Hospital Lands

My first interest in Byzantine studies was the hospital. In hindsight, I was influenced by the contemporary politics during my undergraduate years. In the midst of American debates on healthcare, I became fascinated by the medieval concern for the sick that was manifest in the Byzantine hospital.

I wrote my undergraduate thesis and MA thesis on Byzantine hospitals.[1] My doctoral work moved away from this interest in hospitals and into questions of landscape. However, sometimes things you stop looking for can find you instead. Hospitals kept showing up in my research on Byzantine landscapes, often in the guise of the lands in the provinces whose exploitation supported the efforts of healing in the imperial capital.

In this blog post, I want to highlight three Constantinopolitan hospitals, whose estates I have encountered in my research on the landscapes of Western Asia Minor. Linking the hospital with their estate lands reminds us that the charity of the capital often depended upon the labor of the provinces.

Myrelaion

The monastery of the Myrelaion was founded by the emperor Romanos Lepekanos around the year 920 from his own personal mansion. The main church of the monastery is found at Bodrum Camii, which was built upon a late antique rotunda (see photo 1 and 2). 

Bodrum Camii from the far side of the platform created by the late antique rotunda (photo by author).
Image of the columns within the late antique rotunda underneath Bodrum Camii (Photo by Author).

Its hospital is known from a Byzantine medical book, attributed to the Romanos, koukouleisios and protomenutes of the imperial hospital of the Myrelaion in Constantinople (Vind. Med. Gr. 48) who probably also lived during the tenth century.[2]

A dramatic account of the Myrelaion estates in western Asia Minor comes from the Life of Saint Nikephoros of Miletus. Here the managers of these estates are positioned as the villains of the tale, interested in stealing the lands which belong to the metropolitan of Miletus. The titular saint does his best to combat the aggressive growth of these estates, arguing before the emperor in Constantinople that the loss of the episcopal estates was a danger โ€œto both the living and the dead.โ€ 

Pantokrator

The monastery of the Pantokrator was founded by John II Komnenos and his wife, Eirene (formerly Piroska of Hungry) in the twelfth century. The monastery church survives in modern Istanbul as the Zeyrek Camii (see photos 3 and 4).

A view of Zeyrek Camii from the north and below on Ataturk Boulevard (Photo by author).
Inside of the Zeyrek Camii looking south (Photo by author).

The Pantokrator hospital is well known due to the detailed account of its operation in its typikon, a type of monastic charter which lays out the liturgical rules and administrative needs of the monastery at its foundation. For those interested in Byzantine hospitals, the English translation of this typikon is a great primary source to start reading.[3] In fact, the monastery operated four hospitals: a leper hospital, a nursing home, a monastic infirmary, and a medical hospital. I had argued for a relationship between the Unkapanฤฑ cistern and the hospital, due to the prescription of bathing in the hospital shown in the typikon (see photo 5).

Unkapanฤฑ Cistern from below (photo by author).

The typikon also lists the lands given to the monastery. However, my interest is a property given to the monastery after the typikon was composed. The Pantokrator monastery owned the Bare estate in region of Smyrna before the chaos of the Fourth Crusade (1204). Bare is known from the Lembos cartulary, whose new edition and translation should whet the curiosity of anyone interested to learn more.[4]

Sampson

The date of the foundation of the Sampson hospital is less than straightforward.[5] The hospital burned down in the Nika Riots of the sixth century. The hospital, with a wing designated entirely for eyecare, appears in the seventh-century Miracles of Saint Artemios.[6]  In another miracle collection, the hospital is the true stage of the action: tenth-century Miracles of Saint Sampson the Hospitable recorded by Symeon Metaphrastis as part of his larger project of rewriting hagiography. 

The ruins between Hagia Sophia and Hagia Eirene have been excavated roughly where the hospital is known to be located, although this identification is not certain.

The imperial estate known as Sampson was responsible for renaming the city of Priene in western Asia Minor in the twelfth century (see photo 6). The inhabitants of these estates were bad neighbors; three different thirteenth-century monastic archives preserve documents of court cases against them. The Sampson estates may have originated as imperial support for the Sampson hospital, but the estate was under the control of a relative of the emperor in the twelfth century.

A view of the acropolis of Priene from below within the city ruins (photo by author).

Tyler Wolford, PhD
Byzantine Studies Postdoctoral Fellowship
Medieval Institute
University of Notre Dame


[1] Tyler Wolford, Healing on the Fourth Hill: Searching for the Pantokrator Hospital.  Ungraduated Honors Thesis, Ball State University, 2012.  Partially published as ibid., โ€œTo Each According to their Need: Medical and Charitable Institutions in the Pantokrator Monastery.โ€ In Piroska and the Pantokrator: Dynastic Memory, Healing, and Salvation in Komnenian Constantinople.  Edited by Marianne Sรกghy and Robert G. Ousterhout, 195-224. Budapest, 2019.  Ibid., The Hospitals of the Monastery: Contextualizing the Nosokomeion and Xenodocheion in the Monasteries of Late Antique Egypt and Palestine.  Masterโ€™s Thesis, Koรง University, 2014.  Partially published as Tyler Wolford, โ€œSeparate Places for the Sick in the Monastery: The Late Antique Palestinian Infirmary and Guesthouse.โ€ In Places of Illness, Spaces for Healing: The Built Environment of Healthcare in Anatolia Through the Ages.  Edited by Luciene Thys-ลženocak and Inge Uytterhoeven, 133-154.  Istanbul, 2025.

[2] Peregrine Horden, โ€œMedieval hospital formularies: Byzantium and Islam Compared.โ€ In Medical Books in the Byzantine World.  Edited by Barbara Zipser.  Bologna 2013.  150-151.

[3] Robert Jordan.  โ€œ28. Pantokrator.  Typikon of Emperor John II Komnenos for the Monastery of Christ Pantokrator in Constantinople.โ€ In Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents (BMFD), edited by John Philip Thomas and Angela Constantinides Hero, 725-781. Washington D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 2000.

[4] Alexander Daniel Beihammer and Despoina Ariantzi. The Cartulary of the Lembos Monastery Near Smyrna: A Thirteenth-Century Monastic Archive of Byzantine Asia Minor. De Gruyter, 2026.

[5] Timothy Miller, โ€œThe Sampson Hospital of Constantinople.โ€ Byzantinische Forschungen 15 (1990): 101-135.

[6] Virgil S. Crisafulli and John W. Nesbitt.  The Miracles of St. Artemios. The Medieval Mediterranean 13. Leiden, New York, and Kรถln, 1997.

An Italian Itinerary for Dante Lovers: Florence (Part 1)

By PROPOLI87 – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=109894846

After exploring Rome, the next stop in Italy for a lover of Dante needs to be Florence, his birthplace and home until he was exiled for being a White Guelf in 1302. In Danteโ€™s time, it was a flourishing cultural center at the intersection between ancient trade and pilgrim routes that connected the city to most of the known world. Pilgrims travelling from as far away as England might stop through Florence on their way to Rome, and to this day, the city is associated with a modern pilgrimage route that traces the steps of St. Francis of Assisi to Rome. This centrality not only fostered an immense cultural heritage, but it also positioned Florence at the center of a new European banking industry that made the florin (the coin of Florence) one of the standard currencies throughout Europe. To leave Florence, for Dante, must have felt like leaving not merely his world but the center of the known world itself.

Visitors to Florence today will find an abundance of Dante related things to do from understanding the history of the city at the Museo Storico Topografico Firenze Comโ€™era, the origins of Dante the man at the Museo Casa di Dante, and the cenotaph of Dante in Santa Croce. In the early twentieth century, a team of historians and Dante scholars identified important locations in Florence for understanding the Commedia and marked these locations with white Carrera marble plaques, each containing quotations from Dante. With the aid of this website or Riedesserโ€™s guidebook, Dante lovers can follow the path of the many places and people mentioned by Dante.

While Florence is full of many places for Dante lovers to visit, two particular places in Florence, the Uffizi and the Baptistery of St. John, contain essential pieces of art that help to illuminate some comments made in Purgatorio 11.93โ€”95 given here in the Mandelbaum translation:

In painting Cimabue thought he held

the field, and now itโ€™s Giotto they acclaimโ€“

the former only keeps a shadowed fame.

Although Giotto was an exact contemporary of Dante, Cimabue was about fifteen years older than both of them and Florenceโ€™s most important 13th c. painter. Growing up, Cimabue would have been the โ€œnewest thingโ€ for Dante and the Florentines, but as he ages, Dante will witness Giotto, who was only two years younger than him, rise to fame throughout Italy. Appreciating the way these two artists constantly tried to improve their art and compete with other artists is essential for understanding Danteโ€™s own self-conception as a poet.

The Uffizi is one of the few museums in the world where it is possible to see the constant struggle that many artists have to achieve their own ideals and the way many artists, including both Cimabue and Giotto, return to the same subjects again and again in attempts to both imitate and out-do the other. This kind of collection allows viewers to see artistic development over time in the life of individual artists and not merely time periods.

Two particular examples of this stand out, paintings by Cimabue and his student, Giotto depicting the Virgin and Child Enthroned.

Cimabue, Virgin and Child Enthroned, and Prophets (Santa Trinita Maestร ), Uffizi, 1290-1300, https://www.uffizi.it/en/artworks/virgin-and-child-enthroned-and-prophets-santa-trinita-maesta.

In his Santa Trinita Maestร ,Cimabue takes a favorite subject of artists and approaches it in a fresh way. In Giorgio Vasariโ€™s โ€œLife of Cimabue,โ€ he comments upon this piece, noting, โ€œIn that work, at great pains to respond to the fame already attributed to him, he showed more invention, and a fine approach to the disposition of Our Lady, who he shows with her Son in her arms, surrounded by many angels who venerate her in a field of gold.โ€ This painting illustrates both Cimabueโ€™s excellence in applying Byzantine techniques while also responding to the rising naturalism of his younger pupils, Duccio and Giotto. In his day, Cimabue was considered one of the best, and in this painting in particular, he demonstrates his constant attempts to grow in skill throughout his career, competing not only with himself but even with up and coming artists.

And yet, when this painting on a similar subject is placed alongside Giottoโ€™s Ognissanti Maestร , the innovation of Cimabue begins to look old fashioned.

Giotto, Virgin and Child Enthroned, surrounded by angels and saints (Ognissanti Maestร ), Uffizi, 1300-1305, https://www.uffizi.it/en/artworks/virgin-and-child-enthroned-surrounded-by-angels-and-saints-ognissanti-maesta.

Giotto manages to continue with the Byzantine use of damascene (gold decoration) while using chiaroscuro (light and shade) to create much more realistic faces. His figures also have a kind of weight and proportion to them that gives the viewer a sense that their bodies are much more realistic than Cimabueโ€™s figures. He surrounds the thrown of the Madonna and child with a realistically proportioned tabernacle that is in a fashionable gothic architectural style employing different colors of marble. For years, Giottoโ€™s painting hung in Ognissanti in Florence and became a model for artists working after him.

One thing that Dante will have to learn along his journey through Purgatorio is the flipside of artistic striving. Artists and poets of all sorts in Florence saw constant improvement as an inherent aspect of pursuing high craftsmanship, but inherently, this striving means that those who are great in their day will likely have those who come after them that will surpass them. A truly great artist will both strive to out-do what came before while also humbly recognizing that the fruits of that striving will have their day and pass away.

For Dante, however, the competition will not only be with other poets, but with craftsman of other sorts like the painters, Cimabue and Giotto. To see this more clearly, we will need to visit two other places, the Baptistery of St. John in Florence and the Scrovegni Chapel in Paduaโ€ฆ

Lesley-Anne Dyer Williams is a Professor for Memoria Collegeโ€™s Masters of Arts in Great Books program and graduated with her doctorate from the University of Notre Dameโ€™s Medieval Institute in 2012. She was also the founding director Liberal Arts Guild at LeTourneau University. Her research focuses upon twelfth-century Platonism and poetry, especially Thierry of Chartres and Bernard Silvestris.

Lesley-Anne Dyer Williams
Public Humanities Postdoctoral Fellow
Medieval Institute
University of Notre Dame

Discovering Universal Salvation

Little is more exciting to a medievalist than the discovery of a lost text preserved in a forgotten codex in some neglected archive. Or, in some cases, the text is right under our nose: In 1983, the great Syriac scholar Sebastian Brock came across an unknown work of Isaac of Nineveh in a manuscript at Oxfordโ€™s Bodleian library. Isaac was a monk who lived in Qatar and Mesopotamia during the seventh century (the first century of Islamic rule). In the Bodleian text, Isaac weighed in on a central topic of medieval thought: What happens after we die?

For many Jews, Christians, and Muslims in the premodern Islamic world, the answer to this question was similar, at least in its basic outlines. After an intermediate period in which souls sleep or have a foretaste of their future state, God will raise the dead and pass judgment on every person who has ever lived. Some will suffer eternal punishment, while others experience eternal joy. Poets, preachers, and artists across the medieval world delighted in imagining the exquisite pleasures of paradise and the equally exquisite pains of hell.

Virgil shows Dante the suffering of the simoniacs (15th c.).

As Brock discovered, Isaac rejected the idea of eternal punishment and argued instead for universal salvation. God, he wrote, punishes as a father does, to teach and correct. Punishment in hell is therefore temporary, and God will have mercy on all people. Even the Devil will be saved![1]

Arabic Icon of Isaac of Nineveh.

As I became more interested in Isaacโ€™s views, I found that Brockโ€™s discovery was (as is so often the case) a re-discovery. Around 1100 years earlier, a Christian in ninth-century Iraq named แธคanลซn b. Yลซแธฅannฤ b. al-แนขalt went hunting for Isaacโ€™s books. He would later describe his quest in an Arabic paraphrase of Isaacโ€™s writings. As แธคanลซn tells it, he was consumed with questions raised by his study of the Bible: Does God really grow angry? Do temporal sins deserve eternal punishment? Or does God have mercy on all people?

แธคanลซn asked these questions to anyone who would listen: โ€œThey gave me answers,โ€ he wrote, โ€œbut their answers did not satisfy me!โ€ Eventually, a monk suggested that แธคanลซnโ€™s views resembled those of Isaac of Nineveh. แธคanลซn immediately rushed off in search of Isaacโ€™s books, not stopping until he came to a monastery in the city of al-Anbฤr. Al-Anbฤr lay in central Iraq (near modern-day Fallujah), a region dotted with Christian monasteries.

Syriac Orthodox monastery of Mor Mattai, near Mosul, Iraq.

There, at last, แธคanลซn discovered Isaacโ€™s teaching that the punishments of hell will end and all people will be saved.[2]

When I first read แธคanลซnโ€™s account of Isaacโ€™s views, I was surprised to find how much of it is shaped by the words of the Qurโ€™an, sayings of the Prophet Muhammad, and other Islamic texts.[3] As I read further, I realized that the ways in which แธคanลซn wrote about God and salvation reflected broader debates in โ€˜Abbasid Iraq.

My research at the Medieval Institute examines these debates. They reveal a shared Jewish, Christian, and Islamic conversation about salvation and the related topics of divine mercy, justice, and punishment. Jewish, Christian, and Muslim authors posed the same questions (โ€œDoes God punish to deter evil?โ€ โ€œIs divine mercy universal or particular?โ€) and often answered them in similar terms. Their discussions probed the limits of deeply held religious convictions and were enlivened by colorful metaphors: the condemned delight in hell, as an early Muslim thinker put it, โ€œlike vinegar worms in vinegar.โ€[4] Universal salvation was a minority position in the medieval Islamic world, but the questions and debates surrounding it formed an important part of Jewish, Christian, and Islamic thought and of interreligious exchange.

Discovering Universal Salvation, Part 2:

Entrance to the Egyptian National Library (Dฤr al-Kutub al-Miแนฃriyya).

In 1995, Muแธฅammad b. สฟAbd Allฤh al-Simharฤซ discovered a manuscript in the Egyptian National Library containing the full version of a treatise on universal salvation by Ibn Taymiyya (d. 1328), a highly influential scholar from medieval Syria.[5] The publication of this text has helped spur a surge of interest in Islamic views of universal salvation, including in the writings of towering figures such as Ibn สฟArabฤซ (d. 1240) and Mulla แนขadra (d. 1640).[6]

But how did these authors develop their ideas? One aim of my research is to show how the seeds of Islamic universalism developed in the earlier debates of the Umayyad and โ€˜Abbasid eras. This does not, of course, take away from the creativity of later thinkers, but it will help us understand more precisely how these thinkers wove together elements from earlier Islamic tradition in new ways that shaped the trajectory of Islamic thought on salvation.

The wonderful resources and community of the Medieval Institute have been a tremendous boon as I examine these Jewish, Christian, and Islamic conversations and the vibrant intellectual culture that fostered them.

John Zaleski
A. W. Mellon Junior Faculty Fellow
Medieval Institute
University of Notre Dame


[1] Sebastian P. Brock (ed. and trans.), Isaac of Nineveh (Isaac the Syrian). โ€˜The Second Partโ€™, Chapters IV-XLI, CSCO 554/5, Syr. 224/5 (Leuven: Peeters, 1995), esp. 148โ€“71 (Syriac) / 160โ€“82 (English).

[2] แธคanลซnโ€™s account is edited in Paul Sbath, Traitรฉs religieux, philosophiques et moraux, extraits des oeuvres dโ€™Isaac de Ninive (VIIe siรจcle) par Ibn As-Salt (IXe siรจcle) (Cairo: N.G. Thamaz, 1934).

[3] On this, see Alexander Treiger, โ€œMutual Influences and Borrowings,โ€ in Routledge Handbook on Christian-Muslim Relations, ed. David Thomas (London: Routledge, 2018), 196โ€“97.

[4] Attributed to Abลซ Ismฤสฟฤซl al-Biแนญแนญฤซkhฤซ, in, e.g. al-Ashสฟarฤซ, Maqฤlฤt al-islฤmiyyฤซn, ed. Helmut Ritter, 3 vols. (Istanbul: Maแนญbaสฟat al-dawla, 1929โ€“1933), 2:475. See also al-Jฤแธฅiแบ“, Kitฤb al-แธคayawฤn, ed. สฟAbd al-Salฤm b. Muแธฅammad Hฤrลซn, 7 vols. (Beirut: Dฤr al-Kitฤb al-สปArabฤซ, 1969), 3:396.

[5] Ibn Taymiyya, Al-Radd สฟalฤ man qฤla bi-fanฤสพ al-janna wa-l-nฤr, ed. Muแธฅammad b. สฟAbd Allฤh al-Simharฤซ (Riyadh: Dฤr al-Balansiyya, 1415/1995).

[6] See especially Mohammad Hassan Khalil, Islam and the Fate of Others (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012).