Meaning-Making in Late Antiquity

I recently finished The Making of the Medieval Middle East by Jack Tannous. For background, Tannous is a professor of history at Princeton University. He works with primary source material across a variety of languages including ancient Greek, Arabic, and Syriac. The period he studies is primarily late antiquity (as succinctly noted in one of the Chairs he heads) which is roughly bookended by the beginning of Christian institutions and then the advent of Islam.

This essay (and I use “essay” in the context of the French verb, “to try”) explores several themes Jack Tannous’s book provoked in my reading of history and thinking about social constructs. Specifically it raises interesting questions regarding how historians can reconstruct lived religion—and what that means for how we construct meaning today.

The Making of the Medieval Middle East offers an incredible contribution to the field of not only the history of late antiquity but also to the study of contact zones, the places where different cultures meet temporally, spatially, spiritually, and intellectually. It offers insight into how differences between theologians (for whom we have much textual evidence) and what Tannous calls, simple believers (for whom we have fewer surviving texts), shape the meaning-making landscape of a region and the peoples inhabiting therein. It has provoked several responses in the academic community, one of which is from the formidable Stephen Shoemaker of University of Oregon, whose response we will discuss shortly.

The Making of the Medieval Middle East is thought provoking on multiple fronts. I offer a few points below that I pondered during my reading. These are not necessarily the most important points, though I believe familiarity with them will greatly assist the future reader who already has a moderate understanding of that time and geography (e.g. the relevant empires, Christian doctrinal thought and theological differences, early Islam, etc.). With that in mind, I have selected a few topics to discuss in some depth below. They are as follows:

• How do we define a timeline or period of a “civilization,” (admitting up front that the word civilization itself poses several ontological problems).
• What are the differences between practitioners of theology and, to use Tannous’s apt classification, simple believers and what are the implications of this distinction for how we try to understand history.
• Debates about the validity of Tannous’s analysis (namely Shoemaker’s response)

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The Problem of Periodization

Periodization in historical analysis poses significant challenges for the historian. To begin with, if we were to ask an Athenian in the 5th century CE if he or she was living in the period of Classical Greece, they would be utterly confused. Asking someone in the United States of the 1990s if they are living in a golden age of American history, one would certainly encounter bewilderment. Such questions simply make no sense to the person living in the moment of study. Comical as this hypothetical is, it makes an important point—periodization is something we create (or impose) in hindsight and retroject onto the map of the past.

Going back a generation or two of historians, one will find references across studies around the world speaking of a “golden age” for a certain empire or its menacing opposite, the “dark age.” In reality, golden ages turn out to not be as golden as originally conceived and dark ages not so dark. People simply attempt to survive and indeed thrive as much as they can in any given moment, and those efforts manifest themselves in different ways. Further, our assignment of good (golden) or bad (dark) interjects both judgment values that cannot be easily justified in the face of deeper evidence and ignores the agency and production of those on both sides of the dichotomy. The time we live in just simply is. Certainly trend lines can be discerned (e.g. plague decimating a population, an emperor’s spending spree beautifying the capital, etc.) But regardless of these trends, people continue to live their lives and in that process, we find expressions of both beauty and horror. We must acknowledge the potential for a multitude of contradictions which the historian must sift through.

Two examples of this come to mind easily, one being the treatment of Ancient Greece and the other Ancient Egypt. For the former, we generally will read of the archaic period, classical period, then a general switch of terminology to “antiquity.” Ancient Egypt, given the sheer extent of the timeline, creates more complexities. Stated simply, ancient Egyptian history is broken down in a series of “Kingdoms” with a break in between with what are called the “[number] Intermediate Period.” For example, once we get past the early dynastic period, we get the Old Kingdom (famous pyramids!), then the Second Intermediate Period (Hyksos foreign invaders, chaos!, etc.) and then the Middle Kingdom (order “restored”). Obviously this presents immediate challenges. The Hyksos invasions and occupation of the Delta does not mean Egyptian culture did not thrive, it seems to have merely developed in ways contrary to the ambitions of the hitherto politico-religious powers of Land of Red and Black, whose texts tended to survive.

Within the past generation or two of scholarship, attempts were made in academic discourse to rectify this perhaps with nomenclature such as the “classical period.” Challenges persist, however. Do we define the classical period by formalized language and literature in the sense of classical ancient Greece (the playwrights, philosophers, mathematicians, historians, etc.)? In quite the feat of scholastic accomplishment, esteemed historian of Islam, Marshall Hodgson titled Volume 1 of the three-part Venture of Islam, “The Classical Age of Islam.” As one would expect, this included the ‘Abbasid Caliphate, also referred to as the High Caliphate. Indeed, this is what one who studies Islam in the Middle East would think of when they think of “a classical age” for Islam. However, we can probably continue to refine our terminological aperture to speak with even greater precision and, therefore, create even more robust historiographical frameworks.

It may be the case that the best way to demarcate periods in history would be to look at institutions and transitions between those institutions to see if, as we tighten the aperture, we can begin to see movements of significance; significance not to us in the present but the people who lived it. This would also necessarily include not only the lives of the victors but those who were subdued as well as the changes in lifeways across various ethno-linguistic boundaries, genders, and other groups to see how those life patterns changed holistically.

Much of late antiquity studies is indebted to Peter Brown, also of Princeton University, who began to sketch out and define this period in The World of Late Antiquity. Indeed in the early centuries of the Common Era, we find vast changes in institutions and discourse as the followers of Christ transitioned into self-categorizing Christians, vigorous and consequential theological debates ensued, in-group and out-group boundaries were demarcated, and new ecclesiastical power structures were mapped across the Roman empire. Meanwhile, the Roman Empire itself, one of the, if not the defining political feature of late Antiquity, was rapidly changing. For an accessible and highly erudite treatment of this process, I recommend Ancient Christianities by Paula Fredriksen.

It thus becomes quite clear that, using our transition of institutions and discourse as a rubric for periodization markers, the early centuries, circa 200 CE, marks one bookend for the period of late antiquity. The rise of Islam on the other end, approximately 600 CE, is fairly self-explanatory in terms of the transitions Islam introduced throughout the region.

But what about when we zero in from macro-history such as the movement of dynasties from one part of the region to another (e.g. Damascus to Baghdad, Rome to Byzantium), or the transition from one dominant language to another (e.g. Middle Persian to New Persian), or a seismic change in religion, to the history of the lived lives across the Middle Eastern landscape? How do we move beyond the realm of “Great Men” to the quite larger subset of people who expressed the faith on a daily basis?

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High Theology and Simple Believers

This brings us directly to the heart of Tannous’s The Making of the Medieval Middle East, namely that there is a distinction between how many Christians across the Middle East understood and lived Christianity, on the one hand, and how the religion was articulated by the main theologians and clergy of the day, primarily between the Council of Chalcedon and the first century after the emergence of Islam (i.e. 451 CE and the 8th century CE, respectively). Further, from the perspective of the historian’s tradecraft, the focus on the extant literature of high theology, especially compared to the scraps of writings from simple believers, has skewed our understanding of lived Christianity in late antiquity and the early Islamic period. Not only does this have implications for how we describe and seek to expand our understanding of Christianity’s early centuries but it presents fascinating questions for the spread of Islam as well.

One can see, for example, in the letters between leaders of various church doctrines, mainly the Chalcedonians and the Miaphysites, that there were clearly concerns about the behavior of their respective flocks. Misunderstandings of the Eucharist, the persistence of “pagan” practices particularly vis-à-vis apotropaic practices, and how to accommodate local cultures, whether those cultures embrace a different Christological interpretation or later, more radically, convert to Islam, led many church elders to write to junior ministers advising them of perceived orthodox beliefs and how to handle such deviations. Jacob of Edessa stands out uniquely in this regard with the extent of his writings and the often harsh tenor of his commands. For those interested in an in-depth view of Miaphysite concerns in late antiquity and the intellectual vigor of Jacob of Edessa’s writing, consult the epistle Questions Which Addai the Priest and Lover of Labors Asked Jacob, the Bishop of Edessa.

In examining the macro historical trends of late antiquity on both sides of the seventh century (i.e. the emergence of Islam), and blending such analysis with what is called microhistory, Tannous achieves a not insignificant feat. Most will be familiar with the usual history of large events and famous people. Microhistory methodologies, however, laser in on the study of a small unit such as an individual or a highly localized event or subculture to discern what beliefs and dynamics within that unit of study can tell us about how macro concepts such as religion, philosophy, or science were internalized at a local level. There is often a great chasm between the two worlds. This historical methodology opens a host of opportunities to examine convergences and divergences between the writings of “Great Men” and the people who allegedly followed their ideas. Looking through the lens of Basil the Great, Gregory of Nazianzus, Gregory of Nyssa, John Chrysostom, Cyril of Alexandria, Augustine, or Ephrem the Syrian, we could delineate vitriolic, polyglot debates about Miaphysitism, Dyophysitism, Docetism, among many others. Meanwhile, at the same time of great debates in one part of the Christian Middle East, in another it would be possible for Simeon the Mountaineer (d. ca. 541) to reportedly encounter a group of herdsmen in the mountainous region of Claudia in contemporary southeastern Turkey who, as narrated by John of Ephesus, insisted they were Christian. The one hiccup for Simeon, however, was that they “did not know what benefit the Eucharist was; indeed, they did not even know what the Eucharist itself was” (Tannous, pp. 241-242). The story continues with Simeon learning that these shepherds were generally aware of the gospels but were only told of them by their elders and had never actually seen one. Simeon continued to investigate how such a perversion of understanding the faith could occur, which led him to their secluded, sparsely populated village only to discover an essentially defunct church with no clergy. There are many stories of such confusions among simple believers regarding the meaning of this or that sacrament, or how the clergy of one christological strain should treat those from a different one. But what makes the case of the Claudia village so interesting is that the locals did indeed have a memory of the holy texts and practices for what one might consider orthodox. It appears, however, that their localized construction of Christianity did not require such trappings to consider themselves Christian.

The historical methodology associated with microhistory is a powerful engine for advancing the field of intellectual history. Several outstanding scholars have cemented this framework in the past roughly fifty years, many of whom have come from Italy. Indeed, when Tannous was interviewed by Notre Dame Professor of Theology Gabriel Said Reynolds on this book and other topics, Tannous made an enthusiastic reference to The Cheese and the Worms, a seminal work in the field of microhistory by Carlo Ginzburg.

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Reaction from Academia

In his rebuttal, "Theological Literacy in the Late Ancient Near East: Liturgical Catechesis and the Not-So-Simple Christian Believers of Roman Arabia," Stephen Shoemaker, Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Oregon, credits Tannous for the caliber of his research but disagrees with him on the extent of the divergence between high theology and simple believers. He admits that surely there are many instances of this phenomenon (Tannous is incredibly thorough in his primary source readings across multiple languages). It seems as though Shoemaker wants to paint the picture of a spectrum between the two worlds.

He particularly takes issue with the notion that Christian theology was too complex and lay audiences (Tannous's "simple believers") either disinterested in learning the fine points of high theology or simply too uneducated to grasp the concepts. Shoemaker draws an important distinction, noting illiteracy does not necessarily mean theological illiteracy. In his rebuttal, Shoemaker places significant weight on the medium of the liturgy for the dispersion of key religious terminology and concepts. Through the liturgy, hymns would be sung, homilies would be heard, and terms would be defined, over and over again. A particularly fascinating point Shoemaker raises concerns the interplay and symbiosis between the faith leaders and the laity:

Yet, at the same time, it bears mention that on some occasions the sincere faith of unlettered Christians could direct a doctrinal path that the elites were eventually forced to follow. It is, in fact, more than a platitude in the history of Christianity that lex orandi est lex credendi: the faith and practice of the community introduced and determined some of the most important points of doctrine that theologians would subsequently debate and refine. (p. 90)

However, I think it is important to note that Shoemaker concedes later in his rebuttal that indeed, unlettered believers in Christ were not memorizing or even aware of key words that formed the battleground between different Christological strains:

Cyril of Jerusalem, for instance, in his fourth-century Catechetical Lectures instructs that the Creed should be memorized, with the explicit purpose of instilling the truth of the faith in the unlettered. To be sure, they likely were not meditating on the difference between homoousias and homoiousias as they spoke these words, but they all knew without question that their faith was anchored in a triune God, that the divine Son became incarnate for the salvation of the world, which he accomplished through his Crucifixion and Resurrection. They may not have understood all of the subtleties of these propositions—again, so many Christians do not even today—but they knew that this is what they, their families, and their neighbors believed, and that this truth held the promise of their salvation. They were not ignorant of these doctrines, nor, one imagines, were they altogether indifferent to them: they were the guarantee of salvation promised them by the words of the Creed. (p. 99)

Shoemaker is a brilliant academic in his own right and must be commended not only for the breadth of knowledge he possesses (from Maryology to early Islam), as well as an incredible array of languages (Indo-European and Semitic), but also his reintegration of ideas which had previously been discarded in debates of early Islam (more to be written about this in the future likely). As such, one cannot really dispute Shoemaker's response to Tannous. I would, however, make the following contentions:

Yes, those Tannous would call simple believers would, for example (and did), riot when a change was made to the Trisagion hymn when the phrase "who was crucified for us" was added to a liturgical hymn in 512 CE Constantinople. Shoemaker and others therefore rebut Tannous by saying, look, everyday Christians took such terminology (even if they couldn't read it) deathly seriously. I would counter not so much on the specifics of "sure, well this was in Constantinople, not an isolated unknown village in the Arabian peninsula."

Rather, we must point out that religious devotion and a commitment to some terminological phrasing does not necessarily translate to a full comprehension of the theological infrastructure that embeds those terms with meaning.

I would contend the people who made the original hymn so important (so important that changes would lead to violence) were decidedly not simple believers but educated theologians steeped in debates about which most people not only did not care but would not understand in their full depth. Yes people care about the change, hence the riot, but it was a change about something they never had a say about anyways. This touches on a topic to be discussed in this essay's coda, namely the construction of meaning, its political dimensions, and what it means for how we live.

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Concluding Remarks

This brings us to our closing comments regarding this brief overview of The Making of the Medieval Middle East, key concepts gleaned and discussed above, and implications for the making of our world today. At its core, this is a book about meaning-making and how it differs from one habitus to another (for more on the habitus concept consult Pierre Bourdieu). For the domain of theologians, disputes over the one or dual nature of God were existential, and multi-lingual disputes over otherwise mundane words would indeed determine the trajectory of Christian doctrinal schools. Not only did they believe salvation or damnation rested on the correct alignment of vocabulary with belief and with practice, but significant political interests were also at stake. Anathematization and death were very real possibilities in these disputes (and this was much earlier than the infamous European inquisitions). For people just trying to get through the day, faith served many purposes, chiefly among them as a way to control against evil and ensure health and prosperity in this world, while trying to live a life in accordance with the Divine's expectations to ensure bliss in the afterlife (a concept which was itself rapidly evolving in the early centuries CE).

With political interests at stake, we cannot ignore that this is not meaning-making for its own sake, merely for a person to make sense of the world, but also for the purposes of establishing authority and, implicitly, control. The ideational world does not exist on its own. How happy this would be if ideas could just exist in some platonic pantheon, engaged in perpetual debate. The ideational world, rather, maps to the world of authority, with the latter selecting which ideas will best serve the purpose of establishing increasingly effective mechanisms of control over the populace.

This book is a strong recommendation not only for those interested in early Islam and the first centuries of Christianity, but also those looking for exciting methodological approaches to the study of history in general. It not only informs but inspires new ways of thinking and getting at the finest dust of historical stratigraphy.

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Coda

Let us leave the world of the late antiquity Middle East, fast forward to today and contemplate our own lives in light of some of the historical and sociological phenomena this book provokes.

How does it feel to live in this moment, however you choose to define "moment"? On a macro-scale, how will the period we are living in be described by future historians? We see headlines and books describing the downfall of the neoliberal world order, deglobalization, geopolitical fragmentation, etc. It may help to remember that the United States has existed for less time than some of the shortest reigning caliphates. To confront this question of how will this period be remembered is to draw ourselves from the background into the foreground. What have we as individuals contributed to how others may view the early 21st century?

To which beliefs, people, and objects have I ascribed meaning? Phrased differently, what have I imbued with meaning? How much weight have I assigned to these ethereal concepts? For example, if you are a believer in a religion, which part of the religion provides the most meaning to you? A message of salvation? The sacraments? The community? Relatedly, who controls those beliefs/messages, the people, and the objects I value and what is their interest in me? If one makes meaning from a holy text, who codified those words and in which language, and which language are you reading it in? If my meaning calls me to consume a blessed wafer or a rock fallen from heaven or a relic of a shramana, who controls access to that and what are their intentions? To bring this to one of our most recent ailments as a global society, the phenomenon of social media has shown that the most valuable commodity is your attention and the patterns of meaning you construct with that attention. Have we surrendered meaning to algorithms or are algorithms a digital reflection of our deep-seated meaning-making systems?

N.B.

Just as we speak of pairing a wine with a particular dish, I tend to think it's our responsibility as readers to share our suggestions of delicious pairings between works of knowledge. As such, if you found this article interesting (for good or bad), consider the following options for pairing with The Making of the Medieval Middle East:

The Cheese and the Worms, Carlo Ginzburg

Chandler, James, Arnold I. Davidson, and Harry D. Harootunian, eds. Questions of Evidence: Proof, Practice, and Persuasion across the Disciplines. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994. (p.304-320, Arnold Davidson's article "Carlo Ginzburg and the Renewal of Historiography"; p. 321-324 Carlo Ginzburg "A Rejoinder to Arnold I. Davidson")

Witnesses to a World Crisis: Historians and Histories of the Middle East in the Seventh Century, James Howard-Johnston

Shoemaker, Stephen J. "Theological Literacy in the Late Ancient Near East: Liturgical Catechesis and the Not-So-Simple Christian Believers of Roman Arabia." Journal of Orthodox Christian Studies 7, no. 1 (2024): 85-112

Jack Tannous [II]: Christianity in Arabia | Does the Qur'an Know an Arabic Translation of the Bible?

Fredriksen, Paula. Ancient Christianities: The First Five Hundred Years. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2024.

Shoemaker, Stephen. "Review of Jack Tannous, The Making of the Medieval Middle East: Religion, Society, and Simple Believers." Church History 89, 431-4, 2020. doi:10.1017/S0009640720000785.