families and offspring and their land of
habitation. And afterward they began … to fill the land. (Movsēs Xorenac#i .)

We thus have an early affirmation of Armenian identity in Movsēs’ History.

The ancient, orally transmitted traditions called upon by Xorenac#i yield fur-
ther information about Armenian origins and beliefs. The mythological Tork
Angegh (or Tork of Angł, a place in south-western Armenia, modern Eğil,
in Hittite Ingalava) points to an Anatolian heritage in Armenian culture, for
whom Movsēs adduces the folk-etymology džnahayac # ‘of ferocious mien’, see-
ing in Angł Armenian an-geł, ‘ugly’. Behind this figure lies the weather god
Tarkhu, whose name means ‘victor’; he also appears in Luwian Tarkhunda.11
Xorenac#i preserves a specimen of pre-Christian Armenian religious poetry as
well (Movsēs Xorenac#i .). It is a brief piece describing the birth of the god
Vahagn, who has a sun-like appearance, from a reed in the sea through the
travail of heaven and earth. During storms this god reaps dragons (višaps) out
of Lake Van that have grown too big in the course of a thousand years. He

11)
Russell, ‘The Formation’, p. .
 Theo Maarten van Lint

may continue properties of the Iranian god Verethragna, and the scene resem-
bles that of an episode preserved in Vedic Sanskrit, which would point to an
Indo-European inheritance. However, it is likely that Vahagn continues more
than one tradition, since the serpent slaying may be ascribed to the Urartean
weather-god Teišeba, Teišub in Hurrian.12 Some place and family names in
Armenian may likewise go back to Urartean times. The capital of the empire,
Tušpa, lives on in the name of the Armenian province Tosp, located east of
Lake Van, while the latter reflects the name the Urarteans gave to their realm,
Biaini. The name of the fortress-city of Erebuni lives on in Yerevan, the capital
of today’s Republic of Armenia. The family of the Artsruni, who reigned over
the kingdom of Vaspurakan to the east and south of Lake Van in the tenth and
eleventh centuries ad, may derive their name form Urartean artsibini ‘eagle’,
arciw in Armenian. Legend has it that the ancestor of the Artsrunis had been
abandoned as a child and rescued and nurtured by an eagle. Linguistic con-
tinuity can likewise be observed in nouns such as Urartean sue ‘water’ and
Armenian cov ‘sea’, to which could be added other instances.13 Further exam-
ples from Xorenac#i’s History involving Urartu refer to realia. Movsēs attributes
the construction of an irrigation canal near Van to the Assyrian queen Semi-
ramis (Šemiram), who had killed in battle, so the oral tradition, the Armenian
King Ara the Beautiful, after he had refused to succumb to her charms. In real-
ity the canal was probably built around  bce by the Urartean King Menua.
He ascribes to her some of the Urartean inscriptions around Van, as well.14

12)
Russell, ‘The Formation’, p. . On Vahagn, see further James R. Russell, ‘Zoroastrian
Problems in Armenia: Mihr and Vahagn’, in Thomas J. Samuelian (ed.), Classical Armenian
Culture (University of Pennsylvania Armenian Texts and Studies ; Chico, ), pp. –;
Carmina Vahagni, Acta Antica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae  (), pp. –,
reprinted in Russell, Armenian and Iranian Studies, pp. –; Russell, Zoroastrianism,
pp. –; Jean-Pierre Mahé, ‘Un dieu guerrier à la campagne: l’example du Vahagn
arménien’, Comptes rendus de l’Académie des inscriptions & belles-lettres (July–October ),
pp. –; idem, ‘Dragons et serpents dans les traditions arméniennes’, in Actes du
colloque “Les Lusignans et l’Outre Mer”, – octobre  (Poitiers, ), pp. –. On
Tork#, see Russell, Zoroastrianism, pp. –; James R. Russell, ‘Ancient Anatolians and
Armenians’, in Liana Hovsepian, Nvard Parnasian, and Suren Simonian (eds.) Proceedings
of the Second International Conference on Armenian Linguistics, Erevan September  
(Erevan, ), pp. –.
13)
Russell, ‘The Formation’, pp. –, –.
14)
On Šemiram, see Stephanie Dalley, ‘Semiramis in History and Legend’, in Erich S. Grün
(ed.), Cultural Borrowings and Ethnic Appropriations in Antiquity (Oriens et Occidens.
Studien zu Antiken Kulturkontakten und ihrem Nachleben ; Stuttgart, ), pp. –
.
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

The inclusion of material discussed in the previous paragraphs is not without

consequences for the view one conveys of the formation of Armenian identity,
based on the sense of being rooted in a more or less remote past, and therefore
not only of having a longer or shorter pedigree, but of a more or less variegated
one as well. This is of importance particularly in periods of reassessment of the
position of the Armenians in the world, such as may be witnessed since the
Soviet Union collapsed and independence was regained. Inclusion of a mul-
tifarious pre-Christian past into a consideration of Armenian identity forma-
tion might have consequences for the position one may assign, for example, to
the Armenian Apostolic Church as a more or less central component in this
process. While this is not likely to alter the perception among Armenians of
the centrality of their Church in the formation and maintenance of Armenian
identity throughout the ages, it does offer the opportunity to reconsider the
question, which is often seen as a given. However, in the fourth and fifth cen-
turies for many Armenians this was not the case, for Christianity took hold in
Armenia only gradually. Not every scholar has been inclined to consider the
relation between the history of Urartu and the early history of Armenia and
the Armenians. It is therefore to be welcomed that some recent histories, such
as the collective effort edited by Hovannisian, and Redgate’s work, give ample
consideration to these matters.15
Before we consider the third possible landmark indicating the beginning
of the first millennium, the adoption of Christianity in Armenia, we must
investigate what the nine centuries separating this momentous event from the
fall of Urartu around  bce have contributed to the formation of Armenian
identity. It cannot be considered apart from Armenia’s pre-Christian past, for,
while the adoption of Christianity was a defining act for Armenian identity as
we know it today, other factors played a role in the multi-millennial history of
this ethnie, as well.
One might call this period the Iranian era in Armenian history, given the
pervasive influence of the Iranian world on the Armenian one, although it
became, though to a far lesser extent and somewhat later, Hellenized as well.
We can begin to follow the development of Armenian identity formation
on the basis of more extensive contemporary evidence, with classical authors
such as Herodotus and Xenophon providing information, albeit not always
of unquestionable reliability, particularly in the case of the former, from the
fifth century onward; the archaeological evidence for the Achaemenid period

15)
Russell, ‘The Formation’, pp. –; Redgate, The Armenians, pp. –.
 Theo Maarten van Lint

is scanty.16 The fall of Urartu brought the Armenians under Median rule,
which was succeeded by that of the Persians around  bce. Political history
shows us three dynasties that rule either independently or under Achaemenid,
Seleucid, then Parthian and Roman influence. The first of these were the
Eruandids (Orontids in Greek), the offspring of a Eruand, a name still current
in Armenian as Yervand, who were originally appointed as Achaemenid satraps
and ruled as kings between  and about  bce. The name is derived from
Iranian auruand/auruant, ‘mighty, hero’. A rebellion, in which the last Eruand
was killed by his own soldiers brought the Artašēsid (Artaxiad) dynasty—in
fact a continuation of the Eruandid one—on the throne of Armenia, which
they held from  bce to  ce.17 They were followed by the Parthian
Arcasid dynasty (Aršakuni in Armenian), which held sway until , when
the Armenian kingdom was abolished by the Sassanian King of Kings on the
request of the naxarars, the Armenian noble families.18
The Achaemenids had conquered a land that was far from ethnically homo-
geneous. The Armenians formed only one of many groups, originally located in
the south-west of the plateau, while there were also ‘Khaldaioi’ by which wor-
shippers of the Urartean supreme god Haldi must have been meant, Scythians,
‘White Syrians’—remnants of Assyrian colonies—, and others.19 Some of these
groups bequeathed their names to medieval Armenian provinces: Herodotus
mentions the Saspires, who gave their name to Sper, and the Utioi, which is
reflected in Utik#; Xenophon’s Anabasis mentions the Kardukhoi, who gave rise

16)
Classical authors bring along their own interpretations to their observations, which
has had consequences for the views entertained by western scholars of Armenia, who were
predominantly educated in the Classics, thereby often underestimating the importance of
the Iranian aspects of Armenian society, cf. Garsoïan, Armenia, p. vii. There were also Greek
aspects to Armenian society, cf. Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘Prolegomena to a Study of the Iranian
Aspects in Arsacid Armenia’, Handēs Amsorya  (), pp. –, repr. in Garsoïan,
Armenia, Ch. , pp. –, esp. p. , note .
17)
Evidence of continuation comes from the boundary stones found near Lake Sevan
and in Zangezur (southern province of present-day Armenia), see Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘The
Emergence of Armenia’, in Hovannisian, The Armenian People, p. , with ref. to Anahit
Perikhanian, ‘Une inscription araméenne du roi Artašēs trouvée à Zanguézour (Siwnik#)’,
Revue des études arméniennes ns  (), pp. –.
18)
Garsoïan, ‘The Emergence’, pp. –; Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘The Aršakuni Dynasty’, in
Hovannisian, The Armenian People, pp. –.
19)
Xenophon distinguishes the Khaldaioi from the Armenoi; Anabasis, Carleton L. Brow-
son ( vols.; Loeb Classical Library), ..–. This paragraph closely follows Garsoïan, ‘The
Emergence’, pp. –.
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

to the name of Korduk#. The fact that the Achaemenids called the province
Armina indicates that the Armenians (‘Armenoi’) were gaining prominence in
the sixth century bce, and that this was recognized by their rulers. Achaemenid
rule brought with it the obligation to pay tribute in the form of horses and silver
talents, but, crucially, placed Armenia within one political and cultural sphere,
unlike the situation prevailing in much of its subsequent history, when it would
often be posited between two rival powers. Moreover, Achaemenid rule was
tolerant of its subject peoples, which made it possible for local institutions to
flourish. Xenophon noted Armenia’s general prosperity and abundance in meat
and crops.20
During the Achaemenid period the Armenians came to adhere to a form of
Zoroastrianism, which underwent changes until the adoption of Christianity.21
For the Achaemenid and Eruandid period evidence is sparse.22 There was a
fire temple at Arin-Berd (Erebuni), and contrary to what would have been
considered proper by the Achaemenids, the Armenians sacrificed horses to
the sun god, according to Xenophon.23 The pantheon described below refers
to the Arsacid period, but contains elements that are certainly older, such
as the cult of Anahita. It consisted among others of Aramazd or Ohrmizd
(Ahura Mazda), the highest god, Anahit (Anahita), the goddess of fertility,
whose veneration had been promoted already by the Achaemenid Artaxerxes II.
She enjoyed exalted status in Armenia and was particularly revered at Erez
(Erznka), modern Erzıncan in Ekełeac# (Acilisene), but had shrines in Artašat
(Artaxata) on the Ararat plain in the modern day Republic of Armenia, and
Aštišat, west of Lake Van, as well. Vahagn, the god of strength and victory
was likewise worshipped at Aštišat. Mihr (Mithra) was revered at Bagayaŕič#,
west of Erez; his worship may have been eclipsed by that of Vahagn.24 Apart
from this main triad other gods were worshipped, and there is more variety
in their background. Astłik, Syrian Astarte, was also worshipped at Aštišat.
Two more gods were Semitic in origin: Baršamin (Baal Šamin), originally a
supreme creator god, had his shrine at T#ordan, just west of Erez, and Nanē

20)
Xenophon, Anabasis, ., , .
21)
It differed in certain respects from Zoroastrianism in Iran, e.g. by the absence in Armenia
of Ahriman; cf. Redgate, The Armenians, p. , describing the situation prevailing between
the first and third century ce.
22)
See Russell, Zoroastrianism, pp. –; Redgate, The Armenians, p. .
23)
Anabasis, ., .
24)
This may reflect third century Armenian opposition to Sassanian reform of Zoroastri-
anism as pursued by Kartı̄r, the mogbed or chief magus; cf. Russell, Zoroastrian Problems;
Redgate, The Armenians, p. .
 Theo Maarten van Lint

was worshipped at T#il, also in Acilisene, but had a wide following in Iran
as well, and may in fact have reached Armenia through Parthia rather than
directly from Mesopotamia.25 Tir, the ‘interpreter of dreams’, was revered in
Artašat, where he had, according to the fifth century historian Agathangelos, ‘a
temple of learned instruction’.26 The indigenous gods of hospitality, Vanatur,
and of the bringer of the fruits, Amanor, were worshipped at Bagawan, north
of Lake Van. Sun and moon were worshipped as well.27
Religion and rule both accounted for part of Armenia’s identity, and they
were to a large extent Iranian. What further indications can be gained from the
languages used? During the Eruandid period, one can assume that the unwrit-
ten vernacular was (proto-)Armenian. Persian will have been spoken by the
satraps, and on the authority of Xenophon, who states that Persian was spo-
ken in Armenian villages, also by part of the population.28 The third major
language was Imperial Aramaic, the chancellery language used for official doc-
uments until the second century bc. The language also provides insight in the
social structure, which resembled the Iranian one, based on the tribe, clan and
family (for example Old Persian tauma, Armenian tohm ‘house’). On the insti-
tutional level, Armenia was a respected element within the empire. Xenophon
relates that the Armenian satrap Tiribazos was ‘as a friend of the King … the
only man permitted to help the King to mount his horse.’ Armenians were
linked to the royal family by ties of marriage and kinship.29
Hellenism was introduced in Armenia when Seleucid influence spread from
 bce onwards. As Garsoïan remarks: ‘the political consequences of Alexan-
der’s conquests in the east were relatively superficial in Armenia. The attendant
cultural break was to prove far more significant and lasting, as the impact of
Greek-Hellenistic traditions shattered the cultural hegemony of Iran in the
East.’30 Moreover, the unified Armenian plateau now broke up into three dis-
tinct units.

Greater Armenia east of the Euphrates River preserved its identity in the northeast, but
west of the river, the lands of Armenia Minor gradually united into a separate kingdom
associated with Pontus in the north and Cappadocia in the west. Similarly, the kingdom

25)
Garsoïan, ‘Prolegomena’, repr. in Garsoïan, Armenia, Ch. , esp. pp. –, note .
26)
Robert W. Thomson, Agathangelos. History of the Armenians (Albany, ), § ,
pp. –.
27)
Redgate, The Armenians, p. ; cf. Russell, Zoroastrianism.
28)
Xenophon, Anabasis, ., , .
29)
Garsoïan, ‘The Emergence’, pp. –; Xenophon, Anabasis, ., .
30)
Garsoïan, ‘The Emergence’, p. .
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

of Sophēnē linked with Mesopotamia and Syria to the south probably emerged in the
southwestern portion of the plateau in the latter part of the third century bc, although
the date is still disputed.31

In this period cities, usually named after their founders in typical Greek fash-
ion, entered the Armenian plateau. Examples abound from various dynasties:
Arsamosata (Aršamašat, ‘Joy of Aršam’) on the Euphrates in Sophēnē, Eruan-
dakert (‘built by Eruand’), Zarehawan (‘Zareh’s town’), Zarišat, and Artašat
(‘Joy of Zareh’ and ‘Joy of Artašēs’) on the Araxes. Garsoïan has pointed out
that

these cities introduced a new and alien element into the rural and tribal world of the
plateau described by Xenophon. The closed agricultural economy was transformed by
its contact with Hellenistic international commerce, and local coinage appeared for the
first time in the area. Both the silver coinage of Sophēnē and of the Artašēsids, bearing
the portrait of the king and Greek inscriptions, followed standard Greek models, and
some of the Artašēsid kings officially proclaimed themselves ‘Philhellenes’ on their
coins.32

A hybrid culture was the result. The deities described above are given Greek
names in addition to their Iranian-Armenian ones. The names of the dynasties
were Iranian, as were the names of the newly established cities: the Eruandid
holy city of Bagaran consists of the Iranian baga- ‘god’, and the suffix -aran,
indicating place; it continues the Iranian concept of such ‘divine places’, as do
others found in Armenia: Bagrewand, Bagawan, Bagayaŕič#.33 In Artašat Greek
type statuettes were discovered, next to terracotta bas-reliefs with the repre-
sentation of the Parthian ‘heroic rider’.34 Marriage alliances were closed with
the Parthian Arcasid dynasty. The Achaemenid type of kingship was continued,
albeit it with Hellenistic elements. Garsoïan concludes her consideration of the
Hellenistic element in ancient Armenian society with the following remarks:

31)
Garsoïan, ‘The Emergence’, p. .
32)
Garsoïan, ‘The Emergence’, p. . Cf. Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘The Early-Medieval Armenian
City: An Alien Element?’, Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society – = Ancient Studies
in Memory of Elias Bickerman (–), repr. in Garsoïan, Church and Culture, Ch. .
33)
Garsoïan has repeatedly drawn attention to this fact, see Garsoïan, ‘The Emergence’,
p. ; Garsoïan, ‘Prolegomena’, pp. –, note .
34)
For an illustration of such a bas relief, see Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘Les éléments iraniens
dans l’Arménie paleochrétienne’, in Garsoïan and Mahé, Des Parthes au Califat, Fig. ,
p. . Russell considers it possible that it represents the god Mithra; Russell, Zoroastrianism,
pp. –.
 Theo Maarten van Lint

Armenia prospered as it became a part of the wider Mediterranean world. Hellenization

presented no direct threat in the early Artašēsid period, and the combination of Iranian
and Greek traditions helped to produce an increasingly complex and sophisticated
Armenian civilization. Nevertheless, from this time on the Armenians would never
find themselves again in a united homogeneous world. As Armenia slowly proceeded
in the last centuries preceding the Christian era to the status of a ‘buffer state’, the
opposing cultural and more ominously political pressures of the Mediterranean and
Oriental worlds eventually increased, threatening at times its unity and it identity.35

The Artašēsid dynasty further unified Armenia, and conquered territory. The
largest expansion took place during the reign of Tigran (II) the Great, who
ruled between  and  bce and whose empire at one time stretched from
the Mediterranean to the Caspian Sea. He exemplifies the hybrid character of
the period. The court ceremonial was Achaemenid, containing also Parthian
elements. However, perhaps due to the influence of the queen, Cleopatra of
Pontus, there were Greek rhetoricians and philosophers at court, and Greek
actors inaugurated the theatre built in the capital. At court, Greek may have
been spoken; Tigran’s heir Artawazd II wrote his plays and other literary works,
which were still known in the second century ce, in it. On the occasion of
the wedding of Tigran’s daughter Ariazate (‘Child of an Iranian’) to Mithri-
dates II of Parthia, Euripides’ Bacchae was staged. Tigran’s religion was prob-
ably Mazdaism, a variety of Zoroastrianism. In line with Parthian usage, he
styled himself a Philhellene. His capital Tigranokerta was itself a product of
both cultures, designed on a Hellenistic plan, but with an Iranian style royal
residence complete with vast parks and hunting grounds. A series of victories
led him to assume the Achaemenid title of King of Kings, which appears on
coins struck after  bce. On these he wears a pearl tiara with the star of divin-
ity, Iranian elements, like the eagles found at Artašat and on coins. According
to Russell these represent the Iranian xvarenah (Armenian p#ark#), ‘glory’ and
baxt, identical in Parthian and Armenian, meaning ‘fortune’, ‘which in Ira-
nian society were thought to protect the legitimate king, and, by extension,
his realm, even after death’.36 The extent to which these ideas were engrained
also in Armenian society, particularly during the rule of the Arsacid (Aršakuni)
kings (– ce), can be perceived in the tales of Armenian kings related
in the anonymous Epic Histories or Buzandaran Patmut #iwnk#, a fifth-century

35)
Garsoïan, ‘The Emergence’, p. .
36)
Russell, Zoroastrianism, pp. , –; quotation, Redgate, The Armenians, p. .
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

work incorporating much oral tradition and reflecting fourth-century Arme-

nian reality. It also gives an example of the extent to which Iranian, mostly
Middle Parthian, vocabulary had entered the Armenian language.37
While Tigran was not able to consolidate his gains, the forty-year interval
of relative peace may have had the important effect of developing Greater
Armenia and the network of clan relationships that would prove crucial for
the preservation of Armenian identity in subsequent periods.38
One might have expected that over the centuries Tigran the Great would
represent an example for emulation. While modern Armenian, post-genocide
consciousness gives pride of place to this ruler and conqueror, with for example
a Tigran Mec tank brigade in the Soviet army (which may serve as an instance
of Stalin’s more liberal politics towards expressions of national pride to bolster
motivation necessary for the war effort), this was not the case in medieval
Armenian historiography.

‘[Tigran] extended the borders of our territory and established them at their extreme
limits in antiquity. He was envied by all who lived in his time, while he and his epoch
were admired by posterity.’ (Movsēs Xorenac#i I. ) Yet Tigran and military success
were not the typical models in which the Armenians thought of their present and
their future. Imagery of a ‘golden age’ described the harmony of king Tiridates and St
Gregory the Illuminator, while wishful prophecies foresaw the eradication of present
woes by the restoration of the descendants of the one to the Arcasid throne and of the
descendants of the other to the patriarchate. More powerful than the memory of the
heroic Tigran was the model of the Maccabees, whose defence of ancestral customs
and an individual religious culture evoked a strong response in Armenian minds.39

The third Armenian royal dynasty after the Eruandids and Artašēsids is the
Arsacid (Aršakuni) dynasty, which ruled over Armenia from  to  ce (some
place its inception as royal dynasty as late as  ce). Many of the aspects of
identity formation we have touched upon are perceptible here as well. The Ira-
nian aspect of Armenian society remains prominent.40 The Armenian Arsacids

37)
For the Epic Histories, see note .
38)
Garsoïan, ‘The Emergence’, p. .
39)
Robert W. Thomson, ‘Armenia in the Fifth and Sixth Century’ (CAH ; Cambridge,
), p. .
40)
A magisterial treatment of the subject is Garsoïan, ‘Prolegomena’, which is followed
in this section. See also Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘The Iranian Substratum of the “Agathangelos”
Cycle’, in Garsoïan, Mathews, and Thomson (eds.), East of Byzantium, pp. – (re-
printed in Garsoïan, Armenia, Ch. ); Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘The Locus of the Death of
Kings: Armenia the Inverted Image’, in Richard G. Hovannisian (ed.), The Armenian Image
 Theo Maarten van Lint

formed a junior branch of the Parthian royal family, with the Armenian king
occupying the second, third, or fourth rank after the King of Kings.41 The dif-
ference in attitude to Armenia between Rome and Persia is summed up by
Garsoïan as follows:

For Rome, Armenia, thought often a client, remained essentially a foreign country; its
control by Trajan, an act of conquest. For Persia, on the contrary, Armenia, usually
a component of Ērān, formed part of the ancestral lands to be granted to sons and
brothers by the Sasanians, as well as the Parthians; to be protected against the injury
of Caesar; to be proselytized zealously, and to be conceded special honors. In the
Armenians’ own eyes, the bond between the royal houses of Parthia and Armenia
was indissoluble. Inflexibly, and monotonously the native sources treat the terms
‘King’ and ‘Arsacid’ (Aršakuni) as inseparable and synonymous, to the very end of the
dynasty. They deny that even an Arsacid’s sins might deprive him of the crown, or that
anyone else, no matter how illustrious, could prove worthy to wear it. They urge the
Armenians to die for their Arsacid lords, and observe approvingly that the obligation to
undertake the blood-feud, assumed by King Xosrov at Artewan’s death, was accepted
from generation to generation. So strong was this identification of all the Armenians
with the Arsacid crown, that, even after the partition of the country, the Sasanian ruler,
Šāhpuhr III, would allow them a king from this house so as to win over their loyalty.

The Iranian blood lineage extended even beyond the royal house to the hereditary
patriarchal family of St. Gregory, descended from the great Parthian family of the
Sūrēn, as the mighty Kamsarakan lords were from the Kāren. Even in the last days of
the Armenian kingdom, Movsēs Xorenac#i would claim, that St. Gregory’s great, great,
great grandson, the patriarch St. Sahak I had been honoured at the Persian court ‘first
of all, because of his illustrious Pahlawik house … the Sūrēn’, and only then, because

in History and Literature (Malibu, CA, ), pp. –, repr. in Garsoïan, Armenia –
; Garsoïan, ‘The Early-Medieval Armenian City’; Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘« Tagaworanist
kayeank #» kam « banak ark #uni »: les residences royales des Arsacides arméniennes’, Revue
des études arméniennes  (–), pp. –; Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘L’art iranien
comme témoin de l’armement arménien sous les Arsacides’, in Boghos L. Zekiyan (ed.),
Atti del Quinto Simposio Internazionale di Arte Armena (Venice, ), pp. –; Nina
G. Garsoïan, ‘The Two Voices of Armenian Medieval Historiography: The Iranian Index’,
Studia Iranica  (), pp. –; Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘Reality and Myth in Armenian
History’, Studi Orientali dell’Università di Roma ‘La Sapienza’  = The East and the Meaning
of History. International Conference (– November ) (Studi Orientali ; Rome,
), pp. –, reprinted in Garsoïan, Church and Culture, Ch. – and –;
Garsoïan, The Epic Histories; Garsoïan, ‘Éléments iraniens’.
41)
Depending on the sources one follows: second rank: Agathangelos, § , and Movsēs
Xorenac#i (Movsēs Xorenac#i ., .); third rank: Tacitus, Ann. .; fourth rank: the
‘Primary History’ (English translation in Thomson, Moses Khorenats #i, pp. –); see
Garsoïan, ‘Prolegomena’, p. , note .
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

of the respect due to God’s servants. Thus, the two leading families of Armenia, the
royal and ecclesiastical dynasties, and at least one and probably many of the powerful
native clans proudly not only proclaimed not merely Iranian descent, but blood ties
to the three greatest houses of Parthia: the royal Arsacids, in the senior line, the Sūrēn
and the Kāren.42

This quotation may show the extent to which the Armenians considered them-
selves, and were considered by the Iranians to be part of the Iranian world: geo-
graphically, despite partitions that kept parts of Armenia outside of it (a smaller
part after , a larger one after ); through kinship ties, and through ethos,
such as the obligation to extract revenge, as when the Parthian Arsacids were
overthrown by the Sassanians. The Arsacid house did not forget this, as the
Epic Histories relate. Šapuh, the King of Kings, doubts king Aršak’s loyalty and
accepts the advice of his magicians to have water and soil brought from Arme-
nia and to spread these out on one half of the royal abode. King Aršak is sum-
moned and the Arcruni Armenian and Sassanian Persian walk arm in arm in
circles. When treading Persian soil, Aršak shows himself humble and devoted
to Šapuh. However, when stepping on Armenian soil, he grows insolent and
haughty, saying:

Away from me, malignant, servant, lording it over your lords! I shall not spare you or
your children from the vengeance [due] to my ancestors, nor forgive the death of King
Artewan. For you who are [but] servants have now taken the cushion from us, your
lords. But I shall not concede this until that place of ours shall return to us!43

Moreover the social structure in Arsacid Armenia mirrored that of Parthian

Iran. The estates of the magnates, mecamec naxarark # in Armenian and wuzur-
gān in Parthian (literally the ‘greatest nobles’ and the ‘great ones’), of the
naxarars (Armenian) or nobles, of the azat, in both languages, meaning the
lesser, ‘free’ nobility, and the common people, consisting of artisans and peas-
ants, are characteristic of both societies. The hereditary order of precedence was
similar as well, with each noble assigned a fixed place (gah or barj, ‘throne’ or
‘cushion’). The Armenian hereditary offices of coronant (t #agadir or t #agakap),
commander in chief (sparapet), commander of the cavalry (aspet), and ‘second
after the king’ are well known from Parthian society. Like his Parthian counter-
part, the Armenian king had to consult with a council of nobles, which apart
from advising him, ratified his accession and could act for him in his absence

42)
Garsoïan, ‘Prolegomena’, pp. –.
43)
Garsoian, The Epic Histories ., pp. –; quotation, p. .
 Theo Maarten van Lint

(and even against him). The journey of King Trdat I to Rome to be crowned
by Nero in  ce provides us with insight in Armenian Zoroastrian beliefs and
practices, comparable to those of Iran. The vocabulary of fifth century Arme-
nian is pervaded with loanwords from Middle Iranian, and concern many areas
of life: personal and social relationships, government, religion, law, toponomy,
religious, and secular onomastics, etc. One may assume that under the Arsacids
at least part of the nobility spoke Parthian, in addition to Armenian.44 These
Iranian institutions were continued even after the adoption of Christianity,
when also the office of patriarch was hereditary. Bishops were usually chosen
from among the family that ruled over a particular province as over its ancestral
lands. This was alien to the Graeco-Roman world, with its appointed bishops
and head of the Church. So were the other hereditary offices in Iran and Arme-
nia, where in the Roman Empire one found elected magistrates and appointed
civil servants. The examples could be multiplied, including the etiquette and
meaning of the banquet and the hunt, the bazm and razm, and the fondness of
the nobility and kings of both countries of hunting preserves called paradises
(pardez in Armenian, another Iranian loan), the dress of dignitaries carefully
distinguishing their rank, and the like.
Nevertheless, as transpires from the extremely swift flowering of Armenian
literature after the invention of the alphabet at the opening of the fifth century,
the Armenians did develop ties with the cultural and intellectual world of
Greece and Rome. Armenians were educated as rhetoricians and philosophers
and taught in the schools of the Hellenistic world.45 These ties were to be
intensified in the fourth and fifth centuries: more momentous for Armenian

44)
On Armenian-Iranian relations and Iranian influence up to the coming of Islam, see
Rüdiger Schmitt et al., ‘Armenia and Iran’, in Ehsan Yarshater (ed.), Encyclopedia Iranica 
(New York, ), pp. –; on vocabulary see, in this entry, . Iranian Influences in
Armenian: Rüdiger Schmitt, . ‘General’, pp. –, and Harald W. Bailey, . ‘Iranian
Loanwords in Armenian’, pp. –.
45)
Cf., for example, Prohaeresius from Cucusus (–/), who studied in Antioch
and Athens, where he became professor of rhetoric, Redgate, The Armenians, p. ; and
‘Libanius in Antioch’, who ‘had correspondence with numerous former Armenian students
and their sons who came to study with him in their turn’, Robert W. Thomson, ‘The
Origins of Caucasian Civilization: The Christian Component’, in Ronald Grigor Suny
(ed.), Transcaucasia: Nationalism and Social Change (nd ed.; Ann Arbor, ), p. , with
quotation, reprinted in Thomson, Studies, Ch. ; Robert W. Thomson, ‘Armenian Literary
Culture Through the Eleventh Century’, in Hovannisian, The Armenian People, pp. –
.
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

identity formation than the ousting of the Parthian relatives of the Armenian
Arsacids by the Sassanians in , was the coming to Armenia of Christianity.
When King Trdat IV made Christianity state religion in Armenia some-
time between  and , it was not an entirely new religion in Armenia.
It penetrated into the country from at least the third century, but may have
been present even earlier.46 The circumstances of the introduction of Christian-
ity in Armenia and the reasons for its elevation to official religion, involving
among other things difficulties of dating, have been widely studied and com-
mented upon, with varying conclusions.47 Whatever the motives for conver-
sion, whether one assumes that those of political expedience were paramount,
rather than personal considerations of religious conviction on the part of the
Armenian king, the conversion of Armenia from Zoroastrianism to Christian-
ity brought along the profoundest change in its view of itself and would define
its place in the world until the present day. Garsoïan writes:

The conversion of Armenia to Christianity was probably the most crucial step in its
history. It turned Armenia sharply away from its Iranian past and stamped it for
centuries with an intrinsic character as clear to the native population as to those outside
it borders, who identified Armenia almost at once as the first state to adopt Christianity.
(…) From the start, the church helped to create a separate Armenian identity and
provided a focus for the allegiance of the entire population that was independent of
the political framework and consequently from the fate of the realm.48

The final part of this survey of Armenian identity formation will consider five
events and interventions that shaped the Armenians as a Christian ethnie: a
double wave of mission and conversion, Syriac and Greek; the invention of the
Armenian alphabet; the stand the Armenians took against Sassanian attempts
to reconvert them to Zoroastrianism; the rejection of the Council of Chalcedon
and the breach with Byzantium; and finally, the ‘classical’ definition of the
Armenian Church’s doctrinal position and its organization under Catholicos
Yovhannēs Ōjnec#i (John of Odzun) in the early eighth century. These would

46)
Redgate, The Armenians, pp. –.
47)
See, for example, Robert W. Thomson, ‘Mission, Conversion, and Christianization: The
Armenian Example’, Harvard Ukrainian Studies – (–), pp. –, reprinted
in Thomson, Studies, Ch. ; Robert W. Thomson, ‘Syrian Christianity and the Conver-
sion of Armenia’, in Seibt, Christianisierung, pp. –; Mahé, ‘Bekehrung’; Zekiyan,
‘Die Christianisierung’; for concise accounts within larger narratives, cf. Garsoïan, ‘The
Aršakuni Dynasty’, pp. –, and Redgate, The Armenians, pp. –; all with further
bibliography.
48)
Garsoïan, ‘The Aršakuni Dynasty’, pp. , .
 Theo Maarten van Lint

set Armenia on the course it has since followed and gave it the instruments to
strengthen and where necessary defend its identity throughout the centuries,
both setting it apart as an identifiable ethnie and providing it with a place in
the world among its neighbours, in periods of subjection by foreign powers
and within the realms where they would live as colonies, and in a world
wide diaspora. Ultimately language and religion would be seen as the defining
elements in the identity of the Armenians. Both are problematic and challenged
today not only from outside, but from within as well, and discussions about
what constitutes Armenian identity today can draw on reservoir of reflection
on the subject, which can be felt as an obstacle as much as a help.
The standard description of the conversion of Armenia to Christianity
is that of Agathangelos’ History of the Armenians, a work that although its
enigmatic author with his Greek name (‘the Good Messenger’—in Armenian
one would rather expect a name like Avetik#) presents it as a contemporary
account was composed in the form that we have it around .49 It describes
the mission of St Gregory the Illuminator from Caesarea in Cappadocia, and
makes Vałaršapat, the capital of the country, centre of events. Gregory converts
King Trdat and the whole nation. Zoroastrian temples and idols are destroyed.
The image projected is that of a clear break with the past. In  Gregory was
consecrated Bishop of Armenia in Caesarea in Cappadocia.
However, this traditional account only presents a partial picture of events
as they must have evolved, stressing the Greek influence prevalent in the north
of Armenia. It suppresses an older layer of missionary activity initiated from
the south by Syrian Christians. This can be perceived in the Epic Histories,
which states that the first church in Armenia was established in the south, at
Aštišat in Taron, west of Lake Van. Missionary activity by Syrians probably
lays behind some the accounts about Jacob of Nisibis in the Epic Histories.50
Likewise, Syrian influence can be detected in the account of the invention
of the Armenian alphabet. An important aspect of Syrian influence in the
formation of the earliest stages of Armenian Christianity is the adoption of
the Teaching of Addai, recording the legendary correspondence between Jesus
and King Abgar of Edessa, followed by the visit of the apostle Thaddeus

49)
See Thomson, Agathangelos; for an extensive bibliography on the subject, see also Thom-
son, Bibliography, and Thomson, ‘Supplement’, pp. –, both sub voce Agathangelos.
The name Avetik#, while mentioned as that of one of the forty martyrs of Sebasteia, does not
seem to be attested before the twelfth century, cf. H. Ačaŕyan, Hayoc# anjnanunneri baŕaran
(Dictionary of Armenian Personal Names)  (Beiruth, ), pp. –.
50)
See Thomson, ‘Syrian Christianity’, pp. –.
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

(Addai in the Syriac) who converted the king. The story was known to the
Armenians from Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History, but developed in a particular
way in Armenia, where the apostle was held to have founded the first church
and to have been martyred by King Sanatruk. The importance of the story grew
over time, as the Armenians wanted to assert the autocephalous character of
their Church. In the Epic Histories the See of Gregory the Illuminator is called
the ‘throne of T#adēos’. One may see an attempt at harmonising the two strands
of Christianization of Armenia in the legend of the conception of Gregory the
Illuminator on the grave of Thaddeus.51
Meanwhile, the affiliations of the Armenians and their Iranian background
can be clearly perceived in the description Movsēs Xorenac#i gives of Gregory
the Illuminator (Movsēs Xorenac#i .):

He, as is clear to all, was a Parthian by origin, from the province of Pahlav, a descendant
of the reigning Arsacid family, from the Surēn branch through his father called Anak.
From the eastern regions of our land he arose for us as a true dawn, a spiritual sun
and divine ray, an escape from the profound evil of idolatry, the source of blessing
and spiritual prosperity, truly a divine palm tree planted in the house of the Lord and
flourishing in the courts of our God. He increased [the number of the faithful] among
such and so many peoples and gathered us to an old age of spiritual wealth for the glory
and the praise of God.

Likewise, Agathangelos’ description of the conversion of the king elaborates

on his illness after the martyrdom at his hands of a group of Christian virgins,
which has him turned into a boar, one of the representations of the Zoroas-
trian Vahagn, the god of strength and protection. He is healed by Gregory
after he promises to worship Christ.52 It is perhaps not surprising then, that
the Epic Histories are replete with accounts of the Zoroastrian customs of con-
sanguineous marriage, polygamy, and the extravagant mourning of the dead,
indicating to what extent the Armenians in the fourth century continued their
Iranian customs, in the face of clerical opposition.53 A marked aspect of the new
religion, breaking with the Zoroastrian past while stressing its role as continu-
ator of the sacred, is not only the destruction of the temples, but the erection
of churches in their place. Moreover, Gregory the Illuminator was buried in

51)
See Thomson, ‘Syrian Christianity’, pp. –, with references to, among others,
Movsēs Xorenac#i .; Garsoïan, The Epic Histories .; , , .
52)
See Garsoïan, ‘The Iranian Substratum’.
53)
See Garsoïan, ‘Élements iraniens’; and her commentary in Garsoïan, The Epic Histories.
 Theo Maarten van Lint

T#ordan, where the sanctuary of Baršamin had stood, while his son Aristakēs
was buried in T#il, which had held the shrine of Nanē.54
Despite Agathangelos’ statement that after conversion of the King and the
court in one week four million Armenians were baptized, one has to accept
that in reality Christianity met with considerable opposition. This was realized
well by the beginning of the fifth century, and the need for an alphabet that
was capable of rendering Armenian was felt by Mesrop Maštoc#, an ascetic and
teacher who had undertaken several evangelising missions throughout the land,
much in the vein of the Syrian Christians. Armenia had only partly and super-
ficially been Christianized: readings from scripture and celebrations of the mass
were conducted in Syriac and Greek, with which only part of the nobility was
acquainted, and which necessitated oral translation into Armenian. Maštoc#
acquired the cooperation of Catholicos Sahak and King Vŕamšapuh, and was
first directed to a Syrian Bishop Daniel, who was said to have developed an
alphabet for Armenian, which did not prove satisfactory. It does underscore
once more, however, Syrian interest in evangelising Armenia. The Epic Histo-
ries bear witness to Daniel’s activities, and to those of his disciples in various
parts of Armenia. Thomson considers it possible that he was based in Arzn on
the Tigris.55 The Armenian alphabet was invented (or ‘found’ as the Armenian
phrases it, stressing divine inspiration) around , and is used, with two addi-
tional signs, for the language to this day. It was another defining act for Arme-
nian identity, and heralded a veritable treasure-trove of translated and original
literature, first of all a translation of the Scriptures (a first version was made
from Syriac, but the acquisition of ‘good’ manuscripts from Constantinople
made a translation from Greek possible), followed by works from the Greek
and Syriac fathers, and original writing such as Koriwn’s Life of Maštoc #, which
was composed around  and may be the earliest original composition in
Armenian. Original works of theology followed, such as Eznik’s Against the
Sects, further hymns, canons and other works, and, outstanding by its richness,
historiography, which together with a developing specific Armenian church
architecture and visual arts was to project the identity of the Armenians as
a Christian nation. Zekiyan stresses the importance of the alphabet for the
approach of the Armenians to questions of identity:

54)
Thomson, Agathangelos, lxi–lxii; Garsoïan, The Epic Histories ., pp. , .
55)
Thomson, ‘Syrian Christianity’, pp. –; the account of the invention of the
alphabet is found in M. Abełyan (ed.), Koriwn. Vark # Maštoc #i (Erevan, ; repr. Delmar,
NY, ), German translation and study, Gabriele Winkler, Koriwns Biographie des Mesrop
Maštoc # (OCA ; Rome, ).
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

Es gibt etwas in Mesrops Werk das neu, fast revolutionär ist. Dieses Neue besteht
darin, dass Mesrops Werk zugleich einen allgemeinen Plan für die ethno-kulturelle
Rettung und das Überleben des Volkes und der Nation Enthielt. Mesrop und seinen
engsten Mitarbeiter bemühten sich nach diesem Plan, das Problem der Bewahrung
der armenischen Identität durch die Einführung einer nationalen Schriftsprache, einer
nationalen Literatur zu lösen. Der Plan bewirkte eine grundsätzliche Verlagerung der
Überlebensbestrebungen des armenischen Volkes von der politischen auf eine echt
kulturelle Ebene. Die Identitätsfrage wird für die Armenier von da an tatsächlich eher
eine kulturelle als eine politische Frage darstellen.56

However, for a considerable time there were to be differences between Zoroas-

trian and Christian Armenians, as well as among the Christians themselves.
The Epic Histories show how the Church in the fourth century battled with
the kings over their adherence to Arianism, following the preferences of the
Byzantine Empire. The Church set an important step towards independence
from Byzantium when, following the partition of Armenia in , when the
see of the head of the Church found itself on Persian territory, it ceased to
have its Patriarch consecrated by the Bishop of Caesarea. The importance not
only of the naxarar system, but of the Armenian Church became all the more
clear when in  the Arsacid kingdom was abolished by the Sassanian King
of Kings on the request of the Armenian nobility.
However, dangers for Armenian unity, and indeed its identity, came from
the east as well. The Sassanians were strict Mazdeans and looked upon the
Christian Armenians with suspicion, since they shared the religion of the
Sassanians’ enemy to the west, the Byzantine Empire. Matters came to a head in
the middle of the fifth century, when the Armenian nobility was summoned to
profess their adherence to Zoroastrianism in the presence of the King of Kings.
After feigned submission, the Armenians rebelled. The revolt is chronicled by
Łazar P#arpec#i, in his History of the Armenians, which includes also the revolt
of – that would secure religious freedom for the Armenians, and by
Ełišē, whose History of Vardan and the Armenian War has become one of the
pivotal works in the definition of Armenian identity.57 Two aspects stand out
in Ełišē’s fascinating work and have had resonance throughout the centuries:
his comparison of the Armenians under the leadership of their sparapet Vardan

56)
Zekiyan, ‘Die Christianisierung’, p. .
57)
See Robert W. Thomson, The History of Lazar P #arpec #i (Columbia University Program
in Armenian Studies, Suren D. Fesjian Academic Publications ; Occasional papers and
proceedings ; Atlanta, GA, ); Robert W. Thomson, Ełišē. History of Vardan and the
Armenian War (Harvard Armenian Texts and Studies ; Cambridge, MA, ).
 Theo Maarten van Lint

Mamikonean with the Maccabees, who considered it better to die a martyr’s

death on the battlefield than to become apostates, and the covenant of the
Christian faith, enshrined in their ‘ancestral customs’. Their defeat in the battle
of Avarayr in the north-west of Iran in  as a consequence of their stance
was to be commemorated as one of the highpoints in the liturgical year, while
Vardan and his companions were canonized.58
Concluding this section one is reminded of Thomson’s remarks on Arme-
nian Christianity and the changes in identity this brought along:

Originally the Armenians were not so much permeated by Iranian culture as exam-
ples of it. In the Sasanian period they developed a self-awareness as Christian Arme-
nians specifically against the background of their earlier Iranian links. Although they
expressed their adopted legacy in Christian terms and had to adjust to both Greek
and Syriac strains, they remained suspicious of solidarity with the Byzantine empire to
their west. Yet the claim in early historians that Christianity was an ancient and ances-
tral tradition in Armenia is clearly disingenuous. And despite the attention given to
Armenia’s Christianization by the recent celebrations of the th anniversary of its
proclamation, the process of sloughing off their real patrimonial culture has not been
studied in detail.59

While the Armenians facing Sassanian oppression were making their stand for
Christianity as their ancestral tradition, the Council of Chalcedon was held
in Byzantium.60 No Armenian bishops from the Persian part of Armenia were
present. The Armenian Church had accepted the decisions of the first three
councils and it took a long time before it would pronounce itself on Chalcedon.
It welcomed both the Henoticon promulgated by the Emperor Zeno in ,
which condemned Nestorianism and was non-committal about Chalcedon,
and its subsequent anti-Chalcedonian interpretation by his successor Anasta-
sius. The Armenian Councils held at Dvin in  (when the Henoticon was still
in force: Byzantium returned to Chalcedonian orthodoxy only in ) and
, concerned primarily with Dyophysitism in Iran, did not formally con-

58)
Cf. what was said above about the difference between King Tigran the Great and Vardan
Mamikonean.
59)
Robert W. Thomson, ‘Armenian Ideology and the Persians’, in La Persia e Bisanzio. Atti
del convegno internazionale, Roma, – ottobre  (Rome, ), pp. –.
60)
Cf. Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘The Evolution of the Armenian Church during the Marz-
panate’, in Hovannisian, The Armenian People, pp. –; Nina G. Garsoïan, ‘L’Église
arménienne aux Ve–VIe siècles. Problèmes et hypotheses’, in Garsoïan and Mahé, Des
Parthes au Caliphat, pp. –; Nina G. Garsoïan, L’église arménienne et le grand schisme
d’Orient (CSCO , Subs. ; Leuven, ), with full documentation and extensive
bibliography.
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

demn Chalcedon. It was anathematized, together with the Tome of Leo only at
the council of , called by the Persian marzpan (governor) Smbat Bagratuni
to elect a new Catholicos. This led to a breach with the Greek Church. Here-
upon the Iberian Church, which had been under Armenian jurisdiction, sev-
ered its ties with the Armenians and accepted union with the Byzantine Church
in . The estrangement from Byzantium took over a century, with Greek
efforts to bring the Armenians to a union with their Church being repulsed.
This became most pressing after the conquest by Emperor Maurice, and the
partition in  that brought the greater part of Armenia under his sway. In
the same year he called a Council of Union which was rejected out of hand by
the Armenian Catholicos Movsēs II (–), residing in Persian Armenia.
In  Maurice installed Yovhannēs of Bagaran as anti-patriarch in Awan, on
the Greek side of the border, causing a religious schism in an already politically
and administratively divided Armenia, which brought along deepening antag-
onism between the two parties. In , with the Sassanian re-conquest the
schism was ended, Yovhannēs was deported and bishops who had supported
him were brought back into communion with the legitimate Catholicos, Abra-
ham I (–). In the course of the seventh century religious antagonism
with Byzantium deepened, particularly after the repeated attempts at, and tem-
porary agreements to religious union by Catholicoi Ezr (–) in –
and Nersēs III (–) in –, which further embittered clergy and a
large part of the population.61
The dogmatic clarifications of the Armenian Church brought it greater
favour with the Sassanians, who were glad to see them severed from Byzan-
tium. However, it would be far from realistic to assume a monolithically
non-Chalcedonian Armenia in the sixth and seventh centuries. The vacilla-
tions of several Catholicoi point to a different situation, as does the Nar-
ratio de rebus Armeniae (Account of the Affairs of Armenia), which is pro-
Chalcedonian.62 The Armenian Church had started out from an Antiochian
position and counted a Dyophysite minority predominantly in the south of
the country, but occasionally also in the capital, as well as an authentic Chal-
cedonian element, in addition to its growing mainstream Miaphysite core. This
was the situation when the Islamic conquest reached the Middle East.63

61)
Cf. note , and Jean-Pierre Mahé, ‘Confession réligieuse et identité nationale dans
l’église arménienne du VIIe au XIe siècle’, in Garsoïan and Mahé, Des Parthes au Califat,
pp. –; Mahé, L’église arménienne.
62)
See Gérard Garitte, La narratio de rebus Armeniae (Leuven, ).
63)
Garsoïan, ‘L’Église arménienne aux Ve–VIe siècles’, pp. –.
 Theo Maarten van Lint

Finally, a word must be said about Catholicos Yovhannēs Ōjnec#i or John

of Odzun (–), whose contributions were crucial for the formation of
Armenian identity. Under his leadership the Armenian Church, by now the
representative of the Armenian people in the absence of a separate polity
of organized secular power obtained official recognition from the Caliphate,
which may have entailed the absence of forced conversion to Islam, liberty
of worship, and fiscal immunity for the clergy and the possessions of the
Church.64 He unified liturgical practice throughout Armenia, convinced that
orthopraxis was the necessary prerequisite for orthodoxy. He codified Arme-
nian canon law when he included the canons of the Council of Dvin of 
with all previous canons in the Kanonagirk# Hayoc #. Furthermore, at the Synod
of Manzakert, held in , at which also Syrian Miaphysites were present, he
succeeded in having the Armenian Church adopt a moderate doctrinal posi-
tion, stressing ties with the universal Church, refusing Chaledonianism as well
as extreme Miaphysitism. He repudiated the heresies of the Paulicians and the
Phantasiasts. Ōjnec#i put an end to pluralism in the Armenian Church. Nei-
ther Armeno-Chalcedonianism as propagated in the Narratio de rebus Arme-
niae, nor the extreme Miaphysitism of Yovhannēs Mayragomec#i, apparently
followed by Step#annos Siwnec#i, were tolerated any longer. This has had, in
Mahé’s words, durable and spectacular consequences, calling it a decisive turn
and a break with the past. The median position of Yovhannēs Ōjnec#i becomes
the norm in the Armenian Church. While this position has not remained com-
pletely unchallenged in later times, it has set a remarkable standard of theo-
logical equilibrium, from which subsequent leaders of the Armenian Church,
such as Nersēs Šnorhali (–, Catholicos from ) and Nersēs Lam-
bronac#i (–) benefited in their attempts to redefine relations with
other Christian denominations.65
After the fall of the Armenian kingdom of Cilicia in  the pronounced
European orientation of the Armenian leading circles is further expressed in
ideas of national emancipation and liberation, with the dominating opposing

64)
Mahé is careful in his formulation, which follows a much later source, the thirteenth
century Kirakos Ganjakec#i, when he considers his description ‘non sans une certaine
vraisemblance’, Mahé, ‘Confession réligieuse’, p. .
65)
Mahé points to Anania Narekac#i’s Root of Faith (Armat hawatoy), dedicated about
– to Catholicos Xač#ik I, which is contains severe criticism of the Chalcedonian
position and subsequently radicalizes Armenian positions, Mahé, ‘Confession réligieuse’,
p. , note .
 The Formation of Armenian Identity 

elements being Christianity and Islam. The Iranian element of Armenian iden-
tity is now fast receding into the background. In the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries various attempts at obtaining European assistance were undertaken
by the heads of the Church, with the support of what was still extant of the
nobility. From the seventeenth century onwards Russia assumed an increas-
ingly important role in Armenian expectations, while the wealthy merchants
from New Julfa near the Safavid capital Isfahan acted as highly stimulating
patrons for the development of Armenian culture, not in the least by the
establishment of printing presses. The catholic brotherhood of the Mekhi-
tarists played an important role in the spiritual and educational awakening
of the Armenians in the Ottoman Empire. They were the most important
instigators of the field of Armenian Studies in the eighteenth century and the
greater part of the nineteenth. The eighteenth century saw the influence of the
Enlightenment among the Armenians in the formulation of political thought
in publications from Madras that defended the establishment of an Armenian
republic. A secularising element is present in later nineteenth-century Arme-
nian thought, where especially in literature one meets with a reinterpretation
of the pre-Christian past, thus reconsidering elements of Armenian identity
that had become all but inseparable in Armenian consciousness.66
We have seen that Armenian identity comprises several layers, Indo-
European, Anatolian with an admixture of Semitic elements, Urartean, Ira-
nian in various successive stages, Hellenistic, Syrian, and Greek Christian ele-
ments all being added to the previous ones, including the Armenian language
(itself a heavily stratified phenomenon) and the Armenian Church, thus form-
ing an amalgam consisting of many ingredients. It is important to consider
the complete stratification when one studies the identity of Armenia and the
Armenians. Before drawing a final conclusion to this contribution, I would
like to quote Professor Garsoïan who, summing up the results of decades of
intense study of Armenia concludes:

Gradually I have come to question increasingly the political and institutional unity of
the different Early-Christian Armenians and to delay the period of their unification,
though not to disregard their underlying sense of an ethnic, linguistic and eventually
religious unity; to appreciate the bi-lingual and bi-cultural aspect and ambiguous status
of the peripheral areas of western Armenia minor, the northern Iberian march and the
southern Armeno-Mesopotamian Satrapies. But despite the transformation of some
of my ideas and my full recognition of western influences beyond the Euphrates, my

66)
See Zekiyan, The Armenian Way to Modernity; Panossian, The Armenians, pp. –.
 Theo Maarten van Lint

belief in the importance of the positive and negative rôle of Iran, before and after the
Christianization of the Armenian plateau, has only deepened with time.67

The period subsequent to Ōjnec#i’s interventions cannot be studied here. Given

(more than despite) the geographical position of Armenia in an ever more
Islamicized Middle East, it will stress more and more its western, European
aspect that it associates with its Christianity. Garsoïan has rightly criticized the
tendency to forget about the Iranian aspects of Armenian identity, observing:

So deeply was this central ideology ingrained in the Armenian ethos, that despite some
modifications it has continued to obtrude into the th and even th centuries (as
the Armenians once again began to view themselves as an ethnic and national unit), on
both their political orientation directed exclusively toward the western powers and Rus-
sia, seen as expected liberators if no longer necessarily as saviours, and the intellectual
development which simultaneously came to replace the religious traditions. Weighed
down by centuries of pro-western mythology now compounded by the influence of a
growing, largely western, diaspora, as well as of younger generations returning from
studies primarily in Germany and Russia, and finally by the Eurocentric inferiority
complex that engulfed the th century Near East, Armenian scholars failed to achieve
a balanced evaluation of their own past, and continued to view Armenia almost exclu-
sively in terms of its western relations and characteristics, even when this approach
resulted in serious historical distortion.68

This tendency has led to a turn away from Armenia’s Iranian past. Yet, while it
is the historian’s duty to peel off these European layers of paint in the picture
of Armenian identity formation in order to acquire a more balanced view of
the past, their very presence bespeaks a clear choice among at least a group
of Armenians about where they wish to be positioned, how they wish to be
perceived, and what they consider most urgent in the development of their
identity. Whether in time a different balance will be drawn is a question that
lies beyond the scope of this survey.

Theo Maarten van Lint

University of Oxford
theo.vanlint@orinst.ox.ac.uk

67)
Garsoïan, Church and Culture, p. viii.
68)
Garsoïan, ‘Reality and Myth’, p. .
 The Copts: ‘Modern Sons of the Pharaohs’?

Jacques van der Vliet1

Abstract
This essay briefly reviews the Coptic identity constructions that can be subsumed as ‘Phar-
aonism’, and tries to assess them with reference to both ancient sources and modern
developments. Broadly speaking, Pharaonism is a way of claiming a deeply rooted national
identity that transcends the religious opposition between Egypt’s Muslim majority and its
indigenous Christian minority, the Copts. As a political ideology it was most successful
in the period of the nationwide Egyptian struggle for independence in the early twentieth
century, but its impact in particular among Coptic intellectuals is still great. In this essay,
it is argued that Pharaonism is shaped in a remarkable degree by western Orientalism, and
that its main historical tenets, such as the Copts’ indebtedness to pre-Christian, Pharaonic
culture or their anti-Greek nationalism, can no longer be maintained.

Keywords
Egypt; Copts; Christian-Muslim relations; Egyptian nationalism; Pharaonism; Orientalism.

Ce n’est pas moi qui (…) médirait du Grand Schisme. Je sais trop bien ce qu’il
représente pour chacun de vous et qu’il est la cicatrice qui, vous creusant le coeur,
l’aide à battre plus fort. Y renoncer marquerait un retour à la monotonie d’avant.
Et d’ailleurs, comment se séparer de ce qui est déjà la séparation? …
Georges Henein, Le grand schisme 2

Introduction
Typical Coptic identity discourse is a by-product of the Orientalism so force-
fully denounced by Edward Said and unthinkable without Egyptology. To a
quite astonishing degree the cultural and racial prejudices of European

1)
This is the only lightly retouched version of the like-named paper read during the
conference in Oegstgeest on  December ; like the original paper itself, it is meant
primarily as an incentive to discussion.
2)
From the posthumous volume Notes sur un pays inutile (Paris, ), p. .
 Jacques van der Vliet

scholars of the nineteenth and early twentieth century have shaped the way in
which still today highly respectable Coptic intellectuals think and write about
their own history and identity.
Before I will try to substantiate this statement, it may be useful to provide
some basic information.3 The English word ‘Copt’, like French ‘copte’, derives
through the Arabic Qibt from Greek Αγπτιος, ‘Egyptian’. Etymologically,
therefore, it refers to nationality, but its primary connotation in present-day
use both inside and outside of Egypt is religious: a Copt is first of all an
Egyptian Christian. As Christians, the Copts represent an indigenous tradition
that is now basically Egyptian, even though in the past the jurisdiction of
the Alexandrian Patriarchate comprised neighbouring parts of north-eastern
Africa where eventually Christianity vanished (Lybia, Nubia) or went its own
way (Ethiopia). This traditional Egyptian Christianity, as distinct from Roman
Catholicism or Greek Orthodoxy, traces its roots back to the rejection of the
Council of Chalcedon () and its definition of the nature of Christ. The
resistance against ‘Chalcedon’ initiated a period of often violent conflict and
local schisms in the entire east. In Egypt, this resulted, from the middle of the
sixth century onwards, in the creation of separate hierarchies and, eventually,
a permanent split within the Alexandrian Patriarchate. A considerable part of
the population came to adhere to the anti-Chalcedonian church, traditionally
(and wrongly) labelled ‘Monophysite’ (nowadays the non-term ‘Miaphysite’ is
often preferred). In the centuries after the Arab conquest of Egypt (), which
signalled the separation of Egypt from the Eastern Roman Empire, this church
consolidated its majority position and developed into a truly national church,
the ancestor of the present-day Coptic Orthodox Church. Most Egyptian
Christians now are members of this Church. Much smaller groups of Catholic
and Protestant Copts result from conversion in the last few centuries.
According to widely varying estimates, the Copts make up between  per
cent and  per cent of the population of Egypt, the remainder of which is
Muslim. Linguistically, they are totally Arabicized. The ancient indigenous lan-
guage, Coptic, died in medieval times, although it is still used as a liturgical
language with a purely symbolic function, exactly like Latin in the Roman
Catholic Church. Copts can be found in all layers of society, ranging from out-
casts, like the well-known garbage collectors of Cairo, to cosmopolitan mag-

3)
For a generally informative and reliable though somewhat biased overview of Coptic
history, see Theodore Hall Partrick, Traditional Egyptian Christianity: A History of the Coptic
Orthodox Church (Greensboro, NC, ); like many similar books it leans heavily on the
so-called History of the Patriarchs (see below).
 The Copts: ‘Modern Sons of the Pharaohs’? 

nates, like the members of the equally well-known Butrus Ghali family. Geo-
graphically they are spread over all of Egypt, with strong centres in the towns
and villages of Upper Egypt and in the big cities of Cairo and Alexandria. A
relatively recent phenomenon is the massive emigration of Copts to the United
States, Canada, and Australia, but also to European countries, including Hol-
land and Belgium. The Patriarchate is careful to maintain pastoral care and its
own church organization also in the host countries.
In Egypt itself, the Copts are very visibly present. Churches and monasteries
are a conspicuous element of the Egyptian land- and cityscape, and clerical
dress is normally worn in the streets. No Coptic ghettoes exist and, in spite of
following some habits of their own, for example in the choice of names for their
children, Copts fully share the way of life of their Muslim neighbours, apart
from religion. They are a quantitative (statistical) minority, not a qualitative,
in that they would make up a distinct kind of Egyptians, once more, apart
from religion. This is not to say that their position is unproblematic. In Egypt,
religion counts, and tensions within society are naturally reflected on the
religious level.

Surviving a Muslim Majority

To put it in a politically incorrect way, the greatest problem of the Coptic
community in Egypt is how to cope with a Muslim majority. Officially, Islam
is the state religion of the Arab Republic of Egypt. Social pressure to convert
to Islam is great, whereas each case of conversion in the other direction imme-
diately creates a scandal or worse. Moreover, Copts complain about under-
representation in political life and difficulties that are experienced whenever
for example churches have to be built or restored, in addition to the every-
day reality of discriminatory behaviour, and occasional intercommunal vio-
lence.4
From a Muslim point of view, the Copts are an embarrassment too. When
some years ago students of tafsı̄r in al-Azhar University were asked what dis-
tinguishes a Muslim from a Copt, they would answer that a Muslim believes
in Islam as revealed by Muhammad and that he is of Arabic origin. Therefore,
when all Egyptians are Arabs (linguistically, culturally), and when Copts are
Egyptians, and Arabs Muslims, the very existence of Christian Egyptians is an
anomaly. It becomes a problem in a set of equations that in one way or another

4)
For topical information on these and similar matters, see e.g. the excellent website of the
U.S. Copts Association (http://www.Copts.com).
 Jacques van der Vliet

needs to be resolved.5 The logic is flawed, of course, but it works emotionally.

This explains why typical Coptic identity constructions are aimed at creating
an ideological space for the Copts within Egypt, and are geared to acceptation
and integration as opposed to refusal and exclusion. The dilemma as it is posed
by the Cairo students of tafsı̄r can only be resolved either by mass-conversion
to Islam or by finding a common element that forces Muslim and non-Muslim
Egyptians into an alliance.
Since the latter of both options is by far the most attractive, Coptic identity
discourse is nationalistic, but usually not in a sense that it claims the Copts to be
a nation of its own or to have a separate Coptic state. Throughout history, only
tiny extremist groups have held similar views, such as the Umma al-Qibtiyya
in the early s.6 Coptic identity discourse is rather nationalistic in that
it focuses on Egypt as a nation and its presumed identity. An Egyptianity is
claimed that represents a value of its own and thereby transcends differences
in religion. Such a transcendent Egyptianity would allow Copts to take their
place in society next to their fellow-Egyptians, who happen to be Muslims.
Furthermore, this ideal Egyptianity is construed by referring to the past, in
particular but not exclusively to the pre-Islamic past. The Copts where there
already before Islam: they are the original inhabitants of Egypt. As such they
supported the nation’s struggle against all foreign enemies, ranging from the
Romans and Byzantines in Late Antiquity via the Crusaders in the Middle Ages
to the Ottomans and the English in the nineteenth and twentieth century.7
One particular moment in the country’s history, the revolution of , when
Muslim and Copts together fought for the cause of Egyptian independence, is
seen as the most perfect practical expression of this Egyptianity in the recent
past.8

5)
See Jean-Noël Ferrié, ‘Qu’est-ce qu’un copte selon des musulmans? Construction de la
frontière et typification de soi’, in Chr. Décobert (ed.), Valeur et distance: identité et sociétés en
Égypte (Paris, ), pp. –, and in particular Chr. Décobert, ‘Introduction: formes
et substances des construits identitaires’, in Décobert (ed.), Valeur et distance, pp. –,
esp. –.
6)
For this militant organization, see Barbara Lynn Carter, The Copts in Egyptian Politics,
– (nd ed.; Cairo, ), pp. –; cf. Otto F.A. Meinardus, Christian Egypt:
Faith and Life (Cairo, ), pp. , ; Thomas Philipp, ‘Nation State and Religious
Community in Egypt: The Continuing Debate’, Die Welt des Islams  (), pp. –,
esp. –.
7)
See, typically, Philipp, ‘Nation State’, pp. –.
8)
For the intense Coptic political activity in this period, see Carter, Copts in Egyptian
Politics; Moustafa el-Feki, Copts in Egyptian Politics, (s.l., s.a. [Cairo, ]), is focused on
 The Copts: ‘Modern Sons of the Pharaohs’? 

Political Pharaonism
These two elements, nationalism and historicism, are the most important in-
gredients of the Coptic variant of what is usually called Pharaonism.9 Pharaon-
ism (or Egyptianism) actually began its life as a political ideology, which in the
early twentieth century tried to rally all segments of Egyptian society, Muslims
and Copts, to the ideal of an independent, more or less secular nation state
Egypt. The political movement for an independent democratic Egypt that was
borne by both Muslim and Copts gained, in fact, a major victory with the
proclamation of Egypt’s independence in . Pharaonism may be seen as the
ideological translation of this common effort towards political independence.
It developed a discourse of national unity, transcending religious differences, by
pointing at the glorious past of Egypt in the time of the Pharaohs, by stressing
historical continuity and by emphasizing the Egyptianity, the typical Egyptian
character, of both Egyptian Christianity and Egyptian Islam.
Pharaonism was not an exclusively or typically Coptic ideology. The effort
to create an Egyptian unity around a common history and around suppos-
edly common Egyptian values attracted intellectuals of moderately liberal or
socialist convictions—again, both Muslims and Copts—until quite recently,
and still does so today. For these intellectuals, Pharaonism, in one of its many
variants, represents a way out of the problem of continuing intercommunal
tensions and violence, and an answer to a culture of repression. A character-
istic example is the work of Milād Hannā, a Coptic university professor and
politician (who, incidentally, was a guest of the Leiden Seminar for Eastern
Christian Studies in December ). His well known English-language book
The Seven Pillars of Egyptian Identity (Cairo, ; reprinted in ) is a sus-
tained plea for an Egyptian identity defined along geopolitical and historical
lines, and so inclusive as to cover the greatest possible variety of religious beliefs
and cultural expressions.

Cultural Pharaonism
In actual fact, the ideology of Pharaonism had in the long run a much more
profound and much more lasting impact on Copts than on Muslims. It is not

the influential figure of Makram Ebied (–), in spite of its general title. For a typical
euphoric description of the events of  in terms of Christian-Muslim cooperation, see
e.g. Partrick, Traditional Egyptian Christianity, pp. –.
9)
See Carter, Copts in Egyptian Politics, pp. –.
 Jacques van der Vliet

exaggerated to say that in a varying degree it shaped most Coptic constructions

of identity that have been current in the course of the last century. Much more
than a mere political ideology, Pharaonism has left its imprint in many fields,
even in art and architecture, so as to create a very broad cultural Pharaonism
that was largely stimulated and fed by Orientalism.10 Thus, it was western
Orientalism that had discovered the relationship between the Coptic language,
a language now extinct but still used in the liturgy of the Copts, and the
language of the hieroglyphic inscriptions of Pharaonic times. Coptic, as is
well known, played a decisive role in the decipherment of the hieroglyphic
script by Jean-François Champollion in the early nineteenth century. From
the moment that Coptic was recognized as the language of the Pharaohs,11 it
was a logical step to claim that, for example, also Coptic liturgical music was
nothing else but the sacred music of the ancient Egyptian temples, transmitted
over a period of  years almost without change—a popular thesis, tirelessly
defended by the Coptic musicologist Rāgheb Mouftāh.12 Pushing the analogy
yet further, it was presumed that Copts had preserved the ethnic and even
racial characteristics of the ancient Egyptians better than Egyptian Muslims,
who were Arabicized. The slogan ‘modern sons of the Pharaohs’ is actually
the title of a well-known book on the Copts published by a British missionary,
S.H. Leeder, in . Its penultimate chapter is characteristically entitled ‘Does
the Ancient Race of the Pharaohs still survive in Egypt?’13
Leeder’s book is very friendly about the Copts, but it is quite astonishing
to observe that even blunt prejudices and outright negative views proposed by
European authors in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, some-
times drawing on the earlier ideas of Edward Gibbon, have been interiorized

10)
See Carter, Copts in Egyptian Politics, pp. –, who signalizes the influence of, among
others, the French Egyptologist Gaston Maspero (–). By contrast, earlier Euro-
pean interest in the Copts was more focused on religion; see now Alastair Hamilton, The
Copts and the West, –: The European Discovery of the Egyptian Church (Oxford,
).
11)
In actual fact, the relationship is culturally and linguistically much more complicated,
see Chris Reintges, ‘Coptic Egyptian as a Bilingual Language Variety’, in Pedro Bádenas de
la Peña et al. (eds.), Lenguas en contacto: el testimonio escrito (Manuales y Anejos de ‘Emerita’
; Madrid, ), pp. –.
12)
On Rāgheb Mouftāh and on traditional Coptic music in general, see Magdalena Kuhn,
‘Traditionelle Melodien der koptischen Musik’, Kemet , Heft  (July ), pp. –.
13)
S.H. Leeder, Modern Sons of the Pharaohs: A Study of the Manners and Customs of the
Copts of Egypt (London–New York–Toronto, ), pp. –.
 The Copts: ‘Modern Sons of the Pharaohs’? 

and incorporated into a picture of ancient ‘Coptic’ Christianity that stresses

its ‘national’ and ‘Egyptian’ character. Many of these prejudices are connected
with early Egyptian monasticism. ‘Coptic’ monks were rude and uncivilized,
and their writings unsophisticated when compared to the profoundness of
higher Greek theology. Even Shenoute, an important monastic author of the
fifth century, was—according to J. Leipoldt, who wrote in —‘too much
of an Egyptian’ to have a coherent theology, and he had ‘für die griechische
Theologie so gut wie gar kein Verständnis.’14 And, of course, these primitive
Coptic monks were unable to grasp the intricacies of Saint Cyril’s Christology.
When they opposed the Council of Chalcedon of , they blindly followed
their leaders out of nationalist and class sentiments (thus Jean Maspero in
his famous history of the Alexandrian Patriarchs, published posthumously in
).15
Nowadays it is easy to poke fun at such nineteenth-century preoccupations
with race, class, and nation projected onto the world of Late Antiquity, but
the fact is that the very same ideas still work. Ideas like these helped shape
Coptic Pharaonism, in particular in constructing a ‘national’ Coptic identity
that opposed the Copts to everything foreign, either Greeks or Arabs, not only
now, but already in a distant past. The rudeness and lack of civilization imputed
to the early Egyptian monks was an asset in reality. It made them immune
to the lure of imported philosophies, and only more firmly adhere to a pure
and unspoiled faith. By defying the proponents of the Council of Chalcedon,
the Egyptian masses firmly fought the foreign oppressor, as their descendants
were supposed to do in modern times. A figure like Shenoute may still be seen
as a kind of peasant leader, incarnating a primitive Coptic Egyptianity that
existed already long before the Council of Chalcedon or the Arab invasion.
Modern research tends to show, however, that Shenoute was a sophisticated
bilingual author and preacher, trained in the Greek rhetorical tradition, and

14)
Johannes Leipoldt, Schenute von Atripe und die Entstehung des national ägyptischen Chris-
tentums (Texte und Untersuchungen .; Leipzig, ), p. . Until quite recently
Leipoldt’s book was considered the standard work on Shenoute.
15)
Histoire des patriarches d’Alexandrie depuis la mort de l’empereur Anastase jusqu’à la réc-
onciliation des églises jacobites (–), (Bibliothèque de l’École des hautes études ;
Paris, ). Jean Maspero (–) was the son of the aforementioned Egyptologist
Gaston Maspero. A truly modern history of this great rift has still to be written; for the the-
ological issues involved: Alois Grillmeier, Jesus der Christus im Glauben der Kirche  (rd ed.;
Freiburg, ), pp. –, with vols. . and .; more accessible but partly antiquated:
W.H.C. Frend, The Rise of the Monophysite Movement (London, ).
 Jacques van der Vliet

much appreciated by the rich and mighty of his time, whom he was well able
to address in Greek. He was an intellectual, rather than a ruffian.16

History and Ideology

Obviously, Pharaonism as a way of constructing the Coptic identity is a rela-
tively modern development. Both the birth of Egyptology and the idea of an
Egyptian nation state are basically nineteenth-century phenomena. There is no
indication whatever that in the second half of the first millennium Egyptian
Christians thought about themselves as particularly related to the Pharaohs of
Antiquity. To the contrary, these were seen through the eyes of the Bible, as
pagans and tyrants.17
This naturally raises the question of how the Copts would have defined
themselves in earlier periods of their history. In the first place, of course, as
Orthodox Christians, but did a sense of national or ethnic identity exist already
in pre-modern times? And how were the differences perceived that existed
between the various languages of Christian Egypt (no less than four, not count-
ing dialects: Greek, Sahidic Coptic, Bohairic Coptic, and Arabic)? Answering
the latter question would demand a careful scrutiny of the sources from a soci-
olinguistic point of view, which has to be undertaken yet. Nevertheless, it is
becoming more and more clear that the relation between Coptic and Greek was
complementary rather than competitive and, perhaps more importantly, that
language differences played no role in the religious strife that tore the country
apart in the centuries after Chalcedon. As Miriam Lichtheim wrote already in
: ‘schismatic behaviour in Syria and Egypt (…) did not entail a rejection
of Greek language and culture; and at no time were orthodoxy and heterodoxy
divided along linguistic lines.’18 The same negative conclusions apply to the
wider issue of ancient Coptic nationalism.

16)
On Shenoute as a Greek author, see Enzo Lucchesi, ‘Chénouté a-t-il écrit en grec?’, in
R.-G. Coquin (ed.), Mélanges Antoine Guillaumont: contributions à l’étude des christianismes
orientaux (Cahiers d’orientalisme ; Genève, ), pp. –; cf. Janet Timbie, ‘The
State of Research on the Career of Shenoute’, Coptica  (), pp. –, esp. –;
on his theological culture, see now for example Stephen J. Davis, Coptic Christology in
Practice: Incarnation and Divine Participation in Late Antique and Medieval Egypt (Oxford
Early Christian Studies; Oxford, ), pp. –.
17)
See generally Jennifer Taylor Westerfeld, ‘Christian Perspectives on Pharaonic Religion:
The Representation of Paganism in Coptic Literature’, Journal of the American Research
Centre in Egypt  (), pp. –.
18)
Miriam Lichtheim, ‘Autonomy Versus Unity in the Christian East’, in Lynn White, Jr.
 The Copts: ‘Modern Sons of the Pharaohs’? 

Both common Pharaonistic discourse and many modern European histo-

rians, to begin with Edward Gibbon, argue that imperial religious policy had
alienated the ‘Copts’, that is, the ‘Monophysite’ Egyptians, from the Byzan-
tine Empire and had favoured the growth of a national, anti-Greek awareness
among these Copts. At the time of the Arab conquest, therefore, the Cop-
tic masses would have sided spontaneously with the Arab invaders to chase
the hated Byzantine occupiers.19 First, a brief remark about so-called Egyp-
tian or Coptic nationalism in Late Antiquity. The Polish papyrologist and
ancient-historian Ewa Wipszycka, taking up earlier leads by A.H.M. Jones and
F. Winkelmann, devoted an excellent article to this subject already many years
ago.20 Her careful analysis of a wide range of sources demonstrates convincingly
that no Egyptian ‘nationalism’ that opposed Copts to Greeks or Byzantines is
attested before the Arab conquest of . In my opinion, for this period, even
the use of the word ‘Copts’ to denote a social or religious group is an anachro-
nism that should rather be avoided. Egypt before  was a bilingual country,
inhabited by Christian Egyptians who, linguistically, used either Greek or Cop-
tic depending on time, place, circumstances, social roles etc., and who were,
ecclesiastically, deeply divided over Christological questions.
Secondly, also the Egyptian attitude towards the Arab invaders demands a
closer scrutiny of contemporary sources.21 It is certainly true that the repressive
ecclesiastical politics of the Chalcedonian Patriarch Cyrus in the reign of
Heraclius had provoked vivid opposition among a majority of the population.
Yet the popular image of the Copts welcoming the Arab armies as deliverers
from Greek tyranny is not confirmed by our best source for this period, the
Chronicle of John, Bishop of Nikiu (fl. c.–), a ‘Monophysite’ who wrote

(ed.), The Transformation of the Roman World: Gibbon’s Problem after Two Centuries (UCLA
Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies ; Berkeley–Los Angeles, ), pp. –.
19)
Gibbon’s classic statement from his Decline and Fall is quoted by John Moorhead, ‘The
Monophysite Response to the Arab Invasions’, Byzantion  (), pp. –, esp. .
20)
Ewa Wipszycka, ‘Le nationalisme a-t-il existé dans l’Egypte byzantine?’, Journal of Juristic
Papyrology  (), pp. –; repr. in her Études sur le christianisme dans l’Égypte de
l’antiquité tardive (Rome, ), pp. –.
21)
See already Moorhead, ‘Monophysite Response’; cf. now also Harald Suermann, ‘Copts
and the Islam of the Seventh Century’, in Emmanouela Grypeou et al. (eds.), The Encounter
of Eastern Christianity with Early Islam (The History of Christian-Muslim Relations ;
Leiden, ), pp. –; Petra M. Sijpesteijn, ‘The Arab Conquest of Egypt and the
Beginning of Muslim Rule’, in Roger S. Bagnall (ed.), Egypt in the Byzantine World, –
 (Cambridge, ), pp. –.
 Jacques van der Vliet

only a few decades after the events he describes.22 John’s Chronicle, in spite of
its clear anti-Chalcedonian bias, does not betray the slightest sympathy for the
Muslim invaders, nor for the ‘false Christians’ who took their side. The victory
of the Muslims is explained post facto in purely religious terms, as ‘due to the
wickedness of the Emperor Heraclius and his persecution of the Orthodox
through the Patriarch Cyrus’ (.).
It is only in the later, medieval redactions of the so-called History of the
Patriarchs that we find an entirely different picture.23 Here, the Arabs appear
as the allies of the suppressed Egyptian people represented by the Patriarch
Benjamin, the head of the anti-Chalcedonian Church. The Byzantines are
qualified as a foreign ‘race’ (jins) and portrayed en bloc as Chalcedonians. Amr,
the Arab conqueror, is the natural ally of Benjamin, to whom he entrusts the
government of all the churches and all the people of Egypt.
Here, demarcation lines are drawn in a way that predicts the tenets of later
Pharaonism. The history of the Arab conquest is rewritten post eventu to create
the Copts as a social and ethnic group. They are both the persecuted Orthodox
Christians and the oppressed Egyptians who, from now on, are protected by
the Muslims on the basis of a mutually accepted treaty.24 It is obvious that
this rewritten history does not reflect seventh-century events or sentiments,
but far later ones. It is much less a way of defining the Copts vis-à-vis the
Byzantine emperors or vis-à-vis the Greeks as a nation, than of defining the
status of the ‘Monophysite’ Egyptians as the natural allies of the Muslims, allies

22)
Regrettably the Chronicle of John of Nikiu is transmitted in a very defective Ethiopic
translation only; the original must have been written in Greek. It is best accessible in the
translation by Robert Henry Charles, The Chronicle of John, Bishop of Nikiu (London–
Oxford, ), which is quoted here. See also Franz Altheim and Ruth Stiehl, ‘Die arabische
Eroberung Ägyptens nach Iohannes von Nikiu’, in eidem (eds.), Christentum am Roten Meer
 (Berlin–New York, ), pp. –.
23)
For the following remarks, see Johannes den Heijer, ‘La conquête arabe vue par les histo-
riens coptes’, in Décobert, Valeur, pp. –, and in particular the penetrating analysis by
Décobert, ‘Introduction’, pp. –. For the History of the Patriarchs, see Johannes den Hei-
jer, ‘Coptic Historiography in the Fātimid,
. Ayyūbid and Early Mamlūk Periods’, Medieval
Encounters  (), pp. –, esp. –; for another medieval example of rewritten his-
tory, see Jason R. Zaborowski, ‘Egyptian Christians Implicating Chalcedonians in the Arab
Takeover of Egypt: The Arabic Apocalypse of Samuel of Qalamūn’, Oriens Christianus 
(), pp. –.
24)
On the sources for this treaty, see now Alexander D. Beihammer, Quellenkritische Unter-
suchungen zu den ägyptischen Kapitulationsverträgen der Jahre – (Österreichische Aka-
demie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-hist. Klasse, Sitzungsberichte ; Vienna, ). I thank
Dr Samuel Moawad for kindly drawing my attention to this publication.
 The Copts: ‘Modern Sons of the Pharaohs’? 

whose rights were recognized from the very beginnings of Muslim rule. The
various distinctions between we and they groups that are drawn here serve to
define Coptic identity under a Muslim rule that was probably already felt as
oppressive.

Exit Pharaonism?
For some concluding remarks, I would like to return to Pharaonism and to
the question posed in the title of this paper. Pharaonism as a political ideology
and as a form of cultural discourse is definitely on the wane. The reality of
intercommunal tensions and sectarian violence since the s leaves hardly
any illusion about the binding force of a theory based on an inclusiveness
that is constructed historically. In a society were the political situation leaves
few alternatives, religion has become the primary identity marker. Also in
the way in which religious identity itself is formulated, certain shifts can be
observed. Instead of emphasizing the perennial harmony that existed between
Egyptian Muslims and Christians, the Coptic Church is now rather profiling
itself as the ‘Church of the Martyrs’, developing a mode of discourse that
has deep medieval roots.25 Seen against the background of the persecutions
under Diocletian, the last pagan emperor, and under the pro-Chalcedonian
Byzantines, the persecutions of the present day acquire a sense and a meaning.
As a hallmark of authentic native Christianity and true Orthodoxy even they
become acceptable in a way.
But Pharaonic discourse has become outdated for other reasons as well. One
of these is the rise of an ecumenical movement. Ecumenism was still a taboo
fifty years ago. Nowadays, the Coptic Church maintains a variety of ecumenical
contacts, which demand the definition of Egyptian Christianity on a primarily
religious level, in such a way that it allows intercommunal alliances to be forged
also internationally. In the present-day dialogue with the Greek Orthodox
churches, for example, similarities and points of contact receive more attention
than differences. Another motor of change is undoubtedly the rapidly grow-
ing number of emigrated Copts. Predictably, this emigration movement will
very soon produce Copts who are Copts religiously, but otherwise Dutch, Ital-
ian or Australian, rather than Egyptian. As regards the present intercommunal

25)
See Leslie S.B. MacCoull and Klaas A. Worp, ‘The Era of the Martyrs’, in Mario Capasso
et al. (eds.), Miscellanea papyrologica  (Papyrologica florentina .; Florence, ),
pp. –; Arietta Papaconstantinou, ‘Historiography, Hagiography, and the Making
of the Coptic “Church of the Martyrs” in Early Islamic Egypt’, DOP  (), pp. –.
 Jacques van der Vliet

situation within Egypt, the activities of pressure groups from the emigra-
tion and the introduction of widespread internet communication has created
entirely new forms of discourse, in which minority rights and good governance
have become central issues.26 It is hardly likely that Pharaonism will fit in with
these new trends.
That brings us back to the question posed by the title of this paper. Are the
Copts in any way ‘modern sons of the Pharaohs’? As I hope to have shown, this
question cannot be answered with a yes or a no. It is simply not a falsifiable
statement. It is as true as you believe it to be. But that, of course, holds for
most identity statements.

Jacques van der Vliet

Leiden University / Radboud University Nijmegen
j.van.der.vliet@hum.leidenuniv.nl

26)
See e.g. Jennifer M. Brinkerhoff, ‘Digital Diasporas and Governance in Semi-Authori-
tarian States: The Case of the Egyptian Copts’, Public Administration and Development 
(), –.
 Dominance and Diversity:
Kingship, Ethnicity, and
Christianity in Orthodox Ethiopia

Steven Kaplan

Abstract
The purpose of this article is to survey the history of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church
with an emphasis on several features which are of significance for comparison to Syriac
Orthodox Christianity. Although it focuses primarily on the period from  during
which ‘Ethiopian’ was a national rather than ethnic identity, it shares several themes with
other papers in this volume. After considering the manner in which Christianity reached
Ethiopia and in particular the central role played by the royal court in the acceptance
and consolidation of the Church, attention is given to the claims of successive Ethiopian
rulers and ethnic groups to be ‘Israelites’, that is, descendants of biblical figures most
notably King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. The paper next considers the manner in
which monastic movements, which emerged in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, were
associated with ethnically based resistance to the expansion of the Christian kingdom. Other
themes include the development of a tradition of biblical interpretation and Christological
controversies. The paper concludes with a discussion of ongoing research concerning the
Ethiopian diaspora which has developed in the period since the Marxist revolution of .

Keywords
Ethiopian Christianity; monasticism; ethnicity; diaspora; biblical interpretation; Christol-
ogy.

Introduction
Comparisons are notoriously difficult. Depending on one’s priorities and the
manner in which the comparison is conducted, virtually any two phenomena,
events, persons, or texts can be demonstrated to be remarkably similar; or with
equal ease significantly different. The purpose of this paper, however, is not to
present an overall comparison of Ethiopian Orthodox and Syriac Christianity.
Rather, it seeks to highlight some themes in the history of the former, which
 Steven Kaplan

are relevant to the concerns raised in the project on identity formation of

the Syriac Orthodox community and the papers presented in this volume.
The selection of items for discussion is, therefore, rather idiosyncratic. Many
important features of Ethiopian Christianity are mentioned only in passing,
not merely because of the limits of this essay, but also because they seem less
relevant to our immediate purposes.
I have, moreover, taken rather extreme liberties regarding the time frame in
comparison with most of the papers in this volume. Although the papers on
Syriac Christianity focus primarily on the period until , our knowledge
of Ethiopian Christianity prior to the fourteenth century is limited. While
we are able to trace the broad outlines of Christianity in Ethiopia in its first
millennium, many of our sources date to a period hundreds of years after the
events that they describe. Accordingly, my remarks are to a considerable extent
focused on later periods, particularly from –.
Finally, and this is particularly germane to the concerns of this project,
‘Ethiopian’ or, as some would prefer, ‘Abyssinian’ identity, has throughout
much of history been a national rather than a specifically ethnic identity.1
Because Ethiopia was not conquered during the initial Muslim conquest of
North Africa and the Middle East, Ethiopian Christians were not reduced to
the status of a religious/ethnic minority in a manner similar to the Copts or
Syrians. Nor did they spend long historical periods under foreign rule, as was
the case with the Armenians. Rather, they remained until the last decades
of the twentieth century the ruling elite and primary carriers of Ethiopia’s
national traditions. Thus when we speak of ethnicity in Ethiopian history, we
usually refer to groups (to mention only a few) such as the Amhara, Tigreans,
Oromo, Somali, Gurage, and Beta Israel.2 Only in the context of the Ethiopian
diaspora, which has flourished since , are ‘Ethiopians’ an ethnic minority,
rather than a ruling national group.

1)
Donald Crummey, ‘Abyssinian Feudalism’, Past and Present  (), pp. –;
Donald Donham, ‘Old Abyssinia and the New Ethiopian Empire: Themes in Social His-
tory’, in Donald Donham and Wendy James (eds.), The Southern Marches of Imperial
Ethiopia (Cambridge, ), pp. –.
2)
Donald Levine, Greater Ethiopia: The Evolution of a Multiethnic Society (Chicago, );
Jon Abbink, ‘Ethnicity’, Encyclopaedia Aethiopica  (Wiesbaden, ), pp. –.
 Dominance and Diversity in Orthodox Ethiopia 

Christian Beginnings
Although Ethiopian tradition attributes the introduction of Christianity to the
country to the Apostle Philip and his encounter with an Ethiopian Eunuch
(Acts :–), most scholars believe that this story refers to the kingdom of
Meroe and not to the ancient Ethiopian kingdom of Aksum.3
More firmly documented is the conversion of the Aksumite ruler Ezana
which took place c.. Inscriptions, coins, and documentary sources all attest
to the religious change he underwent during his reign. In his early years as ruler,
Ezana dedicated his military victories to pagan deities, including Astar, Baher,
and Mahrem. Later these formulas changed, with a Ge#ez text acknowledging
‘The Lord of Heaven’ and a Greek inscription commencing: ‘In the faith of
God and the power of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit’. Coins minted
during his reign follow a similar pattern with earlier ones bearing the symbol
of a crescent and later ones displaying a cross.4
Further detail regarding the conversion of the king is provided by the church
historian Rufinus, who claims to have based his account on the testimony
of Aedesius of Tyre, one of two young Syrians shipwrecked in the Aksumite
kingdom. Aedesius and his companion Frumentius became important court
officials and when the king of Aksum died, they acted as caretaker rulers while
the rightful heir, a young prince, grew to maturity.5

Frumentius held the reins of government in his hands, God stirred up his heart and he
began to search out with care those of the Roman merchants who were Christians and
to give them great influence and to urge them to establish in various places conventicles
to which they might resort for prayer in the Roman manner. He himself, moreover,
did the same and so encouraged others, attracting them with his favor and his benefits,
providing them with whatever was needed, supplying sites for buildings and other
necessities, and in every way promoting the seed of Christianity in the country.

3)
Sergew Hable-Sellassie, Ancient and Medieval Ethiopian History to  (Addis Ababa,
), p. .
4)
Hable-Sellassie, Ethiopian History, pp. –; Heizgerd Brakmann, Τ παρ το/ς βαρ-
β2ροις 8ργον ε/ον: die Einwurzelung der Kirche im spätantiken Reich von Aksum (Bonn,
); Stuart C. Munro-Hay, Aksum: An African Civilization in Late Antiquity (Edinburgh,
), pp. –; Steven Kaplan, ‘Ezana’s Conversion Reconsidered’, Journal of Religion
in Africa  (), pp. –.
5)
Rufinus, Historia Eccesiastica, PL , col. , quoted in Hable-Sellassie, Ethiopian
History, p. ; Stuart C. Munro-Hay, Ethiopia and Alexandria: The Metropolitan Episcopacy
of Ethiopia (Bibliotheca nubica et æthiopica ; Warsaw, ), p. .
 Steven Kaplan

When the prince for whom they exercised the regency had grown up, they completed
and faithfully delivered their trust … Frumentius went to Alexandria, saying that it was
not right to hide the work of God. He laid the whole affair before the bishop and urged
him to look for some worthy man to send as bishop over the many Christians already
congregated and the churches built on barbarian soil. Then Athanasius (for he had
recently assumed the episcopate) having carefully weighed and considered Frumentius’
words and deeds, declared in a council of priests: ‘What other man shall we find
in whom the Spirit of God is as in thee, who can accomplish these things?’ And he
consecrated him and bade him to return in the Grace of God whence he came …

Although Rufinus’ account is geographically vague and leaves some details

unclear, some of these are clarified by a letter of c. in which the Roman
Emperor Constantius II writes to Ezana (and his brother Shazana), demanding
that they send Frumentius back to Alexandria so that he can be properly
ordained by an Orthodox bishop.6
A thorough examination of the circumstances surrounding Frumentius’
consecration as the first metropolitan of Ethiopia and of Ezana’s conversion
is vital for a proper understanding of the development of Ethiopian Christian-
ity, because patterns established during this formative period were to affect the
Church throughout its history. For example, Athanasius’ selection of Frumen-
tius to head the Church in Ethiopia established a precedent whereby the leader
of the Ethiopian Church was chosen by the head of the Egyptian (later Cop-
tic) Church until the middle of the twentieth century.7 The candidates chosen,
Egyptian monks and not Ethiopians, arrived in Ethiopia unfamiliar with the
local languages and customs and with no indigenous political base. Thus, they
were usually dependent on the goodwill of the monarch. Despite these limi-
tations, the presence of a metropolitan bishop was vital to the Church, for he
alone could consecrate priests and deacons to serve in the churches.
The comparative weakness of the Church’s de jure leader was contrasted with
the power of its de facto leader, the Emperor. In contrast to the Roman Empire,
for example, Christianity was accepted in Ethiopia first by the emperor and his
court, and only later by other groups in the population. Thus it became and
for many years remained a feature of elite court culture. Moreover, because
Christianity arrived at a comparatively early stage in the organization of the
Aksumite state, it was quickly integrated and not viewed as an external import.

6)
Munro-Hay, Ethiopia and Alexandria, pp. –.
7)
Munro-Hay, Ethiopia and Alexandria.
 Dominance and Diversity in Orthodox Ethiopia 

Nevertheless, Ezana’s overall control of religious affairs in his kingdom

should not be overestimated. The majority of his subjects were not Chris-
tians, and it is doubtful if his conversion was followed by an immediate
attempt to spread Christianity beyond court circles or suppress other faiths.
Even had Ezana been so inclined, he lacked the necessary resources in terms
of clergy and religious texts. Thus, Ezana’s conversion must be understood
as the establishment of Aksum as a kingdom with a Christian king, but not
as a religious revolution, which transformed Ethiopia into a Christian king-
dom.
This transformation appears to have taken place during the reign of Kaleb,
who ruled in the first half of the sixth century. Kaleb, who appears to have been
the first Ethiopian ruler to take a biblical name, is best remembered for his role
as the representative of Christianity in the Red Sea area, particularly in South
Arabia.8 When the king of the South Arabian kingdom of Himyar converted to
Judaism and massacred Christians in the town of Najran, the task of avenging
the martyrs and restoring Christianity to the region fell to the Ethiopian ruler.
His troops defeated the Judaized Himyarite King Yusuf (Joseph) Du Nuwas
and established Christian supremacy in the region.
For our purposes, even more important than his military victories were
his internal policies. Kaleb established a new law code and embarked on an
ambitious programme of church building in both South Arabia and Ethiopia.
His destruction of idols, pagan temples, and synagogues all testify to a major
transformation of Christian political culture. He was succeeded, moreover,
by his son, Gabra Masqal (The Servant of the Cross), who is credited with
instituting a Christian coronation ceremony and building several of the oldest
churches in the Aksumite region.9 His name would appear to indicate that
Christianity was no longer merely the religion of the king and the court, but
that of the state.

Hegemonic Narrative
Although the precise dating of the work is still the subject of scholarly debate,
many believe the sixth century was also the period in which the Ethiopian
national legend, the Kebra Nagast (The Glory of Kings) was initially com-

8)
Irfan Shahid, ‘Byzantium in South Arabia’, DOP  (), pp. –.
9)
Hable-Sellassie, Ethiopian History, pp. –.
 Steven Kaplan

posed.10 Kaleb’s programme of simultaneously exalting his Israelite heritage

while waging war against a Jewish leader, seems to fit well with the themes
found in this work.
According to this Ethiopian legend, the Queen of Sheba known as Makeda
traveled from Aksum to Jerusalem. During her stay, Solomon not only dazzled
her with his wisdom, but also tricked her into having sexual relations with
him. The Queen conceived a son, whom she bore upon her return to Aksum.
When he reached maturity, this son, Menelik, journeyed to Jerusalem to meet
his father. At the completion of his visit, Solomon commanded that the first-
born sons of the priests and elders of Israel accompany Menelik on his return
to Aksum. Before setting out, however, Menelik and his companions led by
Azariah, the son of the High Priest, stole the Ark of the Covenant from the
Temple. Thus, the glory of Zion passed from Jerusalem and the Children of
Israel to the new Zion—Aksum—and the new Israel—the Ethiopian people.
The Kebra Nagast is of interest to us here, because it shows the manner in
which a single literary template can be employed for different purposes by
different groups.11 Once it was in place, ‘Israelite’ descent became a major
trope for legitimacy and prestige throughout the Ethiopian highlands. Indeed,
for hundreds of years, the Ethiopian rulers claimed to be Israelites, whether
descended from Solomon or some other biblical figure.
Thus the Zagwe dynasty, who ruled Ethiopia from their capital in Lalibela
(Lasta province) from  to , claimed, according to some sources, to be
the descendants of a liaison between Solomon and one of the Queen’s retainers.

10)
Carl Bezold, ‘Kebra Nagast: Die Herrlichkeit der Könige’, Abhandlugen der philo-
sophisch-philogischen Classe der Königlich Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften .
(Denkschriften ; Munich, ), trans. E.A. Wallis Budge, The Queen of Sheba and
Her Only Son Menyelek: being the History of the Departure of God and His Ark, of the Con-
venant from Jerusalem to Ethiopia, and the Establishment of the Religion of the Hebrews and
the Solomonic Line of Kings in That Country (London, ); Gerard Colin, La Gloire des
rois (Kebra nagast), épopée nationale de l’Éthiopie (traduction française intégrale) (Cahiers
d’Orientalisme ; Geneva, ); Irfan Shahid, ‘The Kebra Nagast in the Light of Recent
Research’, Le Muséon  (), pp. –; David W. Johnson, ‘Dating the Kebra Nagast:
Another Look’, in Timothy S. Miller and John Nesbitt (eds.), Peace and War in Byzantium:
Essays in Honor of George T. Dennis, S.J. (Washington, ), pp. –.
11)
Steven Kaplan and Hagar Salamon, ‘The Legitimacy of the Solomonic Line: Ethiopian
Dynastic Change between Structure and History’, in Baye Yimam et al. (eds.), Ethiopian
Studies at the End of the Second Millennium: Proceedings of the XIVth International Conference
of Ethiopian Studies, Addis Ababa University, – November   (Addis Ababa, ),
pp. –.
 Dominance and Diversity in Orthodox Ethiopia 

In yet another account, they are depicted as descendants of Moses and his
Ethiopian (Cushite) wife ‘… of the family of Moses and Aaron, on account of
the coming of Moses into Abyssinia’.12
Although the best known usage of the Kebra Nagast is the role it played
in legitimating the Amhara rulers who ‘restored’ the Solomonic dynasty to
power in , even this is more complex than is usually understood. Indeed,
the legend appears to have been revived not by the newly crowned Amhara
kings, but rather by a Tigrean noble from a place close to Aksum, who sought
to challenge their power. Only when he was defeated and his pretensions
dismissed, did the claim of Solomonic descent become the undisputed legacy
of the Amhara kings and their descendants.13
However, throughout Ethiopian history various groups have sought to asso-
ciate themselves with the prestige of ‘Israelite’ descent through variations on the
Solomon-Sheba legend. The Beta Israel (Falasha), who claimed to be Israelites,
but did not accept Christianity, depicted themselves as descendants of Israelites
who accompanied Menelik from Jerusalem but refused to travel on the Sabbath
and were thus separated from the rest of his retinue.14
Moreover, as the Ethiopian historian Taddesse Tamrat has noted, various
Agaw (Cushitic language) groups today display a

… strong self-identification with the overall socio-cultural values of the Christian

Amhara … In the course of this identification they have developed elaborate traditions
which enable them to share in the Ethio-Christian saga of the Queen of Sheba legend
so well enshrined in the Kibre-Neghest, ‘The Glory of Kings’. It is not only that their
first ancestor has been made a grandson of King David of Israel; impressive genealogies
have been constructed deriving some of their ancestor-heroes from important figures
of Ethiopia’s ‘Solomonic’ Dynasty.15

12)
Hable-Sellassie, Ethiopian History, pp. , ; B. Evetts, The Churches and Monasteries
of Egypt and some Neighbouring Countries Attributed to Abû Şâlih, . the Armenian (Oxford,
), p. .
13)
Levine, Greater Ethiopia, pp. –.
14)
Steven Kaplan, The Beta Israel (Falasha) in Ethiopia: From Earliest Times to the Twentieth
Century (New York, ), pp. –; G. Jon Abbink, The Enigma of Beta Esra’el Ethno-
genesis: An Anthro-historical Study, Cahiers d’études africaines Vol. , Cahier  (),
pp. –.
15)
Taddesse Tamrat, ‘Processes of Ethnic Interaction and Integration in Ethiopia: The Case
of the Agaw’, Journal of African History  (), pp. –, esp. p. .
 Steven Kaplan

Monasticism and Regional Identities

If the Kebra Nagast provides a template for the articulation of multiple Ethi-
opian identities, among the most important carriers of such local identities
were the Church’s monastic clergy. Monasticism was established in Ethiopia
towards the end of the fifth century with the arrival of two groups of monks
known as the Nine Saints and the Tsadqan (The Righteous Ones). Although
their identities and the precise motives of their arrival are not clear, there
is little question that they revolutionized the young Church. In addition to
establishing the first monasteries and spreading Christianity, these monks were
also responsible for the translation of the Bible and other religious books into
Ge#ez.16
The greatest influence of monasticism appears to have come hundreds of
years later when a series of monastic movements arose in the period between the
mid-thirteenth and mid-fifteenth century. During this period, the ‘Solomonic’
kings expanded the border of their kingdom through conquest and reduced
previously autonomous regions to vassal status. As the anthropologists John
and Jean Comaroff have noted, it is precisely under these conditions that ethnic
identities are formed and strengthened.17 In the case of Ethiopia, local monastic
clergy played a vital role in this process.
It was Shawa province which first came under Solomonic domination, and
it is here that we first witness an important development in Church history: the
rise of militant regionally based anti-royal monastic movements. Shawan clerics
associated with the monastery of Dabra Asbo (later renamed Dabra Libanos)
refused gifts from the emperor, denounced royal marital practices, and denied
the right of the kings to intervene in the internal affairs of monasteries. These
monks, many of whom were sons of regional rulers displaced by the expansion
of the Christian kingdom, resisted the emperor’s growing power not on the

16)
Hable-Sellassie, Ethiopian History, pp. –; Enrico Cerulli, ‘Il monachismo in
Etiopia’, Il monachesimo orientale (OCA ; Rome, ), pp. –; for a critical view
of these traditions, see Stuart C. Munro-Hay, ‘Aspects of the Ethiopian Church in the Fifth
and Sixth Centuries’, paper presented at the First Enno Littmann Conference, Munich, May
. For a re-evaluation of the Syrian influence in this period, see Paolo Marrissini, ‘Some
Considerations on the Problem of the “Syriac Influences” on Aksumite Ethiopia’, Journal of
Ethiopian Studies  (), pp. –.
17)
John L. Comaroff, ‘Of Totemism and Ethnicity: Consciousness, Practice, and the Signs
of Inequality’, in John and Jean Comaroff (eds.), Ethnography and the Historical Imagination
(Boulder, CO, ), pp. – (originally published in Ethnos  (), pp. –),
esp. p. .
 Dominance and Diversity in Orthodox Ethiopia 

battlefield, but by attempting to preserve the Church’s autonomy on the local

level. Although the rebel Shawan clergy were eventually subdued, when the
emperors exiled their opponents and rewarded their supporters, other move-
ments were not so easily subdued.18
A second monastic movement, named after the fourteenth-century holy
man Ewostatewos, flourished in Tigray province for almost a century. The
Ewostatians, with their center in the monastery of Dabra Bizan, championed
traditional Ethiopian practices, most notably the Saturday Sabbath, in opposi-
tion to the will of the kings and the Egyptian Abunas. Once again they enjoyed
close family ties to local nobles, many of whom protected them from imperial
attempts to punish them. So strong was their conflict with the central Church,
that they refused ordination from the Egyptian metropolitan and came per-
ilously close to forming a schism in the Church.19
Around the time when the Ewostatians were reconciled with the central
Church, yet another Tigrean-based movement emerged. Led by Abba Esti-
fanos, this movement challenged the powerful Emperor Zar"a Ya#eqob’s pol-
icy of promoting the cult of the Cross and the Virgin. More than any other
ruler, Emperor Zar"a Ya#eqob sought to remedy what he perceived as critical
problems in the Church through an aggressive policy of reform. Taking full
advantage of his position as the de facto head of the Church, he engaged in an
at times brutal campaign to unify and purify Christianity. Moreover, he sought
to embed a cycle of Christian festivals into the routine of the believers’ lives,
following the rhythm of the cycle of the seasons. While many of his aims were
expressed in written texts, his concern for the visual and the experiential was
no less important.20
While the cults of the Cross and the Virgin had both obviously been part of
Ethiopian Christianity from its inception, the emperor seems to have sought
to raise the importance of these pan-Christian elements in order to weaken the

18)
Steven Kaplan, The Monastic Holy Man and the Christianization of Early Solomonic
Ethiopia (Wiesbaden, ); Taddesse Tamrat, Church and State in Ethiopia, –
(Oxford, ), pp. –; Marie-Laure Derat, La formation du domaine royal Ethiopien
sous la dynastie Salomonienne (–): espace, pouvoir et monachisme (Paris, ),
pp. –.
19)
Kaplan, Holy Man, pp. –, –, –; Tamrat, Church and State, pp. –
; Gianfrancesco Lusini, Studi sul monachesimo eustaziano (secoli XIV–XV) (Naples, ).
20)
Steven Kaplan, ‘Seeing is Believing: The Importance of Visual Culture in the Religious
World of Aşe Zar’a Ya’eqob of Ethiopia (–)’, Journal of Religion in Africa .
(), pp. –; Steven Kaplan, ‘The Christianization of Time in Fifteenth Century
Ethiopia’, forthcoming.
 Steven Kaplan

hold of more specific regional shrines and saints. Although the Estifanosites
insisted that their opposition was directed at neither the Virgin nor the Cross,
but at the emperor, they were commonly perceived as ‘enemies of Mary’. Zar"a
Ya#eqob was ruthless in his attempts to suppress their movement, but only in
the early sixteenth century were they reintegrated into the central Church.21
Perhaps the most interesting monastic movement of this period, was the one
which developed among the Beta Israel (Falasha), who are popularly referred
to as Ethiopian Jews. In this case, the adoption of monasticism appears to have
been a crucial aspect of the process of ethnogenesis. For although the Beta
Israel are commonly viewed and depict themselves as descendants of Israelites
who migrated to Ethiopia thousands of years ago, recent scholarship suggests
that they emerged as a separate group in Ethiopia during the period between
the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. According to this view, virtually all of
their distinctive ethnic characteristics—their group name, literature, religious
hierarchy, liturgy, and specialization in crafts—can be traced to this period.
Their monastic religious leaders appear to have taken the leadership in artic-
ulating a distinctive group identity, which associated them with the high sta-
tus of Israelite descent, but rejected the hegemony of the dominant Christian
Church.22

Trauma and Consolidation

The limits of this essay do not permit us to discuss all of Ethiopian history
in detail. However, we must note that in the period between  and ,
Ethiopian Christianity confronted two major shocks. Beginning in , local
Muslims from the region of Adal, led by Ahmad b. Ibrahim al-Ghazi or, as he
is better known, Ahmad Gragn, conquered much of the country. Not only did
they shake the Ethiopian kingdom to its core, but they appear to have singled
out its churches and monasteries for special attention in their programme of
devastation.23 Only in areas where a long history of ethnic and religious fusion

21)
Taddesse Tamrat, ‘Some Notes on the Fifteenth Century Stephanite “Heresy” in the
Ethiopian Church’, Rassegna di Studi Etiopici  (), pp. –; Getatchew Haile,
‘The Cause of the Зsţifanosites: a Fundamentalist Sect in the Church of Ethiopia’, Paideuma
 (), pp. –; Steven Kaplan and Denis Nosnitsin, ‘Зsţifanos’, Encyclopaedia Aethi-
opica  (), pp. –.
22)
Kay Kaufman Shelemay, Music, Ritual and Falasha History (East Lansing, MI, );
Kaplan, The Beta Israel (Falasha) in Ethiopia: From Earliest Times to the Twentieth Century
(New York, ).
23)
Tamrat, Church and State, pp. –; Shihab ed-Din Ahmad . bin #Abd al-Qādir (#Arab
 Dominance and Diversity in Orthodox Ethiopia 

had been effected, namely Tigray, Lasta, Amhara, Begemder, eastern Gojjam,
and some parts of Shawa, did Christian culture survive and retain enough
resilience to begin a slow process of rejuvenation. Not only were manuscripts,
literary works, and artistic creations lost forever, but the trauma of Gragn’s near
success was to haunt Christians for centuries.
Moreover, the Portuguese ‘rescue’ of Christian Ethiopia did not end their
involvement in the country. While the Portuguese initially entered Ethiopia as
Christian allies seeking to save the kingdom of Prester John from its Muslim
enemies, after their shared victory in  they did not hasten their depar-
ture. Rather, they remained not as conquerors, but as cultural agents who
attempted to replace Ethiopia’s deep historic identification with their national
Church, with loyalty to the Pope and Catholicism.24 Under Jesuit leadership,
they sought to transform the basic principles underlying the organization of
Ethiopian civilization and national identity.
Although they succeeded in eventually converting the Emperor Susenyos
in c., opposition to his move was widespread among the population with
peasants, clergy, and nobles joining forces. Susenyos was forced to abdicate and
the primacy of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church was restored.
These twin traumas of conquest and conversion left their mark on both
Church and state. Ethiopia’s rulers closed off the country to outsiders and
turned inward. They established a permanent capital city for the first time in
over  years, far from the coast and easily guarded from outsiders.
For the Church these traumas appear to have been the catalyst for a num-
ber of long delayed reforms, which produced an unprecedented attempt to
codify and unify Church culture. Written musical notation was added to litur-
gical works to supplement the existing oral transmission of chant.25 Biblical
interpretation, which must have existed virtually from the time of the transla-
tion of the Bible in the Aksumite period, was systematized and committed to
writing for the first time.26 Scribal schools trained clergy in the production of

Faqı̄h), Fŭtŭh al-Habaša, ed. René Basset, Histoire de la conquête de l’Abyssinie (XVIe siècle)
( vols.; Publications de l’École des lettres d’Alger , ; Paris, ).
24)
Girma Besha and Merid Wolde Aregay, The Question of the Union of the Churches in Luso-
Ethiopian Relations (–) (Lisbon, ); Leonardo Cohen, The Jesuits in Ethiopia:
Missionary Methods and Local Responses to Catholicism (–) (Ph.D. thesis, University
of Haifa, ).
25)
Kay Kaufman Shelemay and Peter Jeffery (eds.), Ethiopian Christian Liturgical Chant:
An Anthology ( vols.; Madison, WI, ).
26)
Roger W. Cowley, Ethiopian Biblical Interpretation: A Study in Exegetical Tradition and
Hermeneutics (Cambridge, ).
 Steven Kaplan

manuscripts in a clear uniform script. In short, processes were set in motion

which not only systematized much of traditional Ethiopian Church learning,
but also committed it to writing, so that preservation and transmission were
no longer dependent on face to face contacts with learned individuals.
In one case at least, these attempts to clarify Church culture resulted in yet
further turmoil. Although the foreign Catholics were expelled from Ethiopia
prior to the founding of Gondar as its capital, their legacy survived in the form
of Christological controversies which they had engendered.27 Traditionally,
Ethiopian Christians appear to have adhered to a theological position known
as Tawahedo (Union), which holds that Christ was from two natures which
effected a perfect union. Prior to the arrival of the Catholics, this formulation
does not appear to have been questioned or been the subject of serious debate.
However, when the Ethiopian clergy confronted the sophisticated arguments
of the Jesuit clergy, they had no choice but to articulate their position in
unprecedented detail.
Although initially there may have been hopes that a single theological
position would unite the entire Church, this proved impossible. Indeed, the
attempts to articulate and impose a single formulation in place of the previ-
ous informal diversity splintered the Church and caused considerable polit-
ical unrest. While the Unionist (Tawahedo) position maintained that Christ
was from two natures which effected a perfect union, the Unctionist (Qebat)
position maintained that the two natures had only been fully united by the
Unction of the Holy Spirit. In the mid-eighteenth century, yet another Chris-
tology emerged with clear Adoptionist tendencies in its teaching that Christ
was thrice born (Sost Ledat = Three Births): once from the Father for all time;
once in the Incarnation in the womb of the Blessed Virgin, and once through
the Holy Spirit.28
It is interesting to note that to some extent the Unctionist/Sost Ledat posi-
tions reflected the same regional divisions as previous conflicts within the
Church. In broad terms, the Unctionist position was supported with great fer-
vour by some of the Ewostatian clergy. In contrast, several monasteries affiliated

27)
Yaqob Beyene, Controversie crisologische in Etiopia (Naples, ); Yaqob Beyene, L’unzi-
one de Christo nella Teologia etiopica (Rome, ); Getatchew Haile, The Faith of the
Unctionists in the Ethiopian Church (Haymanot Mäsihasit) (CSCO –, Aeth. –;
Leuven, ); Donald Crummey, Priest and Politicians: Protestant and Catholic Missions in
Orthodox Ethiopia – (Oxford, ), pp. –.
28)
This discussion is particularly dependent on Crummey, Priests and Politicians, pp. –
.
 Dominance and Diversity in Orthodox Ethiopia 

with Dabra Libanos—although not the mother monastery itself—were strong

advocates of the Three Births. Needless to say, the fact that these regional-
ethnic ‘fault lines’ reappeared centuries after the monastic movements them-
selves had been reconciled with the central Church, would seem to indicate
that at least some of the underlying issues behind their emergence had not
been resolved.
The limits of this essay do not permit us to discuss the history of the
Ethiopian Orthodox Church in modern times in any significant detail. It
should, however, be noted that, although the Church attempted to spread
into newly conquered areas of southern Ethiopia in the nineteenth and twen-
tieth centuries, it enjoyed only limited success. In many cases, members of
subjugated ethnic groups preferred alternate forms of monotheism, including
Islam and various denominations of Protestantism, rather than the religion
of their Amhara lords.29 Thus, these ‘universal’ world religions significantly
contributed to the development and re-enforcement of particularistic ethnic
identities.

The Ethiopian Orthodox Diaspora

Since the Syriac Orthodox diaspora was included in the Leiden project, I will
conclude my own essay by making a few preliminary comments regarding
my current research on the Ethiopian Orthodox diaspora, particularly in the
United States. Despite the lack of official figures, there is a general agreement
that the vast majority of Ethiopian residents in the United States are affiliated,
even if only nominally, with the Ethiopian Orthodox Tawahedo Church.30
There are to be sure significant numbers of Muslims, Protestants (especially
Lutheran affiliated), Pentecostals, and Catholics. Little research has been car-
ried out on any of these communities. However, in general it appears that

29)
Donham and James (eds.), The Southern Marches; Getatchew Haile, Aasulv Lande, and
Samuel Rubenson (eds.), The Missionary Factor in Ethiopia: Papers from a Symposium on the
Impact of European Missions on Ethiopian Society, Lund University, August  (Studies in
the Intercultural History of Christianity ; Frankfurt am Main, ); Verena Böll et al.
(eds.) Ethiopia and the Missions. Historical and Anthropological Insights (Afrikanische Studien
; Münster ).
30)
Solomon Addis Getahun, The History of Ethiopian Immigrants and Refugees in America,
–: Patterns of Migration, Survival, and Adjustment (New York, ), pp. –,
esp. p. .
 Steven Kaplan

Ethiopian Pentecostals are found in both multi-ethnic and in distinctively

Ethiopian congregations.31 Catholics and Muslims, however, seem predomi-
nantly to join larger multi-ethnic congregations.32
Ethiopian Orthodox are distinctive in that their national identity is an
inherent part of the church life. In areas in which no church exists, they must
seek other alternatives; whenever possible, they quickly move to organize their
own congregations. There is little question that controversies concerning the
legitimacy of the current head of the Ethiopian Church in Ethiopia have given
added momentum to this process. At present there are several dozen Ethiopian
Orthodox congregations scattered throughout the United States with many
cities (Washington, Boston, Atlanta, Los Angeles, New York, and so on) having
several such gatherings.
I use the term ‘congregation’ here not merely as a convenience, but to hint at
yet another important aspect of diaspora religion. ‘Congregationalism’ has long
been viewed as one of the distinguishing characteristics of American religious
institutions. As numerous studies have documented, previously hierarchical
religious organizations are often transformed within a relatively short time after
their arrival in the United States. Their clergy have taken on a more ‘pastoral’
role.33 Moreover, congregationalism is not merely the act of worshipping in a
congregation, but involves a whole series of characteristics including

31)
For a fascinating study of Eritrean Pentecostals, see Tricia Redeker Hepner, ‘Religion,
Nationalism, and Transnational Civil Society in the Eritrean Diaspora’, Identities: Global
studies in Culture and Power  (), pp. –.
32)
Camilla Gibb has argued that Ethiopian Muslims in Canada diminished their ethnic
Harari identity, but developed an increased collective Muslim identity. This is probably the
case with regard to their co-religionists, many of whom are Oromo or Somali in the United
States; see Camilla Gibb, ‘Religious Identification in Transnational Contexts: Being and
Becoming Muslim in Ethiopia and Canada’, Diaspora . (), pp. –. Cf. also
Camilla Gibb and Celia Rothenberg, ‘Believing Women: Harari and Palestinian Women
at Home and in the Canadian Diaspora’, Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs . (),
pp. –.
33)
See in particular R. Stephen Warner and Judith G. Wittner (eds.), Gatherings in Dias-
pora: Religious Communities and the New Immigration (Philadelphia, ); Helen Rose
Ebaugh and Janet Saltzman Chafetz (eds.), Religion and the New Immigrants: Continuities
and Adaptations in Immigrant Congregations (Oxford–New York, ). For a critique of
these works, see Michael W. Foley and Dean R. Hoge, Religion and the New Immigrants:
How Faith Communities Form our Newest Citizens (Oxford–New York, ). None of these
books relate specifically to Ethiopian immigrants. This is particularly remarkable in the case
of the last of these which takes Washington DC as its focus. Although Ethiopians are men-
tioned, the discussion quickly moves to West Africans.
 Dominance and Diversity in Orthodox Ethiopia 

a formal decision-making structure, a defined membership, a hired clergyman (or cler-

gymen/woman/en), and regularly scheduled activities … legal incorporation to qualify
as a tax-exempt religious organization and build up a dues-paying membership.34

As yet unpublished research which I am conducting shows that this is also true
for Ethiopian Orthodox. Church by-laws both in hardcopies and online, and
interviews with church members in both Boston and Washington reveal a clear
pattern in which lay members organize a community, hire the clergy, and rent,
purchase, or build a church building. Perhaps even more significantly, they
have taken on a wide variety of educational, cultural, and social responsibilities
serving as (ethnic) community centers, which educate children, assist the
needy, and sponsor cultural events.

Conclusion
As I noted at the outset of this essay, it makes no attempt to be either compre-
hensive or exhaustive. Rather, by focussing on a number of themes which have
been raised in the other papers and in the larger project on Syrian Christian
identity, it seeks to hint at the manner in which both historical connections
and overlapping themes make the Ethiopian case a useful example for compar-
isons. Although the time frame and geo-political circumstances differ widely,
issues such as regionalism, monasticism, biblical interpretation, national and
finally diaspora identity, all seem to represent interesting points of departure for
further discussions. Clearly much more could be said regarding each of these.
However, I hope that by highlighting both national hegemonic and regional
dissident narratives and institutions, I have given readers some insight into a
few of the major episodes of Ethiopian Church history, and their possible rel-
evance for the study of Eastern Christianity in general and Syriac Orthodoxy
in particular.

Steven Kaplan
The Hebrew University of Jerusalem
msstkapl@mscc.huji.ac.il

34)
Karen I. Leonard, ‘Introduction’, in Karen I. Leonard et al. (eds.), Immigrants Faiths:
Transforming Religious Life in America (New York, ), p. .
 The Development of a Chalcedonian
Identity in Byzantium (–)

Richard Price

Abstract
The Byzantine Church adopted a Chalcedonian identity only slowly. At first the majority
even of Chalcedonians played down the significance of the council, claiming that it did
little more than repeat the teaching of the Nicene Creed. Down to  committed Chal-
cedonians, strongly upholding the teaching of the council, were vocal, but few. It is with
Justin I (–) and his nephew Justinian I (–) that State and Church came to
insist on the council. Justinian’s commitment to it has sometimes been doubted because
of his repeated attempts to win back the non-Chalcedonians (Miaphysites) to the imperial
Church by inviting them back without requiring subscription to the Chalcedonian Defini-
tion. He was motivated by a desire that even the Miaphysites would look to him as their
patron, as required for the maintenance of the unity of the empire. But his theological writ-
ings make it clear that he was convinced of the truth of the teaching of Chalcedon. The
age of Justinian thus saw the attainment of a truly Chalcedonian identity in the imperial
Church. This was a matter of official doctrine. In the sphere of popular piety Chalcedon
had less impact. The affirmation of Chalcedon shaped Byzantine communal identity less
than the rejection of Chalcedon shaped that of Miaphysite Syria and Egypt.

Keywords
Byzantine Orthodox Church; Council of Chalcedon; identity; Justin I; Justinian I.

From the time of the Arab conquest of Syria and Egypt, we can talk of three
defined ecclesial blocks in the Christian East—Chalcedonian, non-Chalce-
donian (or ‘Miaphysite’), and pre-Ephesian (the Church of the East)—which
had no thought of reunion, and defined themselves, to some extent at least,
over against one another.1 The situation in the preceding period was more

1)
The Church of the East was the least negative in its self-definition. Its synodal decrees
from the fifth to the seventh centuries ignore developments in the imperial Church, rather
than react against them; see Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Synodicon Orientale ou Recueil de Synodes
Nestoriens (Paris, ).
 Richard Price

complex. The question that will be addressed in this paper is how, and at what
pace, a Chalcedonian identity developed in the imperial Church between 
and . In my conclusion I shall touch on Chalcedon’s importance, or lack
of importance, in the self-identity of later Byzantium.

–: Chalcedon Downplayed

The document which more than any other reveals how the Fathers of Chal-
cedon evaluated their work in retrospect is the Codex Encyclius of –,
a reply to a consultation by the new Emperor Leo I after both the death of
Marcian, the architect of Chalcedon, and the lynching in Alexandria of the
pro-Chalcedonian Patriarch Proterius.2 Not one of the extant replies shows an
appreciation of the significance of what was new and distinctive in Chalcedo-
nian Christology (called by Alois Grillmeier the ‘Chalcedonian novum’), not
even those from the Diocese of the Orient. The reply from Syria I stresses the
finality and comprehensiveness of the teaching on Christology of the Council
of Nicaea; it picks up from Chalcedon the dual consubstantiality of Christ,
but makes no mention of the council’s famous formulae of ‘in two natures’
and ‘one person and hypostasis’. The longest of the replies, that from Basil of
Seleucia in Isauria, who had himself coined the ‘acknowledged in two natures’
formula that Chalcedon had adopted,3 likewise makes no mention of the coun-
cil’s key formulae: the Definition is interpreted as confirming Nicaea under the
guidance of the Cyrillian documents approved at Ephesus, and adding simply
a condemnation of Eutyches. Basil rightly points out that the last paragraph
of the Definition, condemning the production of new creeds, canonizes not
itself but the Creed of Nicaea.4 This lacklustre response to the emperor’s con-
sultation was not due to tact or a spirit of appeasement, for the bishops treated
Proterius’ murder as a crime that deserved no mercy, rather than as evidence

2)
The Encyclia (or Codex Encyclius) can be found in Eduard Schwartz, Acta Conciliorum
Oecumenicorum . (ACO) (Berlin–Leipzig, ), pp. –. For a full analysis, see Alois
Grillmeier, Christ in Christian Tradition .. Reception and Contradiction: The Development
of the Discussion about Chalcedon from  to the Beginning of the Reign of Justinian (London,
), pp. –. The two responses I single out here are in ACO ., pp. – (Syria I)
and – (Basil of Seleucia).
3)
See the presence of the formula in several utterances by Basil, predating but preserved in
the Acts of Chalcedon ., ,  (ACO ., pp. –, ).
4)
ACO ., pp. –. See Grillmeier, Christ in Christian Tradition ., pp. –,
–.
 A Chalcedonian Identity in Byzantium 

that opposition to Chalcedon needed to be treated with restraint.5 In this con-

text the stress on the validity of Chalcedon as one of the four great councils was
a strong negative reaction to the Egyptian stasis. What, then, is clear from the
Codex Encyclius is that the self-identity of the Church remained Nicene rather
than Chalcedonian; it would not be inappropriate to talk of a Nicene funda-
mentalism.6 This same insistence that Nicaea had already all the answers and
this same lack of enthusiasm for new formulations had already been apparent
at Chalcedon itself.7
We need to keep in mind this preference for Nicene traditionalism over the
Chalcedonian novum, coupled with profound shock at Proterius’ murder, if we
are to interpret rightly the failure of the anti-Chalcedonian encyclical issued in
Constantinople by the short-lived usurper Basiliscus in  and withdrawn a
year later. The appearance in Constantinople of Timothy Aelurus, who was
considered responsible for Proterius’ murder, plus Basiliscus’ personal unpop-
ularity, provides a more plausible explanation than any positive enthusiasm for
Chalcedon.8
This interpretation is supported by the fact that only a few years separate
this debacle from the Henotikon of , composed by Patriarch Acacius of Con-
stantinople and issued by the Emperor Zeno, which continued to attach prime
importance to the Nicene Creed.9 Of all the writings of Cyril of Alexandria it
singled out for approbation the Twelve Chapters attached to Cyril’s Third Let-
ter to Nestorius, the most sharply worded of his statements on the unity of
Christ, a document that Chalcedon had chosen to ignore.10 Famously, all it

5)
Compare the reluctance of the bishops at Chalcedon to make any allowances for the very
difficult position in which the Egyptian bishops found themselves after the condemnation
of Dioscorus: ACO . (Berlin–Leipzig, –), pp. –; trans. Richard Price
and Michael Gaddis, The Acts of the Council of Chalcedon  (Liverpool, ), pp. –.
6)
Grillmeier, Christ in Christian Tradition ., p.  observes: ‘ “Nicaea in Chalcedon”—
this catch-phrase could be given as a title to the whole aftermath of Chalcedon up to the
Council of Constantinople ().’
7)
When at the second session of the council the lay chairman revealed that the bishops were
expected to produce a new definition of the faith, the bishops’ reaction was to insist that
nothing could be added to Nicaea (ACO ., p. ; Price and Gaddis, Acts , pp. –).
8)
Grillmeier, Christ in Christian Tradition ., pp. –; J.B. Bury, History of the Later
Roman Empire from the Death of Theodosius I to the Death of Justinian  (London, ),
pp. –.
9)
The Henotikon is in Evagrius, Historia Ecclesiastica ., trans. Michael Whitby, The
Ecclesiastical History of Evagrius Scholasticus (Liverpool, ), pp. –.
10)
The reference in the Chalcedonian Definition to ‘the synodical letters of the blessed
Cyril to Nestorius and those of the East’ (ACO ., p. ,–) is ambiguous, but the
 Richard Price

says explicitly about Chalcedon is the following: ‘Everyone who has held or
holds any other opinion [than that of Nicaea], either at the present or another
time, whether at Chalcedon or at any synod whatsoever, we anathematize,
and especially Nestorius and Eutyches and those who uphold their doctrines.’
The intention was clearly to affirm the Chalcedonian decrees according to a
minimalist interpretation that reduced them to disciplinary canons condemn-
ing Nestorius and Eutyches. The reference to whoever had upheld heresy at
Chalcedon must be to that small minority of bishops at Chalcedon who were
accused of Nestorianizing—in particular, Theodoret of Cyrrhus and Ibas of
Edessa. In all, the break with the preceding criteria of Orthodoxy is not marked.
The bishops who accepted the Henotikon were of the same breed as those who
had contributed to the Codex Encyclius.
The development, in contrast, of a reverential attitude towards Chalcedon
can first be traced in the letters of Pope Leo the Great. Before Chalcedon met,
he showed no enthusiasm for the summoning of a council, and even after the
council he continued for a time to assert that its work had been secondary since
the doctrinal issue had been settled by his own Tome. As he wrote to the Gallic
bishops on  January , shortly after the end of the council:

Through the exertions (with the help of God’s grace) of our brethren and legates, and
of not only the priests of Christ but also Christian princes and authorities and all the
orders of clergy and people, it became fully and evidently plain that the truly apostolic
and catholic faith, flowing from the fount of divine piety, is that which we preach.11

In other words, all the Gallic bishops needed to know about Chalcedon was
that it had confirmed his own teaching. But in the course of the s, in reac-
tion to Miaphysite rejection of the council and aware that his own word carried
little weight in the east, he came to attribute more authority to the council’s
decrees and indeed to stress their final and immutable character, in an attempt
to preclude undesirable innovations, in particular any concessions to the Mia-
physites. In a letter to the Emperor Leo of  March , replying to his con-
sultation over the council, he argued that to question the decrees of Chalcedon
was to undermine the authority of the Council of Nicaea itself.12 Writing again
a few months later (in August ), he wrote: ‘The holy Council of Chalcedon
has been celebrated by all the provinces of the Roman Empire with the agree-

Third Letter had not been included among the documents read out at the second session
(ACO ., pp. –). The dual consubstantiality is asserted at p. ,–.
11)
Leo, Ep. , ACO . (Berlin–Leipzig, ), pp. ,–,.
12)
Ep. , ACO ., pp. ,–,.
 A Chalcedonian Identity in Byzantium 

ment of the whole world.’13 The actual formulae of Chalcedon remained of sec-
ondary importance for him: in the exactly contemporary Second Tome there
is still no use of Chalcedon’s ‘two natures’ formula,14 a formula equally absent
(it should be remembered) from his first and more celebrated Tome.
It was the same anxiety over the mounting influence of the Miaphysites in
the east, coupled with a desire to maintain Chalcedon’s definition of the east-
ern primacy of the See of Constantinople, that stimulated resistance in the
capital city to any unambiguous downgrading of the great council. Patriarch
Euphemius (–) and Macedonius (–) accepted the Henotikon,
but resisted those who tried to use it against Chalcedon; and in the last years
of the reign of Anastasius (–) the revolt of Vitalian in the Balkans was
kept alive by the support for Chalcedon in the capital and the unpopularity
of Anastasius’ increasingly unambiguous support for the anti-Chalcedonian
cause. Mention should also be made of the Acoemete monks at Constantino-
ple, who from the last quarter of the fifth century equalled Rome in upholding
an unadulterated Chalcedonian Orthodoxy.15
Hostility to Anastasius’ policy, and an insistence on Chalcedon equal to that
at Rome, came to be voiced most powerfully in Palestine. The monastic biog-
rapher Cyril of Scythopolis preserves for us a ‘petition and supplication’ (as it
calls itself ) sent in  from the monks of Palestine to the Emperor Anastasius,
in fact a declaration of defiance, refusing to receive the Miaphysite champion
Severus of Antioch into communion.16 The document affirms the four Holy
Councils, including ‘the one that assembled in the city of Chalcedon to confirm
the anathema against the impious Nestorius and to expel and anathematize the
godless Eutyches.’ It proceeds to condemn Severus, ‘who for the destruction of
his own soul and of the commonwealth … has anathematized our holy fathers
who every way confirmed the apostolic faith defined at Nicaea.’ In an impres-
sive climax, it declares, ‘If life and death depend on our account of the faith, it
is death that we prefer. We shall never in any way or for whatever reason enter
into communion with enemies of the Church and their futile anathemas.’ The

13)
Ep. , ACO ., p. ,–.
14)
Ep. , ACO ., pp. –.
15)
For Anastasius’ religious policy, see Luce Pietri (ed.), Histoire du Christianisme . Les
Églises d’Orient et d’Occident (–) (Paris, ), pp. –, and Fiona K. Haarer,
Anastasius I: Politics and Empire in the Late Roman World (Cambridge, ), pp. –.
16)
The text is in Vita Sabae , ed. Eduard Schwartz, Kyrillos von Skythopolis (TU .;
Leipzig, ), pp. –, trans. Richard M. Price, Cyril of Scythopolis. The Lives of the
Monks of Palestine (Kalamazoo, ), pp. –.
 Richard Price

preceding chapter of Cyril’s work attributes to the monastic leader Theodosius

the words, ‘If anyone does not accept the four councils like the four gospels,
let him be anathema.’17
What, then, we find in these Roman and Palestinian documents is a strong
reaction to the spread of Miaphysitism that generates an emphatic Chalcedo-
nianism, one that is more negative than positive—that seeks to use Chalcedon
as a bulwark against Miaphysite aggression rather than to advance Christology
on the basis of the Chalcedonian formulae.

The Role of Justinian

The Palestinian petition and supplication was soon followed by the death of
Anastasius and the end of the Acacian Schism, involving the deposition of the
anti-Chalcedonian bishops (–). The ‘holy four councils’ feature as the
criterion of Orthodoxy in a letter written by the new Emperor Justin I to the
magister militum per Orientem in , ordering investigation of celebrations at
Cyrrhus that had gone so far as to treat Nestorius as a saint.18
That, however, Justin’s nephew, adviser, and successor Justinian (–)
soon ‘betrayed’ Chalcedon by making concessions to the Miaphysites was
alleged by western critics in his own lifetime and has been repeatedly reasserted
in modern times. But such an allegation turns the facts on their head: so far
from betraying Chalcedon, Justinian was the first emperor since Marcian (if
we omit his uncle’s brief reign) to commit himself strongly to the cause of the
council. Nevertheless, it is true that his policy contained important ambigui-
ties, which I shall attempt to map. For the ecclesiastical policy of Justinian we
possess an exceptional wealth of very varied source material—imperial laws,
theological writings issued under Justinian’s name, the polemics engendered
by the Three Chapters Controversy and, not least, non-Chalcedonian Syriac
sources; the problem is how to integrate this material, to explain the complex-
ities and give due weight to the contrasting features in the picture. Most schol-
ars have followed Justinian’s contemporary critics in accusing him of currying
favour with the Miaphysites in a misplaced hope of reuniting the Church, and
that there is truth in this (though with scope for a more generous apprecia-
tion of his motives and methods) can be shown from the Syriac evidence.19

17)
Vita Sabae , ed. Schwartz, Kyrillos, p. ,–.
18)
Johannes Straub, ACO . (Berlin, ), pp. –. The phrase ‘holy four councils’
occurs at p. ,.
19)
See Volker Menze, Justinian and the Making of the Syrian Orthodox Church (Oxford,
 A Chalcedonian Identity in Byzantium 

But Justinian’s own writings reveal an emperor who took the doctrinal issues
seriously and was as concerned to define the differences between Chalcedonian
Orthodoxy and Miaphysitism as to appeal to common ground.20
Let us start with the Conference of Constantinople of , at which Jus-
tinian played host to half a dozen Chalcedonian and the same number of non-
Chalcedonian representatives. At the end of the conference he offered the non-
Chalcedonians the following terms, as a price for toleration within the imperial
Church:

They might anathematize Diodore, Theodore, Theodoret, Ibas, Nestorius and Euty-
ches, and accept the Twelve Chapters of the holy Cyril, while anathematizing what
had been written against them; they might confess one nature of God the Word incar-
nate, but they should refrain from anathematizing those who speak of two natures after
the inexpressible union, [anathematizing] instead those who hold Nestorian views and
divide up Christ into two natures … They should accept the council at Chalcedon as
far as the expulsion of Eutyches was concerned, but they need not accept the definition
of the faith made there; they should cease their anathema of the Tome of Leo; and the
libelli of the Romans should not be suspended.21

This is interpreted by Karl-Heinz Uthemann, normally the best of guides on

this material, as a compromise that Justinian proposed to both parties.22 But
this is not what the text says, and no defender of Chalcedon could agree
to utter a blanket anathematization of Theodoret and Ibas, who had been
restored to their sees at the council; the proposal is addressed specifically to the
Miaphysites, if they wish to have a place within the imperial Church. It remains
a strikingly generous offer, save, however, for the insistence on accepting the
Tome of Hormisdas, which involved expunging from the diptychs the names
of the bishops in the non-Chalcedonian succession, the names through which
the Miaphysites were connected to the great Fathers of the fourth century

), and Michail V. Grazianskij, Die Politik Kaiser Justinians I. gegenüber den Monophysiten
(Stuttgart, ).
20)
See Eduard Schwartz, Vigiliusbriefe : Zur Kirchenpolitik Justinians (Sitzungsberichte
der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften–Philosophisch-historische Classe ; Munich,
), and Karl-Heinz Uthemann, ‘Kaiser Justinian als Kirchenpolitiker und Theologe’,
Augustinianum  (), pp. –.
21)
Sebastian P. Brock, ‘The Conversations with the Syrian Orthodox under Justinian ()’,
OCP  (), reprinted in Sebastian P. Brock, Studies in Syriac Christianity (Aldershot,
), Ch. , pp. –, esp. –.
22)
Uthemann, ‘Kaiser Justinian’, pp. –.
 Richard Price

and through them to the Apostles. This was fatal to agreement: as the non-
Chalcedonian delegates objected, ‘You are asking us to anathematize ourselves
and those who were our fathers.’23
The abortive conference of  was followed soon afterwards by another
attempt at reconciliation, entrusted to Anthimus, the retired Bishop of Trebi-
zond, who in  was made Patriarch of Constantinople.24 He had been one of
the Chalcedonian representatives at the conference of , and now pursued
further a policy of rapprochement. Non-Chalcedonian sources (the chroni-
cles of Pseudo-Zachariah and Michael the Syrian)25 preserve a correspondence
between Anthimus and the non-Chalcedonian leaders Severus of Antioch and
Theodosius of Alexandria in which communion was restored between them on
the basis of a declaration of faith by Anthimus that contained the formula ‘out
of two natures one Son, one Lord, one Christ, and one nature of the incarnate
Word’, but also an assertion that ‘each one of the natures remained without
confusion in its sphere of manifestation’; taken together, this constituted an
acceptance of Miaphysite expressions as no less valid than Chalcedonian ones,
but not a rejection of the latter. The text of the letters that is transmitted in
the non-Chalcedonian sources I have mentioned goes further, and attributes
to Anthimus an explicit anathematization of Chalcedon and its teachings. This
is not credible: when he was subsequently deposed, it was on the ground that
he had only pretended to follow Chalcedon, while in fact, in the words of
Justinian, ‘supposing it necessary to give the same and equal treatment to
those condemned [the heretics] and those who had condemned them.’26 The
charge is not that he had himself rejected the council, which would have con-
tributed nothing to what was surely his goal—the reconciliation of the non-

23)
Brock, ‘Conversations’, p. .
24)
For Anthimus, see Menze, Justinian, Ch. , and Grazianskij, Die Politik Kaiser Justinians,
Ch. .
25)
Pseudo-Zachariah, Chronicle .–, trans. Frederick J. Hamilton and Ernest
W. Brooks, The Syriac Chronicle known as that of Zachariah of Mitylene (London, ),
pp. –; Michael the Syrian, Chronicle ., trans. Jean-Baptiste Chabot, Chronique
de Michel le Syrien patriarche jacobite d’Antioche (–)  (Paris, –), pp. –
.
26)
ACO  (Berlin, ), p. ,–. Hypatius of Ephesus, who had led the Chalcedo-
nian delegation at the conference of  and will have known Anthimus well, was harsher,
accusing him of ‘criticizing the expression “in two natures”, frequently denying what the
holy Council of Chalcedon defined against Eutyches, and refusing to reject those who were
rightly condemned by the same holy council’ (ACO , p. , –), but even this stops
short of accusing him of anathematizing the council.
 A Chalcedonian Identity in Byzantium 

Chalcedonians to the imperial Church. The anathematization of Chalcedon

must be a Miaphysite interpolation, to protect Severus and Theodosius from
the charge of having accepted the communion of a Chalcedonian.27
Justinian’s ingenious diplomacy, conducted through Anthimus, fell foul,
however, of the hostility to the Miaphysites of the clergy and people of Con-
stantinople, reinforced by similar voices from Syria and Palestine;28 and when
Pope Agapetus visited Constantinople in March , Justinian had to sacri-
fice Anthimus to the wave of popular feeling and to give Agapetus the glory of
deposing one Patriarch of Constantinople and ordaining his successor (Menas).
A synod was held in the capital in May to condemn Anthimus together with
the Miaphysite leaders Severus of Antioch and Peter of Apamea. The impe-
rial edicts that followed29 insisted on Chalcedon, still interpreted, however, in
terms of its condemnation of Nestorius and Eutyches and not of the Chalcedo-
nian novum. Non-Chalcedonian sources give graphic accounts of the ensuing
persecution in Syria, but it is indicative of a continuing attachment to the
imperial Church that they blame not Justinian but Patriarch Ephraem of Anti-
och.30
This did not mean the end of the attempts by the emperor to build bridges
with the non-Chalcedonians. Famously, his consort Theodora continued to
patronize the latter till her death in , housing hordes of Miaphysite monks
in her palace of Hormisdas and promoting Miaphysite interests. Was Theodora
seeking to thwart her husband’s policy? The contemporary historian Procopius
saw through the apparent discord between the imperial spouses: ‘They were
always in agreement with each other, but in appearance pretended to be in
conflict, and so were able to divide their subjects and strengthen their tyranny
most firmly.’31 It was in Justinian’s interests that the non-Chalcedonians should

27)
Grazianskij, Die Politik Kaiser Justinians, Ch. .. gives further arguments for doubting
the accuracy of the Syriac texts that attribute to Anthimus an explicit anathematization of
Chalcedon.
28)
See Pseudo-Zachariah . (Hamilton and Brooks, The Syriac Chronicle, p. ) for the
role of Patriarch Ephraem of Antioch even before Pope Agapetus’ arrival in Constantinople.
29)
PL , pp. –.
30)
Cf. John of Ephesus, ed. and trans. Ernest W. Brooks, John of Ephesus. Lives of the
Eastern Saints (PO ; Paris, ), pp. –, and ed. and trans. Ernest W. Brooks,
John of Ephesus. Lives of the Eastern Saints (PO ; Paris, ), p. ; Pseudo-Zachariah,
Chronicle . (Hamilton and Brooks, The Syriac Chronicle, pp. –); Michael the
Syrian, Chronicle .– (trans. Chabot, Chronique , pp. –).
31)
Procopius, Anecdota ., ed. and trans. Henry B. Dewing, Procopius  (Loeb Classical
Library; Cambridge, MA–London, ), p. .
 Richard Price

continue to look for patronage to the court, and it protected him from charges
of duplicity if Theodora acted with apparent independence.32
The prominence of Theodora’s role in helping the Miaphysites did not mean,
however, that Justinian himself kept his distance. The Miaphysite historian
John of Ephesus tells us how in around  Justinian and Theodora sent rival
missionaries, Chalcedonian and non-Chalcedonian, to Nubia;33 but a good
case has now been made out by the young Russian scholar Michail V. Grazian-
skij that the conversion of the country by non-Chalcedonians arose from Jus-
tinian’s own initiative and that the Nubians accepted the missionaries on this
understanding and not out of a desire to distance themselves from the impe-
rial Church.34 We hear of Justinian paying respectful visits to the Miaphysite
monks under Theodora’s protection, and like Theodora he himself provided
hospitality and sustenance in Constantinople for numerous monks belonging
to the same party. Most striking is his role in the great programme of mis-
sionary work conducted by John of Ephesus and other non-Chalcedonians in
southern Asia Minor from around  and continuing for thirty years. If we
were to believe Michael the Syrian, the new converts were instructed according
to the doctrine of Chalcedon;35 this is not credible, but they will indeed have
come under the jurisdiction of the local Chalcedonian bishops. All this is evi-
dence of the emperor’s recognition that he needed to be found indispensable
by all his subjects, and also of the existence of a significant body of moder-
ate Miaphysite opinion that, however critical of the decrees of Chalcedon, had
no desire to turn its back on the imperial Church. Susan Ashbrook Harvey
has aptly described John of Ephesus’ attitude to Justinian as one of ‘heartfelt
respect’.36
Let us proceed to the most impressive of Justinian’s theological writings,
the edict On the Orthodox Faith of .37 This document allows the formula

32)
Evagrius suspected the same, writing that perhaps ‘they had reached some sort of
accommodation, so that he would support those who speak of natures in Christ our God
whereas she would do the same for those who advocate one nature’ (Historia Ecclesiastica
., trans. Whitby, Ecclesiastical History, p. ).
33)
John of Ephesus, Historia Ecclesiastica .–, –, trans. Ernest W. Brooks, Iohannis
Ephesini Historiae ecclesiasticae pars tertia (CSCO , Syr. ; Leuven, ), pp. –,
–.
34)
Grazianskij, Die Politik Kaiser Justinians, Ch. .
35)
Michael the Syrian, Chronicle . (trans. Chabot, Chronique , p. ).
36)
Susan A. Harvey, Asceticism and Society in Crisis: John of Ephesus and the Lives of the
Eastern Saints (Berkeley, ), pp. –.
37)
Eduard Schwartz, Drei dogmatische Schriften Justinians (Abhandlungen der Bayerischen
 A Chalcedonian Identity in Byzantium 

‘one incarnate nature’, as equivalent to ‘one hypostasis’, but attacks those who
deduce from it that in Christ there is one nature of Godhead and manhood,
and defends as the true Orthodoxy Chalcedon’s ‘two natures’ formula. It advo-
cates adoption of the formula ‘one composite hypostasis’, as a more correct
expression than ‘one composite nature’, the formula preferred by the Mia-
physites. But the edict does not insist on subscription to Chalcedon. This
is confirmed by the reply that was sent by the Miaphysite philosopher and
theologian John Philoponus to an invitation from Justinian to come to Con-
stantinople to discuss the edict.38 Philoponus’ letter is critical but respectful,
praising elements in Justinian’s exposition (such as his use of the formula ‘one
composite hypostasis’), and making no mention of Chalcedon.
According to Michael the Syrian, renewed negotiations with the Syrian
non-Chalcedonians were also conducted around this time.39 Michael tells
of four hundred non-Chalcedonian Syrian representatives who accepted the
emperor’s invitation to come to Constantinople and stayed there for a whole
year, until, accepting reluctantly that they were irreconcilable, he let them
depart; Michael dates these negotiations to the period (not more precisely
defined) that followed the death of the Empress Theodora in . Then, after
mentioning the death of Patriarch Menas (which took place in the summer of
), he proceeds to narrate how Justinian summoned to Constantinople the
venerable Constantine of Laodicea in Syria, a survivor of the pre- hierarchy:
he was subjected to intense pressure to sign some document (unspecified), but
died before he could do so. Michael’s chronology cannot be pressed, but it
seems to me attractive to link these negotiations with the issuing of the edict
On the Orthodox Faith—whether they preceded it, or followed it, or partly
preceded it and partly followed it—, and link them to the correspondence
between Justinian and Philoponus. If it is agreed that this is plausible, then we
may identify the document that Constantine of Laodicea was pressed to sign
as the edict. Michael himself does not identify the document, but otherwise
he represents these negotiations as an attempt by Justinian to bully the Syrian
Miaphysites yet again into signing the decrees of Chalcedon. This is typical
of Michael’s oversimplification of the issues: for him, the Chalcedonians are
persecuting bullies who demand submission to Chalcedon from everyone,

Akademie der Wissenschaften–Philosophisch-historische Abteilung nf ; Munich, ),

pp. –.
38)
U.M. Lang, ‘John Philoponus and the Fifth Ecumenical Council: A Study and Transla-
tion of the Letter to Justinian’, Annuarium historiae conciliorum  (), pp. –.
39)
Michael the Syrian, Chronicle . (trans. Chabot, Chronique , pp. –).
 Richard Price

while the non-Chalcedonians are heroes who steadily refuse to compromise

the purity of their faith. Putting together the fact of these negotiations and the
contents of both the edict and Philoponus’ response, I would see Justinian’s
purpose as an attempt to bypass disagreement over the status of Chalcedon and
to attain agreement on the basis of the new formula ‘one composite hypostasis’,
which could be argued to do justice both to Chalcedon and to its critics. It is
striking that Justinian made this offer; it is equally striking that the Syrian
non-Chalcedonians were ready to come to Constantinople to negotiate.40
Justinian’s readiness to tolerate the rejection of Chalcedon plus his patronage
of Miaphysites makes it clear that he wished to secure the loyalty of the non-
Chalcedonians to himself as emperor, no less than of the Chalcedonians. Was
this a return to the Henotikon—the thesis of Michail Grazianskij?41 At the same
time, however, that it attempts to build bridges, the edict of  argues for a
genuinely Chalcedonian Christology. As in , what we have is a sincerely
Chalcedonian emperor keen not to lose the loyalty of the opposing faction.
And as in  the emperor soon withdrew an offer that was not accepted. For
what do we find at the Fifth Ecumenical Council of ? The council adopted
as dogmatic canons the anathemas contained in the edict of —including
‘one composite hypostasis’.42 And yet at the same time this council insisted on
Chalcedon. So we read in Justinian’s letter to the council, included in its acts:

For we wish you to know that as regards the teaching and definitions on the one and the
same faith and the canonical decrees on ecclesiastical order of the holy four councils,
those of Nicaea, Constantinople, Ephesus I and Chalcedon, we preserve, defend and
follow them and accept and embrace everything that accords with them; but whatever
does not accord with them, or is found to have been written by any person against
the definitions on the one and the same faith of the holy four councils or one of these
councils, this we execrate as totally alien to piety.43

40)
For other interpretations of this episode, with slightly different datings, see Ernest
Honigmann, Évêques et évêchés monophysites d’Asie antérieure au VIe siècle (CSCO , Subs.
; Leuven, ), pp. –, and Grazianskij, Die Politik Kaiser Justinians, Ch. ..
41)
Grazianskij, Die Politik Kaiser Justinians, Ch. ..
42)
The adjective ‘composite’ is missing in the extant Greek version of the canons of 
(ACO ., p. ,), but is to be found in the superior Latin text (ACO ., p. ,).
Its presence in the original Greek text is made likely by its presence in the corresponding
Anathema  in Justinian’s edict On the orthodox faith (Schwartz, Drei dogmatische Schriften
Justinians, p. ,).
43)
ACO ., pp. ,–,.
 A Chalcedonian Identity in Byzantium 

And the conciliar decree containing the canons states:

Having therefore related all our transactions, we again profess that we accept the holy
four councils, that is, those of Nicaea, Constantinople, Ephesus I and Chalcedon, and
that we have proclaimed and proclaim what they decreed concerning one and the same
faith, while those who do not accept it we judge to have no part in the catholic church.44

The Three Chapters Controversy

It is in this context that we need to interpret Justinian’s condemnation of the
Three Chapters—meaning the person and writings of Theodore of Mopsuestia,
the anti-Cyrillian writings of Theodoret of Cyrrhus, and the Letter from Ibas of
Edessa to Mari the Persian.45 Their condemnation, in both imperial edicts and
the canons of the Second Council of Constantinople (), was controversial
at the time and is so still today, the charge being that it constituted an ill-judged
revision of the decrees of Chalcedon which infuriated Chalcedonian loyalists
without winning over any Miaphysites. The De sectis of Leontius Scholasticus,
a perceptive and comparatively impartial history of the ecclesiastical controver-
sies of the age, composed at the end of the sixth century, sums up the failure
of the council of  as follows:

Justinian, seeing that the Hesitants46 inveighed against Theodoret and Ibas and rejected
the council [of Chalcedon] because of them, anathematized them. The Hesitants ask
us, ‘Why do you anathematize them? They are either good or evil. If they are good, why
do you anathematize them? If they are evil, why did the council accept them? If you
now anathematize them as evil, what does that imply about the Council of Chalcedon,
which accepted them and which you accept?’ To this we reply that Justinian did this
out of accommodation. For when, as we have said, he saw the Hesitants rejecting the
council because of these men, he thought that, if he anathematized them, he would
get the council accepted; and therefore he thought it appropriate to anathematize two
individuals (even if they ought not to have been anathematized) so that he might bring
about the reunion of all. This is why he anathematized them. Nevertheless, not even
so did the Hesitants accept the council.47

44)
ACO ., p. ,–.
45)
See especially Canons – of Constantinople II (ACO ., pp. –) and the
corresponding Anathemas – in Justinian’s edict On the orthodox faith (Schwartz, Drei
dogmatische Schriften Justinians, pp. –).
46)
The ‘Hesitants’ (διακρινομ$νοι) was a name given to the moderate non-Chalcedonians,
in the tradition of Severus of Antioch.
47)
Leontius Scholasticus, ‘De sectis’, PG A, p. CD. For the reserved attitude of
Leontius towards the condemnation of the Three Chapters, see Jacob Speigl, ‘Der Autor
 Richard Price

Yet Justinian was surely right to claim that Chalcedon’s reinstatement of

Theodoret and Ibas had been ambiguous and reluctant. They were bound
to be accepted by the council, since their condemnation had been decreed
at the discredited ‘Robber Council’ of , and because Pope Leo and the
Emperor Marcian had already reinstated Theodoret. Theodoret saw in this
an opportunity to have his doctrine formally approved, and arrived at the
session devoted to his case with two documents to be read out, but the council
Fathers refused to listen to them, insisting instead that he did something
that hitherto, for twenty years, he had avoided and now performed with
manifest reluctance—an anathematization of Nestorius.48 Justinian’s comment
that Theodoret was received back as a penitent49 expressed what was probably
felt by the great majority of the bishops at the council.50
Even odder was the hearing of the case concerning Ibas of Edessa. His critics
secured the reading at the council of the minutes of a hearing conducted almost
three years before (in February ) by Bishop Photius of Tyre, a hearing that
publicized the charges against him but had concluded with a compromise
imposed by Photius that left Ibas in possession of his see after he had made
promises of improved behaviour. The minutes included his Letter to Mari
the Persian, written many years before, in which he severely criticized Cyril
of Alexandria’s Twelve Anathemas. This was an embarrassment at Chalcedon,
where the bishops, while generally avoiding mention of this controversial
document, vied with each other in professing devotion to Cyril’s memory
and Cyril’s teachings. When the bishops came to pronounce judgement on
Ibas, two of the most senior—Paschasinus of Lilybaeum, Pope Leo’s chief
representative, and Maximus of Antioch—actually cited the Letter to Mari the
Persian as evidence of Ibas’ Orthodoxy, probably as a way of ensuring that no
other bishop, speaking after them, would be free to complicate the discussion
by raising it as a problem.51
The awkwardness of this in retrospect was greatly augmented when, by
implication in the Henotikon and explicitly in Justinian’s reign, the Twelve

der Schrift “De Sectis” über die Konzilien und die Religionspolitik Justinians’, Annuarium
historiae conciliorum  (), pp. –.
48)
ACO ., p. ; Price and Gaddis, Acts , pp. –.
49)
Schwartz, Drei dogmatische Schriften Justinians, p. ,–.
50)
It should be noted, however, that the council also contained supporters of Theodoret
who tried to tilt the proceedings in their direction by acclaiming him as ‘the orthodox
teacher’, ACO . (Berlin–Leipzig, –), p. ,–; this acclamation is toned down
in the Greek version, ACO ., p. ,.
51)
ACO ., pp. –; Price and Gaddis, Acts , pp. –.
 A Chalcedonian Identity in Byzantium 

Anathemas (as contained in Cyril’s Third Letter to Nestorius) came to be

included among the ‘synodical letters’ of Cyril formally approved at the First
Council of Ephesus and again in the Chalcedonian Definition. It now looked
not merely a lapse but sheerly incomprehensible that the Fathers of Chalcedon
had not required Ibas to denounce the letter before they reinstated him. Jus-
tinian’s solution was to cite the Fathers’ requirement that Ibas anathematize
Nestorius, together with his immediate compliance, as a condemnation of the
letter by all concerned.52 In fact, in their verdicts on Ibas the bishops do not
appear to have been thinking of the letter, which only came into prominence
after Ibas’ death.
Therefore in condemning the attacks on Cyril by Theodoret and Ibas, Jus-
tinian could reasonably claim that he was tidying up elements of incoherence
in the decisions of Chalcedon, which had rightly reinstated these two bishops
but failed to get them to withdraw what had been scandalous in their writings.
The emperor’s critics thought he would have done better to let sleeping dogs
lie, but he could reply that non-Chalcedonian attacks on Chalcedon’s supposed
vindication of the two bishops made this impossible.
What was the reaction in the various provinces to the condemnation of the
Three Chapters? John Philoponus put the non-Chalcedonian point of view
forcibly in his Four Tmêmata against Chalcedon:53 by condemning the Three
Chapters, Justinian and the Fathers of the council of  were condemning
Chalcedon and thereby themselves, since they continued to insist on the
council.54
Facundus of Hermiane, the most persistent of Justinian’s critics, claimed
that the eastern patriarchs, when they had originally accepted Justinian’s first
edict against the Three Chapters, back in /, had done so with reluctance,
while expressing their reservations privately.55 Let us have a look at the stance of
Patriarch Ephraem of Antioch, who was singled out by the non-Chalcedonians
as the cruellest of their persecutors. He emerges from what survives of his
writings56 as perhaps the most lucid advocate of Chalcedonian Christology in

52)
See, e.g., Schwartz, Drei dogmatische Schriften Justinians, p. .
53)
This work survives in epitome in Michael the Syrian, Chronicle . (trans. Chabot,
Chronique , pp. –).
54)
Note the contrast to his irenic response to the edict of , mentioned above, surely
because the latter had not in the same way insisted on the authority of Chalcedon.
55)
Facundus, Pro defensione trium capitolorum ..–, ed. Jean-Marie Clément and Roland
Vander Plaetse, Facundi Episcopi Ecclesiae Hermianensis Opera omnia (CCSL A; Turnhout,
), pp. –.
56)
We have no complete works from his pen, but a number of fragments (PG , pp. –
 Richard Price

the age of Justinian. He set himself to reconcile Chalcedon, Cyril of Alexandria,

and Leo of Rome, combining the two natures of Chalcedon and the two
operations of Leo with an implicit Monotheletism. He accepted the validity
of Cyril of Alexandria’s formulae ‘one incarnate nature’ and ‘from two natures’,
but argued that to be properly understood they needed to be complemented
by the Chalcedonian formula ‘in two natures’. Why, then, if we are to believe
Facundus, did he express unhappiness over the condemnation of the Three
Chapters? One may suspect that the private reservations he allowed to be
known were simply an insurance policy: Rome was known to be hostile, and a
patriarch who set himself against Rome would find himself in trouble, just as
Anthimus had done, if imperial policy switched to the Roman side. If this is so,
it follows that Ephraem was not genuinely critical of Justinian, and the main
evidence of the presence in Syria of a narrow Chalcedonianism that deplored
the condemnation of the chapters evaporates.
Where a strict Chalcedonianism defensive of the chapters continued to be
vocal was in Palestine and the west. It found uniquely forceful and particularly
extreme expression in Africa. Most memorable of all was the response of
Deacon Ferrandus of Carthage, who, writing as the spokesman for the African
Church, argued that the authority of Chalcedon extended to all the decisions,
even all the statements, made at the council, and that to tamper with the work
of the council was to annul its authority:

If there is disapproval of any part of the Council of Chalcedon, the approval of the
whole is in danger of becoming disapproval … But the whole Council of Chalcedon,
since the whole of it is the Council of Chalcedon, is true; no part of it is open to
criticism. Whatever we know to have been uttered, transacted, decreed and confirmed
there was worked by the ineffable and secret power of the Holy Spirit.57

Remember that Ferrandus is defending the Letter of Ibas on the basis of the
Acts of Chalcedon, in which the letter had been commended by two bishops
in passing but was the object of no decree. The implication, therefore, of
his argument was that supreme authority is to be attributed not only to the
conciliar decrees but to whatever had been uttered at the council. Whence
came this refusal to distinguish between actual decrees and points made in

) and many pages of summary in Photius’ Bibliotheca –, ed. René Henry, Photius.
Bibliothèque  (Collection Byzantine; Paris, ), pp. –. See Alois Grillmeier (ed.
Theresia Hainthaler), Jesus der Christus im Glauben der Kirche .: Die Kirchen von Jerusalem
und Antiochien nach  bis , pp. –.
57)
Fulgentius Ferrandus, Ep. ., PL , p. .
 A Chalcedonian Identity in Byzantium 

conciliar debates, indeed mere obiter dicta? The explanation lies in the likening
of conciliar acts to the books of Holy Scripture: as Ferrandus wrote in the
same letter, ‘General councils, particularly those that have gained the assent
of the Roman Church, hold a place of authority second only to the canonical
books.’58 Of course not everything in conciliar acts was accorded equal weight,
and they manifestly contained utterances by heretics, such as Nestorius and
Eutyches; but not everything in Scripture was of equal weight, and Scripture
too contained utterances by the ungodly, such as Jezebel and Caiaphas. Here
we find the ne plus ultra of a new Chalcedonian fundamentalism. It affected
the composition of subsequent conciliar acts, which from now on ceased to be
records of real debates with a clash of opinions and became instead repositories
of patristic citations and unimpeachable professions of piety.

Conclusion
It is time to draw the threads together. What we have seen is the emergence
under Justinian of a new emphasis on Chalcedon, its decrees and its proceed-
ings. This emphasis took a variety of forms. I need not repeat what I have just
said about the strict Chalcedonianism of those who tried to use the council
as a break on theological development. The Chalcedonianism of Justinian was
subtler and more flexible. But it was not less genuine, even if the emperor
sought to keep the non-Chalcedonians loyal to himself and thereby connected
to the imperial Church. It was a Chalcedonianism that tolerated a minimizing
interpretation of the Chalcedonian Definition, one that reduced it to a disci-
plinary decree condemning Eutyches; but it was at the same time, as we have
seen, a Chalcedonianism that strongly and cogently defended the Chalcedo-
nian formula of one hypostasis in two natures, arguing that this was the only
correct expression of the relation between Godhead and manhood in Christ.
I observed that this appreciation of the importance of Grillmeier’s ‘Chalcedo-
nian novum’ had been notably lacking in the first two generations of bishops
who upheld the authority of the council; it is in the age of Justinian that it
comes into its own. One could add that a foundation, to be secure, needs to be
built upon, which was achieved on behalf of this articulate Chalcedonianism
when it formed the basis for the seventh-century debate over operations and
wills in Christ, where both sides, Monotheletes as well as Dyotheletes, insisted
that they were loyal to Chalcedon’s Dyophysitism.

58)
Ferrandus, Ep. ., PL , p. .
 Richard Price

In all, the work of Justinian was not to ‘restrain’ and ‘impoverish’ the Chal-
cedonian inheritance, as is claimed in the new edition of Alberigo’s collec-
tion of the decrees of the general councils,59 but to define a proper Chalcedo-
nian Christology for the very first time. The defenders of the Three Chapters
responded by articulating a different form of adherence to the great council.
We may therefore conclude that it was the age of Justinian that saw the attain-
ment, in both east and west, of a truly Chalcedonian identity in the imperial
Church.
This, admittedly, is ‘identity’ in a narrower sense than when we speak of the
development of a broadly based communal identity in various cultures in the
middle ages, including Christian Syria. What story of this kind could be told
of Byzantium? A link between membership of Byzantine society and a precisely
defined Orthodoxy could be claimed as early as  when, simultaneously, the
new emperor in the east, Theodosius the Great, adopted Constantinople as his
permanent residence (which it remained for his successors) and decreed that
all his (Christian) subjects were to embrace the Nicene form of the Christian
faith.60 A sense of a Roman ‘nationalism’ centred on the Nicene Creed was
for a time, during the reign of his successor Arcadius, powerfully reinforced
by the unpopularity of the Gothic mercenaries, who were Arians, in and
around Constantinople. At the beginning of this paper I set out how the
Codex Encyclius provides striking evidence that even after Chalcedon a Nicene
fundamentalism continued to prevail. This loyalty to Nicaea involved not just
compliance with Church teaching but also a sense that the very identity of
the Christian Empire was Nicene. This factor played its part in Justinian’s
reconquista of Africa and Italy, which was in part a Nicene crusade against the
Arians.61
But this sense of doctrinal unity was shattered by the divisions resulting from
Chalcedon. The idea that the Syrians and Egyptians embraced Miaphysitism
as a way of expressing regional resentment towards the Byzantine centre is

59)
Giuseppe Alberigo et al., Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Generaliumque Decreta : The
Ecumenical Councils from Nicaea I to Nicaea II (–) (Turnhout, ), pp. –.
60)
The edict ‘Cunctos populos’, Codex Theodosianus .., in Code Théodosien XVI,
(SChrét. ; Paris, ), p. .
61)
Cf. Procopius, History of the Wars ..–, ed. and trans. Henry B. Dewing, Procopius
 (Loeb Classical Library; Cambridge, MA–London, ), pp. –: an (unnamed)
eastern bishop communicated to Justinian a dream in which God had promised him success
in ‘rescuing the Christians of Libya from tyrants’.
 A Chalcedonian Identity in Byzantium 

dubious,62 though it remains possible to claim that a division originating on

religious grounds developed subsequently into a more general disenchantment.
But it would manifestly have been divisive, and could have provoked active
disloyalty, if the early Byzantine emperors had identified their cause and that
of the empire with adherence to Chalcedon. I have been concerned to bring
out that the Emperor Justinian was genuinely Chalcedonian, but had at the
same time the good sense to realize that he had to be the patron of the non-
Chalcedonians as well—just as the Emperor Constantine, while a convinced
Christian, had to act as the patron of his pagan subjects. In consequence,
Chalcedonianism, despite its official recognition from  as the Orthodoxy of
the imperial Church, was in no position to help in the definition of Byzantine
identity until the loss of the non-Chalcedonian regions in the seventh century.
Even then, however, it was not long before Chalcedon was eclipsed. During
the second half of the ninth century there was introduced at Constantinople
the feast of the Triumph of Orthodoxy, occupying one of the most important
days in the church calendar, the First Sunday of Lent. It is striking that the texts
composed for the feast do not treat the whole sequence of ecumenical councils,
but concentrate on the victory over Iconoclasm proclaimed at the seventh ecu-
menical council of  and confirmed in . Even the Synodikon of Orthodoxy,
a substantial text read out on the feast, makes only the briefest mention of the
earlier ecumenical councils.63 It is true that the vindication of image worship
was based on the theology worked out at these councils, but this makes their
omission all the more striking, as evidence that Chalcedon and the other Chris-
tological councils, from Ephesus I () to Constantinople III (–), did
not resonate in popular memory. One can only conclude that the affirmation
of Chalcedon had less importance for Byzantium than the rejection of Chal-
cedon had for miaphysite Syria and Egypt. The emphatic Chalcedonianism of
Justinian and his successors determined the doctrinal loyalties of the patriar-
chate of Constantinople, but it was not a major component in the development
of Byzantine self-identity.

Richard Price
Heythrop College, University of London
r.price@heythrop.ac.uk

62)
The classic discussion is A.H.M. Jones, ‘Were ancient heresies national or social move-
ments in disguise?’, JThS ns  (), pp. –.
63)
For the origin and message of the feast and the text of the Synodikon, see Jean Gouillard,
‘Le Synodikon de l’Orthodoxie’, T&Mbyz  (), pp. –.
 Epilogue:
Religious Origins of Nations?

Bas ter Haar Romeny

At the end of this volume, it would seem appropriate to look back and see how
the various contributions relate to the results and conclusions of the Leiden
project, which are presented in the opening essay. Here we have to bear in
mind that the nature of the contributions differs: some authors have reacted to
elements of our essay; others have offered their insights on the basis of their own
research, whether it is concerned with additional sources regarding the Syriac
Orthodox community, or whether it relates to some of the other Christian
communities of the Middle East. However, central to all the contributions
is the question ‘Can a religious choice indeed be the starting point for an
ethnic community and eventually even a nation, or should we assume that
the Christian communities of the Middle East have always been of an ethnic
nature?’
Willem Hofstee, whom we asked to comment on our theoretical framework
in the capacity of anthropologist, discusses concepts such as community, iden-
tity, nation and nation state, ethnicity, and multiculturalism. We should see
these words as a family, and if we compare these concepts, we should there-
fore think in terms of family resemblances. It is crucial, Hofstee argues, that
the circumstances in which these terms are used are studied first. The social sci-
ences have not produced ‘precise definitions’ of these concepts, and one cannot
simply use a checklist to establish ethnicity for instance.
When we spoke about the ‘new tools and more precise definitions of such
core terms as ethnicity, nation, and identity’ which the social sciences have
given us,1 we were referring specifically to the discussion of concepts such as
nation and ethnicity, which has indeed not yielded close and fixed definitions,

1)
See Bas ter Haar Romeny et al., ‘The Formation of a Communal Identity among West
Syrian Christians: Results and Conclusions of the Leiden Project’, in this volume, p. .
 Bas ter Haar Romeny

but has clarified these concepts to a considerable extent. Since Ernest Gellner,
for instance, it is hard to use the term nation for pre-modern communities.
We fully agree with Hofstee that these analytical categories should remain
unbounded categories, and that universal fixed definitions would make us
overlook important differences between societies. This is exactly why we have
not chosen a closed definition for ethnicity, but worked with what Hofstee
called a checklist: we have used a widely accepted list of features of ethnic
identity, and used these as a matrix to see what traits often ascribed to the
‘family member’ ethnicity can actually be found in the sources. It was not our
intention simply to tick boxes: we have indeed studied the expression of the
various features within their context, and we found that the appearance of a
feature can usually not be described in a binary ‘yes or no’ fashion. It is of
course up to the reader to decide whether we have succeeded in this.
The three groups of sources we used in our project were biblical interpreta-
tion, historiography, and material culture. Of course, we had to make choices
within these categories. Thus for biblical interpretation, we limited ourselves
mainly to two key exegetical collections from the seventh and the ninth cen-
turies. David Taylor, who is editing the sixth-century Psalm Commentary of
Daniel of Salah, discussed the contribution of this particular work to the iden-
tity formation of the anti-Chalcedonian Christian communities of Syria and
Mesopotamia. Taylor points out that the memorization of the Psalms was a
central part of Syriac education and the main feature of the monastic and
parochial liturgy. Therefore the interpretation of the Psalms was a crucial means
of influencing the entire community. It complies with all of Jacques Ellul’s
requirements for effective propaganda.
Now the interesting thing is that Daniel of Salah’s work—in fact the first
Syriac Miaphysite Psalms commentary—not only demonstrates that the Psalms
support his own Christology, but would also seem to be the very first source
which was to deny the emperors any role as mediators of faith. Taylor argues
that this contradicts the generally accepted view that the Miaphysites remained
loyal to the emperor in this period. Basing ourselves on John of Ephesus
among others, we had already departed from the consensus position, as we
noted loyalty to the empire, but criticism of the emperor. Taylor, however, now
points out that John of Ephesus’ criticism of the emperor stayed largely within
the bounds of the conventional Kaiserkritik. Daniel of Salah, on the other
hand, was writing for an internal Syriac Orthodox audience, which enabled
him to question the very institution of the emperor, as well as the concept
of a divine emperor who is the anointed king, with the empire as his bride.
Taylor’s contribution underlines the importance of biblical interpretation as a
 Epilogue 

form of literature which played a role in identity formation, and where certain
tendencies can often be seen earlier than elsewhere.
Muriel Debié points to the importance of historiography and claims that
there is actually a distinctive Syriac Orthodox way of writing history, in which
the political and ecclesiastical history are kept separate in two columns. Syriac
Orthodox identity is in her view in the first place Christian identity. She agrees
with us that in the earliest periods, when the notion of belonging to a people
is still absent, there is an attachment to a certain region. Whether the use
of the Seleucid era should be seen as an indicator of this, as Debié argues,
remains to be seen. In fact, the Syrians have not consciously adopted this
system; they have just failed to follow the new systems developed by Muslims
and Byzantines. Byzantine historiographers such as Theophanes the Confessor
always kept referring to the Seleucid system as well, which should be seen as a
general Hellenistic and thus early Christian legacy rather than as a feature of
a supposed Syro-Macedonian culture or something to be associated with the
Edessan kingdom. The importance of Alexander in Syriac literature is far from
exclusive either: he remained popular in the Middle East as a whole.
Like us, Debié also found few recognizable traces of the Mesopotamian past
in Syriac sources. The idea of Aram as the historic homeland was important,
though, and she rightly remarks that this idea is in fact already found in
Ephrem. It is the way history is shaped in the Syriac chronicles since Jacob
of Edessa, in separate ecclesiastical and political columns, which reflects the
new role of the Church hierarchy as the communal leaders of a new ethno-
religious minority, of which the patriarch is the leader. In John of Ephesus, she
argues, ‘Syria’ becomes the symbolic homeland of the Syriac Orthodox. This
homeland did not match the administrative divisions of the political entities
of the time, but was in a way international. Debié adds that the term umtā
‘people, nation’ is first found in the title of the Appendix to Michael the Syrian’s
Chronicle in which he deals with the origins of the Syrians and kingship. With
regard to the sources of the Appendix we would agree with her that Jacob of
Edessa and Dionysius of Tel Mahre should be mentioned, but we are not as
confident as she is that it is actually still possible to demonstrate exactly who
authored what. It is particularly difficult to say with certainty which parts are
the work of Jacob. It will therefore be safer to regard the composition in this
form as the work of Michael, reflecting his twelfth-century interests. As we
also noted, the question of the origins of the Syrians is related here to language
rather than geography. We would stress, however, that this does not mean that
Michael’s view of Syriac Orthodox identity is not ethnic: in fact, language is
used to demonstrate common descent.
 Bas ter Haar Romeny

Dorothea Weltecke has also worked on the historiography of Michael the

Syrian and his sources. She confirms our thesis of the ethnicization of a religious
association. She discusses Michael’s designations of the Syriac Orthodox. It
may be true that the term Orthodox was not used very often, as Debié says, but
Michael had other ways to denote his community. Thus mhaymnē ‘believers’
is used for the Syriac Orthodox, or the Miaphysites in general. In contrast to
others, Michael does not use the name Jacobite. He underlines the importance
of the religious identity by his attention to the succession of patriarchs, which
he uses to structure history and indicate continuity. When it comes to a secular
or even ethnic identity, Weltecke also mentions the importance he attaches to
the ancient Near East. Though Debié had noted a ‘traditional negative view’
of the Assyrians on the basis of the Chronicle to the Year , for Michael
both the Assyrians and the Arameans are Syrians. The link is indeed formed
by the Aramaic language, which is used as a tool to demonstrate the historical
identity of the Syriac Orthodox, as well as the fact that they had governed
themselves in the past. The Byzantine Orthodox are pictured as Greeks, and
thus de-Aramaicized.
Like Debié, Weltecke contrasts Michael’s position with that of Dionysius of
Tel Mahre in the ninth century: for him, not all ancient Near Eastern empires
were Syrian, only the Aramean kingdoms of the west. West of the Euphrates
one would therefore find the real Syrians, to the east only Syrians in metaphor-
ical sense. Weltecke points to the right explanation of the different positions
of the two authors: it should be sought in their respective contexts rather than
in different dialects, as Debié had contended. Dionysius was struggling with
the Church of the East, which had a privileged position in Abbasid times
and therefore needed to be de-Syriacized in his rhetoric; Michael’s strongest
competitors were the Byzantine Orthodox, which he therefore pictured as
Greek instead of Aramaic or Syriac, though in reality many of them were
Aramaic-speaking. In other words, the expression of identity is contextually
determined.
Finally, Weltecke stresses that Michael was a very important patriarch and
author, but that his view of the communal identity should not be generalized.
In addition to the results of our art historians, she points to Michael’s negli-
gence of the position of the Syriac Orthodox elsewhere. Those in Cilicia, the
Jazira, or the Arabic-speaking Syriac Orthodox in Takrit and Mosul do not play
an important role in his work and would seem to have been outside his scope
of knowledge or interest. Likewise lay culture was not relevant to him. All this
points again to the complex, dialectic, and multi-layered nature of identity,
which we noted in our essay.
 Epilogue 

Annemarie Weyl Carr studied the question of art and identity on the basis
of wall paintings from Cyprus. She points out that a telling feature of the thir-
teenth century in the eastern Mediterranean was the interpenetration of cul-
tures, where style could move by osmosis, as it where. If we are looking for
adoption by choice as an expression of identity, it may be more relevant to
consider iconography and content. The examples she gives are concerned with
the relation between Crusader Cyprus and the mainland. Earlier research has
already shown stylistic agreement between the panel paintings at Moutoullas
and the Church of Mar Tadros in Bahdeidat, Lebanon. The initial identifica-
tion of the Moutoullas paintings as ‘Crusader’ has therefore been abandoned,
and the close relationship between Cyprus and the Syro-Palestinian mainland
highlighted, though it still remains attractive to say that this church in the
mountains was decorated by local Cypriot artists. If so, it shows that even there
‘indigenous Cypriot’ may be the result of a mingling: the church’s community
must have been susceptible to developments on the coast, where immigrants
from the mainland had found a new home.
One of the later additions to the mural paintings at the church of Asinou
shows how iconography and content can bring us a step further. We are
talking about the paintings that replaced those in the original apse, which had
collapsed. The new paintings on the triumphal arch show the Sacrifice of Isaac
and John of Damascus: themes neither familiar in the bema programmes of
Cyprus in the thirteenth century, nor in the Byzantine art of the same period
in general. They must be the product of a conscious choice. The Sacrifice of
Isaac clearly reflects the efflorescence of this theme in Egypt and Syria at the
time, where it functioned as a Eucharistic typology. The painting of John of
Damascus is placed in a certain context, as the text shows which he holds in his
hands: that of the Annunciation. It is this pairing of Eucharistic typologies with
the Annunciation that appears also at the Church of Mar Tadros in Bahdeidat
and that, according to Carr, goes back to a certain Syriac liturgical exegesis.
Whether this pairing should also be regarded as specifically Miaphysite, as she
seems to suggest, remains questionable: its appearance in Coptic churches may
point in this direction, but the denomination of the painter who decorated Mar
Tadros may very well have been Maronite.2 It is, however, noteworthy that a
Cypriot painter in a Greek Orthodox monastery adopted this conjunction of
ideas and themes. It implies that artistic conventions not only travelled from

2)
Ter Haar Romeny et al., ‘The Formation of a Communal Identity’, p. .
 Bas ter Haar Romeny

Cyprus to the mainland, but also the other way round, and that the ‘mainland’
should be defined as embracing not just Crusader culture, but also local artistic
traditions.
A form of artefact not studied in our project was discussed by Glenn
Peers, who dealt with art and identity in an amulet roll most probably from
fourteenth-century Trebizond, one of three successor states of the Byzantine
Empire, ruled by the Komnenoi. It has Greek texts on the obverse and Arabic
on the reverse, and the Greek side is adorned with very fine illustrations. The
high quality of the illustrations and the Greek calligraphy are striking. Stylistic
elements and the presence of Evgenios of Trebizond point to Trapezuntine
rather than Constantinopolitan origin. Evgenios was seldom depicted and
must therefore constitute a conscious choice of a painter or patron. Also
the rareness of illustrated synaxaria is significant. Even though the imperial
commission is not made explicit, it probably is a product of the imperial court
and an expression of Trebizond ideology. This is a work without parallel in the
Syriac Orthodox tradition, where devotional art is never imperial.
The combination of Greek texts and images strengthens the owner’s identity
at two levels. On the one hand, all the elements for individual piety are present.
On the other hand, a communal aspect of Christianity and Trebizond as a
Christian state is also obvious. Together with his three compatriots, the local
imperial hero Evgenios is depicted among the great warrior saints of the eastern
Christian world: the famous protectors of the Christians. The order of texts
and figures helps to include Trapezuntine history in the general scheme of
divine economy. The strongest expression of communal identity, however, is
formed by the legend of the Edessan King Abgar and his correspondence with
Christ, who offered him a number of protective signs. This legend occupies
a central position on the scroll. Though the illustrations of the legend have
attracted attention and have been compared to others, the role of the cycle in
individual piety and communal protection needs to be stressed. Abgar is the
individual convert who is healed and receives protection for his city. For the
inevitably small public of this roll, the idea of Christ as guardian of the city—
first Edessa, now also Trebizond—must have been very important, as the tiny
Empire of Trebizond was surrounded by other powers. It is further underlined
by the presence of Constantine and Helena, David, and the warrior Evgenios.
Together they reinforce the prophylactic character of the roll, Peers argues.
Written sources that we used, but which were not the focus of our project,
are the subject of Herman Teule’s contribution. He discusses three authors
which he considers the most important representatives of the period of the
Syriac Renaissance (twelfth and thirteenth centuries): Dionysius bar Salibi,
 Epilogue 

Jacob bar Shakko, and Barhebraeus. Teule rightly points out that it is important
to study a number of different central authors from a period together in order
to get a picture of the mainstream thinking of the time. Our focus in this
period was on Michael the Syrian, the most important historian of the twelfth
century, though we also adduced other works from the period, and studied
Dionysius’ and Barhebraeus’ biblical interpretation. Teule also notes that these
authors are still copied and read in the Middle East and in the diaspora, which
makes them relevant to questions of identity today as well.
Teule helps to broaden the basis for our conclusions by discussing the
authors’ stance with regard to three areas where one can expect borderlines
to be drawn: the attitude towards Islamic culture and the Arabic language;
towards the Islamic religion; and towards other Christians. With regard to the
first point: Bar Shakko and Barhebraeus both wrote grammars of the Syriac
language and considered language an important element of their identity.
At the same time, it is clear that for instance Bar Shakko’s Syriac Orthodox
community, in Mosul, shared the general culture of its time. As a theological
and ecclesiastical language, however, Arabic was not accepted by the Syriac
Orthodox before Barhebraeus. The East Syrians were earlier, as here we do
see some continuity between the Arabic-writing authors of ninth- and tenth-
century Baghdad and later developments.
Bar Salibi and Bar Shakko, Teule continues, were clearly interested in demar-
cating the borderline between Islam and Christianity, giving Christians the
tools to answer objections and questions posed by Muslims. Barhebraeus fol-
lows the same line in some passages, but also recognized some spiritual values in
Islam, in particular in the works of al-Ghazālı̄. When it comes to other Chris-
tians, Bar Salibi clearly refutes Chalcedonians, East Syrians, and even Armeni-
ans.3 Bar Shakko also stresses the exclusive truth of the Syriac Orthodox, albeit
in a more moderate and scholarly way. It is again Barhebraeus who shows a
double position: on the one hand, he stresses the importance of the right Chris-
tology; on the other hand, he does not brand others as heretics and especially at
the end of his life, he even recognized the relativity of the Christological formu-
las. This allowed him some openness towards the East Syrians, whose common
descent had, we noted, already been acknowledged by Michael the Syrian.4

3)
On Dionysius’ stance towards the Armenians, see now also Bas ter Haar Romeny, ‘The
Contribution of Biblical Interpretation to the Syriac Renaissance’, in Herman Teule, Bas ter
Haar Romeny, and Jan van Ginkel (eds.), The Syriac Renaissance: A Period of Interreligious
and Intercultural Dialogue (Eastern Christian Studies; Leuven, forthcoming in ).
4)
Ter Haar Romeny et al., ‘The Formation of a Communal Identity’, p. .
 Bas ter Haar Romeny

A very important source not studied by us at all is formed by the various col-
lections of legal material. These are the subject of Uriel Simonsohn’s contribu-
tion. Simonsohn explains that as early as in the New Testament, believers were
directed not to take their grievances to court before ‘the unrighteous, instead of
taking it before saints’ ( Cor. :). From the fourth century onwards, episcopal
tribunals also received imperial recognition, and ecclesiastical judicial powers
kept growing in the centuries which followed. As the state courts did not dis-
appear and recluses, monks, and rural priests also performed judicial services,
we can speak of a situation of legal pluralism. This situation continued into the
Islamic period. Dhimmı̄ communities received the freedom to keep their own
independent judicial organization.
In spite of the existence of their own legal system, Christians regularly
had recourse to Muslim courts. These were attractive for all sorts of rea-
sons, among others because they were sanctioned by the ruling authorities,
which also registered property and oversaw business transactions. They also
offered Christians who had been condemned by the church the possibility
to seek redress, which consequently undermined its authority. The leaders of
the West Syrian and other Christian communities tried to counter this trend
in two ways, Simonsohn explains. First, they issued canons exhorting against
external appeals. Second, they started creating their own civil jurisprudence.
Under Sassanian rule, the East Syrians had already developed civil regula-
tions, but in the west this had not been necessary, because the Roman civil
code was acceptable to the churches. After the arrival of Islam, the higher
clergy realized that an alternative had become necessary in order not to lose
control over their community. Highly significant for our subject is the fact
that the alternative judges are presented as ‘outsiders’, sometimes even with
a stress on ethnic features. This shows that the higher clergy tried to estab-
lish a clear social demarcation along confessional and ethnic lines, which fur-
ther strengthens our thesis that they were the carriers and defenders of the
tradition and strove to keep their flock together by demarcating clear bor-
ders.

Though one can argue about the importance of certain details, we may say that
all in all, these eight contributions have not proffered material that contradicts
our reconstruction of the identity formation. On the contrary, they have
further broadened its basis and adduced additional arguments. It is clear that
the choice made in Christology was the starting point for the new group.
There are no ethnic fault lines reappearing, and there are no indications of
the continuous existence of an early Mesopotamian community which could
 Epilogue 

be seen as the forerunner of the Syriac Orthodox community (Debié). There

are several indications that the position of the higher clergy was indeed central
to the social process of identity construction and the continuous existence of
the group, for which religious difference was the focus and symbol (Weltecke,
Teule, Simonsohn). It is also in the writings of the clergy that we see other
features from the complex cultural background of the Syrian Christians gaining
importance and gradually becoming markers of what, at the end of the twelfth
century, can be called an ethnic identity. Language, in particular, became
very important as an indication of identity and a tool to make a link with
the pre-Christian past (Debié, Weltecke, Teule). Though the sixth-century
exegetical work of Daniel of Salah already shows criticism of the institution
of the emperor and imperial ideology (Taylor), the point of no return in the
development from religious association to ethnic community was the early
Islamic period. The arrival of Islam made the split between the Miaphysites
and the Byzantine Empire definitive and, concluding developments which had
indeed started earlier, Muslim rulers accorded the Syriac Orthodox a special
social and juridical status (Simonsohn).
When we mention the importance of the higher clergy, we should add that
the way they formulated their identity was determined by their immediate
context and political interests (Weltecke). This supports the idea that identity
is never exclusive and simple, and that indeed the context of expressions of
identity and ethnicity should always be studied in order to determine their
exact meaning (Hofstee). The Arabic-speaking Syriac Orthodox of Takrit and
Mosul may have had other ideas about their identity than Michael the Syrian
in Melitene, and our own art-historical evidence had already shown that the
reality of everyday life in the villages did not allow the strict maintenance of
borderlines between the communities. People were also loyal to their city or vil-
lage, and were in constant contact with members of other groups. Indeed, the
local style of the wall paintings of Syria and Lebanon was not exclusive to the
Syriac Orthodox but also used by Maronites and Melkites. Cypriot Melkites
saw no problem in even adopting elements from its specific iconography and
content (Carr), just as Muslim and Christian art in the Mosul area could not
be distinguished on the basis of style or even iconography. This does not mean
that art did not serve to strengthen people’s identity. The amulet roll from
Trebizond is a very clear example of this (Peers). However, as visual symbols,
works of art have the capacity to convey multiple meanings at the same time.
This polysemic and multivalent quality makes them powerful as well as sus-
ceptible to appropriation by other groups for other purposes. Especially when
these groups are neighbours and participate in the same visual culture, a scholar
 Bas ter Haar Romeny

needs the context of the works to distinguish between the material cultures of
different communities.5

The conclusions reached so far are of course only valid for the Syriac Orthodox.
Therefore an important section of this volume is dedicated to the comparison
with other Christian communities from the Middle East. This allows us to see
how their communal identities developed.
The first article discusses the East Syrians. In many ways, being the ‘other’
Syriac-speaking church, its formation and development were similar to that of
the West Syrians. In his contribution, Gerrit J. Reinink indicates that in the
seventh century, it was according to Christological lines that its borders were
defined. The question he discusses is why it took such a long time before its
specific Christology of the two natures and two hypostaseis (qnōmē) in Christ
became accepted in all sectors of the community. The doctrine must have been
formulated as early as in /, but it was not until  that it was actually
adopted in a profession of faith by an episcopal gathering. And even after that,
it still had to be explained to believers why the one-qnōmā Christology was no
longer acceptable.
Reinink explains that we should not simply assume that Henana of Adi-
abene, the Director of the School of Nisibis, had introduced an innovative
one-qnōmā Christology, thus causing a schism with long-term effects. There
are two other factors that should be mentioned, and which show once more
that identity formation is often a process of defining borders vis-à-vis certain
others. First of all, Justinian’s religious policy and the Fifth Council, which
resulted from it, must have influenced the East Syrians. The decisions of this
Council forced them to give the notion of qnōmā a place in their Antioch-
ene Dyophysite Christology, and to reconsider the meaning of the central
position of Theodore of Mopsuestia in their tradition. The multiformity and
complexity of the East Syrian tradition allowed two major groups in the com-
munity to hold opposing views on these issues. Second, the Miaphysites were
directly involved in the tensions between the two groups, as they were look-
ing for possibilities to expand their community in Iraq. Their propaganda
caused further polarization, until the party of Babai the Great, the Abbot of the
Great Monastery of Izla, managed to triumph over the party associated with
Henana. It was in the decades after  that the former’s distinctive formula

5)
On this issue, see Bas Snelders, Identity and Christian-Muslim Interaction: Medieval Art
of the Syrian Orthodox from the Mosul Area (Leuven, forthcoming in ), Ch. .
 Epilogue 

was introduced in all organizations of the Church of the East, and that Mia-
physites and Dyophysites in Iraq were finally separated on the basis of this
principle.
The situation for the Armenians clearly differs from that of the Syriac
churches, as Theo van Lint shows in his contribution. When Christianity
reached Armenia, it was already a kingdom with a long history. There is con-
tinuous reference to an entity called Armenia for a period of more than two
and half millenia. However, when it comes to the question of when and by
what Armenian identity was formed, various answers are possible. Van Lint
concludes that Armenian identity is multi-layered. Its basis consists of Indo-
European, Urartean, and Anatolian layers with an admixture of Semitic ele-
ments. After the conquest of the Armenian plateau by the Achaemenids, Ira-
nian layers were added. One can say that in this period, in terms of religion and
rule, Armenia was part of Iranian culture, though eventually also a Hellenistic
layer was added. A decisive moment was the adoption of Christianity as the
state religion at the beginning of the fourth century, which was brought to the
Armenians both in Greek and Syriac forms. The History of the Armenians by
Movsēs Xorenac#i, which in its present form dates back to the eighth century,
already presents all six features of ethnicity, and expresses Armenian identity
in a diachronic perspective. There is a clear myth of common origin. The com-
mon ancestor of the Armenians is called Hayk, a descendant of Japheth. There
is also a link with a territory and the memory of times of independence and
autonomy. In addition, Xorenac#i expresses a sense of Armenian solidarity and
presents other social and cultural aspects which are characteristic of his people.
Armenians looking back at their history will probably point to the arrival
of Christianity and subsequent events, such as the invention of the Armenian
alphabet, the resistance against Sassanian attempts to reconvert the Armenians
to Zoroastrianism, the rejection of Chalcedon and the estrangement from
Byzantium, and the classical definition of the Armenian Church’s doctrine
by Yovhannēs Ojnec#i, as being decisive for their present identity, making
language and religion its key features. Van Lint also underlines the importance
of the conversion to Christianity, and thus the religious aspect for Armenian
identity, but at the same time warns us not to forget the continuous presence
of the earlier layers, in particular the Iranian one. Though we agree with him,
we do think that the role of the continuous element was rather limited. As
in the case of the East Syrians, Van Lint indicates that it took a relatively
long time before the definitive doctrine of the Church was established, and
also the process of unification had not been completed by the time of the
arrival of Islam. We should therefore not think of a single community that
 Bas ter Haar Romeny

passed en bloc from Zoroastrianism to Christianity and then again adopted

Miaphysitism in opposition to Byzantium. Though there is a continuously
existing entity called Armenia, the Armenians first became divided over the
adoption of Christianity and subsequently over the right doctrine. Armenians
did not adopt Miaphysitism simply because they were Armenians. We would
therefore say that the identity of the Armenians was reinvented on the basis
of religion in the unification process. Again, the higher clergy played a crucial
role in this, and it was in the time of Yovhannēs Ojnec#i, in the eighth century,
that its secular powers were officially recognized by the Muslim Caliphate.
Jacques van der Vliet has to conclude that there was no Egyptian sense of
ethnicity that distinguished Copts from Greeks or Byzantines before the Arab
conquest. He even denies that one can speak of Copts as a separate social or reli-
gious group in this period. Egypt was inhabited by Christians who used either
Greek or Coptic. They were divided over Christological issues, but not accord-
ing to linguistic lines. And again, they did not make their religious choice
because they were Copts or Egyptians. As far as contemporary sources show,
the Egyptian Miaphysites also did not welcome the Arabs as liberators. This
idea was only developed much later, in the medieval redactions of the History of
the Patriarchs. They present the Byzantines as a foreign ‘race’ that is Chalcedo-
nian without exception. The Arabs come to the aid of the suppressed Egyptian
people, who were of course Miaphysite as a whole. Van der Vliet rightly points
out that this picture does not represent seventh-century reality, but the interests
of later medieval times, when it became important to portray the Miaphysite
Copts as a social and ethnic group which was the natural ally of the Muslims.
Likewise, modern times present their own needs, which according to Van
der Vliet explains the modern identity constructions of the Copts. Typically,
these aim to create a place for Copts within Egypt, allying them to Muslim
Egyptians. It is a nationalist discourse, yet it does not qualify the Copts on
their own as a nation, but makes them part of an ‘Egyptianity’ that transcends
religion and also includes Muslims. This Egyptianity is presented as rooted in
history: the Copts have always lived in Egypt and fought in all the nation’s
battles against foreign enemies. A particular and very influential variant of this
discourse is called Pharaonism: it stresses the glorious past of Pharaonic times
and its continuity: both Islam and Christianity are firmly rooted in Egyptian
culture. Though Pharaonism is not exclusive to the Copts, it had a much larger
impact on them, colouring most Coptic identity discourse of the past century,
as well as Coptic art and architecture. Van der Vliet explains how Pharaonism
was stimulated by western orientalism, and that its basic historical assumptions
find no support in the sources.
 Epilogue 

A really different situation is found among the Ethiopian Orthodox, dealt

with here by Steven Kaplan, though even here we find that some developments
and processes are similar to those in the other communities discussed in this
volume. It appears that in the case of the Ethiopians we should probably
speak of a national identity from a relatively early period. Ethiopia had not
been conquered in the seventh century by the Arabs, which meant that the
Ethiopian Christians were not reduced to a minority like the Syriac or Coptic
Orthodox. The Christians were the ruling elite of the state and the carriers of its
traditions. For them, certainly in the period after  which Kaplan discusses,
sovereignty, territory, and communal identity coincided. In Ethiopian history,
it makes sense to speak of ethnic communities only when referring to groups
such as the Amhara, Tigreans, and Oromo.
Kaplan explains that in Ethiopia, Christianity was accepted first by the
Emperor and his court in the fourth century. Only in the sixth was the Ethiopi-
an Kingdom of Aksum transformed from a kingdom with a Christian ruler to a
Christian kingdom. The emperors of that period also embarked on campaigns
to spread Christianity by destroying idols, pagan temples, and synagogues, and
building churches. The national legend, the Kebra Nagast, may date back to
this time. It introduced a major metaphor for prestige and legitimacy: that
of Israelite descent. For centuries Ethiopian rulers and their competitors have
claimed descent from Solomon or another biblical figure.
As the Metropolitan of Ethiopia was always an Egyptian monk, selected
by the Patriarch of Alexandria, he was unfamiliar with the language and cir-
cumstances in Ethiopia. Therefore the Emperor could become the de facto
leader of the Church. However, Kaplan argues, local monastic clergy did play
a major role in the formation of ethnic identities: when between the mid-
thirteenth and mid-fifteenth century the Empire expanded and subdued previ-
ously autonomous regions, monastic movements came into being for instance
in Tigray province, and formed the heart of the anti-royal resistance. Though
most of these movements were eventually reconciled with the Church, the same
regional-ethnic divisions reappeared after the Muslim conquest and subsequent
Portuguese ‘rescue’ of the country in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
The Portuguese left it with a legacy of Christological controversies, from which
the Ethiopians had been spared until then. Here Christology actually started
to function as a tool for asserting independence.
Finally, Richard Price discusses the nature of the identity of the Chal-
cedonians. Though its novum, its Christological formulae of ‘in two natures’
and ‘one person and one hypostasis’ formed stumbling blocks to Miaphysites
and Dyophysites alike, the first generations of Chalcedonian bishops actually
 Bas ter Haar Romeny

played down the significance of the council. Price argues that the identity of
the Byzantine Church was characterized by a Nicene fundamentalism. There
was no enthusiasm for new formulations of the faith. Chalcedon was chiefly
remembered because of its condemnation of Eutyches and Nestorius. A dif-
ferent attitude first appears in the letters of Pope Leo the Great, but he would
seem to have been concerned mainly with the rise of Miaphysite influence in
the east, and does not refer to the ‘two natures’ formula. The same holds true for
the powerful support for Chalcedon that arose in the monasteries of Palestine.
Price explains that it was only in the religious policy of Justin I and Justin-
ian I that Chalcedon really became a cornerstone of religious identity. Jus-
tinian’s position has given rise to doubts, as he was also concerned not to
estrange the Miaphysites. He wanted to remain their emperor as well. Price
argues, however, that his theological writings leave no doubt as to his posi-
tion. He took doctrinal issues very seriously and was convinced of the truth
of the Chalcedonian Christological formulae. It is here that we first find a
truly Chalcedonian identity. Though this became the Church’s official doc-
trine, Price stresses that it never became part of the popular communal identity
of the members of the Byzantine Church. If anything this identity remained
Nicene—at least until the victory over Iconoclasm became a new focal point.
He therefore concludes that Chalcedon was in a way more important to the
Miaphysites, who formed their identity in opposition to it, than it was for the
actual Chalcedonians.

In short, we think it has been made plausible that the Coptic and Syriac Ortho-
dox as well as the East Syrians developed from a religious association to an
ethnic community in the period before . The situation for the Armeni-
ans is more complicated, as it concerns the continuous existence of an entity
called Armenia for more than two thousand and five hundred years. Armenian
identity did undergo a transformation, however, and passed through a phase
in which religion became the decisive element. There is no doubt that the loss
of independence functioned as a catalyst in this process. What could have hap-
pened if the Armenian state had continued to exist, is shown by the Ethiopian
example, where we can probably speak of a nation at a very early stage. In inten-
sive campaigns, Christianity was spread in this country as the state’s ideology.
The only possible examples of a specific religious doctrine actually being used to
assert independence come from the ethnic communities under Ethiopian rule,
which first had their monastic independence movements, later chose their own
Christology, and in recent times have shown themselves to be more susceptible
to foreign missions than to that of the Ethiopian Church.
 Epilogue 

Finally, one should ask whether the Christian ethnic communities in the
Middle East also became the basis for nations. The success story in this respect
is that of the Armenians. The former Soviet Republic of Armenia gained
independence in . It is a nation state which recognizes the exclusive
historical mission of the Armenian Apostolic Church as a national church.
In the case of the East and West Syrians, we do see nationalist aspirations.
The changes in Iraq actually fed short-time hopes for a small autonomous
Christian zone in the northern part of the country, in the Nineveh plains.
Most members of these churches in the diaspora realize, however, that the
chances of gaining any sort of autonomy in the Middle East are extremely slim.
Transnational ties remain strong, however, and it is evident that the internet
plays a very important role. It actually offers these communities a virtual
territory. In the case of the Copts, the inclusivist Egyptian nationalist discourse
of Pharaonism is on the wane, but especially in the diaspora and on the internet
one encounters other forms of nationalist discourse, including the exclusivist
anti-Arab Coptic nationalism that has always attracted a small minority of
Egyptian Christians. The ethnic tensions in Ethiopia have eventually led to
the independence of Eritrea and of the Eritrean Orthodox Church ().
Members of the Byzantine Orthodox Church in the Middle East would not
seem to have developed into an ethnic community at an early stage. However,
together with some members of the other churches, they did contribute to the
development of Arab nationalism in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
The well-known dictum ‘Every person who speaks Arabic is an Arab’ enabled
an inclusivist nationalist discourse which was meant to transcend religious
differences and to give Christians a place as allies of the Muslims in the Middle
East. Arguments supporting the idea that ‘Arab’ does not have to be equated
with ‘Muslim’ could be found in late antique history—the existence of Arab
tribes that converted to Christianity before the arrival of Islam—, as well as
in more recent times—the role of Christians in the revival of Arab culture.
Though this discourse certainly had success in intellectual circles, and even
influenced the state ideologies of a number of Middle Eastern countries, to
many Arabs being Arab still means being Muslim. The rise of fundamentalist
Islamic groups also poses a serious threat to the inclusivist ideal, and is one of
the reasons for Arab Christians to emigrate to the west.
 General Index
Aaron, 
Aba, Archdeacon of Seleucia, 
Abbasid Empire, , , , 
#Abdisho# of Nisibis, 
Catalogue, 
Abgar, King of Edessa, , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , 
Abgar VIII, King of Edessa, 
Abgar Legend, , , , , ,
, , , 
Abgar Ukkama, King of Edessa, 
Abgarids, , , , 
Abraham, biblical patriarch, , , ,

Abraham I, catholicos, 
Abraham of Bet Maday, 
Abraham of Bet Rabban, 
Abraham of Kashkar, 
Abraham of Nisibis, 
Absalom, 
Acacius of Constantinople, 
Achaemenids, 
Acts of Mar Mari, , 
Acts of the Edessan martyrs, 
Acts of Thomas, 
Adam, , , , , , 
Addai, 
Adiabene, , 
Aedesius of Tyre, 
Agapetus I, pope, , 
Agathangelos, –
History of the Armenians, 
Agaw, 
Agenor, King of Tyre, 
Ahiqar the Wise, history of –, 
Ahmad b. Ibrahim al-Ghazi (Gragn), ,

Akakios, catholicos, 
Aksum, , –, 
Akylas, martyr, , 
Albanians, Caucasian, 
Alexander the Great, –, , ,
, 
Alexandria, , , , , ,

Alexios II Megas Komnenos, –
Alexios III Megas Komnenos, ,
, , , , , , ,

Amhara, , , , , 
Amida, 
#Amr ibn al-#As, 
Anania Narekac#i
Root of Faith, 
Anastasia Pharmakolytria, saint, 
Anastasia Saramalyna, , 
Anastasius, emperor, , , 
Andreas Livadenos, 
Andronikos I Gidon, , 
Anonymous Commentary (Ms. Diyarbakır
), , , 
Anonymous or Khuzistan Chronicle, ,
, 
Anthimus, Bishop of Trebizond, ,
, 
Anthony of Tagrit, 
Antioch, , , , , , ,
, , and see School of –
Apamea, , 
Aphrahat, , 
Aphthartodocetae, 
Apollinarius of Laodicaea, , 
Apostolic Constitutions, 
Ara the Beautiful, king, 
Arab nationalism, 
 General Index

Arabic language, , , , , , Assyrian Empire, , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , 
, –, , , , , Assyrians, , , , , , ,
, , , ,  
Arabization, , ,  Aštišat, 
Arabs, , , , , , , , , , Athanasius of Alexandria, , , ,
, , , , , , , 
, , , , , , , Commentary on the Psalms, 
, , , , , ,  Athens, 
Aram, , , , , , , , , Atur, 
 Audeth family, 
Aramaic language, , , , , , , Augustine of Hippo, 
, –, , , , , Augustus, emperor, 
, , , ,  Avarayr, 
Aramean kingdoms, , , –, Awan, 
 Ayyubid Empire, 
Arameans, , , , , , , Azariah, son of High Priest, 
–, 
Arcadius, emperor,  Babai the Great, –, –, ,
Arianism, , ,  , , 
Ariazate, daughter of Tigran,  Life of George, , , –,
Aristakēs,  , , 
Aristotle,  On the Union, , 
Arius,  Babylon, , 
Armenia, , –, , , , Babylonia, 
 Bagaran, 
Armenian alphabet, , , ,  Bagawan, 
Armenian Apostolic Church, , , , Bagayaŕič#, 
, –,  Baghdad, , , , 
Armenian language, , –, , Bagrewand, 
–, , , , ,  Bahdeidat, , , 
Armenians, xiii, xv, , , , , , , Balad, 
, , , , , , , , Ballı Kilise, Soğanlı, 
, , , –, –, Bar Ma#dani, 
, , , , ,  Barhadbshabba #Arbaya, Bishop of
Arpachshad,  Halwan, , , , , –
Aršak, king of Armenia,  , 
Arsamosata,  Histories of the Holy Fathers, ,
Artašat,  
Artawazd II,  Barhebraeus, Gregory, , , , , ,
Artaxerxes II,  , , , , , , , ,
Artewan V, Parthian king,  –, , , , , ,
Arzn on the Tigris,  
Asinou, see Church of the Panagia Book of the Ascension of the Spirit, 
Phorbiotissa, – Book of the Dove, 
Assur,  Candelabrum of the Sanctuary, 
 General Index 

Civil Chronicle,  Ps. , 

Nomocanon,  Ps. :, 
On the Incarnation,  Ps. :, 
Shorter Treatise on the Human Soul, Ps. :, 
 Ps. , 
Treatise on the Human Soul,  Ps. :–, 
Baršamin,  Ps. , , 
Barsaumo,
. brother of Barhebraeus,  Ps. , 
Basil I, emperor, ,  Ps. :, 
Basil of Caesarea, , , ,  Ps. :, 
Basil of Seleucia,  Ps. :, 
Basiliscus, usurper,  Ps. , 
Behnam, saint, , , and see Monastery Ps. , 
of Mar – Ps. , 
Benjamin, Patriarch of Alexandria,  Ps. :, 
Beroea,  Ps. :, 
Bessarion,  Ps. :, 
Bet Batin,  Ecclesiastes, 
Bet Lapat,  Matthew, 
Bet Mar Sila,  Matt. :, 
Beta Israel (Falasha), , , , Matt. :–, 
 Matt. :–, , 
Bibi family,  Mark, 
Bible Mark :–, 
Genesis,  Mark :, 
Gen. :,  Luke, 
Gen. ,  Luke , 
Gen. :–,  Luke :–, 
Gen. ,  Luke :–, 
 Kings :,  Luke :, 
Job,  John :–, 
Psalms, , –, –, , , John :, 
, , , , , , , , John :, 
 Acts :, 
Ps. :,  Acts :, 
Ps. :,  Acts :–, 
Ps. ,   Corinthians, 
Ps. :,   Cor. :–, 
Ps. :–,   Cor. :–, 
Ps. ,   Cor. :–, , 
Ps. :,   Cor. :–, 
Ps. :,   Cor. :, 
Ps. :,   Cor. :, 
Ps. :,   Cor. :, 
Ps. , ,  Heb. :, 
Ps. :,  Heb. :–, 
 General Index
Heb. :, 
Heb. :, 
 Pet. :, 
Buzandaran Patmut#iwnk#, , , ,

Byzantine Orthodox Church, xv, , ,
–, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , –, , , ,
, 
Caesarea in Cappadocia, , 
Caiaphas, 
Cairo, , 
Callinicum, , 
Cappella Palatina, Palermo, 
Catena Severi, see Commentary of the
Monk Severus
Chalcedon, see Council of –
Chalcedonians, , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , –,
–, –, , , ,
, , , , , , ,
–, –, –, ,
–
Chaldean Empire, , , , –,

Chaldeans, , , 
Christology, xiv, , –, , , ,
, , , , , , –,
–, , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , 
Christopher of Mitylene, , 
Chronicle of Edessa, , , 
Chronicle of Siirt, , , , 
Chronicle of Zuqnin, , , 
Chronicle to the Year , , , ,
, , , , , 
Church of Agia Trias, Agia Trias, 
Church of Hagia Sophia, Kiev, 
Church of Hagia Sophia, Ohrid, 
Church of Hagia Sophia, Trebizond, 
Church of Mar Ahudemmeh, Mosul, ,

Church of Mar Giworgis, Qaraqosh, 
Church of Mar Sarkis, Qara, 
Church of Mar Tadros, Bahdeidat, see –
of St Theodore
Church of S. Bartolomeo degli Armeni,
Genoa, 
Church of Sayyidat al-Rih, Enfe, 
Church of St Anthony, Kellia, 
Church of St Christina, Askas, 
Church of St George, Ano Viannos, 
Church of St George, Artos, 
Church of St George, Old Cairo, 
Church of St George, Rashkida, 
Church of St Herakleidios, Kalopanagio-
tis, 
Church of St James, Qara, 
Church of St John, Çavuşin, 
Church of St John the Baptist, Güllü
Dere, 
Church of St Mamas, Louvaras, 
Church of St Mark, Monastery of St
Makarios, 
Church of St Mavre, Kilani, 
Church of St Menas, Cairo, , 
Church of St Mercurius, Old Cairo, 
Church of St Nicholas, Galataria, 
Church of St Saba, Eddé al-Batrun, ,

Church of St Sozomenos, Galata, 
Church of St Theodore, Bahdeidat, ,
, , , 
Church of Sts Sergius and Bacchus,
Kaftun, 
Church of the Archangel, Pedoulas, 
Church of the Archangel-Theotokos,
Galata, 
Church of the Holy Cross, Agia Eirene,

Church of the Holy Cross, Paleomylos,

Church of the East, , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, –, –, , ,
, , , , , , 
Church of the Mother of God,
Kaminaria, 
 General Index
Church of the Panagia, Roustika, 
Church of the Panagia Phorbiotissa,
Asinou, , , , , –,
, , –, 
Church of the Panagia tou Arakos,
Lagoudera, , , 
Church of the Panagia, Moutoullas,
–, –, , 
Church of the Saviour, Megara, , 
Church of the Saviour, Nereditsa, 
Church of the Transfiguration of the
Saviour, Palaichori, 
Church of the Virgin, Deir al-Baramūs,

Church of the Virgin, Samari, 
Cilicia, 
Cilicus, 
Cleopatra of Pontus, queen, 
Codex Encyclius, –, 
Codex Theodosianus, 
Collection of Simeon, –, 
Commentary of the Monk Severus, , ,
, , 
Constantina (Tella d-Mawzelet), 
Constantine VII Porphyrogenitos, 
Constantine Loukites, 
Constantine Manasses
Chronicles, 
Constantine of Laodicea, 
Constantine the Great, , –, ,
, , , , , 
Constantinople, , , , , ,
, , , , , , –
, , , , and see Council
of –
Constantius II, emperor, , 
Coptic language, , , , , 
Coptic nationalism, , , , ,

Coptic Orthodox Church, , , ,
, , , , , , ,

Copts, xiii, xv, , , , –, , ,
, , , , , , ,
–, , –
Corinth, 

Council of Bet Lapat, 
Council of Chalcedon, xiv, , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
, , –, , 
Council of Constantinople, First, , ,
, 
Council of Constantinople, Second, –
, , , , –, ,
, , , , –, ,

Council of Constantinople, Third, 
Council of Ephesus, First, , , ,
, , , , , 
Council of Ephesus, so-called Robber
Council, 
Council of Narbonne, 
Council of Nicaea, First, , –,
, , , 
Council of Nicaea, Second, 
Councils of Dvin, –
Crete, 
Crusaders, , , , , , , –,
, , , , , , ,
, , , 
Ctesiphon, , 
Cushitic language, 
Cyprus, –, –, , ,
, , , , , , 
Cyril of Alexandria, , , , , ,
, , , , –
Cyril of Scythopolis, , 
Vita Sabae, 
Cyrrhus, , 
Cyrus, Patriarch of Alexandria, , 
Cyrus the Great, , , 
Dabra Libanos, , 
Dadisho#, abbot, 
Dadisho# Qatraya
On Solitude, 
Damascus, , 
Daniel, bishop, 
Daniel, prophet, 
Daniel ibn Khat.tāb,
. 
Daniel of Salah, , –, –, ,
, , 
 General Index
Great Commentary on the Psalms, ,
, , –, 
Darius, King of Persia, , 
David, biblical king, , , , , ,
, , 
David Puniqoyo, 
Deir, see also Monastery
Deir al-Baramūs, , 
Deir al-Surian, , , , , 
Deir Mar Musa, 
Demetrios, warrior saint, , ,

dhimmah, , , , 
diaspora, xv, , , –, , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , 
Didache, 
Didascalia Apostolorum, , –
Diocles, philosopher, 
Diocletian, emperor, , 
Diodore of Tarsus, , 
Dionysius II, patriarch, 
Dionysius VII, patriarch, 
Dionysius bar Salibi, , , , , ,
, , –, , 
Against the Arabs, , , 
Gospel Commentary, 
Ktōbō d-durrōšē, 
Dionysius of Tel Mahre, –, , ,
–, –, , , , ,
, , , 
Dioscorus, Patriarch of Alexandria, 
Dium, 
Diyarbakır Commentary, 
Doctrina Addai, , , 
Doliche, 
Donatists, 
Duomo, Monreale, 
Dura Europos, , 
Dvin, 
Dyophysitism, , , , , , ,
, , , , , ,
–, , , , ,
–, , , , , ,

Dyotheletism, 
East Syrians, xiii, xv, , , , , ,
, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , –, –
, , –, , , ,
–, , , , , ,

ecumenism, 
Edessa, , , , , , , , ,
–, , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , and see School of –
Egypt, , , , , , , ,
, –, , , , ,
–, , , , , ,
, , 
Egyptian nationalism, , , , ,
, , 
Egyptianism, see Pharaonism
Egyptians, , , , , , ,
–, , , , , 
Egyptology, , 
Ełišē, 
History of Vardan and the Armenian
War, 
Elisha bar Quzbaye, 
Enschede, 
Ephraem of Antioch, patriarch, , ,

Ephrem the Syrian, , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , –
, , 
Commentary on Genesis, 
Commentary on the Diatessaron, 
Epic Histories, see Buzandaran Pat-
mut #iwnk#
Eritrea, , 
Eritrean Orthodox Church, 
Eruandakert, 
Estifanos, Abba, 
Estrangela, 
Ethiopia, , –, –
Ethiopian language, 
Ethiopian Orthodox Church, , , ,
–, 
Ethiopians, xiii, xv, , , –, 
 General Index 

ethnicity, xiv, xv, , –, , , , , Garshuni, 
, , –, , , , –, George, saint, , , , , 
–, , , , , , , George I, catholicos, 
–, , , , , , Georgia, 
, , , , , , , Georgians, , 
, , , , , –, Germanic tribes, –
, , – al-Ghazālı̄, Abū Hāmid,
. , 
ethnicization, –, , ,  Gindarus, 
ethnogenesis, –, , , , , , Giwargi I, patriarch, , 
 Gog and Magog, 
Eunomius,  Gondar, 
Euphemius, patriarch,  Gragn, Ahmad, , 
Euripides,  Gregory I of Prat, catholicos, , ,
Eusebius of Caesarea, , , , , 
, , ,  Gregory of Kashkar, , , ,
Chronicle, ,  –
Ecclesiastical History, , ,  Gregory of Nazianzus, 
Eutyches, , , , , , , Gregory of Nyssa, , , 
 De hominis opificio, 
Evagrius Ponticus, ,  Gregory the Illuminator, saint, , ,
Evagrius Scholasticus, , ,  , 
Ecclesiastical History,  Gurage, 
Eve, 
Evgenios of Trebizond, , , , Hārūn al-Rashı̄d, 
–, , , ,  Hadbeshabba #Arbaya, Bishop of Halwan,
Ewostatewos, holy man,  
Ezana, King of Aksum, – Hagar, wife of Abraham, 
Eznik of Kołb Ham, son of Noah, 
Against the Sects,  Hannan, king’s messenger, 
Ezr, catholicos,  Harran, 
Hatra, , 
Facundus of Hermiane, ,  Hayk, , , , 
Fakhr al-Dı̄n al-Rāzı̄,  hēgemonikon, 
Falasha, see Beta Israel Helena, empress, , , , 
Famagusta, ,  Henana of Adiabene, , , –,
Ferrandus of Carthage, deacon, ,  –, , , 
Flavius Josephus,  Commentary on Job, , 
Franks, , , , , , , , Commentary on Luke, 
 Commentary on Hebrews, 
Frumentius, ,  Commentary on the Faith, , 
fundamentalism, Islamic,  Henanisho# I, catholicos, , 
fundamentalism, Nicene, , ,  Hengelo, 
Heracles, 
Gabra Masqal, King of Aksum,  Heraclius, emperor, , 
Gabriel bar Rufina,  Herod, king, 
Gabriel of Sinjar,  Herodotus, , , 
 General Index

Hierapolis, ,  Islam, , , , , , , , , ,
hieroglyphic script,  , , , , , –,
Himyar,  , , , , , , ,
Hippolytus of Rome,  , –, , –, ,
History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria, 
, ,  Islamic art, , –, 
Hnana,
. see Henana Islamic law, , , , 
Hnanisho#,
. see Henanisho# Islamization, , 
Hormisdas, pope Israelite descent, , , , , 
Libellus, 
Huns,  Jacob (Severus) bar Shakko, –,
Hypatius of Ephesus,  , , , , 
Book of Dialogues, 
Ibas of Edessa, , , , , , Book of Treasures, , , 
 Jacob Baradaeus, , , , , , 
Ibn Khallikān,  Jacob of Edessa, –, , , , ,
Ibn al-Mahrūma,
.  , , –, , , , –,
Notes,  , , 
Ignatius of Melitene, ,  Chronicle, , 
Chronicle, ,  Commentary on the Octateuch, , 
imperial ideology, ,  Scholia, 
internet, , ,  Jacob of Nisibis, 
Iran, , , –, , , , Jacob of Serug, , , 
,  James the Just, 
Iraq, , , , , , , , Japheth, son of Noah, , 
, , , ,  Jazira, 
Irene of Moutoullas,  Jbeil, 
Isaac, biblical patriarch, , , , Jephthah, 
– Jerusalem, , , 
Isaiah of Tahal,  Jesus, , , , , , 
Isfahan,  Jews, , , , , , , , ,
Ishmael, son of Abraham,  , , , , 
Isho# bar Nun,  Jezebel, 
Isho#bokt, , , ,  John, abbot, –, 
Maktbānutā d- #al Dinē, , ,  John, Bishop of Nikiu, 
Isho#dad of Merv, , , ,  Chronicle, , 
Commentary on Genesis,  John, Prester, 
Commentary on Job, – John bar Abgare, 
Commentary on Hebrews, , , John bar Penkaye, , 
 Ktābā d-rēš mellē, , 
Isho#yahb I of Arzun, catholicos, , John Chrysostom, , , , , ,
,  –, –, , , ,
Isho#yahb II of Gedala, catholicos, , 
 In Matthaeum homiliae, 
Isho#yahb III of Adiabene, catholicos, John of Damascus, , , , ,
,  , 
 General Index 

John of Ephesus, –, , , , , Lagoudera, see Church of the Panagia tou
, , , , , , ,  Arakos, –
Lives of the Eastern Saints, , , , Lalibela, 
,  Łazar P#arpec#i, 
Ecclesiastical History, , , ,  History of the Armenians, 
John of Lazaropoulos, Bishop of Lazarus, maphrian, 
Trebizond, , , ,  Leo I, emperor, , 
Logos, ,  Leo the Great, pope, , , , ,
John of Litarba, ,  
John of Moutoullas,  Leontius Scholasticus, 
John of Odzun, , , , , , De sectis, 
 Libanius of Antioch, , 
Kanonagirk # Hayoc#,  Liber Graduum, , 
John of Tella, ,  Life of Bar #Idta, 
John Philoponus, , ,  Life of Mar Aba, , 
Four Tmêmata against Chalcedon,  Life of Narsai the bar qyāmā, 
John the Baptist,  London Collection, , –
John-Alexander, tsar,  Lusignans, , , 
Joktan, son of Eber,  Luwians, 
Joseph Du Nuwas, King of Himyar, 
Judaism, , , ,  Macedonius, patriarch, 
Julian of Halicarnassus, , , ,  Madras, 
Julianists, , , ,  Madrid, 
Julius I, pope,  Maipherqat, 
Julius Caesar,  Makeda, Queen of Sheba, 
Justin I, emperor, , ,  Malalas, 
Justinian I, emperor, , , , , , Chronicle, 
, , , , –, , , Mamluks, , , 
, , –, ,  Mandylion, , , , , 
On the Orthodox Faith, , ,  maniera cypria, , , 
Justinianic Constitution,  maniera tripolitana, , 
Manuel I Komnenos, 
Kaiserkritik, , ,  manus Dei, 
Kaleb, King of Aksum, ,  manuscript
Kallinikos,  BL Add. , , and see London
Kamāl al-Dı̄n ibn Yūnus, ,  Collection
Kanidios, martyr, ,  BL Add. , 
Kaphra d-Barta, ,  BL Add. , 
Kebra Nagast, –,  BL Add. , 
Kepharnabu,  BL Add. , 
Khusrau II, ,  Damascus, Syr. Orth. Patr. ., 
Kirakos Ganjakec#i,  Diyarbakır , , , , 
Komnenoi, , , , , , , Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, vitr.
and see individual entries -, 
Koriwn Milan, Ambrosiana E  sup., 
Life of Maštoc #,  Vat. sir. , , 
 General Index
Vat. sir. , 
Vat. slav. , 
Venice, Hellenic Institute, Cod. gr. ,

Manzakert, 
Mar Aba I, catholicos, 
Mar Aba II of Kashkar, catholicos, 
Mar Mari, 
Mar#ash, 
Marcian, emperor, , , 
Mardin, , 
Maremmeh, catholicos, 
Margarites, 
Mari the Persian, , 
Maronites, , , , , , , ,
, , , 
Mary, mother of Jesus, , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , , , 
Matzouka, , 
Maurice, emperor, 
Maximus of Antioch, 
Melchizedek, 
Melitene, , , , , 
Melkites (historic), see Byzantine
Orthodox
Menas, Patriarch of Constantinople, ,

Menelik, son of Solomon and Makeda,
, 
Menua, Urartean king, 
Merkourios, warrior saint, 
Mesrop Maštoc#, 
Messiah, 
Miaphysitism, passim
Michael Megas Komnenos, 
Michael the Doctor, 
Michael the Syrian, , , –, , ,
, , , , –, , , ,
, , –, , , ,
, , , , , 
Chronicle, , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , 
Mithridates II, King of Parthia, 
Monastery, see also Deir
Monastery of Dabra Asbo, 
Monastery of Dabra Bizan, 
Monastery of Izla, Nisibis, , , ,

Monastery of Kaftun, 
Monastery of Mar Behnam, Mosul, ,
, 
Monastery of Mar Mattai, Mosul, , 
Monastery of Mor Afrem, Glanerbrug, 
Monastery of Mor Bassus, 
Monastery of Mor Eusebios, 
Monastery of Qannubin, 
Monastery of St Anthony, Red Sea, ,
, 
Monastery of St Catherine, Mount Sinai,
, , , , , 
Monastery of St John, Nicosia, 
Monastery of St Makarios (Abu Makar),
, , 
Monastery of the Romans, see Deir al-
Baramūs
Monastery of the Syrians, see Deir al-
Surian
Monastery of the Theotokos of Soumela,

monasticism, , , , , , ,
, , , , –, ,
, , 
Mongol Empire, 
Mongols, , , , , 
Monotheletism, , , 
Montaillou, 
Moses, , , , , –,

Moses bar Kepa, , , 
Commentary on the Hexaemeron, 
Moses of Aghel, 
Mosul, , , , , , , ,
, , , 
Moutoullas, see Church of the Panagia, –
Movsēs II, catholicos, 
Movsēs Xorenac#i, , , , ,
, 
History of the Armenians, –, 
Muhammad, , , 
multiculturalism, , –, 
 General Index 

Najran,  Palestine, , , , , , 

Nanē, ,  Parthian Empire, , , –, ,
Narratio de rebus Armeniae, ,  
Narsai, , , , , ,  Parthian language, , , , 
On Job,  Parthians, , , , , , ,
On the Mysteries,  , , 
Nāsir
. al-Din al-Tūsı̄,
.  Paschasinus of Lilybaeum, 
nation, , , , , ,  Paul, apostle, , , 
nation state, , , , , , , , Paul of Nisibis, , 
 Peleg, son of Eber, 
national identity, , , , , , , Pella, 
, , ,  Pentecostals, –
nationalism, xiii, xvi, , , , –, Persian Empire, , , , , , ,
, , –, , , , , , , , , , , , ,
, , , , –, , , , , –
, , , –, , , Persian language, , , 
 Persians, , , , , , ,
Nebuchadnezzar,  , , 
neo-Chalcedonians, , , , , Pesher Habakkuk, 
 Peshitta, , , , , , , ,
Nerezi,  
Nero, emperor,  Peter, apostle, 
Nersēs III, catholicos,  Peter of Apamea, 
Nersēs Lambronac#i,  Phantasiasts, , , 
Nersēs Šnorhali,  Pharaonism, , –, –,
Nessana,  , 
Nestorianism,  Philip, apostle, 
Nestorius, , , , , , Philip of Macedon, 
–, , , , ,  Philo of Alexandria, , 
Book of Herakleides,  Philoxenian version, , 
Nicene Creed, , , , , , Philoxenus of Mabbug, , , , ,
 , 
Nikephoros Ouranos,  Treatise to the monks of Senun, , 
Taktikon,  Memre against Habbib, 
Nikephoros Phokas, emperor,  Photius of Tyre, 
Nimrod, , , ,  Physiologus, 
Nine Saints,  Pilate, Pontius, , 
Nineveh plains,  Platonists, 
Nisibis, , , , , , , , Polycarpus, translator, 
, , , , and see School Polychronius of Apamea, 
of – Portugal, , 
Noah, , , ,  Prester John, 
Procopius of Caesarea, , 
orientalism, , ,  Anecdota, 
Origen, ,  History of the Wars, 
Oromo, , ,  Prohaeresius from Cucusus, 
 General Index

propaganda, , , , , , , , Sahdona, , , 
, , , , , –, Book of Perfection, 
,  Sanatruk, King of Armenia, 
Proterius, Patriarch of Alexandria,  Sassanid Empire, , , , , ,
Protestantism, , ,  , , , , , , ,
Pseudo-Joshua the Stylite,  , , , , –, ,
Pseudo-Methodius 
Apocalypse,  Saul, biblical king, , 
Pseudo-Zachariah of Mitylene, –, Saydnaya, 
, , , ,  School of Alexandria, 
Chronicle, ,  School of Antioch, , , , , , ,
Ecclesiastical histories,  , , , , , , ,

Qara,  School of Diodore, 
Qiyore,  School of Edessa, , , 
qnōmā, –, –, , , School of Nisibis, , –, ,
, , , ,  –, –, , 
Qumran,  School of the Persians, see School of
Quryaqos, patriarch,  Edessa
Scythians, 
Rabbula of Edessa,  Sebasteia, 
Resh#aina, ,  Seleucid era, , , , , , 
Revelations and Testimonies about Our Seleucus I Nicator, , , 
Lord’s Dispensation,  Seljuks, , 
Roger II, King of Sicily,  Semiramis, 
Romance of Alexander the Great, , , Septuagint, 
,  Serto, 
Romanesque style,  Severians, , 
Romanos, Phantasiast bishop,  Severus bar Shakko, see Jacob –
Romanos III Argyros, emperor,  Severus of Antioch, , , , , ,
Roman Catholic Church, , , , , , , , 
–,  Homilies, 
Roman Empire, , –, , , , , Severus of Edessa, 
, , , , , , , , , Severus of Nisibis, 
, , , , , , , Severus the Monk, , , and see
, , , , , , , Commentary of –
,  Shahdost, Bishop of Tirhan, 
Roman law, , , , ,  Shapur II, King of Persia, 
Romans, , ,  Shapur III, King of Persia, 
Rome, , , , , , , , Shawa province, , , 
–, – Shazana, brother of Ezana, 
Rufinus,  Sheba, Queen of –, , , 
Shem, son of Noah, , 
Sabrisho# I, catholicos, , , , Shenoute, 
, ,  Shihab ed-Din Ahmad. bin #Abd al-Qādir,
Sahak, catholicos,  
 General Index
Sicily, 
Simeon of Rewardashir, 
Simeon the Stylite, 
Skylitzes, John, 
Slavonics, 
Smbat Bagratuni, Persian governor, 
Solomon, biblical king, , , 
Somali, , 
Soviet Republic of Armenia, 
Step#annos Siwnec#i, 
Stoics, 
Susenyos, Ethiopian emperor, 
Sylvester I, pope, 
symbolism, xiii, , –, , , , ,
, , , 
synods, see councils
Synodicon, East Syrian, , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, 
Synodicon, West Syrian, –, ,
, 
Syriac Orthodox Church, passim
Syriac Renaissance, , , , , 
Syriac language, xiii, xiv, , , –,
, , , , , , , , –,
, , –, –, , , ,
, , , –, , , ,
, , , , , , –
, , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , , , , ,

Syrian Catholic Church, , 
Syro-Hexapla, , 
Syrus, , 
Tacitus
Annales, 
Takrit, , , , , 
Targum, 
Tarkhu, weather god, 
Tatian, 
Oratio ad Graecos, 
Tavsan Adasi, 
Teaching of Addai, , , 
Tella d-Mawzelet, 

Thaddeus, apostle, , , 
Theodora, empress, wife of Justinian I,
, , –
Theodora Kantakouzene, empress, wife of
Alexios III, 
Theodore bar Koni, , , 
Liber Scholiorum, , 
Theodore of Mopsuestia, , , , ,
, , –, , , –
, –, , , , ,

Commentary on Job, 
Commentary on the Psalms, 
Commentary on Faith, 
On the Incarnation, –
Theodore Prodromos, 
Theodore Tyro and/or Stratelates, warrior
saint, , , 
Theodoret of Cyrrhus, , , ,
, , –
Life of Simeon the Stylite, 
Theodosios, also known as Thomas, 
Theodosius, monastic leader, 
Theodosius I, Patriarch of Alexandria,
, 
Theodosius the Great, emperor, 
Theophanes the Confessor, 
Three Chapters, , , , , ,
, 
Tiglath-Pileser I, Assyrian king, 
Tigran the Great, King of Armenia, ,
, 
Tigranokerta, 
Tigreans, , , , 
T#il, 
Timothy I, catholicos, , , 
Timothy Aelurus, 
Tiribazos, Armenian satrap, 
Tiridates, see Trdat III
Tirnovo, 
Tome of Leo, , 
Tora, , 
T#ordan, 
Traditionskern, , , , –
Trajan, emperor, 
transnationalism, , , 
 General Index

Trdat I, King of Armenia,  . ibn #Adı̄, , 

Yahyā
Trdat III (IV) the Great, King of Yahyā
. ibn Jarı̄r, 
Armenia, , ,  Book of the Guide, 
Trebizond, , –, –, , Yazdegerd I, , 
, –, ,  Yazdegerd III, 
Tripoli, ,  Yazdin, Sassanid civil servant, 
Troy,  Yerevan, 
Tsadqan,  Yeshu#, Rabban, , 
Tur #Abdin, xvi, ,  Yovhannēs Mayragomec#i, , 
Turks, , , ,  Yovhannēs of Bagaran, 
Yovhannēs Ojnec#i, see John of Odzun
Vałaršapat,  Yuhanna, Armenian artist, , 
Valens, emperor, 
Valerianos, martyr, ,  Zachariah of Mitylene, 
Vardan Mamikonean,  Ecclesiastical History, 
Vitalian, magister militum,  Zar"a Ya#eqob, , 
Vŕamšapuh, King of Armenia,  Zarehawan, 
Zarišat, 
Xač#ik I, Armenian catholicos,  Zeno, emperor, , 
Xenophon, , – Zion, 
Anabasis, – Zoroastrianism, , , , , ,
Xosrov, King of Armenia,  , , , , , , 
Z#ura the stylite, , 
 Index of Modern Authors

Abbeloos, Jean Baptiste, , , , Bacha, H., 

 Bacht, Heinrich, , 
Abbink, Jon, ,  Backus, Irena, 
#Abd al-Ması̄h,. Yassā,  Bacqué-Grammont, Jean-Louis, 
Abel, F.M.,  Bádenas de la Peña, Pedro, 
Abełyan, M.,  Bagnall, Roger S., , 
Abouna, Albert, ,  Bailey, Harald W., 
Abrahamian, Levon,  Bak, Janos M., 
Abramowski, Luise, , , , , Balicka-Witakowska, Ewa, 
, , ,  Barsoum, Ignatius Aphram I, , ,
Abramowski, Rudolf,  , 
Abulafia, David,  Barth, Fredrik, , 
Ačaŕyan, H.,  Basset, René, 
Acconcia Longo, Augusta,  Bauduin, Pierre, , 
Acis, G.,  Bauer, Adolf, 
Adams, J.N.,  Baumann, Gerd, , –
Aejmelaeus, Anneli,  Baumstark, Anton, 
Agusta-Boularot, Sandrine,  Beaman, Lori, 
Al-Azmeh, Aziz,  Beaucamp, Joëlle, 
Albani, Jenny,  Becker, Adam H., , , , , ,
Alberigo, Giuseppe,  , 
Albert, Micheline,  Becker, Howard Saul, 
Alexieva, Marguerite,  Bedjan, Paul, , , , , ,
Altheim, Franz,  , , –, , , 
Amar, Joseph P., , ,  Beihammer, Alexander D., 
Amerise, M.,  Bellinger, Alfred R., 
Amirav, Hagit,  Belting, Hans, , , 
Anderson, Benedict, xiii, , ,  Benedictus, Petrus, , 
Anderson, J.G.C.,  Benin, Stephen D., 
Angold, Michael,  Benzoni, C., 
Aregay, Merid Wolde,  Besha, Girma, 
Armstrong, John A., xiii, , ,  Beskow, Per, 
Assemani, Josephus Simonius, , Bettiolo, D., 
 Beyene, Yaqob, 
Atiya, Aziz S.,  Beyer, Peter, 
Atto, Naures, xvi Bezold, Carl, 
Aydin, H.,  Bittner, Maximilian, 
Black, Henry Campbell, 
 Index of Modern Authors

Blumenthal, David R.,  Carter, Barbara Lynn, –

Boeck, Elena,  Cereti, Carlo G., 
Böll, Verena,  Cerulli, Enrico, 
Bolman, Elizabeth, , ,  Chabot, Jean-Baptiste, –, , –
Bonanni, Anna,  , –, –, –, ,
Bonnet, Max,  , –, , , , ,
Borsch, Stuart J.,  , , , , , , ,
Bourdieu, Pierre,  , , , , , , ,
Bowman, Alan K.,  –, 
Boyd, William K.,  Chafetz, Janet Saltzman, 
Bradshaw, Paul F.,  Champollion, Jean-François, 
Brakmann, Heizgerd,  Charanis, Peter, 
Braun, Oskar, , ,  Charles, Robert Henry, 
Braun, Willi,  Chassoura, Olympia, 
Brière, Maurice,  Chediath, Geevarghese, 
Brincken, Anna-Dorothee von den,  Chrysos, Evangelos, 
Brinkerhoff, Jennifer M.,  Chryssavgis, John, 
Briquel-Chatonnet, Françoise, ,  Ciancaglini, C.A., 
Brock, Ann Graham,  Ciggaar, Krijnie, , , , 
Brock, Sebastian P., , , , , , , Clément, Jean-Marie, 
, , , , –, , Clementoni, Teresa, 
,  Cohen, Leonardo, 
Brockelmann, Carl,  Cohn Jr, Samuel K., 
Brooks, Ernest W., , , , , , , Colin, Gerard, 
, , , – Comaroff, Jean, 
Brown, Peter, , , , ,  Comaroff, John L., 
Brownlee, William H.,  Connolly, R. Hugh, , 
Browson, Carleton L.,  Conrad, Lawrence I., , , 
Brunner, Karl,  Considine, P., 
Bruns, Peter, ,  Constable, Giles, 
Bruzelius, Caroline,  Contini, Riccardo, 
Bryer, Anthony A.M., , , , Cook, Michael, 
 Coquin, R.-G., , 
Budge, Ernest A. Wallis, , , , Cornely, Rudolphus, 
 Coumert, Magali, 
Bultmann, Rudolf,  Cowe, Peter, , 
Burke, Peter, , ,  Cowley, Roger W., 
Burmester, O.H.E.,  Crummey, Donald, , 
Bury, J.B.,  Cubitt, Catherine, 
Cuffel, Alexandra, 
Cabrol, Cécile,  Cumont, Franz, 
Calderoni Masetti, Anna Rosa, 
Cameron, Averil M., , , , ,  Dabag, Mihran, 
Capasso, Mario,  Dagron, Gilbert, , , , 
Carr, Annemarie Weyl, xv, , , , Dalley, Stephanie, , 
, ,  Darrouzès, Jean, 
 Index of Modern Authors 

Davids, Adelbert,  Ellul, Jacques, , , , , , 
Davis, Raymond,  Epstein, Annabel J. Wharton, , 
Davis, Stephen J., ,  Erhart, Victoria, , 
De Smet, Daniel,  Eriksen, Thomas Hylland, 
Debié, Muriel, xiv, xv, , , , , Erkut, Gülden, 
, , ,  Esman, Milton Jacob, 
Décobert, Chr., ,  Espose é Hijos, José, 
Del Deo, Maria Rosaria,  Evans, Helen C., 
Deletant, Dennis,  Evans, James A.S., 
Demus, Otto,  Evans-Pritchard, Edward Evan, 
Deniz, Fuat, xvi, xvii Evetts, B., 
Derat, Marie-Laure, 
Detlev, Jasper,  Faiq, Naum, 
Devreesse, Robert, , , , ,  Fattal, Antoine, 
Dewing, Henry B., , ,  el-Feki, Moustafa, 
Diakonoff, Igor M.,  Ferrari, Aldo, , 
Diettrich, Gustav,  Ferrié, Jean-Noël, 
Dmitrievskii, Aleksej,  Fiey, Jean Maurice, , , , , ,
Dobschütz, Ernst von,  , 
Dodd, Erica Cruikshank, , , , Figueras, Pau, 
,  Filow, Bogdan Dimitrov, 
Dolabani, Philoxenos Yuhannon, ,  Finazzi, Rosa Bianca, , 
Dols, Michael W.,  Fishbane, Michael, 
Donaldson, James, ,  Folda, Jaroslav, 
Donham, Donald, ,  Foley, Michael W., 
Doran, Robert,  Follieri, Enrica, 
Douglas, Mary, , ,  Foss, Clive, , 
Dragas, George D.,  Fowden, Garth, 
Draguet, René, , ,  Fox, Robin Lane, 
Drettas, Georges,  Frend, William H.C., , , , 
Drijvers, Han J.W.,  Frerichs, Ernest S., 
Drijvers, Jan Willem, ,  Frishman, Judith, 
Duffy, John,  Frommel, Christoph Luitpold, 
Dufour Bozzo, Colette, 
Dujcev, Ivan,  Gabra, Gawdat, 
Durkheim, Émile, – Gaddis, Michael, , 
Dvornik, Francis,  Gaffre, Luis Albert, 
Gajewski, Alexandra, 
Eastmond, Antony, , , ,  Gallagher, Liam, 
Ebaugh, Helen Rose,  Gamkrelidze, Thomas V., 
Edbury, Peter,  Garitte, Gérard, 
Eddé, Anne-Marie,  Garnett, Jane, 
Edelby, Neophyte, ,  Garnsey, Peter, 
Edwards, M.J., ,  Garsoïan, Nina G., , , , –
Elderen, B. van,  , , , , , , ,
Elias, Norbert,  
 Index of Modern Authors

Gazeau, Véronique, ,  Haarer, Fiona K., 

Geary, Peter,  Habbi, Yousef, 
Geertz, Clifford, ,  Hable-Sellassie, Sergew, , , ,
Gellner, Ernest, xiii, , , ,  
Geoltrain, Pierre,  Hackel, Sergei, 
Gerber, Simon,  Hadjichristodoulou, Christodoulos,
Gero, S.,  
Getahun, Solomon Addis,  Hage, Wolfgang, , , 
Gibb, Camilla,  Haile, Getatchew, , , 
Gibbon, Edward, ,  Hainthaler, Theresia, 
Gibson, Margaret Dunlop, , , Halleux, André de, , , , ,
 
Gillett, Andrew,  Hamilton, Alastair, 
Ginkel, Jan J. van, xvi, , , , , , Hamilton, Bernard, 
, , , , ,  Hamilton, Frederick J., , , 
Giordano, Franco,  Hamilton, Janet, 
Gligorijeviæ-Maksimoviæ, Mirjana,  Hamilton, Sarah, 
Goetz, Hans-Werner,  Hannā, Milād, 
Goffart, Walter, ,  Harf-Lancner, Laurence, 
González Gálvez, Ángel,  Harrak, Amir, , , 
Goodman, Alan E., , , ,  Harries, Jill, , 
Gouillard, Jean,  Harris Cowper, Benjamin, 
Govers, Cora,  Harvey, Susan Ashbrook, , 
Graf, Georg, ,  Hayes-Healy, Stephanie, 
Graham, William C.,  Hayman, A. Peter, 
Grassi, Fausta,  Hazard, Harry W., 
Grazianskij, Michail V., –,  Heijer, Johannes den, 
Greatrex, Geoffrey,  Hein, Ewald, 
Greer, Rowan A.,  Hélou, Nada, 
Griffith, Sidney H., ,  Henein, Georges, 
Grigoriadou-Cabagnols, Hélène,  Henry, René, 
Grillmeier, Alois, , , , , , Hentschel, Gerd, 
, , ,  Hepner, Tricia Redeker, 
Grohmann, Adolf,  Herbert, Máire, 
Grottanelli, Cristiano,  Herrin, Judith, , 
Grün, Erich S.,  Hespel, R., , 
Grünberg, Karsten,  Hewsen, Robert H., , 
Grumel, Venance, ,  Hiatt, Alfred, 
Grypeou, Emmanouela,  Hiebert, Robert, 
Guidi, Ignazio, , , , , , Hill, Robert C., 
 Hobsbawm, Eric, , 
Guillaumont, Antoine, , , , Hoenerbach, W., 
 Hoffman, Eva R., 
Guinan, Michael D.,  Hofstee, Willem, xv, , , 
Gutiérrez, Gustavo,  Hoge, Dean R., 
Honigmann, Ernest, 
 Index of Modern Authors 

Horst, Pieter W. van der,  Kaplan, Steven, xv, , , , ,
Hourihane, Colum,  , 
Hovannisian, Richard G., , , , Kappler, Claire, 
, ,  Karaulashvili, Irma, , 
Hovsepian, Liana,  Karpp, Heinrich, 
Howard, George,  Kaufhold, Hubert, , , , ,
Hoyland, Robert,  , , 
Hroch, Miroslav,  Kaufman Shelemay, Kay, , 
Humfress, Caroline,  Kavrus-Hoffmann, Nadezhda, 
Hunt, Lucy-Anne, ,  Kawerau, Peter, 
Huntington, Samuel P.,  Kellen, Konrad, 
Huskinson, Janet,  Kennedy, Hugh, , , 
Hutchinson, John, , , , , , , Khoury, J., 
, ,  Khoury, Samaha, 
Hutter, I.,  Kihn, Heinrich, 
Hutter, Manfred,  Kim, Jung H., 
Kiraz, George A., , 
Ignatieff, Michael,  Kirkova, Tatiana E., 
Ilan, Nahem,  Kitchen, Robert, 
Imhaus, Brunehilde,  Kitzinger, Ernst, 
Immerzeel, Mat, xvi, –, , , Kleidt, Brigitte, 
, , , ,  Kleinbauer, Walter Eugene, 
Innemée, Karel C., , ,  Klingshirn, W.E., 
Ivanov, Vjačeslav V.,  Klugkist, Alex C., , , , , 
Kmosko, Michael, 
Jacoby, David,  Koch, Guntram, 
Jakovljević, Andrija,  Köse, A., 
James, Wendy, ,  Kofsky, Arieh, 
Janin, Raymond,  Kooper, Erik, , 
Janse, Mark,  Korobeinikov, Dimitri A., 
Janse, Wim, xvi Kovács, Imre, 
Jansma, Taeke,  Kraemer, Casper J., 
Janssens, Bart,  Krikorian, Mesrob K., 
Jeffery, Peter,  Kruisheer, Dirk, 
Jephcott, Edmund,  Kuhn, Magdalena, 
Jeudy, Adeline,  Kurasankis, M., 
Johnson, David W., 
Jolivet-Lévy, Catherine,  Labourt, J., , , , , , ,
Jones, A.H.M., xiv, , , , , 
 Laga, Carl, 
Jones, W.R.,  Lagacherie, Odile, 
Juergensmeyer, Mark,  Lagarde, Paul Anton de, , 
Jullien, Christelle,  Lamoreaux, John C., 
Jullien, Florence,  Lampe, G.W.H., 
Kaestli, Jean-Daniel,  Lampsides, O., 
Kalopissi-Verti, Sophia,  Lamy, Thomas Joseph, , , , 
 Index of Modern Authors

Lande, Aasulv,  Martin, J.P.P., 

Lang, U.M.,  Maspero, Gaston, 
Langlois, Victor,  Maspero, Jean, 
Lavenant, René, ,  Mathews, Thomas F., , 
Lazarev, Victor,  Mathisen, Ralph W., 
Lazarus, Ludwig,  McCall, Michal M., 
Le Roy Ladurie, Emmanuel,  McCutcheon, Russell Tracey, 
Lebon, Joseph,  McDonough, Scott J., 
Leeder, S.H.,  McLeod, Frederick G., 
Leipoldt, Johannes,  McNamara, Martin, 
Lenski, Gerhard E., ,  Meinardus, Otto F.A., , 
Leonard, Karen I.,  Melki, Joseph, 
Lerner, Jean,  Menze, Volker L., , , 
Leroy, Jules,  Merry, Sally Engle, 
Leventis, Panos,  Merta, Brigitte, 
Levine, Donald, ,  Merx, Adalbert, 
Libson, Gideon,  Meyendorff, John, 
Lichtheim, Miriam,  Meyer, Hugo, 
Liebeschuetz, Wolf,  Micheau, Françoise, , , 
Lilie, Ralph-Johannes,  Millar, Fergus, , , , , 
Lint, Theo M. van, xv, , , , , Miller, Timothy S., 
, , ,  Miller, William, 
Lipsius, Richard Adelbert,  Mingana, Alphonse, , , , ,
Little, Lester K.,  
Livadenos, Andreas,  Mirkovic, Alexander, 
Livingstone, Elizabeth A., ,  Mitchell, Stephen, , 
Loon, Gertrud J.M. van, ,  Moawad, Samuel, 
Lozachmeur, Hélène,  Modéran, Yves, , 
Lucchesi, Enzo,  Moeller, Charles, 
Lusini, Gianfrancesco,  Momigliano, Arnaldo, 
Monferrer-Sala, Juan Pedro, 
Maas, Michael, , , ,  Montemagno Ciseri, L., 
MacCoull, Leslie S.B., ,  Moorhead, John, 
MacDonald, A.A.,  Moorsel, Paul van, 
Macina, Robert, ,  Morony, Michael G., , , ,
MacKay, D. Bruce, ,  , , , , , , ,
Macomber, William Francis, , , 
,  Morris, Brian, 
Maggi, Mauro,  Morris, Rosemary, 
Mahé, Jean-Pierre, , , , , Morrocco, Laurence, 
, – Mouawad, Ray Jabre, 
Malosse, Pierre-Louis,  Mouriki, Doula, , , , , ,
Manafis, Konstantinos A.,  , , 
Mango, Cyril,  Mullett, Margaret, 
Mardirossian, Aram,  Munitiz, Joseph A., 
Marrissini, Paolo,  Munro-Hay, Stuart C., , , 
 Index of Modern Authors 

Murray, Robert, ,  Perikhanian, Anahit, 

Murre-van den Berg, Heleen L., , , Periwal, Sukumar, 
, ,  Petit, Paul, 
Pharr, Clyde, , 
Nallino, Carlo A.,  Philipp, Thomas, 
Nau, François, , , , ,  Picard, Christophe, 
Neitz, Mary Jo,  Pietri, Luce, 
Nelson, Robert S.,  Pigulevskaja, Nina V., 
Nesbitt, John,  Pino, Angel, 
Neusner, Jacob,  Pirot, Louis, , 
Neyrand, Louis,  Platt, Kristin, 
Nicolaïdès, Andreas,  Pohl, Walter, , , 
Nikolaou-Konnari, Angel,  Popkonstantinov, K., 
Nöldeke, Theodor,  Potthoff, Wilfried, 
Noort, Ed,  Price, Richard M., xv, , , , ,
Nordiguian, Lévon, , ,  
Norris, Richard A., , , ,  Priebisch, R., 
Nosnitsin, Denis,  Pritsak, Omeljan, 
Provasi, Elio, 
O’Keefe, J.G.,  Putman, Hans, , 
Opačić, Zoë, 
Ortner, Sherry B.,  Quast, Udo, 
Otten-Froux, Catherine, 
Ovcharova, Olga,  Rabinovich, Itamar, 
Rabo, Gabriel, 
Pahlitzsch, Johannes,  Ramelli, Ilaria, 
Palmer, Andrew, , , , ,  Randa, Alexander, 
Panossian, Razmik, , ,  Ranger, Terence, 
Pao, David W.,  Rapp, Claudia, , 
Papaconstantinou, Arietta, , , , Redgate, Anne Elizabeth, , , ,
 , , , , 
Papadopoullos, T.,  Reimitz, Helmut, 
Papageorgiou, Athanasios, , , Reinink, Gerrit J., xv, , , , ,
 , , , , , , ,
Papaioannou, Kyriakos,  , , , , 
Papoutsakis, Emmanuel,  Reintges, Chris, 
Parmentier, Martien F.G.,  Renoux, Charles, 
Parnasian, Nvard,  Retowski, Otto, 
Partrick, Theodore Hall, , ,  Richard, Jean, , , 
Parvis, P.,  Richard, Marcel, , 
Peacock, Andrew C.S.,  Riché, Pierre, 
Peacock, James L.,  Riedel, Wilhelm, 
Peers, Glenn, xv, , ,  Rocca, Julius, 
Pentcheva, Bissera V.,  Roggema, Barbara, 
Perdikaris, Antonios, xvii Romeny, Bas ter Haar, xvii, , , , ,
Pericoli Ridolfini, Francesco,  , , , , , , , 
 Index of Modern Authors

Roosen, B.,  Sepmeyer, Floris, 

Rose, Richard B., ,  Setton, Kenneth M., 
Rosen, Lawrence,  Ševčenko, Nancy Patterson, , 
Rosenqvist, Jan Olof, , , , , Severino Croatto, J., 
,  Shahid, Irfan, , 
Rosenwein, Barbara H.,  Shboul, Ahmad M.H., 
Rosser, Gervase,  Sijpesteijn, Petra M., , 
Rothenberg, Celia,  Simon, Marcel, 
Rubenson, Samuel,  Simonian, Suren, 
Rubin, Milka, ,  Simonsohn, Uriel, xv, , 
Rudt de Collenberg, W.H.,  Sinkević, Ida, 
Ruggieri, Vincenzo,  Skálová, Zuzana, , 
Russell, James R., , , , – Skawran, Karin M., 
, – Slane, William Mac Guckin de, 
Ryan, Stephen D., ,  Smith, Anthony D., xiii, xiv, , , , ,
, , , , , , , , ,
Sachau, Eduard, , , , , , , , 
,  Smith, Robert Payne, 
Safran, Linda, ,  Snelders, Bas, xvi, , , , ,
Said, Edward,  
Sako, Louis R.M.,  Sodini, J.-P., 
Salamon, Hagar,  Sorlin, Henri, 
Saler, B.,  Sousa Santos, Boaventura de, 
Salihani, Anton,  Spatharakis, Iohannes, 
Samir, Samir Khalil,  Speigl, Jacob, 
Samuelian, Thomas J.,  Spickard, James V., 
Sandwell, Isabella,  Spies, O., 
Schabel, Christopher,  Sprengling, Martin, , 
Schäublin, Christoph,  Staab, Karl, 
Scher, Addai, , , , , – Stein, Ernest, 
, , –,  Stiehl, Ruth, 
Schick, Robert,  Strakhov, O., 
Schlimme, Lorenz,  Straub, Johannes, 
Schmidt, Andrea Barbara, , ,  Stroumsa, Guy G., 
Schmidt, Margot,  Stübe, Rudolf, 
Schmitt, Rüdiger,  Stylianou, Andreas, , , , 
Schreiner, P.,  Stylianou, Judith A., , , , 
Schwartz, Eduard, , –, , Suard, François, 
– Suermann, Harald, 
Scipioni, Luigi I.,  Sullivan, Francis A., 
Scott Jr, Georg M.,  Suny, Ronald Grigor, 
Segal, Judah B., , , ,  Swain, Simon, , 
Segal, Robert A.,  Swanson, Robert N., 
Seibt, Werner, 
Selb, Walter, , , –, Takahashi, Hidemi, , , , 
 Tamanaha, Brian Z., 
 Index of Modern Authors 

Tamcke, Martin, , ,  Voisin, Jean-Claude, , 

Tamrat, Taddesse, , ,  Vosté, Jacques-Marie, , , , 
Tannous, Jack,  Vryonis, Speros, 
Tate, Georges, 
Taylor, Charles,  Wallace-Hadrill, David S., 
Taylor, David G.K., xiv, xv, , , , Walmsley, Alan G., 
, ,  Warner, R. Stephen, 
Taylor, Philip M.,  Warren, David H., 
Tchalenko, Georges,  Watt, John W., 
Teule, Herman, xv, , , , , , Weber, Max, , 
–, , ,  Weitzmann, Kurt, , , 
Thomson, Robert W., , , , , Welles, C. Bradford, 
, , , – Weltecke, Dorothea, xv, , , ,
Tigchelaar, Eibert,  , , , 
Timbie, Janet,  Wenskus, Reinhard, 
Tonneau, Raymond M., ,  Westerfeld, Jennifer Taylor, 
Trahoulia, Nicolette S., ,  Westphalen, Stefan, , , 
Tsamakda, Vasiliki,  Whitby, Michael, , , 
Turner, Victor, ,  White Jr, Lynn, 
Wickert, Ulrich, 
Uthemann, Karl-Heinz,  Wiles, Maurice F., 
Winfield, David, , 
Vahagni, Carmina,  Winkelmann, F., 
Valjavec, Fritz,  Winkler, Gabriele, 
Valvo, Alfredo, ,  Wipszycka, Ewa, , 
Van den Eynde, Ceslas, , , – Wittgenstein, Ludwig, , 
 Wittner, Judith G., 
Van Deun, Peter,  Woerden, Speyart van, 
Van Rompay, Lucas, , , , , Wolf, Gerhard, 
, , , , , , , , Wolfthal, Diane, 
, , , , , , , Wolper, Ethel Sara, 
 Wood, Diana, 
Vander Plaetse, Roland,  Woodward, Ernest Llewellyn, , 
Vanderlinden, Jaques,  Woolf, Greg, 
Vardanian, A.,  Worp, Klaas A., 
Vaschalde, A., ,  Wright, William, , , 
Vauchez, André, 
Velmans, Tania,  Xyngopoulos, Andreas, 
Vermeulen, Hans, 
Vikan, Gary,  Yarnold, Edward J., 
Villeneuve, Johanne,  Yarshater, Ehsan, 
Vismara, Gitilio, ,  Yimam, Baye, 
Vliet, Jacques van der, xv,  Young, F., 
Vööbus, Arthur, –, , , , Yusef, Ashor, 
, , –, , , ,
,  Zaborowski, Jason R., 
 Index of Modern Authors

Zande, Dianne van de, xvi Zekiyan, Boghos Levon, , , ,
Zecour, N.P.,  , 