The idea that humans should simply subsist on whatever food their environment provided changed roughly eleven thousand years ago. Until that point, our ancestors had survived through hunting and gathering. Gradually, however, they began to recognize the advantages of organized life and started making significant changes in their way of living. Among the most important of these changes was the domestication of plants.
When we look back today, it sometimes feels as if our ancestors went to sleep one evening and woke up the next morning to find that this transformation had already taken place. In doing so, we overlook the real story: a process that unfolded over generations, filled with trial and error, shaped equally by human persistence and by the indifferent power of nature itself. That is where the true narrative lies. In this article, we will bring a magnifying glass to the last two thousand years of that long story.
When we examine this period, we see that wild vines had already been domesticated and that cultivated varieties were being grown in vineyards. Yet the world itself was also undergoing profound transformations. Conflicts between powers were escalating to much larger scales, two major religions emerged, and wars justified by religious motives reshaped vast regions.
Among the defining powers of this era stood the Roman Empire. In its early centuries, Rome rejected Christianity and subjected its followers to severe persecution. Later, however, imperial policy shifted toward the acceptance and eventual adoption of Christianity. If we recall the ritual of bread and wine at the center of Christian teaching, it becomes much easier to understand why monasteries and viticulture developed such a strong connection.
Monasteries and Viticulture in the Roman Period
Rome’s official adoption of Christianity unfolded over more than three centuries. During this long transition, some emperors granted greater freedom to followers of the new faith, while others—such as Nero and Diocletian—implemented harsh persecutions that sometimes reached the level of massacres. Throughout this four-century transition period, viticulture largely continued under the traditional understanding associated with Bacchus, the Roman god of wine.
When the Roman Empire officially adopted Christianity in 380 CE, however, the destiny of viticulture began to shift. The liturgical wine of Christian worship, already sacred within the new faith, merged with the wine that had long been an integral part of daily life in Roman society. This convergence quietly endowed viticulture with a new kind of strength whose long-term consequences were not yet fully visible.
While the peasants who produced grapes and wine for the empire continued their work, monasteries also assumed responsibility for securing the wine required for religious rituals. Almost every monastery began planting vineyards in its surrounding lands, ensuring a reliable supply of wine for liturgical use.
Historical records reveal that from the monastery of Saint Martin in Tours—within ancient Gaul, present-day France—to the Lavra-type monastic settlements scattered across the deserts of Palestine, nearly every religious center surrounded itself with vineyards. Techniques that had been refined over centuries—terracing, irrigation, and methods for storing wine—were now adopted and further practiced within monastic communities.
The Security Provided by the Religious Authority of Monasteries
As the Roman Empire first divided and later fragmented, it gradually lost its political strength and became increasingly vulnerable to attacks. At this stage, the presence of monasteries played a critical role in preserving viticulture.
Thanks to the supra-political status they held through Christianity, monastic vineyards were often spared from the destruction inflicted by forces at war with Rome. While the vineyards of ordinary villagers could be ravaged during raids and invasions, monastic vineyards were frequently protected. In this sense, they became safe harbors for the continuity of viticulture.
Another crucial contribution of monasteries was their dedication to record-keeping. Through the archives they maintained, they accumulated the raw knowledge that would later nourish the intellectual transformations of the Enlightenment. Over time, experimental practices carried out in monasteries merged with the work of secular scholars and practitioners, eventually giving rise to new developments such as sparkling wine.
Turning to the East: The Tur Abdin Region
When this monastic commitment to viticulture reached the eastern frontiers of the empire—into the ancient lands of Mesopotamia—it took on an even deeper and more enduring character.
In the western regions of Rome, viticulture often continued as a commercial discipline. On the rugged plateaus of Tur Abdin, however, where Syriac monasteries rise among steep rocky landscapes, the vine came to represent something far more profound. It was not merely a liquid that filled the ritual chalice. It was the very signature of belonging to the land.
In the harsh climate of Mesopotamia, these monastic vineyards were cultivated with a patience that made the seemingly impossible possible. Over time they became silent witnesses to thousands of years of Syriac identity and faith. The religious tradition formalized under Rome evolved in the hands of Syriac monks into something resembling a “theology of the soil,” beginning a long journey that led from the wild nature of the vine to the sacred cellars of monasteries.
The Remarkable Activities of Two Great Syriac Monasteries Today
As you know, we are conducting a comprehensive study on Syriac viticulture and winemaking culture. This long-term effort ultimately aims to secure recognition for this tradition as part of UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage. Our field observations, undertaken to better understand the foundations of this culture, have been truly encouraging.
Two major monasteries stand at the heart of the Tur Abdin region: Mor Gabriel and Deyrulzafaran. Sharing what these monasteries are doing today for viticulture offers an opportunity to concretely illustrate the historical contributions of monastic institutions.
Mor Gabriel is a deeply moving place of worship. Beyond its religious significance, what impressed us most were the vineyards the monastery has established. During our visit we saw Boğazkere vines firsthand. Alongside them grow other local varieties unique to the region, including Mazrona, Karkuş, Zeyti, Verdani, Zeynebi, Deyvani, and Tayfi.
Only a minority of these grapes are used for winemaking. A larger portion is dedicated to table consumption, molasses production, and drying. In other words, from the perspective of the monasteries, the mission is not limited simply to sustaining wine production.
At our second stop, the Deyrulzafaran Monastery, the work has been taken even further. The monastery has established a collection vineyard of roughly ten dönüms (about one hectare). Within this vineyard, twenty-one grape varieties closely associated with the region are represented. Nineteen of these have already been planted and are approaching maturity, while two varieties are still awaiting planting.
If you ever visit Deyrulzafaran, ask your guides to show you the Virgin Mary Monastery located in the mountains surrounding it. Built using caves carved into the steep slopes, the monastery overlooks ancient terraced vineyards that date back centuries. It is impossible not to be moved when standing before these vineyards with their deep historical roots.
Much like the Tekirdağ Viticulture Research Institute—though focused specifically on their own region—these monasteries are carrying out work of immense cultural value. We extend our gratitude to the monasteries and to the leaders who continue to guide and sustain this historical mission. One can only hope that other institutions will also take up the responsibility of pursuing similar efforts.
