Download PDF | From Byzantine to Islamic Egypt, Religion, Identity and Politics after the Arab Conquest, By Maged S.A. Mikhail, I.B.Tauris 2014.

Download PDF | From Byzantine to Islamic Egypt, Religion, Identity and Politics after the Arab Conquest, By Maged S.A. Mikhail,  I.B.Tauris 2014.

445 Pages 

Maged S.A. Mikhail is Associate Professor of History at the California State University, Fullerton. His research focuses on Late Antiquity, the early Islamic period, communal interactions under Islamic rule, and Coptic Christianity.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 

This study began some years ago as my dissertation at the University of California, Los Angeles. Since then it has grown and evolved on nearly every front. Throughout this process, I have enjoyed the generous encouragement and feedback of Michael G. Morony, whose guidance and example have been invaluable. Claudia Rapp’s direction and continuing support over the years have also been deeply appreciated. For several years, I enjoyed reading Coptic with Antonio Loprieno and the intellectual rigor of James Gelvin’s approach to the study of history. A special thanks is due to Tim Vivian, who was kind enough to read through an earlier version of this monograph. Over the course of my research, I have also benefited from the suggestions and observations of colleagues and friends who have read sections of this study or have discussed a host of issues in person, over email, or at professional conferences.

 I am especially thankful to Febe Armanios, Phil Booth, Fred Donner, Gawdat Gabra, Edward and Fadia Hanna, Marek Jankowiak, Fr. Tadros Y. Malaty, Mark Moussa, Chase Robinson, Lennart Sundelin, Mark Swanson, and Ramses Wassif. Likewise, I am grateful to the anonymous reviewers of this monograph for their generous feedback. Tomasz Hoskins, my editor at I.B.Tauris, has been a paragon of patience and professionalism. Over the years, I have also enjoyed the encouragement of His Grace Bishop Serapion, Coptic Orthodox Bishop of Southern California and Hawaii. Habitually,Ihave drawn upon the resources at the library of the Saint Shenouda the Archimandrite Coptic Society (Los Angeles), which awarded me several stipends during my graduate studies. 

I am extremely grateful for the resources the Society and its president, Mr. Hany Takla, have placed at my disposal, though certainly the analysis and conclusions forwarded here are my own and in no way reflect the views of that organization. Words fail to describe my gratitude to my parents, Samir and Juliette, whose decision to immigrate to the United States has been a labor of love; they labored and sowed, my brother Sameh and I reaped. My wife Reagan has been generous and patient in her editorial assistance and in providing me with time to work on this study. That was no easy task given the rambunctiousness of our boys, Lucas and James. It is to her that this book is dedicated. Maged S.A. Mikhail, 16 July, 2013

CHARTING THE COURSE 

The world has thirty wonders, twenty of which are in Egypt – Ibn Zu¯la¯q, Fad ˙ a¯’il mis ˙ r Suddenly in the mid-seventh century, Byzantine and Sasanid armies found themselves reeling from disastrous military defeats and extensive territorial losses to an enemy hardly known to them. In rapid succession, Damascus, Ctesiphon, and Jerusalem surrendered, and in late November 641 CE Arab armies would boast of yet another major acquisition—Egypt. 

The conquest of the province, somberly dubbed “the Egyptian disaster” by Theophanes, constituted an enduring achievement for the nascent caliphate and an exasperating loss for the Byzantine Empire. Relatively peaceful, economically prosperous, and intellectually vibrant, Egypt was an ancient land punctuated by enigmatic monuments that linked it to the history and prophets of the monotheistic faiths through history and lore. By ushering in a new political order, the Arab conquest facilitated an unparalleled cultural metamorphosis in Egypt in which the Abrahamic religions, various “ethnicities,” three distinct languages, and a host of classical, patristic, and Qur’a¯nic texts and ideas comingled. Incrementally, Egypt’s Copto–Byzantine society transitioned into an Islamic one, often without contemporaries realizing the depth or ramifications of the developments they witnessed. As such, this study seeks to identify the aspects of hybridity, innovation, and continuity that characterize this transformative era, and to interpret their significance within the context of Egypt’s history and that of the caliphate. 

Scholars have traditionally identified 641 CE as a pivotal year demarcating the end of “Byzantine” and the beginning of “Islamic” Egypt. Nonetheless, while 641 may provide an accurate political marker, it proves inadequate, even misleading, when addressing almost every other aspect of historical inquiry, be it social, cultural, or intellectual. This has led to the rise of the more malleable designations of “late antique,” “Byzantine,” and “Early Islamic” Egypt.1 Conceptually, the terms evoke very different cultural patterns: “late antique” and “Byzantine” suggest a Greco-Roman Christian society, while the third classification of “Early Islamic” demarcates an Arab Muslim one. Admittedly, the labels and chronological schemes employed are imperfect. Not only do they routinely overlap and are inconsistently applied by academics, but they are misleading. Much of what is deemed “late antique” persisted for centuries under Arab rule with little or no disguise, and throughout early “Islamic” Egypt Christians remained the best documented and the demographically dominant constituency. Flawed as they are, however, these designations facilitate a more nuanced discussion of cultural transformations. Ultimately, at the intersection of these conceptual frameworks and tentative nomenclature are old historical questions: which issues and accounts should one stress; when does nominal change translate into tangible evidence; and which catalysts brought about “significant” change? The centuries under investigation, roughly the seventh through the tenth, have been surveyed by historians of the Late Roman Empire, the Mediterranean world, the early caliphate, Egypt, and the Coptic church,2 though rarely have they served as the sole focus of study. 3 

In part, this stems from the fragmentation rampant among scholars focused on the region. Late Roman historians largely discuss the Arab conquests as an historical appendix; those studying early Islamic history have become somewhat cloistered due to unique historiographic concerns and are more concerned with developments east of Egypt, and scholarship on the Fa¯t ˙ imids reflects but a passing interest in earlier developments and texts. These professional partitions only multiply as an individual scholar’s disciplinary outlook, topical interests, and linguistic training are considered. The prevailing specialization hardly needs an apology, 4 though it has undoubtedly limited substantive cross-pollination. Arabization provides a salient example. Overlooking historiographic and methodological concerns for the moment, the topic has attracted papyrologists, historians of the Middle East (focusing on Islamic narratives), and specialists in Coptic Arabic literary and liturgical manuscripts. Despite addressing the same phenomenon, however, the findings of each bevy of specialists are seldom meaningfully informed by those of their peers. 5 Here, in an attempt to overcome such fissures, a deliberate attempt is made to situate old data in new and arguably more valid contexts, to traverse chronological and disciplinary boundaries, and to diversify the canon of studies and texts that inform the analysis of specific issues. In striving toward these goals, however, several of the following discussions may first seem revisionist. Although unintentional, this proved unavoidable. The scholarship of the past century, while foundational to the present study, has sheltered and promulgated a pervasive nationalist reading that maintains the existence of an “authentic,” distinct, and unalterable Egyptian political and cultural consciousness that has defied “foreign” intrusions.6 This ideological perspective has infiltrated every aspect of historical inquiry; the historiography of the Arab conquest, that of Coptic literature, and the history of the Melkite community in Egypt have all been affected to one extent or another. 

Cognizant of the problem, contemporary scholars avoid such anachronistic concepts in their own research (with varying degrees of success), but they have implicitly accepted many of the nationalist-inspired suppositions and conclusions of earlier generations.7 This has led to the persistence of a master narrative that is frequently at odds with what may be soundly deduced from the historical record; the subsequent discussions of the Arab conquest, its immediate aftermath, and the perceptions of the Greek language in post-conquest Egypt demonstrate as much.8 Before addressing these issues, however, this chapter will provide something of a textual and methodological orientation focused on the most pressing interpretive issues and problematic texts. It concludes with a discussion of the habitually distorted beliefs of the antiChalcedonians of Egypt, and the questions pertaining to the origins of their hierarchy and the extent of their demographic hold. Sources and their Limitations Egypt yields a wealth of historical sources, possessing unique qualities as well as methodological limitations. These “limits of abundance” are the focus here.9 Narratives for the period surveyed demonstrate remarkable range and depth, though only a handful of writings, such as Ibn Abd ’ al-H ˙ akam’s Futu¯h ˙ mis ˙ r and the History of the Patriarchs, have (with good reason) attracted the greater part of scholarly attention. Nonetheless, there exists a much deeper reservoir of literary accounts than has been traditionally utilized. Critical editions and studies by specialists in an assortment of fields ranging from hagiography and apocrypha to liturgical and Arab Christian studies add breadth as well as substance to the historical record, and are incorporated here whenever possible. Normative histories and chronicles, whether written by Christians or Muslims, share two significant characteristics. First, they are largely the selective writings of the urban (secular and religious) elites of the Delta. Early Arab historians in Egypt, such as Ibn Abd ’ al-H ˙ akam or al-Kindı¯, focused almost exclusively on the Muslim community. 10 Similarly, Christian authors, though more forthcoming in this respect, were equally particular, discussing Muslim governors, edicts, and sectarian incidents only as far as they had a direct bearing on their community. Second, the literature enshrines communal perspectives penned by later generations, who constructed, imagined, and employed the past in light of later developments or, more intentionally, to serve contemporary sociopolitical needs. This has long been argued for the early Islamic 4 FROM BYZANTINE TO ISLAMIC EGYPT tradition; here, a similar, though not as distinct a pattern, is demonstrated among Christian sources as well. Early Arabic sources present the greatest interpretive obstacles since they are plagued by a ubiquitous historiographic problem. Tersely stated, with the exception of the Qur’a¯n, the entirety of that literature circulated orally for the duration of Umayyad rule and, where Egyptian writings are concerned, well into the Abba ’ ¯sid era. 11 Repeatedly, scholars have demonstrated that this corpus passed through various socio-political alignments, realignments, and ideologically inspired additions and omissions before it was ever written down.12 

This has led to highly polarized views as to the reliability of the early Islamic tradition,13 which often (though fortunately not always) indulges in literary topoi, presents contradictory details, and fixates on anachronistic issues.14 To compensate, the present study carefully weighs the sources in order to discern topoi as such, to read against the grain wherever possible, and to reinforce Islamic writings with Christian tracts and documentary papyri when feasible. Among Christian writings, the History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria [HP] continues to reverberate on nearly every front, providing a deep reservoir of information not only for the history of the Coptic church, but for everything from taxation to theology and politics. Still, scholars often misuse this text. Historians of the Middle East tend to cite the HP when it corroborates information gleaned elsewhere, but promptly label it erroneous or partisan when it contradicts Arab Muslim sources. Similarly, in the (admittedly few) studies of the Melkite community in Egypt, information gleaned from the writings of Patriarch Eutychios (d. 940 CE) is read prima facie as more accurate than a history compiled by Copts.15 In neither case, however, can readings from the HP be dismissed so blithely, especially since it preserves some of the earliest evidence for a host of individuals and events that transpired during the first three Islamic centuries. The traditional attribution of the HP to Bishop Sawı¯rus ibn alMuqaffa‘ (d. ca. 1000 CE) has proven erroneous in light of the crucial glosses on the composition of that work by Michael of Tinnı¯s (d. 1056 CE) and Mawhu¯b ibn Mans ˙ u¯r (ca. 1025– 1100 CE).16 Most decisive, however, has been Johannes den Heijer’s pivotal study which proves that it was Mawhu¯b ibn Mans ˙ u¯r who translated and redacted the History. 17 Overlooking the initial entries which were added later, 18 the first group of biographies—2, Anianos, to 24, Cyril I (d. 444 CE)—are heavily reliant upon the now fragmentary Histories of the Holy Church, which in its original form chronicled the patriarchates of Dioskoros I and Timothy II (d. 477 CE) as well. The Histories was composed during the last quarter of the fifth century, perhaps by a monk named Menas.19 Early in the eighth century, Archdeacon Jirja (George) drafted the biographies spanning the patriarchates of Dioskoros I to Simon I (d. 701 CE). As with his successors, Jirja was well integrated into the ecclesiastical hierarchy; he was the spiritual son of John III (677– 86 CE) and served as a scribe for Simon I.20 By the third-quarter of the eighth century, Deacon John (who later became a bishop) composed the third group of biographies, covering 705 to 768 CE—from Alexander II to Khaı¯l (Michael) I. The spiritual son of the famed Bishop Moses of Awsı¯m, Deacon John developed a close friendship with Khaı¯l I,21 and at one point even shared a prison cell with that patriarch. Another John, a monk, wrote the fourth quire of biographies in the late ninth century, those of Mı¯na¯ I to Shinu¯da I (d. 880 CE). This John, “the Writer,” functioned as a scribe to the last three patriarchs whose Lives he recorded, and likely relied on a lost bios written by a contemporary of Yusa¯b I ( Joseph: 831– 49 CE) for that patriarch’s lengthy biography. 22 In the early 1050s CE,maintaining that no one had added to the biographies since John the Writer, 23 Bishop Michael of Tinnı¯s composed the next installment of biographies, those of Khaı¯l II to Shinu¯da II (d. 1046 CE). Bishop Michael’s entries are extremely rich in content, well researched, and candid—at times, even scathing. A few decades later, his young contemporary Mawhu¯b ibn Mans ˙ u¯r began to translate and redact the extant Lives, and he then appended the first biographies composed in Arabic, those of Khrist ˙ u¯dulu¯s and Kyrillus II (d. 1092 CE). After Mawhu¯b’s death, Yu¯h ˙ anna¯ ibn S ˙ a¯‘ı¯d al-Qulzu¯mı¯ contributed the biography of Khaı¯l IV (d. 1102 CE). 6 Notably, while the biographies down to the late eleventh century were filtered through Mawhu¯b (an important fact), the HP enshrines many accounts of contemporaries and eyewitnesses,24 and as Mark Swanson’s recent study has amply demonstrated, each quire of biographies retains distinct thematic elements that betray its author’s style and point of view. 25 Contributing to the HP’s reliability is Mawhu¯b’s sober understanding of his initial task as one of translation, not of “correction” or censorship. (If he had taken the opposite view, perhaps none of Michael of Tinnı¯s’ critical biographies would have survived.) Certainly, this does not eliminate the perspectives of the original writers or Mawhu¯b’s editorial hand, but it speaks to the integrity and competence of the primary redactor through whose eyes the modern historian reads the biographies. Still, the HP requires a great deal of scrutiny. First, there are the textual variants between the two main recensions, which for convenience are identified here as the “primitive” (11th c., HP-P) and “vulgate” (13th c., HP-V).26 The differences between the two versions are significant on occasion, but more often inconsequential. Typically, the Arabic diction of HP-Vis more refined and laudatory. I have consulted both recensions, but cited or translated HP-P only where it significantly deviates from the far more accessible HP-V. There is also something to be said for the accordion-like structure of the work. Unless a biographer had access to older historical materials, the earliest entries within any given quire tend to be fairly terse in comparison with the latter biographies within the same grouping, which brim with rich details and anecdotal information. 27 Additionally, in chronicling the deeds of long-reposed patriarchs, some authors tended to record history as they saw fit. The Amr ’ - Benjamin paradigm (defined by M. Swanson) provides a salient example.28 While the biography of Patriarch Benjamin (622– 61 CE) would appear to set a precedent for harmonious interactions between the Coptic hierarchy and Islamic administration immediately after the conquest, the discussions forwarded in Chapters Two and Three below would argue that the amicable relations described in that Life best resonate within the tenure of Abd ’ al-Azı ’ ¯z ibn Marwa¯n (d. 705 CE)—after which Benjamin’s biography was written—rather than the CHARTING THE COURSE 7 socio-political environment that prevailed in the early post-conquest decades. Arab Muslim scholars were certainly not the only ones tempted to record history in light of later developments, or with an eye toward their contemporary needs and expectations. Coptic Arabic apocalyptic texts provide another important resource. Blinded by esoteric passages and repetitive motifs, however, scholars have until recently failed to discern the potential of this popular genre. Apocalyptic tracts certainly demand a judicious— even cynical—reading, but they intermittently preserve voices of dissent and document societal shifts and anxieties in an explicit manner reticent or entirely lacking in normative histories.29 Most significant in this regard are the Apocalypse of Athanasios’ sharp censure of the clergy of its day and the Apocalypse of Samuel’s hyperbolic critique of social transformations within Egyptian society. Despite the stated monastic setting of that apocalypse, its themes and content (as with most of these “visions”) resonate best among a predominantly urban lay audience. Documentary texts for the period studied survive in Greek, Coptic, and Arabic papyri,30 presenting historians with remarkable opportunities for research along with an assortment of challenges.31 

Papyri represent an egalitarian cross-section of society and are current with the events and issues they address, which often allows them to supplement and even correct narrative sources. Beyond the limitations associated with their state of preservation and the interpretive challenges they pose, however, such documents primarily reflect the environment of Upper Egypt and should be interpreted within the immediate vicinity of the village or region from which they hail.32 Intrinsically, they provide particulars and the extent to which a text or dossier reflects universals, or societal norms, must not be automatically presumed. Here, while the survey of papyri for this study has not been exhaustive, all major publications and catalogues have been examined with regard to items spanning the sixth to the tenth centuries CE. Literary and documentary sources pose antithetical challenges. Narrative texts often lack specificity and implicitly claim to represent the whole community when, in fact, they forward the perspectives of 8urban elites of the Delta, who had a distinct interest in how the past was framed and recalled. A documentary source, on the other hand, encapsulates the voice of an individual author almost at ground level, but it typically lacks orientation and context. Consequently, the extent to which any text—documentary or literary—reflects provincial norms, let alone society as a whole, is not immediately discernible. When literary and documentary sources are extant, the approach has been to interlace them while preferring the latter, an approach most evident in (and, arguably, best suited for) studies on taxation and land tenure.33 Nonetheless, despite their perceived compatibility and ostensibly complimentary virtues, these two types of sources cannot readily or consistently supplement or correct one another—a problem that is somewhat mitigated during Late Antiquity. 34 Most normative histories stem from the Delta, where papyri that may function as a control to corroborate or contradict them are minimal at best. Conversely, Upper Egyptian papyri seldom have any local histories or chronicles to dispute, substantiate, or place them within a wider framework. A sagacious reading is crucial. Where narrative and documentary texts overlap,35 both are strengthened, but when they differ, care must be taken before “correcting” the perspective of narrative sources. 36 Throughout this study, several methodologies and intellectual frameworks have been referenced and employed in various capacities (and are alternatively vindicated or dismissed when appropriate), but they have been intentionally subordinated to texts. Far too often the reversal of that relationship has rendered historians into the unwilling scribes of self-fulfilling prophecies. The ensuing discussions that dismiss many of the conclusions reached under the influence of the nationalist paradigm, which seemed logical and selfevident to generations of scholars, proves as much. Finally, one must note the impossibility of studying the Jewish community in Egypt during the early post-conquest centuries. Richly documented throughout Late Antiquity and especially from the late tenth century CE on, Egyptian Jews are marginally attested in the sources of the centuries under investigation.37 This prevents even a cursory survey. 38 The general trajectories of that community likely   paralleled those of other non-Muslim confessions, but such an assertion relies primarily on conjecture and probability rather than historical inquiry. The Doctrinal Labyrinth An historian who is unfamiliar with—or misconstrues—the religious traditions of the peoples he or she studies is missing, misinterpreting, or ignoring a stratum of every text read.39 For Egypt, an immense bibliography may be compiled in which monophysitism—defined as the heretical belief that Jesus Christ had a single divine nature— underpins the conclusions of works that cut across disciplinary and topical boundaries. Seemingly anything and everything, from the very rise of Islam and the Arab conquest of Egypt40 to religious conversions and distinctive features in medieval Coptic art,41 can be explained more or less by the alleged doctrinal “corruption” of the Copts.42 Moreover, monophysitism has been presented by some scholars as the cause, and by others as the result of the rise of an Egyptian “national” consciousness. Among the anti-Chalcedonian confessions, all have repeatedly maintained that they do not and have never accepted such a belief, which they have also historically condemned as heresy. 43 Nonetheless, the scholarly community has been averse to reassessing its understanding of doctrinal issues in Egypt,44 and has largely ignored academic studies that seriously consider the anti-Chalcedonian perspective, though that is now changing.45 Since its publication, W.H.C. Frend’s The Rise of the Monophysite Movement has dominated all discussions of the topic.46 An immense work of scholarship, the book defines monophysitism as the belief that Jesus Christ had a single divine nature and then proceeds to discuss diverse groups (many of whom were marginal) under that umbrella.47 Among those groups are the so-called “moderate Monophysites,” the Jacobites of Egypt and Syria, who were the numerically dominant body. Several conceptual problems and incongruities promptly emerge, not least of which is that most of these “monophysites,” even those branded as heretics by their own camp, never questioned the humanity of the incarnate Logos.48 Predominantly, the basic agreement among the “monophysites” was not a belief in a “single divine nature” (it is difficult to ascertain who actually espoused this amateurish doctrine),49 but rather (1) rejection of the Council of Chalcedon, which they—to varying degrees—believed was susceptible to a “Nestorian” interpretation,50 and (2) adherence to the Cyrillian terminology emphasizing the oneness of Christ through the formula “of two natures” (ἐk dy´o wy´s1vn) as opposite to the Chalcedonian “in two natures” (ἐn dy´o wy´s1sin), which had Nestorian parallels (though pro-Chalcedonians use the phrase in a different theological context).51 The theological dispute was complicated by the use of terms that carried double connotations, leading to linguistic and theological confusion (the ecclesiastical politics involved are an altogether different issue).52 For example, the anti-Chalcedonian “one phusis” (or “nature”) may be understood as either “one person” or “one generic category” (either divinity or humanity);53 similarly, the proChalcedonian “in one proso¯pon” may be understood as either “in one person” or “in a single facade”.54 “One person” is perfectly orthodox, while “one facade/guise” and “one generic category” are anathema to pro- and anti-Chalcedonians alike. Significantly, in modern literature and traditional polemic, the socalled monophysites are defined as those who believe in a single divine nature; thus, phusia is consistently interpreted as a “generic category” rather than “individual.” It is here that One Nature Christology can be authenticated as orthodox.55 Nowhere in the literature of the Copts (or Syrians or Armenians, for that matter) is Jesus Christ defined as possessing a single “divine” nature.56 Consistently, each confession designated itself as “the orthodox.” Pro-Chalcedonians labeled their opponents “monophysites,” maligning them as those who believed in a single “divine” nature, while the anti-Chalcedonians labeled their opponents “dyophysite,” that is, those who “split the one Christ into two”.57 Each constituency interpreted their opponent’s terminology in accordance with their own definitions and theological framework rather than within the other’s theological context. “Monophysitism” and even “dyophsitism,” as defined in anti-Chalcedonian literature, are but straw-man  doctrines intended to portray the Christology of the opposing faction as a blatant heresy that could be attacked at length with the most rudimentary of theological training. In sum, the anti-Chalcedonians believed in a “single divine nature” just as fervently as the pro-Chalcedonians worshiped “two Christs”. Contextually read, anti- and pro-Chalcedonian theologians aimed at stating the same belief. It is therefore nonsensical to discuss the “monophysites’” intrinsic inability to resist Islamic theology, or to interpret historical developments as consequences of theological error.

In time, linguistic and theological confusion along with the complexities of ecclesiastical politics and social memory (particularly of periods of intolerance and persecution) forged contentious factions, though, on occasion, a more ecumenical spirit prevailed. After scrutinizing the beliefs and practices of the Melkites, pseudo-Sawı¯rus concluded his Tartı¯b al-kahanu¯t by praying: May the Lord God guide [the Copts] and [the Melkites] onto the path of salvation, and protect us and them from the punishment of the [final] judgment (al-qis ˙ a¯s ˙ ). May he reconcile this schism of the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church, and reveal to us and to them any pitfalls on the path [of salvation by] revealing the truth while pushing darkness afar. Perpetually, may he keep Satan away from us and them through his grace, kindness, and benevolence, in the same manner as he had earlier healed our souls through the wounds of his Passion. . . . May the Lord God accept the deeds of both confessions.58 Hierarchies and Demographics Finally, a brief note on hierarchies and demographics is in order. Several scholars have questioned the origins of the anti-Chalcedonian hierarchies and their demographic hold. To be sure, the question itself assumes a normative pro-Chalcedonian perspective that scrutinizes those who refused to accept the council while largely ignoring the plurality within pro-Chalcedonian ranks and the length of time it took for the Definition of Chalcedon to become the  doctrinal standard.59 It is a perspective predicated upon the premise that the anti-Chalcedonians were an aberration whose origins must be surmised. Conversely, if a normative anti-Chacedonian perspective and literature are considered, it would be the origins of the Melkite hierarchy in Egypt and Syria that would come into question. In either case, I am skeptical of the cogency of this approach, and the utility of structuring an historical analysis around these parameters. Here, it is taken for granted that the schism at Chalcedon resulted in the bifurcation of the Alexandrian hierarchy, and eventually led to the development of several splinter groups. Still, the dominant historiography points to the mid-sixth century, more specifically the failure of deliberations under Emperor Justinian and the career of Jacob Baradaeos, as the crucial juncture for the founding of an antiChalcedonian hierarchy. More recently, though with a slightly different focus, that date has been pushed even further for the Copts, proposing that the identity of that jurisdiction only coalesced under early Islamic rule.60 To be sure, the ecclesiastical landscape is easier to negotiate after the mid-sixth century than before. Nonetheless, lines were drawn in the immediate aftermath of Chalcedon:61 the faithful were instructed as to where they could and could not partake of the sacraments; confessional hymns emerged; some bishops were hailed as orthodox while others were berated as heretics; and each faction formulated guidelines for accepting those who had belonged to the other confession.62 Already by the late-fifth century in Egypt (cf. the career of Peter the Iberian), the Histories of the Holy Church distinctly articulated an anti-Chalcedonian awareness, tracing a patriarchal line of succession from Cyril I and Dioskoros I to Timothy II, the same figures from whom Damian I and Benjamin I claimed their descent long before the Arabs were on the scene. 63 With regard to the issue of identity, one can convincingly argue that the character of the Copts or that of their church—or that of any group or institution for that matter—was radically different at any 200-year interval. In general, while the emerging historiography poses new questions and functions as a counterbalance to essentialist, totalizing, and popular ideals that conceive of a static Coptic identity that stems from “the Pharaohs” and persists into the present, it is, nonetheless, problematic on two fronts. 

First, it minimizes, even dissolves the discernible bonds of continuity—hierarchical, liturgical, theological, monastic, and communal—between the church of the Patristic era or, to be more specific, that led by Cyril of Alexandria, and the eighth-century hierarchies and confessions that claimed descent from it. The Coptic Alexander II and the Melkite Kosmas I were, indeed, legitimate successors to Athanasius and Cyril; they did not simply imagine themselves to have been, or surreptitiously attempt to pass themselves off as such. Additionally, the search for the genesis of a new Coptic ethos—a novel sense of self and other—or rather, the discernment of a new phase in an everevolving hybrid identity, is largely a function of the criteria one deems most valid. Research focused on legal literature will yield a different chronology than that concerned with the processes of Arabization or political ideology. These issues are repeatedly explored over the course of this study. A related and equally problematic assertion maintains that the Coptic/anti-Chalcedonian population constituted a numerical minority until early Islamic rule.64 Chapter Four does enumerate nine Christian jurisdictions on the eve of the conquest, most of whom eventually joined the Coptic church. In each case, however, even with the Melkites who never recognized the Coptic hierarchy, the extant evidence suggests that these confessions had an extremely limited reach beyond Alexandria and a meager following. For example, in the decades following the conquest, the Akephaloi dominated in a single village in the Delta, and had a constituency in one of the quarters of Babylon (Mis ˙ r).65 Similarly, the Barsanuphians, another alternative confession that could claim a following outside of Alexandria, were confined to specific villages in the eastern Delta. And judging by the accounts narrating their union with the Coptic hierarchy in the late eighth and early ninth centuries, they had but three bishops. By comparison, at that same juncture, the Melkites could boast a patriarch, several bishops, at least three monasteries, and well over a dozen churches, and the Copts could still convene the “Council of a Hundred [bishops],” though the actual number of bishops was likely  closer to 70 bishops. (On these groups and figures, see Chapters Four, Five, and Ten.) Significantly, in the sixth and seventh centuries only the antiChalcedonian Coptic hierarchy had roots throughout the branches of the Delta, Upper Egypt, Nubia, and Ethiopia. Moreover, the early caliphate only recognized the Coptic and Melkite confessions–that was not by accident. Finally, the total omission of the confessional squabbles and factionalism that dominate the sources of the Delta from Upper Egyptian papyri, while not definitive, bolsters the notion that the contentions of Lower Egypt were a world away from the s ˙ a‘ı¯d. In this light, not only do the Copts emerge as the dominant constituency, but the Melkites come across as the second major Christian confession in Egypt. The traditional historiography—on this front—stands on a firm foundation. 

 

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