Women, the Early Church, and the Syrian Orient

It is clear from our sources that earliest Christianity granted women an unusual scope for religious activity. Women were part of the group that traveled with Jesus and provided much of the financial support for his band of followers.^[1] They participated in the Jesus movement as disciples rather than as serving women.^[2] There is evidence both inside the canonical New Testament and outside of it that women held leadership

positions in the earliest Christian communities and were also teaching, prophesying, and sometimes even baptizing converts.^[3]

But our sources also indicate a strain imposed by this fact. The Deutero-Pauline writings, for example, with their injunctions that women be silent and submissive,^[4] are strident to the point that they can only be reacting to a situation quite different from what they demand. Although the church insisted from the start that women and men stood equal before the Lord—citing Paul's statement that in Christ there is neither male nor female^[5] —this view was not used to question the existing social order.^[6]

Some of the dilemma was expediency. The early church needed both missionaries and martyrs and was quick to glorify the work of women in these situations. But social tension was apparent. In the "Acts of Thecla," for example, Paul appreciates Thecla's work but attempts time and again to restrict her activity, "fearing lest some greater temptation had come upon her."^[7] Precisely because of social dictates, women were often effective missionaries in their roles as wives and mothers, converting their non-Christian husbands or raising their children as Christians whether or not their spouse might approve. Indeed, this kind of behind-the-scenes evangelism helped Christianity to succeed.^[8]

The early Christian ideal of celibacy also held important implications for women. In practical terms it physically freed them from the bearing and raising of children and allowed women the possibility of travel for the church, as missionaries or pilgrims, and of work for the church community of their own locale. At the same time, virginity bestowed considerable honor on its adherents; here too women benefited from an increase in status.

The earliest Christian communities developed defined positions for women, first as widows and virgins, and later as canonicae and nuns. These positions granted women a recognized status in the larger church structure but also substantially restricted their range of activity.^[9] As the church began to settle into place during the fourth century, women with social power—the wealthy patronesses of Rome, or the empresses—could sometimes follow their own decisions, but most women found themselves in seriously limited circumstances.^[10]

The particular experience of women in the Syrian Orient both reflects and illuminates the larger picture. The ancient Near East evidences religious traditions remarkable for their receptivity toward feminine aspects of the divine, thus differing greatly from the classical realm.^[11] From its polytheistic past came the heritage of the Syrian Goddess, in the

forms of Ishtar, Ashtoreth, Astarte, and the Aramaic Atargatis. The cult of the Syrian Goddess was pervasive across the Mediterranean cities, enduring through Hellenistic and Roman times and into the early Christian Era. In the pagan cosmology of the Syrian Orient, she functioned as part of a triad, a "holy trinity," of Mother, Father, and Son; such a configuration frequently characterized religious beliefs of the ancient Near East. Her worshippers recognized her as a universal divine presence, identifying her with Isis, the Phrygian Cybele, and Greek Hera, as the Great Mother of creation.^[12]

On the other hand, the Syrian Orient was primarily Christianized through Judaism.^[13] Judaism offered a practical heritage in which women often played an important role in the salvation history of the Israelites, despite the cultic restrictions imposed on them.^[14] Here too the aggressively masculine imagery of the God of Israel constituted a consciously contrived imagery, working in reaction against neighboring religious concepts and deities. An undercurrent of female imagery is also found in the Old Testament: God as midwife (Ps. 22:9–10), God as comforting mother (Isa. 49:15, 66:13), and God travailing in the throes of divine labor pains (Isa. 42:14b).^[15]

The complementary strains of thought fostered within Jewish monotheism are striking. Most notable is the female personification of Holy Wisdom—Hokhma , "Wisdom," is a feminine noun in Hebrew—as she who sits at the Lord's right hand, the force through whom God creates and acts. When the prevalence of Gnosticism threatened mainstream Wisdom speculation, there followed a rabbinical development of another female image, that of the holy Shekinah —also a feminine noun in Hebrew—the female personification of God's divine presence, she who is His daughter and His bride.^[16]

Neither Wisdom nor the Syrian Goddess represented the dominant theological focus of their respective religions. Yet both, and in particular the Goddess, were more powerful than comparable female deities of the Greek or Roman pantheons.^[17] It is perhaps not surprising, then, that early Syriac Christianity developed a tradition of feminine symbols for aspects of the divine. Syriac tradition at its earliest, and for centuries thereafter, saw the Holy Spirit as female, following both the instinct of grammar (ruha is a feminine noun in Syriac) and the inherited pattern of a divine triad.^[18] The second-century Odes of Solomon offer profound feminine imagery. Not only is the Holy Spirit portrayed in the feminine, as the Mother Spirit, but so too at times is Christ clothed in feminine images and terms; and the striking Ode 19 hymns God in female form.^[19]

Ode 19 points to a further contribution in the Syrian appreciation for

the feminine. In this ode, the Virgin Mary is hailed as the "Mother with many Mercies," who "bore . . . without pain"; she who "loved with redemption," "guarded with kindness," and "declared with grandeur."^[20] The confidence of this passage exceeds the reserved picture of Marian devotion in the second century that we draw from more Western sources, and it appears somewhat precocious: the themes touched upon prefigure major Marian doctrinal developments, rarely pursued before the fifth century elsewhere, and some not until the tenth century.^[21]

There is a spiritual kinship bridging Ode 19 to the highly developed Marian hymns of Ephrem Syrus in the fourth century.^[22] Although Ephrem marks the artistic and theological flowering of Syrian veneration for Mary, without this background he could not have introduced Marian devotion in so mature a form to the Syrian Orient. This kindred sense may add weight to the theory that the Protevangelion of James , the influential second-century apocryphal account of the Virgin, is of Syrian origin.^[23] The Syrian version of the Protevangelion is our oldest translation of the work, and its immediate and long-lasting popularity in the Syrian Orient is well attested. An independent but related Syriac Life of the Virgin was also in circulation, again probably as early as the mid-second century.^[24] Certainly, Mary's place in early Syriac Christianity contrasts with that of the Western church until the rise of mainstream Marian devotion during the fifth century.^[25]

Again, not unconnected is the emphasis in early Syriac tradition on birth imagery in relation to baptism.^[26] The imagery popular in the Greco-Latin churches was that of resurrection, of baptism as a "dying and rising," and the baptismal water as a "grave," following on the Pauline teachings of Rom. 6:4–6 especially. In early Syriac tradition, baptism was above all a rebirth, following John 3:3–7, and the baptismal water was the womb that bore true sons and daughters for the Heavenly Kingdom. Baptism became the "Mother of Christianity," as Mary had been the Mother of Christ. Womb imagery embellished Syriac theology further: Syriac writers saw the three major events of Christ's life—the Nativity, Baptism in the Jordan, and the Descent to Hell—as three "wombs." And birth imagery revealed the progression of cosmic order: the virgin earth "gave birth" to humanity, Mary to Christ, and Christ to Christians through the womb of the baptismal waters.^[27] The image of baptism as a new birth, from the womb of the font, continues to this day in the liturgies of the various Syriac churches.^[28]

Religious experience in the Syrian Orient had thus long resonated with an understanding of the divine that deeply embraced feminine aspects, both in its imagery and in its symbols. This experience was not

easily shared with Greco-Latin culture, despite its fervent reception in Hellenistic times of the oriental goddess cults. These cults had remained external borrowings even when "Hellenized" or "Romanized" and, as such, were in fundamental tension with the adopting society.^[29] They point to what was lacking in classical spirituality, rather than to what was inherent in it. Thus, for example, the Western church banned the Protevangelion as a heretical work almost as soon as it was published; again, female imagery on a par with the Odes of Solomon would not appear in the West until medieval times. So it was not unexpected that Syriac Christianity should eventually find its "wings clipped," under pressure to conform to the mainstream Greco-Latin churches.

By the year 400, Syriac writers were presenting the concept of the Holy Spirit in closer conformity with that of the "orthodox" church. This involved a dramatic change on their part. When used to signify the third element of the Trinity, ruha ("Spirit") was treated grammatically as a masculine noun, although the word itself remained unaltered. The change governed only that particular usage of the word. After 400, Syriac writers no longer followed the tradition found uniformly in earlier works but referred to the Spirit in masculine terms and imagery (although an occasional hymn writer followed the older practice, apparently for metrical reasons).

In similar manner, the otherwise feminine meltha , "Word," became masculine when used to translate the Greek logos , as found in the Peshitta. The case of meltha is not necessarily as provocative as that of ruha , where a clear theological concern prompted the change: the Holy Spirit was not female and that was that. The transformation of meltha , on the other hand, may reflect the translation techniques of the time, whereby such an alteration could happen simply in the attempt to render important terminology from one language to another more faithfully. We do not have cases in the early Syriac Fathers of a female imagery for the Word as we do for the Spirit. But the indisputable motivation with regard to the Spirit would suggest that the parallel experience of the Word is too close for coincidence.^[30]

On the other hand, it has been suggested that devotion to the Virgin flowered in concert with the decline of the Spirit as a "motherly" presence.^[31] But Syrian veneration for Mary is clearly well established long before the fifth century, and the two feminine objects of reverence coexisted easily, for example, in the hymns of Ephrem.^[32]

Spirituality can permeate various aspects of a culture, but the question here is whether or not the feminine symbolism of the Syrian churches brought any practical results for the Christian community.

As was generally the case for the Roman Empire as a whole, Syrian society before its Christianization provided women with a relative degree of freedom and respect, at least for those of the upper class, resulting from the advantages of an affluent society.^[33] Again, as was the general experience of the Greco-Roman world, the basic Christian precepts of equal worth and responsibility for the sexes were received by this society with some ambivalence. There was, however, an important difference in nuance: the Syrian Orient received these teachings in a religious context that instinctively comprehended them, harboring an inherent sense of feminine presence in the experience and perception of the divine. That this was indeed a matter of nuance rather than precept must be stressed. Nonetheless, religious and societal concepts gave substance to one another when they coincided; to this extent, the society of the Syrian Orient would have been more vulnerable to the consequences of the Christian injunctions toward equality than the less sensitive societies in which classical presuppositions held sway. A greater strain on familiar Syrian social structures would perhaps have resulted. The changes in the religious culture, from earliest Syriac Christianity in the second century to that established as "orthodox" in the fourth and fifth centuries, charts the development from a Christian society that initially granted women new choices to one that seriously curtailed their place.

Marcionism was probably the most pervasive form of early Christianity in the Syrian Orient.^[34] Significantly, it offered an understanding of the Gospel message that was essentially egalitarian. Its practitioners lived and worshiped according to a literal interpretation of the Pauline injunction that in Christ there is neither male nor female. Its women were granted the exceptional rights to teach, exorcise, and baptize. The practical consequences of Marcion's preachings against marriage meant that women were not restricted to producing children and serving a family; they had more freedom of activity.^[35] The Marcionites offered women leadership roles important for the social rendering of their religion, as much as for its theology. In the Syrian Orient, these ideas would fall on especially fertile soil, as an extension into the temporal realm of religious concepts already deeply rooted.^[36]

Asceticism also flavored the overall development of Christianity in the Syrian Orient, heretical or orthodox, for many centuries. Much as Marcionism had done, the general glorification of celibacy as part of popular Syrian Christianity raised new prospects for women.^[37] As widows or virgins, in spiritual marriage or through the office of the Daughters of the Covenant, the bnath qyama, women held a venerated place within the social community. These practices continued to be popular

forms of Christian life even after the rise of the monastic movement offered a further option, separation from the lay society. Nor did the limitations of existing social patterns restrict women's spiritual ambitions: convents became common, but women, too, undertook the rigors of the anchoretic life and even stylitism.^[38]

But the overall situation was double-edged, and it was ultimately the negative image of women that prevailed. By the late third century, pressure to conform to the Greco-Latin churches was growing. A major target was the curtailment of ascetic activities in lay society. Spiritual marriage, in particular, was attacked, a battle that proved difficult for the mainstream authorities.

By the fifth century in the Syrian Orient feminine imagery of the divine was eliminated, leaving only the Virgin Mary as an exalted feminine symbol. During the fifth century women's place in Syrian Christian society became rigidly restricted. By that time, even ascetic women were viewed as a source of danger to men. Monks took vows never to speak with a woman or to lay eyes on one; it was canonically forbidden for monks to eat with any woman, including their mothers. Monks without beards were despised for resembling women, yet self-castration maintained its popularity in some circles. Nuns were treated as simply less bothersome and easier to control than ordinary women: a greater stress was laid on cenobitic communities for them, rather than eremitic pursuits, and it was felt that they should have a "master" (raba ) placed over them. Furthermore, it was widely held that nuns should not see the priest during the communion service; thus, abbesses were also deaconesses, able to distribute the Eucharist themselves, a practice that was not shared by their Greek or Latin counterparts and that lasted into the sixth century.^[39]

Despite ample testimony in writings from the Syrian Orient that women exercised spiritual leadership, writers rarely acknowledged that women had this capacity. The Syrian church did not encourage autonomy for women. Theodoret's Historia religiosa pays little attention to women, and those few he does see fit to mention are confined to the last two chapters.^[40] His women subjects practiced a penitential asceticism: they were veiled from head to toe; their eyes were ever downcast; they never spoke; they were enclosed; they wore iron chains; they wept continually; they were supervised by men. These women fit an acceptable social pattern, despite the physical strength and the very real suffering their practices involved. For their manner, paradoxically, fit mainstream views on the social position of women. Unlike the aggressive and exhibitionist asceticism of their male comrades in the Historia religiosa , Theodoret presents us with women who labor at a passive, inward practice.^[41]

Two women saints important to Syriac tradition illustrate where the boundaries lay at the turn of the sixth century, the time when their hagiographies were probably written, and roughly the time that John of Ephesus was born. The first is Saint Febronia, martyred by Roman officials around the year 300.^[42] Whether of legendary or historical character (and we can assume a small kernel of truth, around which the Life was built), the Life of Febronia is an extraordinary text.^[43] It tells the story of a woman raised from birth in a convent near Nisibis, especially renowned for her ascetic discipline and her capacity to teach. But the mark of her sanctity lay in the fact that Febronia had never seen a man or been seen by one. The arrival of Roman soldiers, however, led to her imprisonment and death by slow torture, much of it sexual, as a warning to other Christians in the area.

A primary aspect of Febronia's Life lies in the tension between Christian purity (symbolized by Febronia's physical and social virginity), and pagan lust (in the form of the Romans' alternative offer that she could live if she would marry one of their officials). The sexual torture displays this symbolism sharply. So great is Febronia's purity that the use of her body as a sexual object does not convey sin, as women's sexuality was commonly seen to do. Rather, in this martyrdom it was specifically her body in its sexual identification that brought her salvation—and the early church always understood a martyr's death to bear upon the salvation of all believers. Thus, in this text, we have a rarely heard sentiment in early Christian writings when Febronia declares that she is not ashamed of her naked body.^[44] In fitting homage, this text claims to have been written by a woman—an event remarkable in itself in antiquity—Thomaïs, a nun of Febronia's convent who later became its abbess. Literarily, the female authorship underscores the story's central theme of purity and defilement, but it also results in an unusual characterization of women. In this text, great emphasis is placed on women's friendships with other women. Moreover, the women in the story are depicted as well educated, intellectually sophisticated, and courageous in the largest sense. The common hagiographical practice, Syrian or otherwise, is to present women saints as individuals who are exceptions to the rule of their kind; convents are generally treated as groups of women and thus derided for harboring institutionally the worst traits of their constituents. By contrast, Febronia is presented as a special woman among many fine women.

An altogether different view of women and their sexuality is presented in the story of Pelagia, Antioch's notorious courtesan. Converted suddenly and in spectacular manner, she then disappeared and secretly lived out her life in Jerusalem in the guise of a eunuch hermit. Pelagia

thus left behind not only her former life but also her former self: her former gender. Her real identity was discovered at her death.^[45] Pelagia's tale was captivating and, unlike Febronia's story, inspired numerous other saints' lives along the same line. The transvestite saint was a hagiographical motif that flourished across the Christian Roman Empire between the fifth and ninth centuries, having started in the Syrian milieu. The transvestite saints were women who chose to pursue their Christian vocations disguised as monks, and whose sanctity hence derived from living literally as men.^[46] Their ruse was inevitably discovered, at their death if not before, and always accompanied by exclamations of praise and wonder: here, truly, were women who had risen to glory.

The roots of this theme date back to the apocryphal "Acts of Thecla," in which Thecla had begged Paul's permission to dress as a man for her missionary efforts, much to his distress.^[47] But the starting point for popular literature was Pelagia's story. The related variations on the transvestite motif were often blatantly allegorical: these women chose to disguise themselves as men, to "become" men, because they could not serve God adequately as women. Nor was this theme found only in legend; real women followed Pelagia's example.^[48] Although the motif was of questionable orthodoxy—Deut. 22:5 expressly forbids either sex to assume the dress of the other, and church fathers debated this matter with reference to Thecla, at least^[49] —the extremity of the Syrian method here clearly tapped an incisive and widespread sentiment; the image crystallized the misogynism that had become an integral part of Syrian Christianity, as of the larger church.^[50]

The tendencies and concepts underlying the development of Christianity in the Syrian Orient are consonant with those displayed throughout the Greco-Roman world. What marks the Syrian Orient as peculiar in relation to the wider church are the extremes to which it played out ideas common to the whole, whether in religious behavior or in religious literature. Consequently, although the larger Christian body might decry the excesses of Syrian practices, often, as with the popular practice of celibacy, the mainstream church exhibited a similar predilection; or, as with stylitism, it adapted the practice to its own circumstances. So too the literal enactment of images and symbols in the Syrian Orient, as in the case of the transvestite saint, reflected the wider consensus, but with a more specific articulation.

Such, then, was the tradition inherited by the women in John of Ephesus' Lives of the Eastern Saints , and it is against this heritage that their cases must be considered. In some instances, John contributes directly to the societal edifice the broader church was then constructing for

women. To that extent, he reveals a Syrian Christian society that has aligned itself, or considers itself aligned, with a wider church body. The various directions that had been fostered by earlier Christianity had settled into the marked confines of an institution imposed over the whole of the Christian community, however diverse its members.

But John shows something akin to a naive innocence in his response to the holy women he meets as individuals. He seems unaware of the conflict between his language and their actions, between what he says about them and what he tells us they actually do. Ever mindful of the afflictions suffered in the Byzantine East, he is keen to offer his female saints as proof of the strength with which the church could handle times of crisis. Hence he delights in presenting these women as empowered by and responsive to the Christian message. But he also preserves a safety valve, by looking at their activities as part of the "emergency" operations of the Monophysites. John's women indeed reveal many of his ideals, but his manner of presentation at times, as we shall see, reflects contrary social values.