The Patriarch and the Pen: Athanasius of Balad and the Church in Sufyanid Syria

The Patriarch and the Pen: Athanasius of Balad and the Church in Sufyanid Syria

on August 23, 2025

The Patriarch and the Pen: Athanasius of Balad and the Church in Sufyanid Syria

بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الرَّحْمَٰنِ الرَّحِيمِ

"In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful."
By the late seventh century, the storm of conquest had stilled into empire. The banners of Rome no longer flew over Antioch, nor did the imperial eagles guard the passes of Syria. Instead, the white banners of the House of Sufyān cast their shadow from Damascus to the Jazīra. The world that Athanasius of Balad inherited was not one of collapse, but of conversion — not the fall of civilization, but its transformation beneath the Crescent.

Born into the learned milieu of West Syriac monasticism, Athanasius rose to the patriarchate in 684 CE, at the very moment when the Second Fitna tore the Caliphate apart. Armies of Zubayrids, Mukhtārids, Kharijites, and the Marwanids carved the land into warring sanctuaries of faith and ambition. Yet amidst the chaos of swords and banners, Athanasius’s concern was not survival, but assimilation. His enemy was not the caliph’s sword, but the Caliphate’s gravity — the slow and silent pull drawing his flock toward the habits, households, and festivals of their Muslim neighbors.

From his patriarchal seat in northern Syria, Athanasius confronted a new kind of crisis. It was not persecution or exile, but intermarriage. Letters preserved in the West Syriac corpus — and studied by scholars such as Lev Weitz — reveal a man deeply aware that Christianity’s boundaries were being redrawn not by armies, but by marriages, by meals, by daily life. He writes with alarm of the “wicked news” (ṭebbā bishā) that Christian women were marrying Muslims unlawfully, yet his tone is not that of condemnation. Instead, he counsels his clergy to keep them within the fold — to give them the Eucharist, to baptize their children, and to bar them from Muslim festivals.

Rather than casting them out, Athanasius chose the harder path: to bind them to the Church, even as their lives straddled two worlds. His letter stands as one of the earliest Christian efforts to manage coexistence at the most intimate level — the family. Beneath the shadow of the Fitna, while caliphs and claimants fought for dominion, the patriarch of the West Syrians was writing a theology of endurance through inclusion.

Athanasius’s pen moved at a time when the Umayyad project was still taking shape, when Arabic was becoming the lingua franca of governance, and when Christianity itself was learning to think and speak under Islam. He was not a rebel, nor a collaborator, but a translator — of languages, of worlds, and of identities. He stood between the Greek intellectual inheritance and the Arabic political reality, translating not only words but ways of living.

This blog post will explore that moment — Sufyanid Syria in the twilight between empire and caliphate, and the mind of a patriarch who faced the transformation of his world not with fear, but with the pen. It will examine how Athanasius of Balad, in the brief years of his patriarchate (684–687 CE), sought to preserve Christian identity amid the social magnetism of Islam — how he turned the pastoral letter into a charter of cultural survival.

Before the dhimma was codified, before Christian polemic found its voice, and before Islam became the unchallengeable horizon of Near Eastern life, Athanasius had already discerned the deeper challenge of his age: not conquest, but absorption.

This is the story of a patriarch who lived through civil war — yet fought another, quieter battle: to keep his faith from vanishing into the world that had conquered it.

I. The Man from Balad: Scholar, Translator, Patriarch

By the year 684 CE, when Athanasius of Balad was consecrated Patriarch of Antioch for the West Syrians, the world of Syria had changed in every outward sense — but not in spirit. The House of Sufyān ruled from Damascus; the Caliphate had become the new political horizon; yet in monasteries along the Euphrates, the lamps of Greek and Syriac learning still burned with an undiminished flame.

The Scholar of Qenneshre

Athanasius was born in Balad, today near Eski-Mosul, in the fertile corridor between Nisibis and Edessa, a region that for centuries had nourished the Syriac intellectual tradition. His early education took place within the West Syriac scholastic network of northern Mesopotamia — a world of grammarians, translators, and theologians whose pens moved as deftly as swords had once done in battle.

Bar Hebraeus, the great thirteenth-century historian and heir to that same Syriac tradition, describes Athanasius as “an interpreter of the sacred books and the disciple of Severus Sebokht.” He tells us that the young Athanasius was trained in Greek learning at the Monastery of Qenneshre — Qinnasrīn, “the Nest of Eagles” — under the celebrated Bishop Severus Sebokht, one of the finest logicians and astronomers of the seventh century. There, Athanasius absorbed the tools of reason and rhetoric that would later define his patriarchate.

Qenneshre: The “Nest of Eagles”

The monastery of Qenneshre, perched on the eastern bank of the Euphrates opposite the ancient town of Europos (modern Jirbās), was no mere cloister. As Jack Tannous writes, it was a nest of eagles — a high school of theology, philosophy, and philology that trained almost every major West Syriac bishop and patriarch between the sixth and eighth centuries.

Its origins lay in exile. In the 520s, during the purges of Justinian, Miaphysite monks driven from the monastery of St. Thomas at Seleucia-Pieria fled eastward and founded Qenneshre. The abbot, John bar Aphtonia, brought with him a Greek library and a circle of scholars steeped in both Greek and Syriac traditions. From that point on, Qenneshre became the beating heart of the Syrian Orthodox intellectual revival.

Here, Greek was not an alien tongue but a sacred instrument. Students learned Aristotle and Porphyry alongside the Psalms and the Prophets. Monks translated Greek hymns, commentaries, and philosophical treatises into Syriac — among them Porphyry’s Isagoge and portions of Aristotle’s Categories. The influence of Greek thought became so pervasive that, as Sebastian Brock and Tannous have both noted, the very greetings in their letters shifted: instead of the old Syriac shlām (“peace”), scholars from Qenneshre wrote l-meḥdā — a direct calque on the Greek χαίρειν, “rejoice.”

This linguistic detail, small but telling, captures the spirit of Qenneshre: a monastery where the Greek and Syriac worlds met, not as rivals, but as kin. It was here that Athanasius of Balad, Jacob of Edessa, George the Bishop of the Arabs, Thomas of Harkel, and Paul of Edessa all studied — names that would define the intellectual face of seventh-century Christianity.

Learning Amid the Companions

To place Athanasius’s world in context is to grasp something remarkable. His youth and patriarchate unfolded during the lifetime of the Prophet’s Companions (the Ṣaḥābah) — the first generation of Islam. The same decades that saw ʿAbd Allāh ibn ʿAbbās expound Qurʾānic exegesis in Mecca, or Anas ibn Mālik recount the Prophet’s sayings in Basra, also saw Athanasius’s teacher Severus Sebokht composing treatises on Aristotle’s logic and on the astrolabe in Syriac.

In these same years, Christians were traveling to Alexandria to study under their Coptic cousins, exchanging commentaries and texts, as Bar Hebraeus notes. Jacob of Edessa, Athanasius’s disciple and later bishop, even journeyed to Egypt for study before returning to Syria. Nothing in their letters or chronicles suggests fear, persecution, or retreat into silence. On the contrary — they reveal curiosity, mobility, and intellectual freedom.

The Islam of the early caliphs was not yet a closed or conquering system; it was still forming, still porous, still intertwined with the older religious ecumene it had displaced. The Christians of Syria, heirs of the Greek schools, operated openly — translating, writing, and teaching under Muslim rule. Their students would later serve in administration, medicine, and translation during the Umayyad and Abbasid eras, continuing this remarkable synthesis of cultures.

The Patriarchate in Sufyanid Syria

When Athanasius ascended to the patriarchal throne in 684 CE, he did so not in Constantinople or Alexandria, but in a Syria now ruled by the heirs of Muʿāwiya. His consecration took place at a synod in Rishʿayna (Ra’s al-ʿAyn), where dissident parties were reconciled — a sign of the Church’s vitality amid political change.

Bar Hebraeus recounts that two bishops, Hnanya of Marde and Kfartutha, laid hands upon him, and that soon after, Athanasius consecrated Jacob of Edessa as bishop of that city. Their cooperation marks the culmination of Qenneshre’s intellectual lineage: teacher and pupil, patriarch and bishop, bound by the twin disciplines of Scripture and reason.

Athanasius’s patriarchate was brief — three years — yet profoundly emblematic. It spanned the interregnum between the Sufyanid and Marwanid Umayyads, years when the Muslim world was torn by the Second Fitna (683–692). But while Arab armies clashed from Mecca to Mosul, the patriarch’s letters concern neither war nor politics. They address questions of law, marriage, and pastoral care.

There is not a hint in these writings of oppression or fear. On the contrary, they breathe a tone of moral authority and cultural assurance. Athanasius writes as a patriarch conscious of his dignity, not as a man under siege. His preoccupations are those of a shepherd guiding his flock in a changing world — not one lamenting a lost empire.

A Bridge Between Worlds

Athanasius was, in every sense, a bridge figure — between Greek and Syriac, between empire and caliphate, between the intellectual traditions of late antiquity and the emerging Islamicate order. His translations of Porphyry and Aristotle were not acts of nostalgia but of renewal. He believed that the light of reason and the language of revelation could coexist, even in a world now ruled by Arabic-speaking governors.

In this, he embodied the spirit of Qenneshre itself: confident, learned, adaptive. To study Athanasius is to see that early Islam did not extinguish the Christian academies of Syria — it became their environment.

Before the polemics of the medieval period, before the rhetoric of decline took hold, the Christians of Athanasius’s age lived within Islam’s first century not as fugitives, but as interlocutors — scholars conversing across languages and faiths, shaping what would become the shared civilization of the Nile to the Oxus.

And at the center of that transformation stood Athanasius of Balad — interpreter, patriarch, and penman of a Church that refused to die, because it never stopped thinking.

II. Swords in the North: The Second Fitna and Sufyanid Syria (680–684 CE)

A World on Fire

When Athanasius of Balad ascended to the West Syriac patriarchate in 684 CE, the Islamic world was engulfed in civil war — the Second Fitna (680–692 CE).
From Qayrawān in North Africa to Merv in eastern Iran, Muslim armies fractured along tribal, political, and theological lines.

The great Umayyad experiment that had begun under Muʿāwiya ibn Abī Sufyān (r. 661–680) — the founder of the Damascus-based dynasty — teetered on the brink of annihilation.
What had seemed an unshakable empire now cracked open after the death of Muʿāwiya’s son Yazīd I in 683 CE.

As historian Andrew Marsham observes, Muʿāwiya’s Syria had been a family empire:

“For Muʿāwiya’s immediate family and their Syrian allies to sustain their dominant position, it was critical that they establish the means to retain power after his death.”

Muʿāwiya’s choice of Yazīd, son of a Kalbite mother, secured temporary tribal support in Syria — but alienated almost everyone else. In the provinces, the reaction was swift and bloody.

The Caliphate Unravels

In Kufa, the grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, al-Ḥusayn ibn ʿAlī, was summoned to lead a revolt. His tragic death at Karbala (680 CE) sent shockwaves through the Muslim world.

In Mecca, ʿAbd Allāh ibn al-Zubayr, grandson of the first caliph Abū Bakr, declared himself the true Commander of the Faithful, rallying the Qurashi nobility and much of the empire’s soldiery.

Meanwhile, Yazīd’s armies — Syrian veterans hardened by decades of frontier wars against Rome — laid waste to Medina at the Battle of al-Ḥarra (683 CE) and besieged Mecca itself. The Kaʿba was damaged by fire.

Then Yazīd died suddenly, and chaos deepened.
His son, Muʿāwiya II, ruled only briefly and died soon after. The Umayyad state disintegrated.

By 684, the Hijaz, Iraq, and Egypt all swore allegiance to Ibn al-Zubayr.
Even in Syria, once the Umayyads’ tribal fortress, loyalties fractured:

The Kalb tribe of Jordan and the Golan remained loyal to the Umayyads.

The Qays, Numayr, and northern tribes turned to Ibn al-Zubayr.

It was, as Marsham puts it, “a time when the empire’s fabric was burning from Tunisia to Turkmenistan.”

Syria Amid the Fire

Yet within this storm, northern Syria — the Jazīra, Qenneshre, Edessa, and Balad — stood strangely calm.

These were lands of monasteries, translators, and scholars — the heartland of the Syriac Christian academies, untouched by the political battles of Medina and Kufa.

The monastery of Qenneshre (Qinnasrin), on the eastern bank of the Euphrates, continued its rhythm of learning, copying, and teaching Greek and Syriac. It was here that Athanasius of Balad, Jacob of Edessa, and George, Bishop of the Arabs, all trained under masters like Severus Sebokht.

While Muslims fought Muslims, the monks of Qenneshre were translating Aristotle’s Categories, Porphyry’s Isagoge, and Severus of Antioch’s Letters — reinterpreting Greek reason through Syriac syntax.
Where Baghdad would later rise, Qenneshre was already the “Nest of Eagles”, as Jack Tannous calls it: a bridge between Rome’s lost Hellenism and Islam’s future intellectual revival.

Bar Hebraeus, centuries later, described Athanasius as:

“An interpreter of the sacred books and the disciple of Severus Sebokht, who had been educated in Greek from his boyhood in the monastery of Qenneshrin.”

This was the milieu in which Athanasius lived: a Syria that was no longer Roman, not yet Arabic, but intellectually alive and unafraid.

Athanasius’s Syria: Order Without Empire

Despite the civil war, the Umayyad administrative machine did not vanish. Tax collection, legal arbitration, and communication persisted. The Christian bureaucratic classes, especially the Greek- and Syriac-speaking scribes, remained essential to governance.

Athanasius’s letters and canons make no mention of fear or persecution.
There is no echo of armies, massacres, or decrees — only concern for proper fasting, marriage, liturgy, and translation.

His world was not collapsing; it was reorganizing itself.

Under Muslim rule, West Syriac Christians found a new space of quiet endurance — what one might call a Syriac Pax Islamica.
The fear came not from the sword, but from assimilation:

Arab names appearing among Christians,

Intermarriages across confessional lines,

Shared feasts and greetings,

And the slow adoption of Arabic as a daily tongue.

Athanasius’s response was not retreat but renewal. His concern was the pastoral — not the political — the survival of faith through learning and clarity.

The Silence That Speaks

It is striking that in all his known correspondence, Athanasius never mentions Yazīd, Karbalāʾ, or Ibn al-Zubayr.

That silence is not ignorance — it is perspective.
By the time of Athanasius, the Caliphate was no longer an external power. It was the world in which Syriac Christians lived, taught, wrote, and translated.

His Greek was no longer the language of empire, but of philosophy.
His Syriac was no longer the voice of resistance, but of continuity.
And his Christianity — in the age of the Companions of the Prophet — was not one of fear, but of intellectual dignity.

In an age when the swords of Muslims were turned against one another, the pens of Syriac monks wrote on.
While Mecca and Kufa burned, Qenneshre copied Aristotle.
While Ibn al-Zubayr claimed the caliphate, Athanasius translated the Categories.

This is the paradox of his time: the twilight of empires became the dawn of Syriac humanism.
And in that fragile moment — 684 to 687 CE — Athanasius of Balad stood as patriarch, scholar, and bridge between worlds.

III. The Letter of Athanasius: Christianity in an Age of Assimilation

Part III.I — The Introduction and the Issues at Hand

ܣܘܪܝܝܐ (Syriac) English Translation
ܐܓܪܬܐ ܕܛܘܒܬܢܐ ܐܬܢܣܝܘܣ݀ ܦܛܪܝܪܟܐ ܡܛܠ ܗܿܝ ܕܠܐ ܢܐܟܘܠ ܐܢܫ ܟܪܝܣܛܝܢܐ ܡܢ ܕܒܚ̈ܐ ܕܡܗܓܪ̈ܝܐ ܗܠܝܢ ܕܗܫܐ ܐܚܝܕܝܢ܀ The letter of the humble Athanasius the Patriarch, concerning that no Christian should eat from the sacrifices of the Mahgrāyē (Hagarenes, i.e. Muslims).
ܠܡܝܬܪ̈ܐ ܘܪ̈ܚܡܝ ܐܠܗܐ ܒܢܝ̈ܐ ܪ̈ܘܚܢܐ ܘܚܒܝ̈ܒܐ ܟܘܪ ܐܦܝܣܩܘ̈ܦܐ ܘܣܥܘܪ̈ܐ ܡܗܝܡ̈ܢܐ ܕܒܟܠܕܘܟ ܐܬܢܣܝܘܣ ܒܨܝܪܐ ܒܡܪܝܐ ܚܕܘ. To the excellent and God-loving spiritual children and beloved chorepiscopi and believing periodeutai in every place: from the humble Athanasius — rejoice in the Lord.
ܟܕ ܒܚܘܣܝܐ ܘܚܘܒܐ ܘܪ̈ܚܡܐ ܐ̱ܒܗ̈ܝܐ ܠܘܙ ܟܠܟܘܢ ܒܢܝ̈ܐ ܡܗܝܡ̈ܢܐ ܕܥܕܬܐ ܩܕܝܫܬܐ ܕܐܗܐ ܡܬܬܙܝܥܝܢܢ. With the compassion, love, and fatherly mercy which I owe you all, beloved faithful children of this holy Church, I am shaken and distressed.
ܘܝܨܝܦܘܬܐ ܘܙܗܝܪܘܬܐ ܕܙܕܩܐ ܥܠ ܦܘܪܩܢܗܘܢ ܘܫܘܫܛܗܘܢ ܐ ܿܟܚܝܠܢ ܒܨܝܪܐ ܥܒܕܝܢܢ. We do what we can, though we are weak, to guard your salvation and uprightness with diligence and care.
ܕܚܠܝܢܢ ܕܝܢ ܐܦ ܡܢ ܓܙܡܐ ܘܕܝܢܐ ܕܐܠܗܐ. We also fear the judgment and justice of God.
ܐܝܟ ܡܢ ܕܕܘܟܬܐ ܘܥܒܕܐ ܕܕܘܩܐ ܗܝܡܢ ܠܢ. For it is fitting for us, in our office and in our labor, to be faithful stewards.
ܟܕ ܠܐ ܫܘܝܢܢ ܐܢ ܫܬܩܝܢ ܚܢܢ ܡܢ ܗܿܝ ܕܢܩܪܐ ܒܩܪܢܐ ܘܢܙܗܪ ܠܥܡܐ ܕܝܠܗ ܐܝܟ ܕܦܩܝܕܝܢܢ. We would not be found faithful if we were silent instead of sounding the trumpet and warning His people, as we are commanded.
ܠܘܬ ܗܝ ܕܟܬܝܒܬܐ ܗܕܐ ܕܡܥܗܕܢܘܬܐ ܢܥܒܕ ܠܘܬ ܪܚܡܬ ܐܠܗܐ ܕܝܠܟܘܢ. Therefore, according to what is written, we make this admonition to you, by the mercy of God.
ܕܝܠܟܘܢ ܗܫܐ ܐ̱ܬܝܢܢ ܐܝܟܢܐ ܕܒܐܝ̈ܕܝܟܘܢ ܘܒܡܨܥܝܘܙܟܘܢ ܐܟܚܕܐ ܕܝܢ ܘܒܝܨܝܦܘܬܟܘܢ ܬܬܦܤܩ ܒܝܫܬܐ. Now we come to you so that through your hands and mediation, with diligence and zeal, this evil may be restrained.
ܕܫܡܥܝܢܢ ܕܪܥ݀ܐ ܗܫܐ ܒܥܕܬܐ ܕܐܠܗܐ. For we have heard that there is now disorder within the Church of God.
ܐܬܐ ܓܝܪ ܛܒܐ ܒܝܫܐ ܠܡܫܡܥܬܐ ܕܒܨܝܪܘܬܢ. Indeed, good and evil alike have come to our hearing in our weakness.
ܕܐ̱ܢܫ̈ܝܢ ܡܫ̈ܡܕܐ ܡܢ ܟܪܣܛܝ̈ܢܐ ܓܒܪ̈ܐ ܟܝܬ ܝܥܢܐ ܕܥܒ̈ܕܐ ܕܟܪܣܐ. That certain men, professing to be Christians — men of fleshly mind — have become mingled with the pagans (ḥanpē) in eating together.
ܗܿܢܘܢ ܕܐܝܟ ܕܐܬܝܐ ܕܠܐ ܒܘܝܢ ܡܬܚܠ̈ܛܝܢ ܥܡ ܚܢ̈ܦܐ ܒܡܐܟܥܬܐ ܕܐܟܚܕܐ. Those who, as it is reported, freely mix with the ḥanpē (Muslims) in their meals and feasts.
ܘܢܫ̈ܐ ܬܘܒ ܕܘܝ̈ܬܐ ܕܐܝܟܢ ܕܗܘ ܡܙܕܘܓܢ ܠܚܢܦ̈ܐ ܠܐ ܢܡܘܣܐܝܬ ܘܠܐ ܘܠܝܐܝܬ. And women also, Christian women, who have been joined to pagans (ḥanpē) unlawfully and without a proper marriage.
ܘܟܠܗܘܢ ܐܝܬ ܐܡܬܝ ܕܐܟܠܝܢ ܕܠܐ ܦܘܠܓ ܡܢ ܕܒܚ̈ܐ ܕܝܠܗܘܢ. And all of them, at one time or another, eat without distinction from the sacrifices of these pagans.
ܟܕ ܛܥܝܢ ܒܡܗܡܝܢܘܬܗܘܢ ܠܦܘܩܚ̈ܕܢܐ ܘܚܘ̈ܦܛܐ ܫܠܝܚܝ̈ܐ. They have gone astray, forgetting the commandments and admonitions of the Apostles.
ܗܢܘܢ ܕܡܛܠ ܗܕܐ ܙܒܢܝ̈ܢ ܣ̈ܓܝܐܢ ܡܙܥܩܝܢ ܠܘܬ ܗܿܢܘܢ ܕܗܝܡܢܘ ܒܡܫܝܚܐ. For many times they cried out to those who have believed in the Messiah:
ܕܢܬܪܚܩܘܢ ܡܢ ܙܢܝܘܬܐ ܘܡܢ ܕܚܢܝܩܐ ܘܡܢ ܕܡܐ ܘܡܢ ܡܐܟܘܠܬܐ ܕܕܒ̈ܚܐ ܚܢܦ̈ܝܐ. That they should keep away from fornication, and from strangled things, and from blood, and from eating the sacrifices of pagans.
ܐܝܟܢܐ ܕܠܐ ܢܗܘܘܢ ܒܝܕ ܗܕܐ ܫܘ̈ܙܦܐ ܠܫܐܕ̈ܐ ܘܠܦܬܘܪܐ ܛܡܐܐ ܕܗܢܘܢ. So that through these things they not become participants with demons, nor at the impure tables of those people.

Commentary: The Letter in Its Early Islamic Context

1. What the Letter Is About

This is a pastoral circular, sent by Patriarch Athanasius (r. 684–687 CE), warning clergy and laity against:

Eating food sacrificed or blessed in Muslim rituals,

Socially mingling with Muslims in feasts,

And Christian women marrying Muslim men without church sanction.

The issue is not persecution — it is familiarity.
Athanasius is dealing with Christians so comfortable under Muslim rule that they join Eid feasts and share in meat slaughtered by Muslims, which he calls “the sacrifices of the Hagarenes” (ܕܒ̈ܚܐ ܕܡܗܓܪ̈ܝܐ).

2. Vocabulary and Tone

ܡܗܓܪ̈ܝܐ (Mahgrāyē) — literally “Hagarenes,” i.e. descendants of Hagar. A Christian term for Muslims, neutral in tone in early usage (like the Greek Agarenoi).

ܚܢ̈ܦܐ (ḥanpē) — originally “pagans” or “gentiles,” here applied to Muslims.
Ironically, the Qurʾān uses ḥanīf (حنيف) positively for Abrahamic monotheists. Athanasius, still in a Christian semantic frame, uses the older sense — “those outside the covenant.”

His tone is pastoral, not polemical: he calls them brothers, children, beloved, not heretics or enemies.

3. The Qurʾānic Background: Mutual Food and Marriage

This letter’s context is the very world that the Qurʾān describes as one of partial religious reciprocity:

“Today all good foods have been made lawful for you.
The food of those who were given the Book is lawful for you,
and your food is lawful for them.”
(Qurʾān 5:5)

And also:

“[Lawful in marriage are] chaste women from among the believers
and chaste women from among those who were given the Book before you.”
(Qurʾān 5:5)

That is, Muslim men could lawfully marry Christian and Jewish women and eat their food, and vice versa.
Thus, from the Muslim perspective, commensality and intermarriage were not only permitted but theologically accepted.
But from the Christian perspective, this blurred confessional boundaries.
When Muslims invited Christian neighbors to meals during ʿĪd al-Aḍḥā (the Feast of Sacrifice) or other celebrations, Christians joined — sharing meat slaughtered “in the name of Allah.”
To Athanasius, this was precisely the meat offered to another god, echoing Acts 15:29, where the Apostolic Decree forbids eating meat sacrificed to idols and blood.

4. What “the Sacrifices of the Hagarenes” Means

The word ܕܒ̈ܚܐ (dbaḥē) means both “sacrifices” and “slaughters.”
Muslim butchers at that time invoked the name of God (بِسْمِ الله) over animals — a ritual slaughter (dhabiḥa).
Christians saw this as a religious act, not secular but Islamic.
Hence, Athanasius regarded meat from Muslim markets or feasts as polluted by a non-Christian invocation, recalling Paul’s letters against eating meat “offered to idols” (1 Cor 8:4–13).
He warns that those who eat such food “become participants with demons (ܫܘ̈ܙܦܐ ܠܫܐܕ̈ܐ)” — the same phrase used in 1 Cor 10:21.

5. The Everyday Islamization of Syria

By the 680s:

Muslims had ruled northern Syria for over 40 years.

Arabic was spreading in administration.

Muslim feasts, marriages, and markets were public.

Christians often attended Muslim ʿĪd and wedding celebrations, and some women married Muslim men, often informally.

Athanasius’s phrase ܢܫ̈ܐ ܕܘܝ̈ܬܐ ܕܡܙܕܘܓܢ ܠܚܢܦ̈ܐ (“Christian women joined to Muslims unlawfully”) reflects this reality.
Muslim law at the time permitted marriage to Christian women, but church canons did not.
Thus, the issue was not danger but assimilation — Christians joining Muslim families and ceasing to baptize their children or attend liturgy.

6. His Use of Apostolic Language

Athanasius deliberately cites the Apostolic Decree (Acts 15:20, 29):

“That they abstain from food sacrificed to idols, from blood, and from what is strangled, and from fornication.”

He presents the Muslims as a new ethnē (nation) outside the faith, yet within God’s providence — not persecutors but a test of moral discipline.
This is striking: he uses the same canon that early Christianity used to define itself against paganism, but now applies it to living under Islam.

7. Theological and Social Implications

Athanasius’s concern is boundary maintenance, not antagonism.
He never condemns Islam’s theology; only participation in its rituals.
The letter shows that Christian-Muslim daily interaction was already warm enough to cause ecclesiastical anxiety.
The real threat was fusion, not violence.

Thus, this letter is a snapshot of Islamization at the social level: not conquest or conversion, but convivial confusion — a new shared social world that blurred where the church ended and the ummah began.

8. Summary Table

Issue Athanasius’s Stance Qurʾānic Position Historical Reality
Eating Muslim-slaughtered meat Forbidden — sacrifice of another faith Permitted — ahl al-kitāb food lawful (5:5) Christians joined Muslim feasts, esp. ʿĪd al-Aḍḥā
Christian-Muslim intermarriage Forbidden — not lawful marriage Permitted for Muslim men (5:5) Christian women often married Muslims in Syria
Attending Muslim festivals Implicitly condemned — “mixed feasts” Muslims allowed conviviality Shared celebrations common by 680s

9. Final Reflection

Athanasius’s letter is the mirror opposite of Qurʾān 5:5.
The Qurʾān opens the table between ahl al-kitāb and Muslims;
Athanasius closes it — to preserve the Christian identity at that same table.
He is not resisting Islam’s power but regulating coexistence.
His silence about persecution, taxes, or violence — and his obsession with meals and marriages — tells us everything about this period:
The sword had passed; now came the spoon.

Part II — The Actions to be Taken

Syriac Text English Translation
ܐܠܐ ܬܐܨܦ ܦܪܘܫܘܙܟܘܢ . ܕܟܕ ܒܛܢܢܐ ܐܠܗܝܐ ܥܡ ܝܕܥܬܐ ܐܝܟ ܥܝܕܟܘܢ ܡܬܢܒܪܫܝܢ ܐܢܬܘܢ ܬܩܘܡܘܢ . But strengthen your separation, that with divine discernment and knowledge, as in your feast days, you may stand firm and be distinguished.
ܘܠܒܝܫܬܐ ܗܕܐ ܘܪܦܝܘܬܐ ܡܘܒܕܢܝܬܐ ܡܢ ܒܝܢܬ ܟܠܗܘܢ ܟܪ̈ܣܛܝܢܐ ܐ̱ܚܝ̈ܟܘܢ : ܗܿܢܘܢ ܕܫܡܐ ܕܡܪܝܐ ܩܪܐ ܥܠܝܗܘܢ . And remove from among all your Christian brethren this carelessness and soft indulgence, you upon whom the name of the Lord is called.
ܒܟܠܗ ܚܝܠܟܘܢ ܿܬܟ݂ܠܘܢ ܘܬܒܛܠܘܢ ܘܕܟܠ ܟܠܗ ܿܬܛܥܘܢ. With all your strength, rebuke, annul, and root out every such evil.
ܘܠܗܠܝܢ ܕܝܠܦܫܢ ܐܢܬܘܢ ܥܠܝܝܗܘܢ ܚܬܝܬܐܝܬ : ܕܒܚܛܿܝܬܐ ܕܐܝܟ ܗܕܐ ܡܗܡܝܢܐܝܬ ܡܢ ܗܫܐ ܘܠܗܠ ܡܬܦܠܦܠܝܢ ܐܝܟܢܐ ܕܝܕܥܝܢ ܐܢܬܘܢ ܕܦܩܕܝܢ . And upon those who are openly known to you to persist in such sin, lay your hand with firmness, for from now on they debate and contend, as you well know it is commanded.
ܡܛܠ ܗܠܝܢ ܕܐܝܟ ܗܟܢ : ܬܚܘ̈ܡܐ ܘܩܢܘ̈ܢܐ ܥܕܬܢܝ̈ܐ ܪܕܘ ܢܘܢ . For by such things the boundaries and canons of the Church are thrown down.
ܘܡܢ ܫܘܬܦܘܬܐ ܕܪ̈ܐܙܐ ܐܠܗ̈ܝܐ ܟܠܘ ܐܢܘܢ . And they are cut off from the communion of the divine mysteries.
ܟܕ ܡܬܚ̇ܫܚܝܢ ܐ̱ܢܬܘܢ ܠܘܬܗܘܢ ܣܟܘܠܬܢܐܝܬ . ܠܦܘܬ ܨܒܝܢܐ ܘܝܕܥܬܐ ܘܚܝܠܐ ܕܟܠ ܚܕ ܡܢܗܘܢ . Yet deal with them pastorally and with discernment, according to the will, understanding, and strength of each one.
ܐܝܟ ܦܘܪܫܐ ܚܟܝܡܐ ܘܙܗܝܪܐ ܕܝܠܗܘܢ ܕܦܘܩܕ̈ܢܐ ܕܪܘܚܐ ܩܕܝܫܐ . Like a wise and cautious physician administering the commandments of the Holy Spirit.
ܠܗܠܝܢ ܕܝܢ ܕܫܪܟܐ : ܚܦܛܘ ܘܦܪܓܠܘ ܘܙܗܪܘ . But for the rest, rebuke, correct, and warn.
ܘܝܕܝܥܐܝܬ ܠܢܫ̈ܐ ܗܢܝܢ ܕܡܙܕܘܓܢ ܥܡ ܗܢܘܢ ܕܐܝܟ ܗܟܢ ܕܢܛܪܢ ܢܦܫܗܝܢ ܡܢ ܡܐܟܘܠܬܐ ܕܕܒܚܝ̈ܗܘܢ ܘܕܚܢܝܩܐ . ܘܡܢ ܟܠ ܚܘܠܛܢܐ ܕܠܐ ܢܡܘܣܝܬܐ ܕܝܠܗܘܢ . As for those women who have joined in marriage with such men, see that they guard themselves from their food and sacrifices and from every unlawful mingling with them.
ܢܐܨܦܢ ܕܝܢ ܒܟܠܗ ܚܝܠܗܝܢ . ܐܦ ܕܢܥܡܕܘܢ ܒܢܝ̈ܗܝܢ ܗܥܝܢ ܕܡܢ ܫܘܬܦܘܬܐ ܕܥܡܗܘܢ . But let them strive with all their power to have their children baptized, even those born from such unions.
ܘܐܢ ܡܫܟܚܝܢ ܐܢܬܘܢ ܠܗܝܢ ܕܗܟܢܐ ܦܐܝܘܙ ܟܪܣܛܝܢܐܝܬ ܒܟܠܗܝܢ ܡܬܕܒܪܢ . ܡܢ ܫܘܬܦܳܘܬܐ ܕܪ̈ܐܙܐ ܐܠܳܗ̈ܝܐ ܠܐ ܬܦܣܩܘܢ ܐܢܝܢ . And if you find that they live as Christians in all their conduct, do not cut them off from the communion of the divine mysteries.
ܡܛܠܗܕܐ ܒܠܚܘܕ ܕܥܡ ܚܢܦ̈ܐ ܟܐܡܬ ܓܠܝܐܝܬ ܘܚܐܪܐܝܬ ܡ̈ܙܕܘܓܢ܀ For their only fault is that they are manifestly and openly joined in marriage with the ḥanpē (pagans, i.e. Muslims).
ܡܛܠ ܕܝܢ ܗܿܘ ܕܠܐ ܐ̱ܢܫ ܡܢ ܟܠܗܘܢ ܟܗ̈ܢܐ ܘܪ̈ܬܘܕܘܟܣܘ ܢ݀ܬܠ ܡܥܡܘܕܝܬܐ ܩܕܝܫܬܐ ܐܘ ܫܘܬܦܘܬܐ ܕܪ̈ܐܙܐ ܐܠܗ̈ܝܐ : ܠܢܣܛܘܪ̈ܝܢܐ ܘܠܝܘܠܝܢܣ̈ܛܐ : ܐܘ ܠܐܢܫ ܡܢ ܐܪ̈ܛܝܩܘ ܐ̱ܚܪ̈ܢܐ ܒܝܕܥܬܗܿ ܘܒܨܒܝܢܗ܆ ܕܣܦܩ ܕܢܢ ܦܣܩܐ ܗܿܘ ܕܢܦܩ ܒܝܕ ܚܪ̈ܡܐ . And let it be known that no priest or orthodox cleric may give holy baptism or communion of the divine mysteries to Nestorians, Julianists, or any of the other heretics, knowingly or willingly. Whoever does so shall be cast out by anathema.
ܡܢܢ ܘܡܢ ܚܣ̈ܝܐ ܐ̱ܚܝ̈ܢ ܐܦܝܣܩ̈ܘܦܐ ܕܡܕܢܚܐ . ܥܠ ܟܠ ܟܗܢܐ ܐܘ ܡܫܡܫܢܐ ܐܝܢܐ ܕܡܕܡ ܕܐܝܟ ܗܟܢ ܡܡܪܚ ܠܡܥܒܕ܀ This decree is issued from us and from our holy brother bishops of the East, against every priest or deacon who dares to act in such a way.
ܬܘܒ ܫܦܪ ܠܟܠܢ ܓܘܢܐܝܬ ܕܕܟܪ̈ܐ ܠܢܩ̈ܒܬܐ ܡܢ ܡܥܡܘܕܝܬܐ ܠܐ ܢܩܒ݀ܠܘܢ ܘܠܐ ܬܘܒ ܢܩܚ̈ܒܬܐ ܠܕܟܪ̈ܐ . It is also fitting that men and women not receive one another from baptism (i.e. intermarry across faith lines).
ܘܠܐ ܥܡ ܚܕ̈ܕܐ ܡܛܠ ܙܗܝܪܘܬܐ ܟܝܬ . ܘܕܠܐ ܢܬܬܫܫܛܘܢ ܪ̈ܐܙܐ ܕܟܪ̈ܣܛܝܢܐ . ܫܠܡܬ . Nor with the newly initiated, for caution’s sake — and so that the mysteries of the Christians may not be profaned. Amen.

Commentary: Athanasius’s Pastoral Law in Early Islamic Syria

1. From Food to Faith: The Pastoral Turn

This second half shifts from prohibition (don’t eat Muslim meat) to policy — how to pastor those already entangled in daily coexistence with Muslims.
Athanasius is not anathematizing the Muslim world; he’s regulating assimilation.

“Deal with them pastorally and with discernment … like a wise and cautious physician.”

This is the hallmark of West Syrian adaptation: a practical, not polemical, Christianity.

2. Intermarriage and the Qurʾānic Mirror

The line “women who are married to the ḥanpē” mirrors Qurʾān 5:5:

“... lawful to you are the chaste women of those who were given the Scripture before you …”

While the Qurʾān opens the door for Muslim men to marry Christian and Jewish women,
Athanasius closes it for Christians — his concern being the Christian woman marrying a Muslim man, which the Qurʾān does not explicitly forbid.

In practice, by the 680s, such marriages had already become common in Qenneshre, Edessa, and Amida, where Syriac-speaking Christians lived alongside Arabic-speaking garrisons.

3. Eating, Feasting, and the Blurring of Boundaries

His command to abstain from “the food and sacrifices of the ḥanpē” reflects daily entanglement.
Many Christians were:

buying from Muslim butchers,
attending Muslim festivals (ʿĪd al-Aḍḥā and ʿĪd al-Fiṭr),
and sharing communal meals.

Theologically, this parallels Qurʾān 5:5 — where Muslim access to ahl al-kitāb food created reciprocity.
For Athanasius, however, these shared meals meant shared altars, and thus contamination of raze d-’alāhā (the divine mysteries).

4. Ecclesial Unity Under Pressure

His warning that “the canons and boundaries of the Church are thrown down” indicates institutional anxiety.
The early Caliphate’s stability (even amid the Second Fitna) allowed cultural fusion:
Christian women speaking Arabic, Christian men joining Muslim feasts, clergy baptizing “mixed” children.

Athanasius, writing from Qenneshre — a monastery famed for Greek–Syriac translation — perceived this not as persecution, but erosion.
The new empire did not threaten by sword, but by familiarity.

5. A Subtle Hierarchy of Sin

He distinguishes between:
Those who eat or celebrate → to be rebuked, possibly excommunicated.
Those married to Muslims → to be guided, not rejected; their children to be baptized.

This shows extraordinary moderation: Athanasius allows for conditional communion if the woman “lives as a Christian in all her conduct.”
In a sense, this is proto-dhimmi pastoralism — cohabitation with boundaries.

6. Internal Polemic: Nestorians and Julianists

Near the end, Athanasius broadens the scope:
Not only Muslims, but also heretical Christians (Nestorians, Julianists) are excluded from the mysteries.
In doing so, he defines orthodoxy not ethnically (Syrian vs. Arab) but ecclesially.
The enemy is doctrinal dilution — whether from Chalcedonians or ḥanpē.

7. The Wider World: Law and Theology Under the Umayyads

This letter dates to 684–687 CE, the same years when:
The Umayyads struggled for control of Syria under Marwān ibn al-Ḥakam.
Muslims were codifying early fiqh around lawful food, purity, and marriage.
Syriac Christians, especially in northern Syria, were translating Greek legal and theological works (Athanasius himself was a noted translator of Aristotle and Porphyry).

Thus, this text belongs to the shared legal moment of early Islam — a time when both Muslims and Christians were writing rules to define identity under a common sky.

8. The Final Benediction

“So that the mysteries of the Christians may not be profaned.”

This echoes a deep sacramental consciousness — Athanasius is not creating a social apartheid but a sacramental boundary.
What’s at stake is not ethnicity but holiness, not power but purity.
Athanasius of Balad, Patriarch during the Second Fitna, lived through civil war but wrote as if peace had already arrived.
His battlefield was not Damascus, but the dinner table.
His anxiety was not the sword, but the spoon —
and his letter stands as one of the earliest Christian attempts to define coexistence under Islam, not by defiance, but by discipline.

IV. The Legacy of the Letter: From Pastoral Directive to Enduring Paradigm ✨

Athanasius of Balad’s encyclical is far more than a fleeting administrative decree. It is a seismic document that captures a critical moment of transition, where the Syriac Orthodox Church began to chart a course for survival and identity in a world permanently altered by the rise of Islam. Its significance ripples out from the immediate pastoral problem to touch upon historical, social, and theological realms for centuries to come.

Historical Significance: A New Christian Reality

This letter stands as one of the earliest Christian documents to engage with Islam not as a temporary military invader, but as a permanent neighbor. The "pagans" (ḥanpē) are no longer a distant threat; they are the men marrying Christian women, hosting feasts, and holding social power. This reality forced a fundamental shift:

➡️ From Imperial Christianity to Communal Christianity: Gone are the days when the church could rely on the coercive power of a Christian Roman emperor. As Lev Weitz's analysis implies, the Church's tools changed. Law was replaced by custom, and coercion by persuasion. The authority of the patriarch now stretched only as far as his moral and pastoral influence could reach, requiring a new, more adaptable form of leadership.

➡️ A Document of Adjustment: As Robert Hoyland contextualizes, issues like interfaith socializing and marriage predated Islam. However, the political and religious dominance of the new Muslim rulers gave these old problems a new, urgent character. Athanasius’s letter is a raw, early snapshot of the Church's leadership adjusting to this new, unyielding reality.

📚 Scholarly Perspectives: Two Sides of the Same Coin

Modern scholars have dissected this letter, revealing the nuanced strategy at its heart.

Lev Weitz: The Pastoral Embrace 🙏

Weitz interprets the letter as powerful evidence of Christian adaptability and pastoral pragmatism. By instructing his clergy to continue offering the Eucharist to women in mixed marriages, Athanasius made a conscious choice. He refused to surrender spiritual care even when social boundaries were blurred. His primary goal was to keep the women—and through baptism, their children—within the communal fold, thus preserving the community's future. This was a strategic, compassionate refusal to enact a harsh, potentially community-shattering, excommunication.

Michael Philip Penn: Boundary Maintenance 🧱

Penn sees this same pragmatism as part of a broader "West Syriac effort to maintain religious boundaries through pastoral negotiation, not polemic." The letter isn't about theological debate with Islam; it's about internal discipline. By regulating baptism, Eucharist, and festival participation, Athanasius was drawing lines in the sand of daily life. He was negotiating the terms of coexistence, ensuring that even in close contact with Muslims, a distinct Christian identity could be preserved.

💡 Key Synthesis: These perspectives are not contradictory but complementary. Weitz highlights the inclusive, retaining impulse (keep them in), while Penn highlights the exclusive, defining impulse (keep them distinct). Together, they show Athanasius performing a delicate balancing act: how to accommodate reality without assimilating into oblivion.

⚖️ Theological Implications: The Foreshadowing of a Future

The theological realism of Athanasius’s letter is profound. It implicitly sets a precedent that would echo for centuries in Eastern Christian thought.

➡️ A Divinely Permitted Order: By engaging with Muslims as a fact of life to be managed rather than a demonic force to be eradicated, Athanasius’s approach opens the door to later theological developments that would recognize Islamic rule as a divinely permitted political order (a theme later explored by theologians like John of Damascus).

➡️ The Moral Legitimacy of Coexistence: The letter operates on the assumption that faithful life is possible under non-Christian rule. It moves the focus from conquering the world to sanctifying the community within it.

➡️ The Pastoral Mirror to the Legal Code: His letter stands as the pastoral counterpart to the nearly contemporary East Syriac Canons of Patriarch George I (c. 677). Where George provided a legal framework of rules and prohibitions, Athanasius provided the pastoral spirit for applying them with wisdom and compassion. They are the two essential halves of the same Syriac response—law and grace—working in tandem to navigate the challenges of their time.

Conclusion: The Quiet Revolution of Pastoral Pragmatism 🕊️

In the final analysis, the encyclical of Athanasius of Balad is a quiet masterpiece of early Islamic-era Christian leadership. It captures the precise moment when apocalyptic panic subsided and the long, difficult work of faithful endurance began. Rather than thundering condemnations from an isolated citadel of faith, Athanasius stepped into the messy, complicated lives of his flock. His directive was a revolutionary act of pastoral love and strategic foresight, acknowledging that the greatest threat to his community was not intermarriage itself, but the potential alienation of those who chose it. By choosing the path of cautious inclusion and negotiated identity, he helped secure the very survival of the Syriac Orthodox Church, ensuring it would not merely persist as a relic, but would continue as a living, breathing body of believers for centuries to come under Islamic rule. His letter is a testament to the fact that the most profound revolutions are sometimes not fought on battlefields, but waged in the human heart and home.

THE END

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