The Old Testament as Authoritative Scripture in the Early Churches of the East (Bible in the Christian Orthodox Tradition) 9781433107351, 9781453904664, 143310735X

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HovhanessianVahanS978-1-4331-0735-1:NORMAN~1.qxp

2/22/2012

1:06 PM

Page 1

W W W . P E T E R L A N G . C O M

Vahan S. Hovhanessian holds a Ph.D. in Biblical studies from Fordham University in New York. He is Professor of Biblical Studies at the St. Nersess Armenian Seminary in New Rochelle, New York, and Visiting Professor of Biblical Studies at the Georgian Court University in Lakewood, New Jersey. He has published books and articles in the English, Arabic, and Armenian languages in the fields of Biblical studies, Pauline theology, New Testament pseudepigrapha, and the early Church in the East. He is the chairman of the Bible in the Eastern and Oriental Orthodox Traditions unit of the Society of Biblical Literature.

The Old Testament as Authoritative Scripture in the Early Churches of the East

@

HOVHANESSIAN, ed.

The Old Testament as Authoritative Scripture in the Early Churches of the East represents the latest scholarly research in the field of Old Testament as Scripture in Eastern Christianity. Its twelve articles focus on the use of the Old Testament in the earliest Christian communities in the East. The collection explores the authoritative role of the Old Testament in the churches of the East and its impact on the church’s doctrine, liturgy, canon law, and spirituality.

1

BIBLE IN THE CHRISTIAN ORTHODOX TRADITION

@ The Old Testament as Authoritative Scripture in the Early Churches of the East

PETER LANG

@ Edited by

Vahan S. Hovhanessian

HovhanessianVahanS978-1-4331-0735-1:NORMAN~1.qxp

2/22/2012

1:06 PM

Page 1

W W W . P E T E R L A N G . C O M

Vahan S. Hovhanessian holds a Ph.D. in Biblical studies from Fordham University in New York. He is Professor of Biblical Studies at the St. Nersess Armenian Seminary in New Rochelle, New York, and Visiting Professor of Biblical Studies at the Georgian Court University in Lakewood, New Jersey. He has published books and articles in the English, Arabic, and Armenian languages in the fields of Biblical studies, Pauline theology, New Testament pseudepigrapha, and the early Church in the East. He is the chairman of the Bible in the Eastern and Oriental Orthodox Traditions unit of the Society of Biblical Literature.

The Old Testament as Authoritative Scripture in the Early Churches of the East

@

HOVHANESSIAN, ed.

The Old Testament as Authoritative Scripture in the Early Churches of the East represents the latest scholarly research in the field of Old Testament as Scripture in Eastern Christianity. Its twelve articles focus on the use of the Old Testament in the earliest Christian communities in the East. The collection explores the authoritative role of the Old Testament in the churches of the East and its impact on the church’s doctrine, liturgy, canon law, and spirituality.

1

BIBLE IN THE CHRISTIAN ORTHODOX TRADITION

@ The Old Testament as Authoritative Scripture in the Early Churches of the East

PETER LANG

@ Edited by

Vahan S. Hovhanessian

The Old Testament as Authoritative Scripture in the Early Churches of the East

@

BIBLE IN THE CHRISTIAN ORTHODOX TRADITION Vahan S. Hovhanessian General Editor Vol. 1

PETER LANG

New York y Washington, D.C./Baltimore y Bern Frankfurt am Main y Berlin y Brussels y Vienna y Oxford

The Old Testament as Authoritative Scripture in the Early Churches of the East

Edited by

Vahan S. Hovhanessian

PETER LANG

New York y Washington, D.C./Baltimore y Bern Frankfurt am Main y Berlin y Brussels y Vienna y Oxford

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The Old Testament as authoritative Scripture in the early churches of the East / edited by Vahan S. Hovhanessian. p. cm. — (Bible in the Christian Orthodox tradition; v. 1) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Bible. O.T.—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 2. Orthodox Eastern Church—Doctrines. 3. Bible—Evidences, authority, etc. I. Hovhanessian, Vahan. BS1175.3.O43 221.6088’2811—dc22 2009035984 ISBN 978-1-4331-0735-1 (hardcover) ISBN 978­1­4539­0466­4 (eBook) ISSN 1947-5977

Bibliographic information published by Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek. Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the “Deutsche Nationalbibliografie”; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de/.

The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council of Library Resources.

© 2010 Peter Lang Publishing, Inc., New York 29 Broadway, 18th floor, New York, NY 10006 www.peterlang.com All rights reserved. Reprint or reproduction, even partially, in all forms such as microfilm, xerography, microfiche, microcard, and offset strictly prohibited. Printed in Germany

Contents

Preface ................................................................................................................ vii Abbreviations ...................................................................................................... ix Introduction ......................................................................................................... 1 Nicolae Roddy Son of Man, Son of God: Aphrahat’s Biblical Christology ................................ 9 J. Edward Walters Ephraem the Syrian and the Authority of the Old Testament Writings ......... 19 Merja Merras Levitical Paradigms for Christian Bishops: The Old Testament Influence on Origen of Alexandria ........................... 25 Bryan A. Stewart Leviticus between Fifth-Century Jerusalem and Ninth-Century Merv ............. 35 Mark W. Elliott The Holy Spirit in Cyril of Alexandria’s Commentary on Isaiah .................... 43 David Kneip Winking at Jonah Narsai’s Interpretation of Jonah for the Church of the East .......................................................................... 51 Robert A. Kitchen A Syriac Tract for the “Explanation” of Hebrew and Foreign Words ............. 57 Jonathan Loopstra

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Does the Orthodox Lectionary Subvert the Gospel? The Pericope of the Parable of the Wicked Husbandmen (Matt 21:36–46) ................... 65 Nicolae Roddy A Question for the Audience: The Prokeimenon and Poetics in Eastern Liturgy......................................... 73 Timothy Scott Clark Grand Entrance: Entrance into Worship as Rhetorical Invitation and Liturgical Precedent in the Older Testament ............................................. 79 Edith M. Humphrey The Use of the Old Testament in the Syrian Christian Traditions of India ... 91 Rajkumar Boaz Johnson Notes................................................................................................................. 107 Bibliography ..................................................................................................... 131 Index ................................................................................................................. 133

Preface

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his volume brings together a selection of fine papers in the field of biblical studies from the perspective of the Eastern and Oriental Orthodox Church traditions. The papers, submitted to the “Bible in the Eastern and Oriental Orthodox Traditions” unit of the Society of Biblical Literature (SBL), were presented and discussed at the 2008 Annual Meeting of SBL which took place in Boston, Massachussetts, November 22–25, 2008. The theme chosen by the steering committee of the SBL unit for the year 2008 was “The Old Testament as Authoritative Scripture in the Early Churches of the East.” The intent was to focus on the function of the Old Testament in the theology, liturgy and spirituality of the churches in the East. The number of scholars who applied to participate in the unit was a clear indication of the importance and relevance of this subject in the scholarly world. Due to time limitations and in order to maintain the academic standards set by the unit’s steering committee, 13 scholars were selected to present in one of the two sessions. I had the pleasure of chairing the first session on November 22, 2009. The second session was chaired by Dr. Michael Legaspi from Creighton University in Omaha, Nebraska on November 23, 2009. I extend thanks to all the scholars who participated in the conference and presented thought-provoking papers, exemplifying the latest research in their fields of study. Many thanks also to the members of the steering committee of the SBL unit, as well as all who attended our unit’s sessions and participated in the scholarly discussion. The articles in this volume have been edited, certain titles abbreviated and the style unified to meet the guidelines indicated in The SBL Handbook of Style (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1999). May the Lord and the fulfillment of the Old Testament laws and prophecies, continue blessing the contributors and readers of this volume, as we strive to comprehend and live His word. Vahan S. Hovhanessian, Ph.D. August 2009

Abbreviations CSCO ETL GRBS JA JECS JJS JRS JTS OCA OCABS OCP PL PO PS RevEAug RThAM StPatr VC ZNW

Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies Journal Asiatique Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Religious Studies Journal of Theological Studies Orientalia Christiana Analecta Orthodox Center for the Advancement of Biblical Studies Orientalia Christiana Periodica Patrologia Latina Patrologia Orientalis Patrologia Syriaca Revue des études augustiniennes Recherches de Théologie ancienne et médiévale Studia Patristica Vigiliae Christianae Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft

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Introduction

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t no time has the spiritual authority of the Older Testament ever been in question for the Orthodox Church,1 integrated as it was, from the start with the Church’s theology and liturgical life, however overtly so in response to challenges from various Gnostic and other neo-Platonizing communities which held that the scriptural God of Israel was not the Father of whom the Son bore witness. The wholesale acceptance and intrinsic valuation of the Septuagint version of the Hebrew Scriptures,2 affirmed by such monuments of Orthodoxy as Irenaeus of Lyons (late-second century), Athanasius of Alexandria (296?–373 AD), Ephrem the Syrian (306?–373 AD), John Chrysostom (347–407 AD), and several others, simply brought forward the convictions of Jewish followers of Jesus, most notably Paul, for whom the term “scripture” clearly meant the entire (albeit not exclusively canonized) written Torah, i.e., the Books of Moses, the Prophets, and the Writings.3 This robust ongoing defense of the divine authority of the Hebrew Scriptures thus stands in stark contrast to non-Orthodox Christian communities then and now, for which the Old Testament is regarded as only useful for faith at best, or at worst wholly irrelevant. Orthodox Christians at every level of the faith are thus readily able to affirm the authority of the Older Testament as revealed in the New Testament, explicated through Patristic exegesis, incarnated in the lives of the saints, and expressed in the liturgical offices and lectionaries. What is lacking in all of this—although some might say wholly unnecessary—is an opportunity for many of them to engage in the critical examination of the Older Testament (or any of the traditions surrounding it) for its own sake. For most Orthodox Christians, and even some scholars, it is enough to say, “This is what the Fathers said about the Old Testament and there is nothing more one needs to say about it.” However, this is not a position the Fathers themselves would have approved. If the world still remains a mission field for spreading the Gospel—a world increasing in knowledge, but decreasing in spiritual values necessary for managing such new and potentially dangerous knowledge in any constructive, life-affirming ways—then it seems incumbent upon Orthodox intellectuals to be able to provide a suitable apologeia of the timeless faith

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expressed in the methodologies and expressions of thought appropriate to one’s own era. The establishment of such resources as the Orthodox Center for the Advancement of Biblical Studies (OCABS; http://www.ocabs.org) and the program unit, “Bible in the Eastern and Oriental Orthodox Traditions,” of the Society of Biblical Literature (SBL) in which the present papers were generated—both a result of the vision of Rev. Fr. Paul Nadim Tarazi and developed through the efforts of a few of his many inspired students—seek to address the need for critical study of the Bible with an eye toward Orthodox homiletics and teaching. Already the results of these efforts have been noticeable. The proceedings of the first conference of the SBL unit have been published in the volume, Exegesis and Hermeneutics in the Churches of the East (Peter Lang Inc., 2008), and represents a reference work in the field of biblical studies from an Orthodox perspective. A steady increase in the number of scholars participating in the national and international conferences of the SBL unit, and the robust registrations at OCABS and OCABS-related seminars held throughout the US and abroad, demonstrate a resurgence of interest in the power of the Older Testament qua Scripture for the life of the Church in the preaching and teaching of parish priests and educators eager enough to learn—and bold enough to think—about what it is they profess in light of the demands of the Gospel. Increasingly more Orthodox faithful, both clergy and laity alike, have come to understand and appreciate the value of critical approaches to the Older Testament for gaining a fuller understanding of the prophetic word, the person of Jesus Christ in the New Testament world, and the authentic, obligatory self-critical implications this new knowledge inevitably compels. For the divino-human institution of the Church, for which the divine side of the equation remains ever-perfect, cultivating authenticity on the human side can only assist her in fulfilling the image of Christ’s Bride. The fine papers collected in this volume were authored by scholars, not all of whom are Orthodox, whose work is founded upon the conviction that the texts of ancient Israel have spiritual authority for Christian faith and practice that can be enhanced and energized through a deeper understanding of their historical and literary critical dimensions. Their various contributions to this volume and to the field at large are most significant as a collective affirmation for the rigorous application of sound critical methodologies to the study of the Bible and related literature, expressed at an intellectual level with accessible lucidity and a boldness not always at home in some faith communities. The papers contained in this volume fall within the scope of our SBL program unit and the vision of the OCABS, affirming that the human experience of the divine and the resultant expression of it (see especially Jer 20:9) inspired by the revealed Word demands a hearing in the Near Eastern

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sense of the word, which carries the expectation of responsive accountability. They affirm that one need not—indeed, must not—abdicate thinking about the full import of the imperatives contained in the corpus of texts the Orthodox Church reveres as divinely inspired and authoritative in matters of canon, interpretation and liturgy. The term “canon,” as every undergraduate student of the Bible knows, derives from the Greek kanw/n, originally a Phoenician loan-word meaning reed or cane (hnq), which came to signify a measuring rod or model. Thus the biblical canon offers itself as the standard by which all other writings are judged to be either helpful or detrimental to a religious community. Although Christians around the world hold most of the same books in common, strictly speaking each community has maintained its own particular list, so that at no time in history has there ever been complete agreement, especially regarding the books whose status is deemed deutero- or secondarily canonical. For example, in addition to the books accepted by the Roman Catholic Church, most Orthodox communities add 1 Esdras (and 2 Esdras, in the Russian and Ethiopic traditions), 3 Maccabees, the Prayer of Manasseh, and Psalm 151. Although not regarded as authoritative in any real sense, 4 Maccabees is nevertheless appended to this list. In the Ethiopic tradition one finds versions of the books of Jubilees and Enoch, two very important texts, versions of which were found also among the Dead Sea Scrolls. Last but not least, the version of the Book of Daniel that is included in the traditional Orthodox canon—and therefore read liturgically—is not from the Septuagint at all, but was taken from another Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible known as the Theodotion, which was borrowed from Origen’s Hexapla. Thus, given this complicated picture one sees that it is neither helpful nor accurate to speak of a strictly Orthodox canon. In addition to the respective delimitations of authoritative writings, religious communities have also differed widely in their respective understandings of what the term canon actually means. Traditionally, the Latin West has drawn a sharp distinction between the books it identifies as canonical and other texts putatively identified as euvangelia, acta or apokalypses. The latter texts, regarded as spurious at best or dangerous at worst, were often banned, rounded up, and burned by ecclesiastical authorities. Although Protestants were mixed in their regard for the deuterocanonical texts, with the exception of the Anglican Church, reformers further distanced the so-called Apocrypha4 from the canonical books in their respective bibles and eventually came to abandon them all together. By contrast, the attitude toward extra-canonical books in the Christian East—that is, eastern Europe, North Africa, and western to middle Asia—was generally far more relaxed wherever Latin influence did not reach. Byzantine Greek manuscripts containing apocryphal and pseudepigraphical narratives

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have been found in abundance throughout these lands, representing all of their many beautiful ancient and modern languages. Many of these manuscripts bear moralizing colophons that suggest public readings in monastic settings or parishes. Tendered through the hands of monks and priests and given out in the form of pamphlets and brochures, these narratives managed to find their way into the mainstream of Byzantine and post-Byzantine (i.e., Ottoman period) rural life and popular culture where they nourished an already fertile popular imagination. So pervasive was their influence that many of their narrative elements were absorbed into a variety of genres, including popular forms of iconography and other graphic art; the lyrics of folk songs and carols; the chanting of charms and spells; and in the sonorous cadence of life-cycle observances, such as wedding rites and funeral laments. Sometimes their characters sprang from the pages and adhered themselves to the walls of rural and urban churches and monasteries.5 One should also keep in mind that in most of these regions illiteracy was widespread and quite often a pamphlet or brochure obtained from a monastery served more as a kind of talisman than text. Chanted aloud, the words of these so-called amulet texts were believed to possess genuinely efficacious power to break evil spells and petition divine protection. Finally, how many people realize that the Orthodox dismissal of the “holy ancestors of God, Joachim and Anna” (Feast day Sept 9/22) and the liturgical hymns associated with them are not derived from the Bible at all, but are remembered from the Protevangelium of James, a second-century text that celebrates the virginity of the Theotokos and her presentation to the Temple along with the Gospel story of the angelic annunciation and miraculous birthgiving? In sum, Orthodox scribal reproduction of non-canonical manuscripts continued profusely into the modern period. Despite the fact that some of these texts contained elements that some readers might deem questionable, they continued to nourish and inspire the minds and hearts of eastern Christians who were fascinated by the biblical characters and themes they encountered in them. Even more significant is the fact that this largely monastic-driven process of scribal reproduction and popular circulation remained largely unhindered by the hierarchy of the Orthodox churches. On matters of biblical interpretation, it is commonplace that the Orthodox hermeneutical enterprise operates under the conviction that Holy Tradition is the indispensable guide for understanding the Scriptures it has accepted and founded itself upon. For this reason, interpretation of the Older Testament relies almost solely upon patristic exegesis with almost no attention paid to how these texts may have been understood within their own historical contexts. For example, is it important to see Isaiah’s Immanuel prophecy (Isa

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7) as the Word of God directed toward a faithless King Ahaz? It certainly would not have been a point lost to the Gospel writer! The Fathers did not ignore these original contexts, but saw in them a foreshadowing of things to come; but they certainly did not expect their personal understandings and applications of Scripture to be the final word on Scripture. What seems to be the common denominator among Orthodox biblical exegetes past and present is that proper meaning derives from the biblical text when the task is carried out within the inherent fullness of the praying community, from which and for which the process is carried out. Some modern Orthodox biblical scholars, including Fr. John Breck and Prof. Bradley Nassif, among others, speak of Orthodox biblical hermeneutics within the framework of theoria, which generally speaking, seeks to understand the Word of God from within the experience of communion with God through the contemplative and sacramental life of the Church. The challenge is to distill a product that passes muster in the rigors of scholarship at large and these and other Orthodox biblical scholars have been able to do this. Clearly the greatest challenge regarding the authority of Older Testament for communities of faith has come in the form of critical, especially historical, inquiries rising out of the early days of the Enlightenment and culminating in its best-known methodological formulation, the Documentary Hypothesis. While the Documentary Hypothesis as it was classically formulated is hardly recognizable anymore, the fundamental predicament for these faith communities remains in the form of this question, namely, that when one begins breaking down the Older Testament into all of its discrete constituent elements, at which point does one cease to have “Bible”? Various Protestant communities continue to deal with this challenge in a variety of ways. Given the traditionally individualizing tendencies of Protestantism in general, a wide gulf opens between those engaged in rigorous biblical scholarship and their co-religionists in the pew. The former are often frustrated by the fact that the latter, despite their affirmation of sola scriptura, almost never call upon them for insight into the biblical text. For Roman Catholics, Pope Leo XIII’s 1893 encyclical Providentissimus Dei officially rejected higher criticism out of hand, but exactly 50 years later, Pope Pius XII’s encyclical Divino Afflante Spiritu reversed the church’s position in a surprising move that not only allowed Catholic biblical scholars to make use of critical methodologies, but regarded their application a must so long as the basic principles of Catholic biblical tradition were respected and maintained. The Roman Catholic Church boasts many extraordinary biblical scholars, but Protestant models and methods were almost immediately adopted and continue largely to be used. By contrast, Orthodox approaches to the study of the Bible are governed by an ecclesiology and theological outlook that differs from its western

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counterparts. This outlook can be a blessing as well as a curse. On the negative side—as far as scholarship is concerned—is its mystical experience of eternity, synchronicity, chairos—whichever of these terms one wishes to employ. This does not readily admit to temporal causation but resorts easily to the position that everything that needs to be known about the Bible is already in the grasp of the Church, expressed liturgically or present in the writings of the Fathers for those willing to go to these sources. On the positive side, however, the difficult challenge for Orthodox biblical scholars engaged in articulating this view through the rigors of critical methodologies can offer a transformative, distinctively Orthodox contribution to the scholarly world. For Orthodox scholars to ignore critical scholarship or dismiss it out-ofhand without offering anything of real substance in its place betrays an insecurity about the truths we as Orthodox claim to preserve. While Orthodox biblical scholars have always been out there working away in the field, only until recently has there been any real collegiality and collaboration. As such, serious Orthodox biblical scholarship remains in a nascent stage when it comes to the application of any serious historical and literary inquiry. Thus the real challenge before us is to engage cooperatively in critical exploration of the Scriptures in light of Orthodox ideals and values, thus developing ways to maintain the Gospel’s role as proclamation (kerygma) of the Word of God. When this kind of scholarship stands up to the rigorous review of the profession, it is then that we demonstrate faith in the power Scripture, as Word of God to convict, transform, and unite us all. Moving finally to the role of the Older Testament in liturgy one sees that the public reading of Scripture has been an integral part of Orthodox liturgical worship from the beginning, as the earliest followers of Jesus participated in the communal reading of Scripture (miqra) along with their counterparts in other Jewish communities. In response to those who have charged that institutional churches have little appreciation for Scripture, one has only to survey the wide array of Orthodox service books to see a broad mosaic of biblical references that come together to form a template by which Orthodox worshipers are instructed and maintained in the faith. To be sure, it may be said that the Orthodox Church prays, even breathes Scripture. However, an important question arises: How might the role of the Older Testament further enhance the Orthodox liturgy? The most obvious answer is to begin reading it during the Sunday Divine Liturgy throughout the year, at a time when most Orthodox Christians would hear it, and not just during daily offices or special observances, such as when the Liturgy of St. Basil is employed. But even more seriously, for purposes of this volume, how might the critical study of the Older Testament enhance Orthodox life through the liturgy? For example, what if it can be demonstrated that a liturgical reading might actually subvert the Gospel? Is this a question that one may even be free

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to raise? This question and similar ones will be tackled in the articles published in this volume. In conclusion, the involvement of Orthodox biblical scholars engaged in critical approaches to the Older Testament is already a reality. An expanding network of collegiality and cooperation is increasingly becoming a part of this picture and the invitation is extended to all who would be bold enough to labor together in the field under the burning sun of the Gospel.

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Son of Man, Son of God: Aphrahat’s Biblical Christology

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he orthodoxy of the Christology of Aphrahat, the fourth-century Persian Sage,1 has become a matter of some debate. While the early stages of the debate focused on Aphrahat’s presumed knowledge of an early Christian creed,2 A. Grillmeier was one of the first to argue that Aphrahat’s Christology is subordinationist.3 Later, William Petersen argued that Aphrahat's Christology is both subordinationist and “embarrassing.”4 More recently, A. Kofsky and S. Ruzer have presented a thorough discussion of Aphrahat’s Christology in light of his concept of logos.5 While each of these approaches differs significantly, the common thread that binds them is the assumption that Aphrahat’s Christology is not Nicene and is, therefore, lacking. While each of these approaches acknowledges that Aphrahat’s historical circumstances reflect a Judaic or Semitic background removed from that of the Greco-Roman West, they still judge Aphrahat’s Christology by the standard of Nicaea. Moreover, these accounts do not take into account the formational role of the Biblical text—both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament—upon Aphrahat’s Christology. If we consider Aphrahat’s Christology in light of his historical circumstances and use of Scripture, then we will find that Aphrahat’s Christology resists such simple categorization.

The Assessment of Petersen’s Argument6 The crux of Petersen’s argument is that Aphrahat displays a subordinationist Christology that reflects a particular primitive strand of Judaic Christianity also evident in the pseudo-Clementine literature and in Justin Martyr. However, Petersen goes on to state that the case of Aphrahat is “embarrassing” to modern scholars who wish to view Aphrahat as christologically orthodox because, unlike Martyr and the pseudo-Clementine literature, Aphrahat wrote nearly two decades after the Council of Nicaea.7 Petersen argues that

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Aphrahat’s primitive Christology requires some modern scholars to justify their assertions that Aphrahat is orthodox.8 However, Petersen’s own argument is open to methodological criticisms. First, despite the broad scope of the project, as indicated by the title of his article (“The Christology of Aphrahat, the Persian Sage”), Petersen has limited his study to just one of Aphrahat’s 23 Demonstrations—Dem. 17. Not once does Petersen reference a christological statement from the other Demonstrations. By limiting his inquiry to Dem. 17, Petersen has excluded materials that could challenge his view of Aphrahat’s Christology.9 In his discussion of the Christology of Dem. 17, Petersen quotes at length a portion of the Demonstration,10 and then pronounces his judgment that the Christology of the passage (and thus of Aphrahat) is subordinationist. However, the use of the term subordinationist here is misleading, complicated more so by the curious fact that Petersen does not qualify his judgment with any supporting statements.11 Furthermore, it is only in the conclusion of the article that Petersen states what he means by subordinationist. Petersen is not using the traditional definition12 of subordinationism, which he calls “Hellenistic subordinationism,” but rather a more nuanced definition which he calls “Judaic Christian subordinationism.” As opposed to the former, which is philosophical, this Judaic Christian subordinationism is “essentially functional, titular, and references OT passages.”13 It is misleading to link these two ways of thinking under the broad term “subordinationism,” particularly when that term has for so long been used only to describe the “Hellenistic” version.14 Finally, there are historical complications with Petersen’s assertion that Aphrahat’s lack of Nicene language is “embarrassing.” There are at least two defensible explanations for this absence in Aphrahat. First, Aphrahat may have been ignorant of the proceedings at Nicaea and possibly of the entire Arian controversy.15 While it is true that there was at least one Oriental bishop at Nicaea,16 there is no way to be certain how quickly the proceedings were disseminated throughout the East.17 Indeed, it seems that the canons of the Council of Nicaea were not “officially” accepted in the Church of the East until the Synod of Isaac in 410 AD.18 Second, even if Aphrahat knew the intricacies of the christological debates going on in the West, it is likely that he would have found them completely useless regarding the two prominent issues facing his church: the great persecution of Christians in Persia under Shappur II, and the loss of members to Judaism.19 These two problems, distinct though they may seem, are interrelated for Aphrahat’s community. Under such persecution, it is likely that many Christians considered Judaism as a viable alternative because the Jews were not targeted by the persecution.20 The mixture of the brutality of the persecution21 with the social pressure from unaffected Jews and the associated theological

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implications22 would cause some Christians to reconsider their allegiances— hence the need for Aphrahat’s encouragement.23 The relationship between these two problems explains why Aphrahat would dedicate so much of his writing to the superiority of Christianity over Judaism. Aphrahat was not writing these adversus Judaeos demonstrations as simply anti-Jewish propaganda; he was engaged in an argument over the validity of Christianity vis-à-vis Judaism during a critical time of Christian self-identification.24 Thus, though Aphrahat’s polemical demonstrations deal with issues of Judaism, we must conclude that they are written for a Christian rather than a Jewish audience—that is, his aim is not to convince Jews to convert to Christianity, but rather to exhort Christians who may have been considering conversion to Judaism.25 If Aphrahat’s primary concerns were the persecution and the possibility of Christians reverting or converting to Judaism, then it is not inconceivable that he would have ignored the christological controversies of the West, even if he knew about them. They would have little consequence for Aphrahat’s pastoral and theological concerns. Although either of the two previous explanations is possible, the former is more convincing. It seems reasonable to conclude that if Aphrahat had known about the christological controversy of the West, his writings would reflect his knowledge.26 If Aphrahat is ignorant of the christological controversies and of the Council of Nicaea, we must question the extent to which the language of the Nicene Creed is an appropriate litmus test for the orthodoxy of Aphrahat’s Christology. Despite the “scholarly consensus” of Aphrahat’s intellectual distance from his Western contemporaries, scholars still subject Aphrahat’s writings to christological categories forged in debates of which he was ignorant. The Christology of the Council of Nicaea was the result of polemical discourses that involved many people and several decades,27 not the pastoral writings of an individual.28 Moreover, although scholars readily admit that Aphrahat is relatively unaffected by the language and thought of the West, very few take seriously A. F. J. Klijn’s warning that, when “dealing with Syriac christological and theological treatises we have to be continuously aware of a way of thinking different from the one we are used to of our Greek and Latin literature.”29 A careful consideration of the social and historical setting in which Aphrahat wrote the Demonstrations supports the conclusion that Aphrahat’s lack of Nicene language should not be considered an embarrassment to those who would find in Aphrahat an orthodox Christology. Moreover, this consideration should inform our reading of Aphrahat’s Christology throughout the Demonstrations, and particularly in Dem. 17. This Demonstration, along with its Christology, can only be understood in its context—that is, as an argument with the Jews. Moreover, if we are to be fair in our survey of Aphrahat’s Christology, the Nicene Creed cannot be the standard by which we judge his ortho-

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doxy. Aphrahat’s ignorance of Nicaea, as well as his historical and intellectual distance from the Christological controversies of the West, demands a more nuanced view of his Christology that does not limit its description to terms like “primitive” and “archaic,” let alone “subordinationist” or “heterodox.”

Another Excursus on Demonstration 17 Given the title for Dem. 17, “On the Christ, that He is the Son of God,” it is logical to assume that this demonstration adequately represents Aphrahat's Christology. However, such an assumption does not take into account the purpose and setting of this demonstration. Dem. 17 is one of the nine demonstrations (out of 23) that deals specifically with issues pertaining to Jews.30 In the opening lines of Dem. 17, Aphrahat informs his readers of his intentions:       :   :         &"  !" : $% &"       !"  # ) ( $% *& " + !"  ', ( ! : ' ' A response against the Jews who blaspheme against the people who are from the peoples because they say thus: “You worship and serve a man [who was] begotten and a son of man [who was] crucified, and you call a son of man God. And although God has no son, you say concerning this Jesus [who was] crucified, ‘he is the son of God.’” (Dem. 17.1)

With this context in mind, we must reconsider the extent to which the arguments of Dem. 17 alone represent Aphrahat’s Christology. While the underlying debate of Dem. 17 is clearly the divinity of Jesus, the surface debate is concerned with the titles that the Christians bestow upon Jesus—specifically the titles ' (“god”) and ' ( (“son of God”). Aphrahat begins his response by searching the Hebrew Scriptures for the uses of these titles of divinity.31 First, Aphrahat notes that God called Moses ' (“a god”) in his interaction with Pharaoh (Exod 7:1). Then, he provides two examples of sonship language used by God: God calls Israel +( (“my son,” Exod 4:22–23) and +( (“my firstborn,” Hos 11:1). Aphrahat continues the argument concerning proper titles by defending the Christian claim that Jesus is the Messiah by pointing to Messianic prophecies in the Hebrew Bible.32 Aphrahat begins by quoting two of the most common passages adopted by early Christians as Messianic prophecies: Ps 2:7 and Isa 9:6–7, which, taken together, recapitulate Aphrahat’s argument so far: the Messiah is the son of God (Ps 2) and the Messiah is born into the world, will have authority, and will be called by many titles (Isa 9). Continuing his exposition of Messianic prophecies, Aphrahat turns to the passages concerning Christ’s passion. As expected, Aphrahat relies most heavily upon Ps 22 and

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the song of the suffering servant from Isa 52–53. After considering two possible alternative subjects for these prophesies—David and Solomon— Aphrahat concludes that Jesus is the only possible subject.33 Drawing his argument to a close, Aphrahat returns to the topic of the two contested titles and states, “We call [Jesus] God like Moses, [and] first born and and son like Israel.”34 Aphrahat also reminds his readers why he has written this demonstration: “so you may reply to the Jews on account of their saying that God has no son, and our calling him God, son of god, King, [and] first-born of all creation.”35 Thus, Aphrahat concludes by stating his central thesis that the Christian use of the contested titles “God” and “Son of God” for Jesus is justified by the use of these titles in the Hebrew Bible, but he also reminds his readers that these arguments are meant to be made in the context of an argument with Jews concerning the titles of Jesus. In light of this brief exposition of Dem. 17 and the context suggested above, I would like to draw a few conclusions. First, a distinction needs to be made between Aphrahat’s argument for calling Jesus God like Moses and his belief that Jesus actually was God in the Nicene sense. It is clear in Dem. 17 that Aphrahat is arguing only for the former, but that does not mean that Aphrahat’s Christology is limited to this comparison.36 In Dem. 17, Aphrahat is not trying to prove that Jesus is the same substance as God the Father or that he is eternally begotten; his aim is much more limited. Aphrahat is arguing that it is “no strange thing” for Christians to apply the titles of “God” and “Son of God” to a human being because the Hebrew Bible uses these same titles for people. Second, because he is dealing with a specific accusation from the Jews, Aphrahat has intentionally limited himself to the particular discourse of the Hebrew Bible. Indeed, Aphrahat states this limitation explicitly. After providing a list of titles that Christians use for Jesus, Aphrahat states, “We shall leave them all, and we shall argue concerning him that he who came from God is Son of God and God.”37 Here, Aphrahat is intentionally bracketing particular arguments for the sake of his opponents, and, in lieu of these arguments, Aphrahat argues from the Hebrew Bible. Moreover, we see from the reiteration of this point in the conclusion that Aphrahat clearly intends for these arguments about Jesus’ titles to be used in arguments with the Jews. It is a mistake to misconstrue this specific argument as Aphrahat’s Christology in toto. That Aphrahat relies so heavily upon the Hebrew Bible in Dem. 17 should not surprise us. As a “disciple of the sacred Scriptures,”38 Aphrahat is well known for his copious use of biblical citations,39 and the majority of citations throughout the Demonstrations come from the Hebrew Bible.40 Moreover, there is logic behind Aphrahat’s preference for quotations from the Hebrew Bible. J. C. McCullough has demonstrated that Aphrahat consistently

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employs a higher ratio of Hebrew Bible to New Testament citations in the “polemical” (that is, the adversus Judaeos demonstrations) as opposed to the “didactic” demonstrations.41 Thus, Aphrahat consistently limits himself to the Hebrew Bible when he is arguing with the Jews. The ratio of Hebrew Bible to NT citations in Dem. 17, however, is even higher than McCullough’s average for the polemical demonstrations.42 Based on the preponderance of NT quotations concerning Jesus throughout the other 22 demonstrations, it is clear that Aphrahat exhibits an interest in a more nuanced and specific Christology; but that is not his goal in Dem. 17. Aphrahat is not merely crafting a speculative Christology for its own sake; he is answering particular accusations levied against Christians by the Jews. With his opponents in mind, Aphrahat responds by offering examples and prophecies from the Hebrew Bible that are fulfilled by Jesus.43 Thus, in Dem. 17, Aphrahat has intentionally limited himself to a particular discourse that excludes both NT quotations and quasi-credal statements.44 Moreover, by limiting his discourse to the Hebrew Bible, Aphrahat provides the model by which his community may read and interpret the Hebrew Bible as an authoritative source in Christian life and thought.45 A careful consideration of the context of Dem. 17 provides a plausible explanation for the utter lack of any “developed” Christology. Moreover, this context renders Dem. 17 inadequate as the only source for a thorough discussion of the Christology of Aphrahat.46 In order to reconstruct the Christology of Aphrahat, we must utilize all of the Demonstrations, and we must consider the external circumstances that may have influenced Aphrahat’s exegetical methods and mode of argumentation. In keeping with this consideration of Aphrahat's context, we must bear in mind that although Aphrahat lived contemporaneously with the Christological controversies of the West and wrote the Demonstrations after the Council of Nicaea, no evidence exists to suggest that his Sitz im Leben was directly influenced by these events. Thus, we cannot expect Aphrahat’s Christology to reflect the precision of the Nicene Creed.

The Christology of Aphrahat the Persian Sage While it would certainly be fruitful to present a comprehensive study of every statement in Aphrahat’s writings concerned with Christology, the confines of the present study do not allow such detail. The Christological issues considered in this study are meant to be representative—though not exhaustive—of Aphrahat’s Christology.47 Moreover, they are meant to show that Aphrahat’s Christology is far richer and indeed more “orthodox” than the Christology gleaned from Dem. 17.48 The following examples are arranged according to

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pertinent Christological issues such as pre-existence, incarnation, death, resurrection, exaltation, and the impending judgment.

Pre-existence While there are certainly problems with demonstrating Aphrahat’s belief in the pre-existent Christ, it is equally problematic to assert that Aphrahat denies the concept. Aphrahat affirms that Jesus is the “first-born of all created things” ('!-(  ().49 While Aphrahat does not dwell extensively on the nature of Jesus’ being in the time before the creation of all things, there is no need to postulate that Aphrahat’s Christology is in any way deficient here. Elsewhere, Aphrahat affirms that Christ was with the Father from the beginning (' +! +( . '!/0  ).50 Although Aphrahat’s concept of the pre-existence of Christ is not as developed as the Nicene Creed, it does not preclude an understanding of pre-existence similar to that evident in the Nicene formulation. More importantly, Aphrahat’s notion of pre-existence is clearly shaped by the biblical text.51

Incarnation With regard to the concept of the incarnation, Aphrahat appears to be orthodox and scriptural. The primary difficulty in assessing Aphrahat’s view of the incarnation, as Bruns notes, is his lack of the Syriac equivalents of the technical vocabulary for the incarnation found in his Western contemporaries, such as e)nanqrw/phsij (1"(.), sa/rkwsij (2(.) and e)nswma/twsij ()&3.).52 Rather, Aphrahat frequently makes use of the most common Syriac idiom for the incarnation in early Syriac Christianity:  1 (“to put on a body”).53 Aphrahat quotes from the prologue of John and affirms that “the word became a body and dwelt among us” ('!  54 ( !3 .).55 This lends support to the orthodoxy of Aphrahat’s view of both the incarnation and the pre-existent Christ, though admittedly Aphrahat’s meaning is not entirely consistent with regard to the topic of Jesus as the logos of God.56 The most important aspect of Aphrahat’s view of Christ “putting on a body” is the role of the incarnation in the redemption of humanity. Building on Paul’s view of Christ as the second Adam, Aphrahat views Christ’s incarnation as the chance for humanity to be clothed in the robe of glory that Adam lost.57 Christ’s incarnation is intimately related to both baptism58 and resurrection59 so that, because of Christ’s incarnation, his baptism and resurrection make resurrection possible for all humanity through baptism. Any discussion of Aphrahat’s views on the incarnation must take into account his use of the term , often translated “nature.”60 Klijn argues that

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this term cannot be taken as an equivalent for fu/sij, and yet it can convey meanings similar to those terms.61 Thus, it is not helpful to speculate on whether Aphrahat has the precise corresponding meaning in mind when he used the term . It is much more helpful to consider the manner of Jesus’ “being” that Aphrahat is describing when he uses the term. The particular aspect of Jesus’ being that Aphrahat develops with the term  is the humility necessary to take on the human  in order that humans might take on the divine .62 This connection is demonstrated best by a quotation from Dem. 6: “When our Lord went outside of his nature (), he walked in our nature ()...that he may cause us to partake of his nature ().”63 Thus we see that Aphrahat’s concept of  is intricately connected with the redemption that God offers through the incarnation of Christ.

Suffering and Death Aphrahat does not dwell extensively on the event of Jesus’ death, though when he does mention it, Aphrahat is sure to make it clear that Jesus actually suffered death.64 Perhaps against some heterodox views of Jesus’ death, Aphrahat is making it quite clear that it was actually Jesus who suffered in his own body and died.65 Given his view of the relationship between the incarnation and the redemption of humanity, it is not surprising that Aphrahat refers to Jesus’ death most frequently in reference to its salvific nature. For example, Aphrahat declares, “Through his death, he [Jesus] restored life to our mortality.”66 The clear relationship between Jesus’ incarnation, life and death in a human body, and the redemption of humanity in Aphrahat’s writings does not suggest a “primitive” way of thinking. Rather, it suggests that Aphrahat’s concerns about the incarnation are more pastoral and moral than speculative.

Descent to Hell, Defeat of Death, and the Harrowing of Hell Aphrahat clearly demonstrates his belief that, after death, Jesus descended into Hell and defeated a personified death. He claims that, just as Joseph’s brothers cast him into a pit, Jesus’ contemporaries sent him to the place of death.67 Elsewhere, he compares Jesus’ descent to Daniel being cast into the den of lions—he is sent down “to the pit of the place of the dead.”68 Christ, of course, is victorious in this descent to Hell.69 Jesus “broke the gates”70 of Hell and “came up from the midst of Sheol”71 after three days.72 Moreover, Aphrahat makes an argument for the harrowing of Hell: “When our Savior went down to the place of the dead, he quickened and raised up many.”73 On the topics of Christ’s death, defeat of death, harrowing of Hell, and resurrection, it appears that Aphrahat is entirely orthodox.74

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Ascension and Judgment It is clear from Aphrahat’s writings that following Christ’s resurrection, Christ ascends to heaven and is exalted to the right hand of God. This is a biblical image75 that Aphrahat has taken to heart, as he repeats the phrase “at the right hand of the Father” several times.76 And there, Christ awaits his role as the “judge of the dead and the living.”77 In Aphrahat’s writings, Christ is more often than not the agent of his own ascension and exaltation, rather than God. If Aphrahat’s Christology were subordinationist, we might expect to see more of an emphasis on God’s agency and Christ’s willing submission. Here again we see that Aphrahat’s Christology reflects the orthodox position. Based on this brief survey of Aphrahat’s Christological statements, we offer here a few conclusions. First, this survey is suggestive of the breadth and depth of Aphrahat’s Christology reflected throughout the Demonstrations. Aphrahat’s portrayal of the triumphant Christ, having defeated death, harrowed Hell, raised to walk again, ascended to the right hand of God, and waiting to judge the living and the dead, demands a more nuanced and detailed exposition of his Christology than Dem. 17 alone can provide. Second, this proposal is suggestive of the biblical nature of Aphrahat’s Christology. We see clearly in Dem. 17 that Aphrahat believed Jesus’ identity as the Messiah could be demonstrated from the Hebrew Bible. Moreover, Aphrahat's Christological claims are often based on quotations from Scripture. Thus, Aphrahat’s Christology is based on the Christology of the Bible and not on Christological debates, philosophical speculation or polemical propaganda.

Conclusion Aphrahat’s Christology is contextual, biblical and orthodox. It is contextual because Aphrahat is concerned with Christology only insofar as the topic concerns his community. It is biblical because Aphrahat bases his arguments about Christ on Scripture and he attempts to weave passages from the whole of Scripture into a coherent Christology. Aphrahat’s Christology is orthodox in two respects: 1) negatively, that Aphrahat’s Christology is not un-orthodox, even if it is not as “developed” as the Christological debates of the West—that is, nowhere does Aphrahat’s Christology preclude Nicene Christology; and 2) positively, that Aphrahat, throughout his writings, displays a coherent Christology based on the biblical narrative of Jesus Christ, who came, lived and suffered death, rose on the third day, and was ultimately exalted to the right hand of the Father where he waits to judge all humanity.78 Moreover, for Aphrahat, Jesus’ life and death are the means by which humanity is reconciled to God.

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Ephraem the Syrian and the Authority of the Old Testament Writings

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phraem the Syrian (306–373 AD), the famous doctor ecclesiae from fourth-century Syria, was the authoritative Bible interpreter (mefasseqana) at exegetical schools, first at Nisibis and then at Edessa. Those schools trained readers and clergy for the church. Besides bishops, readers were also asked to preach in services. Only a few people were able to read and presbyteroi were often illiterate. Thus the purpose of interpreting the Bible was practical, as the message was mostly heard: “Scripture was explained for ears, mouth repaid the debt with praise.” Hearing the text puts much weight on playing with words, which is a cornerstone of Ephraem’s writings. Ephraem (Ephrem) was certainly a profilic commentator on the Bible. Both Syriac and Greek traditions remember Ephraem as having commented on all the books of the Bible. The writings of Ephraem are preserved mostly in Syriac. An Armenian corpus, consisting primarily of biblical commentaries and a small number of hymns, appears to be genuine, whereas Greek texts in his name are almost certainly not by Ephraem. They may be traced to his disciples. Totally preserved are commentaries on Genesis and Exodus and some commentaries translated into Armenian. Besides providing basic teaching, the exegetical schools strove to react to the challenges of their time. Ephraem was born in 306 AD and thus was, at his youth, involved with christological debates, which culminated in the Ecumenical Council of Nicea. His teacher, the famous bishop Jacob of Nisibis, was present at Nicea. This had an impact on Ephraem who was eager to defend the true Orthodox faith, which needed defenders after Nicea, too. He found that Gnostics, Manicheans, Marcionites and Arians based their teachings on Hellenistic philosophy, astrology and oriental religious ideas. If they referred to the Bible they read it according to their own premises:

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•M E R J A M E R R A S • The sons of error saw/ the both Testaments,/ which were united and added/ to the body of Truth./ From them they cut (pieces) and took (them)/ and stuck (together) and made books./ They cut off and took orders, which were fitting (for them)./ And this is the shameful deed:/ they wanted to make a perfect body/ from this separation of the limbs. Without beginning/ is this book which they read./ And they want also to make a body/ without the head and the two hands/ of the both Testaments. (Hymnen contra Haereses 2:19–20)

Ephraem sees both Testaments as inseparable. Both are needed, the former as a mold and the latter as contents of a mold. The both Testaments,/ which the liars have separated from each other,/ are together, one in another,/ made in unity./ But the covenant/ the old one, was like/ a typos and a mould,/ which was made for that which will last forever./ It does its service and goes away./ The new covenant was poured/ into the typoi of those which are like it, and they were fulfilled. (Hymnen contra Haereses 36:8)

Ephraem does not want to study divinity, which he thinks is hidden from humans. Ephraem blames especially the heretics for studying the essence of God: “Study not God, study his commandments!” (Sermo de Fide 3:39). For him the answers for the relevant questions of creation, human life, transgressions, and death are found in the Scripture, as it is written. The Bible is written to spread the idea of salvation. Salvation is tied in the right understanding of the Gospels and through them of the whole Scripture. Salvation is made for humans who understand and accept the deeds of Jesus and confess it by coming to baptism. For Ephraem the Bible was meant for preaching on the bema for salvation, not for study among scholars to debate God’s essence and function. The words of the Bible read aloud are words of instruction for one to do them. The earliest Syriac Lectionary Br. M. Add 14528, which is written between 351–390 AD, in part during Ephraem’s lifetime, confirms the authority of the Old Testament by ordering very many Old Testament lessons to be read during divine services. Many of them are the same as those read even today in services of the Orthodox Church. Since the lessons are diminished in the lectionaries that followed, it is possible that hymns replaced many of the Scripture readings. Ephraem was both a talented poet and a fervent defender of the Orthodox faith. Combining these qualifications, he created edifying poems, which were sung at the services to explain the spiritual meaning of a given lesson, thus diminishing the number of sermons and strengthening the Orthodox understanding of Scripture. This development began in Syria, probably just with Ephraem the Syrian. Ephraem lived in Nisibis and Edessa, in a Semitic region of Syria, where the famous Jewish schools of Pumbeditha and Sura were also located. The Hebrew Bible was studied there, and it was there that Jewish oral tradition was

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written down to be the Mishnah. We know the festal readings of the Babylonian Jewish tradition quite well from the Babylonian Talmud. Some scholars have suggested that Christian and Jewish biblical exegesis were interrelated. Rabbi Jacob Neusner, however, denies this influence. Christians and Jews did not study at the same academies. The most natural explanation is that they both read the same book with their own traditions and expectations. Differing aims could not prevent them from sometimes arriving unconsciously at the same results. Christians and Jews had similar oriental approaches, although often they ended up with different interpretations, mainly because of the New Testament. Christians changed the order of the lessons to point the value of the Gospel. But the basic teachings of the Old Testament, such as the creation, the commandments, the exhortation to repentance, the love for neighbours, were seen in the same way. The importance of Moses in transmitting the Law is common, too. Scripture was written by Moses who was the supreme authority, since God gave him the commandments and spoke to him. In his Commentary on Genesis, Ephraem begins every single explanation by saying: as Moses spoke or wrote. The Scripture itself orders that everybody had to listen to Moses: “He is entrusted with all my house…and he beholds the form of the Lord.” In Num 12, Miriam and Aaron tried to challenge Moses’ authority, but they were punished for doing it. The five books of Moses are written in the name of Moses, and the early Church followed this notion. Those who factually wrote the Law wanted to point that God spoke with Moses and that Moses transmitted the will of God to the people. One could not bypass either Moses or the Law. There was no other way to God. However, Ephraem does not give value to Jewish interpretations. He sees Jews only as opponents for his endeavours. Ephraem has been accused of anti-Semitism, and some of his writings, for instance Sermo de Fide 3, is strongly anti-Jewish, even unfair, accusing Jews of being murderers. The reason for that might be that in Ephraem’s lifetime there were still Judaizing Christians who resisted Paul’s Gospel and held to circumcision practices. Anti-Jewish sentences might be seen in connection with his defense of the Pauline gospel. But Ephraem resists strongly Marcion, too, and all those that prefer the New Testament, neglecting the Old Testament. Ephraem’s method of exegesis is not intended to provide a continuous, verse-by-verse exposition of the biblical text. He dwells on texts that have particular theological significance for him. The bond that unites the two Testaments is so intimate that there is virtually no incident or detail in one which does not have its typological parallel in the other. Ephraem recognized the symbolic nature of biblical discourse, and abides by the written word of the Scripture, not in other writings, however famous they may be.

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•M E R J A M E R R A S • Let us learn from this Old Testament./ The sons of the Truth heard it with wise love/ and believed what was written,/ because all this is enough for benefit….Both Testaments teach us/ that the believers never argue or study/ about the belief in God.” (Hymnen de Fide 56:7–8) I neglected what was not written, and I stayed in the written texts,/ so that by those which were not written/ I would not miss that which was written. (Hymnen de Fide 64:11b)

God is to be seen in his creation as well as in Scripture: Look at the world and look at the Scriptures,/ and confess that there is only One who rules over all./ The created natures witness his goodness,/ the Scripture announces his righteousness. (Hymnen contra Haereses 38:4a)

Ephraem was interested in defending the Orthodox Christian way to understand the salvation of humankind, and all his exegesis and hermeneutics aim to this. He was not interested in those questions pondered by exegesis in our time, namely the background information of the circumstances or history of the biblical land. For him it is important to meet the humanity to which the Scripture guides its hearers. Blessed he that neither tastes bitter wisdom from the Greeks/, nor spits out the simple words of the men of Galilee. (Hymnen de Fide 2:24) If your instructor goes astray, then go and study upon the Scripture by yourself. (Sermo de Fide 6:167)

In his commentaries on Genesis and Exodus he is interested only in the passages that confirm his ideas contra haereses. He is convinced that the creation is described in Genesis in a proper way to point that the opinions of heretics are false: [Moses] wrote about the substances that were created out of nothing so that [the descendants of Abraham] might know that they were falsely called self-existent beings. (Com. Gen. 4)

He explains the creation according to the world view of his time, but is unable to see the real purposes of the writer. For instance where does light come from in the first verse, if the sun and the moon were not created before the fourth day, even later than vegetation appeared? The obvious reason for that is that he did not know what we now know, namely that in the era of writing the Old Testament each nation had its own deity, and the notion of one great creator-god was not yet spread over the empire. The story of creation reflects that time. The author of biblical creation wants to say that JHWH is the great creator-god, and every other deity—Sun, Moon, Stars—is submitted to him. Ephraem is very dependent on the notions of his own time, and that makes him useful only for his fellow citizens, not for us anymore. His interest

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in defending the Nicene creed through the Scripture makes his interpretation one-sided and prevents him comprehending the totality of the aims of the author. However, our time’s exegesis sometimes seems no better than Ephraem’s exegesis, since we also treat the Scripture according to our time’s questions, very anachronistically. Until the past few decades we have sought solution to puzzles of the Bible in the history, imagining that Scripture tells us Israel’s history from Abraham until the Maccabeans. Now we have turned to see the Scripture as literature, full of edifying stories that are partly based on real history, but in many passages only on imagined history. This seems to be the more correct way to meet the ancient stories of humankind.

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Levitical Paradigms for Christian Bishops: The Old Testament Influence on Origen of Alexandria

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long with Augustine, Origen of Alexandria has been declared “the most immense, the most prolific, and the most personal genius who has illuminated the church of the first centuries.”1 These century-old words of Ferdinand Prat, echoed later by Jean Daniélou, remain an accurate assessment of the importance of Origen in the history of early Christianity. No other thinker of the first three centuries has produced such a depth of insight and such a vast command of his subject as Origen. While many scholars have demonstrated Origen’s thoroughly philosophical world of thought,2 the majority of his theological contribution comes in the unquestionably biblical expression of scriptural commentary and exposition. Prat again: “Subtle theologian, incomparable controversialist, patient critic and prolific orator, Origen is above all an exegete.”3 Origen knows his Bible, is shaped by it and draws his theology from it. He is, in his own words, a “man of the church (vir ecclesiasticus), living under the faith of Christ and placed in the midst of the church.”4 As a thinker both committed to the early Christian church, and one thoroughly immersed in the church’s sacred texts, Origen provides valuable insight into the way the stories and institutions of the Old Testament offered a significant and central shaping influence upon early Christian thought. This is no less true in regards to the emerging understanding of early Christian ministerial leadership as a Christian priesthood. It has long been noted that Origen employs the term i(ereuj/sacerdos (priest) to designate the priesthood of Christ, the priesthood of the church, and the spiritually mature Christian.5 Fewer scholars, however, have emphasized or even recognized that Origen also uses the term to designate the Christian hierarchical leadership—particularly the bishop. Theo Hermans, for example, argues that “Origen only rarely designates the Christian who has received the sacerdotal ordination by the term i(ereuj.”6 Likewise, Robert Daly argues that in Origen’s homilies, “There is no mention of the office of a class

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of specially ordained hierarchical Christian priests.”7 Finally, Joseph Trigg draws similar conclusions, averring “Unquestionably, Origen did not identify priests with the existing officials of the church.”8 The aim of this paper is twofold: first, to demonstrate Origen’s regular appropriation of priestly language for Christian leadership; second, to explain that appropriation by exploring the shaping influence of the Old Testament upon Origen’s choice of vocabulary and his understanding of leadership functions. One clear example of Origen’s connection between official Christian leadership and the idea of priesthood comes from his Homilies on Leviticus. Here, in light of the public ordination of Old Testament priests as prescribed in Lev 8:4–5, Origen explains: For in ordaining a priest (sacerdote), the presence of the people is also required in order that all may know and be certain why, from among all the people, one who is more excellent, who is more learned, who is more holy, who is more prominent in all virtue, is chosen for the priesthood (sacerdotium), lest afterward, when he stands in the presence of the people, any objection or doubt remain. For this is what the Apostle also teaches in the ordination of a priest (sacerdotis), saying “For it is proper to have a good testimony from those who are outside.”9

In this text, Origen explains the reason God requires a public ordination of the priest (sacerdos) as mandated in the book of Leviticus. But Origen then moves seamlessly from a discussion of the Levitical priesthood to the Christian ministry by citing 1 Tim 3:7, “For it is proper to have a good testimony from those who are outside.” The importance of this citation lies in the observation that 1 Tim 3 delineates the qualifications for the Christian bishop (e)pi/skopoj). The tie between bishop and priest is made explicit by Origen; he grounds his Christian application of the Old Testament Levitical prescription by turning to the New Testament, saying “the Apostle also teaches in the ordination of a priest.”10 For Origen, then, the office of bishop in the New Testament corresponds with the Levitical priesthood of the Old Testament such that an Old Testament text on the priesthood is understood to refer to the Christian bishop. A second example in which Origen draws this link is his seventh homily on Leviticus. Here Origen notes that Lev 9:7 commands priests who approach the altar to abstain from strong drink. Origen explains: “Therefore he wants those, to whom the Lord himself is their portion, to be sober (sobrios), fasting, vigilant at all times, especially when they are present at the altar to pray to the Lord and to offer sacrifice (sacrificandum) in his sight.” These commands hold for the church as well, avers Origen, since “the Apostle asserts these same things in the laws of the New Testament. For in a similar way, he himself, setting up the rules of life for the priests (sacerdotibus) or chief priests (principibus sacerdotum), says ‘they ought not to be enslaved much to wine, but ought to be sober (sobrios).’”11 Origen makes explicit his bishop-as-priest

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paradigm by comparing the commands for the priests in Leviticus with the qualifications for bishops in 1 Tim 3. Where Old Testament priests are commanded to be sober, so New Testament bishops receive similar instruction.12 For Origen, then, when the Apostle speaks about the qualifications for bishop, he is speaking about a Christian ministerial priesthood, and when he reads the Levitical prescriptions of the Old Testament, he unapologetically applies them to the Christian ministry. Similar connections can be found in Origen’s homilies on the books of Numbers and Joshua. Discussing the text in Num 2:2 which commands the Israelites to “encamp each by his own standard, with the ensigns of their father’s house,” Origen interprets it as a prescription for order (ordo) within the church, yet warns against overly idealizing the clergy in the church: Do you think that those who discharge the office of the priesthood (sacerdotio) and glory in the sacerdotal order (sacerdotali ordine) march according to their order (ordinem) and do everything which is worthy of that order? Similarly also for the deacons; do you think they march according to the order of their ministry? From where is it often heard to blaspheme men and say: “Behold, such a bishop! such a presbyter! such a deacon!” Is this not said where a priest (sacerdos) or minister of God will be seen to violate his order and to act against the sacerdotal or levitical rank (sacerdotalem vel leviticum ordinem)?…If they fail in decency and discretion, if they behave impudently, will not Moses accuse them at once and say: “Let a man march according to his order”?13

Here Origen clearly has in mind the bishop and presbyter as the sacerdotes, those who fill the sacerdotalis ordo, reminding them of and calling them back to the dignity of their office. There is here an implicit chastisement of those unworthy of their office, but he affirms that office as a sacerdotal ordo nonetheless. In a homily on Josh 3, Origen discusses the Israelite crossing of the Jordan River. There he addresses his Christian congregation: “And do not be amazed when these things concerning the former people are applied to you. To you, O Christian, who have passed through the Jordan River through the sacrament of baptism, the divine word promises much greater and loftier things.” Origen then ties together the Old Testament priesthood with current Christian leadership by reminding his audience that “if indeed you have come to the mystic font of baptism and in the presence of the priestly and Levitical order (sacerdotali et Levitico ordine) have been admitted to those venerable and magnificent sacraments…then, with the Jordan crossed, you will enter the land of promise by the services of the priests (sacerdotum ministeriis).”14 While Origen does not name the bishop or presbyter explicitly, the liturgical reference to baptism and the sacraments undoubtedly indicates the ministerial leadership of the Church. Just as “the former people” were led into the land by the priests, so too the Christian people “enter the land of promise by the service of

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the priests.” The Christian leaders, implies Origen, are the “priestly and Levitical order” for the Christian people.15 What can explain this connection Origen makes between Christian leadership and Israelite priesthood? Moreover, why have so many scholars either downplayed this connection or denied it altogether? The answer, I suggest, lies in exploring the way Origen’s underlying ecclesiology has been shaped by the Old Testament, in particular his assumption of the Christian connection with ancient Israel.

Ecclesiology Shaped by the Old Testament In his nearly 900 page monograph, Mysterium Ecclesiae, F. Ledegang surveys the variety of images of the church used by Origen. He notes that the majority of scholars do not address the subject of Origen’s ecclesiology at any length,16 and those few exceptions who do, typically conclude with E. G. Weltin that “Origen’s fundamental concept of the church was spiritual…a spiritual body.”17 These scholars largely explore Origen’s discussion of the church in his commentary and homilies on Song of Songs and the comparison especially between the soul and the church, and the church as the mystical bride of Christ. The conclusion, then, that Origen’s ecclesiology consists of a spiritual and invisible church is, of course, not without merit, for Origen clearly speaks in numerous places of the church in this more spiritual, mystical manner. However, another important, yet oft-overlooked, metaphor Origen uses for the church is that of a “divine nation.” In his work Contra Celsum, Celsus has accused the Christians of failing their political duty to the state by refusing to take office in the government. Origen responds at length: But we recognize in each city the existence of another national government (su&sthma patri/doj) founded by the Word of God, and we encourage those who are powerful in word and of a wholesome life to rule over the churches (e0kklhsiw~n)….And those who rule (oi9 a1rxontej) us well are under the constraining influence of the great King (tou~ mega&lou basile/wj), whom we believe to be the Son of God, the divine Word. And if those who rule (oi9 a1rxontej) the church rule well, being called rulers of the divine nation (qeo_n patri/doj)—I am speaking of the church—they rule according to the commands of God….18

Origen here describes the church as a “national government” complete with “rulers” and a “great King.” The church is likened to a “divine nation” (qeo_n patri/doj) in Origen’s words, ruled by divine commands. References to the church as a “nation” or a “race” are found again in Origen’s homilies on Numbers, Joshua, Judges, Ezekiel and his Contra Celsum.19

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What does it mean for Origen that Christian leaders are “rulers of the divine nation”? The significance of this image lies in noting another important aspect of Origen’s ecclesiology—an assumed connection with Israel which results in the Old Testament institutions and realities becoming paradigms for understanding his current Christian situation. For example, in his commentary on Joshua, Origen discusses the Israelites’ destructive campaign against the Canaanites, employing a spiritual interpretation to arrive at its contemporary meaning. Just as the nation of Israel was called upon to fight a carnal battle, so now the church is called to wage a war against the spiritual adversaries of the soul. He explains further: “And we carefully consider from these nations, which visibly besiege carnal Israel, how many nations there are opposed to virtue from these spiritual things, which are called ‘spiritual forces of evil in the heavens’ (Eph 6:12), which stir up wars against the church of the Lord (ecclesiam Domini), which is the true Israel (verus Istrahel).”20 The Israelite wars found in the Old Testament are interpreted by means of re-reading the text in a new way: Israel now typifies the church; the war in Canaan signifies the Christian battle against vice. Origen’s assumption of an ecclesiological connection with Israel can be observed again in his commentary on the Gospel of John. Comparing the church with Israel, Origen opines: I think that the first ancient people who were called by God were divided into twelve tribes for the service of God, and in addition to the remaining tribes, the Levitical order, itself divided according to further priestly and Levitical orders; so I think that all the people of Christ according to the hidden man of the heart, being called a “Jew in secret” and having been “circumcised in the spirit” (cf. Rom 2:28–29), have the natures of the tribes more mystically.21

For Origen, to be a Christian was to be a “Jew in secret” and to have been “circumcised in the spirit.” Origen affirms a robust relationship between ancient Israel and the Christian church, asserting that the church retained the nature of the people of Israel in a mystical sense. Origen, of course, derives this understanding of the church not from his own invention, but from the apostle Paul. In Origen’s systematic treatment of biblical interpretation, On First Principles, he explains that “the apostle, raising our understanding, says somewhere, ‘Behold Israel according to the flesh,’ as if there is some Israel according to the spirit. And he says elsewhere, ‘For these children of the flesh are not the children of God, nor are all Israel who are from Israel.’”22 Taking his cue from Paul, Origen argues that the true Israelite is the one in spirit, that is, the follower of the promised Messiah. As N. R. M de Lange notes, “Crucial to the whole argument is the paradox that the Jews and the Gentiles suffer a reversal of roles. The historical Israelites cease to be Israelites, while the believers from the Gentiles become the new Israel. This involves a redefinition of Israel.”23

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An equally important component to Origen’s ecclesiological construction is the illumination provided at the coming of Christ. As he says in On First Principles, “the light contained in the law of Moses, having been hidden under a veil, showed forth at the arrival of Jesus, when the veil was taken away, and the good things came into knowledge at once, which the letter held as a shadow.”24 Only at the arrival of Christ did the shadows and figures of the Old Testament come to full view as symbols about Christ and the church. As Marcel Simon comments, for Origen “the church is in the Old Testament… [and] Israel’s rites should be understood as the simple prefiguration of the Christian rites.”25 Or as Origen himself says in a homily on Leviticus: “Every single thing which is written in the law is a figure (formae) of the things which ought to be carried on in the church.”26 All that the Old Testament law had to say about Israel Origen sees as applicable and fulfilled in his current Christian situation. Returning then to Origen’s earlier comments about the church as a “race” or “divine nation,” one must remember that Origen already has a particular “nation” in mind with which the church is linked: Israel. The Christian community, according to Origen’s description of the church, is none other than the “divine nation” which is built upon and fulfills the Israelite nation of the Old Testament. As Ledegang remarks, for Origen “there is one history of salvation, one citizenship of Israel and Christians alike. The common line of the history of salvation runs from the Exodus to Christ’s redemption.”27

A Typology of Priesthood How does Origen’s ecclesiology relate to his conception of the Christian ministerial leadership in terms of priesthood? Put simply, Origen assumes an ecclesiological connection between Israel and the Christian community such that he reads and appropriates the Old Testament patterns of Israelite leadership (particularly the Israelite priesthood) as a working typology for his understanding of Christian leadership. This hermeneutic of ecclesiological continuity with Israel allows Origen to understand the Old Testament Levitical priesthood in a typological way. Here I follow Daniélou’s definition of typology as “the essential idea of analogy between the actions of God in the events, institutions and individuals of the Old and New Testament.”28 Elsewhere, Daniélou describes typology as “a relation between realities both of which are historical, and not between historical realities and a timeless world.”29 Likewise, R. P. C. Hanson emphasizes both the “similar situation” between the events and the “fulfillment” aspect of typology. He explains: “Christian typology…was a fulfilled typology, that is to say, it saw each of the Old Testament types as ultimately no more

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than prophecies or pointers to the reality which had taken place in the Christian dispensation.”30 The realities of the Old Testament become figures or types of realities found in the New Testament, Christ, or his church. The important point to observe is that a typological interpretation works primarily upon an analogy between historical realities, not between historical (visible) and spiritual (invisible) realities. While much of Origen’s interpretation of Levitical priesthood does move from historical to spiritual (the heart, soul, morals, and so on), his appropriation of the Levitical priesthood as a type of the Christian ministry does not. Rather, he is moving from one historical reality to another, from one visible institution (Israelite priesthood) to another visible institution (Christian ecclesial office). Because neither the Christian church nor the Jews worshipped in the Temple in Jerusalem or offered bloody animal sacrifices any longer, the Old Testament institution of priesthood and the accompanying laws could not be read without some alteration. It should come as no surprise that Origen applies his typological hermeneutic to his reading of such Old Testament texts. As he says in Homily 4 on Numbers, “We return thus to this Tabernacle of the church of the living God and see how each of these [prescriptions of the Law] ought to be observed in the church of God by the priests of Christ (sacerdotibus Christi).”31 The old law must still be observed, according to Origen, even in the church of God. Just as the priests of Israel were responsible for the exercise of these laws, so too the “priests of Christ” must enact these commands in the church. Elsewhere in Homily 9 on Leviticus, Origen reminds his listeners: “the things which are written in the law were shown to be copies (exemplaria) and figures (formas) of living and true things.”32 For Origen, those “living and true things” were none other than the realities now present in the Christian ministerial leadership. Moreover, as previously demonstrated, because the Christian e0kklhsi/a is understood by Origen as a kind of “divine nation” modeled around biblical Israel, the priestly leadership of Israel quickly becomes the formative paradigm for understanding Christian leadership. This underlying ecclesiological hermeneutic applied to Christian priesthood is expressed in a number of homilies. For example, in a homily on Num 18:8, Origen addresses the Old Testament practice of giving the firstfruits to the priests: This passage which we have in our hands, it seems to me, invites the interpretation that it is right and useful to offer also the first-fruits to the priests (sacerdotibus) of the gospel. For thus “the Lord arranged that those who proclaim the gospel live from the gospel, and those who serve the altar participate in the altar” (1 Cor 9:14, 13). This is thus right and decent; and thus it is contrary, indecent and unworthy, even impious, that one who worships God and enters into the church of God, who knows that the priests (sacerdotes) and ministers stand by the altar and serve either the Word of God

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Origen draws upon Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians to establish his reading: the Old Testament priests are fulfilled by and correspond with the Christian leaders; the old ministers of the altar who receive the first-fruits typify the current Christian ministers who also receive support from their congregation. As Theo Schäfer explains, “Since the priest—like the Levites of the Old Testament—should be dedicated entirely to the service of God, Origen demands that [bishops] be provided for materially by the laity….Whoever proclaims the gospel should live from the gospel and whoever serves the altar should also receive his share from it.”34 Origen continues to understand the Old Testament text in light of its relevance in the new community, and sees obvious continuity between old leadership and new. Thus, Origen’s ecclesiological reading has a continuity of application, yet a transformation. In each dispensation the gifts are offered to the spiritual leaders of the people of God, and in this sense, his reading is a straightforward appropriation of the Numbers text. Yet, with the Israelite Temple and priesthood now removed, Origen finds application in the new institution: the Christian assembly with its appointed leadership, what he calls “the priests of the gospel” who perform “the ministry of the church.” Such a passage demonstrates the ecclesiological hermeneutic employed in Origen’s reading of the Old Testament priesthood as a typology for Christian leadership. Perhaps the most striking example of Origen’s typological interpretation of Israel and its priesthood comes from Homily 2.1 on Joshua. Here, Origen expounds on the death of Moses, explaining to his audience that “unless you understand how Moses died, you will not be able to draw your attention to how Jesus reigns.”35 He then moves into an elaborate contrast between “Moses” and “Jesus”: If therefore you consider closely that Jerusalem is destroyed, the altar having been abandoned, that nowhere are there sacrifices or offerings or first-fruits, nowhere priests, nowhere high priests, nowhere the ministry of Levites—when you see that all these things have ceased, say that “Moses the servant of God is dead.” If you see no one coming three times a year before the face of God, neither offering gifts in the temple nor celebrating the Passover nor eating the unleavened bread, nor offering the first-fruits, nor consecrating the first-born—when you do not see these things being celebrated, say that “Moses the servant of God is dead.” But when you see Gentiles entering into the faith, churches being built, the altars no longer spattered with the blood of animals, but being consecrated with the precious blood of Christ, when you see priests and Levites attending not to the blood of bulls and goats, but to the Word of God through the grace of the Holy Spirit …when you see all these things, then say that Moses the servant of God is dead and Jesus the Son of God occupies his place. 36

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In this lengthy passage, Origen compares Moses and Jesus, but in doing so he also draws in an entire portrait of continuity and contrast between dispensations and public institutions, the old and new rites, the old and new people of God, and the old and new priesthood. Jean Daniélou comments upon the passage this way: In this magnificent text there appears at the same time both the succession and the continuity of the two economies, simultaneously all the novelty of the gospel and all the collapse of the Law; and at the same time—and this, properly speaking, is the notion of ‘figure’—the resemblance between the spiritual realities of the new law and the fleshly realities of the old….We have here a typology that is profoundly traditional, which contains its dogmatic reality, one which is in fact an essential part of the deposit of the church.37

Here we see most clearly how Origen’s reading of the Old Testament has guided and shaped his thinking about both the Christian community and Christian leadership. Because the new realities still maintain continuity with the old. The old Israelite priesthood still finds application in the new visible institution of the church. Yet, because there is also discontinuity and transformation from Moses to Jesus, that application must move beyond a simple succession. The result: the old priesthood of Israel has been typologically fulfilled and transformed into a new priesthood, embodied in the Christian ministerial leadership of the church. As Origen explains, the Temple of old no longer remains. Those old bloody sacrifices are no longer offered. The old priesthood exists no more. In its place, public church buildings arise, the gospel is preached and the Christian leaders inherit the title priests.38 Thus, when Origen speaks of the Christian ministerial leader as a i(ereuj/sacerdos, it is just one clear example of the way Origen’s interest in and attention to the stories and realities of the Old Testament has shaped his understanding of Christian reality.

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Leviticus between Fifth-Century Jerusalem and Ninth-Century Merv

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esychius of Jerusalem (d. 452 AD) seems, on the basis of admittedly patchy evidence, to have been one who moved in an increasingly mia or mono-physite direction at the time of the Council of Chalcedon, 451 AD, expressed finally in his opposition to Leo’s Tome.1 As for his Leviticus-Commentary, the only extant complete one in Christian Antiquity, it is extant only in Latin translation and at some point in its transmission, the Vulgate text was superimposed on it as lemmata, for the text of the commentary clearly did not use Jerome.2 The commentary was hugely significant in this translation as the foundation of almost all medieval Latin interpretation of Leviticus: the Glossa Ordinaria.3 The occasion for writing such a thing in Leviticus may have been an apologetic necessity in the face of a Jewish majority, or so argues Elena Zocca.4 Vaccari insisted that the author of the commentary certainly knew Jerusalem.5 Hesychius was more interested than most ancient Christians in how the Law was considered by those who first received it. It was meant, to use his rhetoric, to bow these rebels down so that they would eventually receive the gospel. But those who have received can see Law as a dispenser of gospel (on Lev 4:14).6 Thus, he wanted to relax any tight law-gospel opposition and not to distance itself too much from referring to a real observance of precepts.7 Thus, the referents are often very concrete and only where he absolutely has to will he employ a spiritualizing exegesis, e.g. where he takes “morning” in Lev 7:14 as “the age to come.” The gospel and “the flesh of Christ” are one and the same thing in Hesychius’ exegesis of Lev 16:2, as Jüssen emphasized.8 The point is, one needs to look at this cloud of “lordly flesh” (sa.rc despoti/kh) and not speculate behind it, but rather to adore its mystery. So the realia of the faith are not to be gone behind nor given too much spiritualized significance. However throughout the commentary there is a continual awareness of the two aspects of Christ’s being, the suffering and the glorifying, and these are well distinguished, although their jutxtaposition is often regarded as a paradox. On

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closer inspection it would appear that these two parts are not so much his divinity and humanity as much as an exalted and humbled humanity, which at points sounds suspiciously like Apollinarianism, but which makes Christ’s human agency able to work a true penitence which supplements the feeble penitence of believers.9 We should perhaps see Hesychius as standing near the head of what was becoming the West Syrian stream of Pentateuch-interpretation. Perhaps it is no coincidence that there were 14 readings from Leviticus in the West Syriac Lectionary (Harran, ninth century) compared with only three in the East Syriac equivalent, and those on the social justice themes to reinforce texts from Isa 28–30. Now with Jacob of Sarug in his Homilies against the Jews, VII.378,10 there is a tone not dissimilar to that of Hesychius in his polemical disregard for the earthly Jerusalem. As D. Lane borrows for the title of his most helpful paper, whence I have drawn these examples from Jacob, the true religion is “no longer Jerusalem or turtle doves.” Christological cards are placed firmly on the table when in Homily IV.323–411 he views the pure/impure distinction as nothing other than “an image of the distinction between the Father and the Son.” And therefore he can follow this up with “The sacrifices of Moses, with their customs and kinds: what do they represent, O Jew, other than your Saviour? What is the purpose of the sprinkling of blood on the table? If you look well, it is the portrayal of the blood of the only Son…”12 In the same vein, Philoxenus of Mabbug in his Dissertationes 3 makes good use of Lev 26:12 for miaphysite Christological ends.13 “If God the Word had taken another man and had dwelt in him, as you say, instead of ‘he dwelt among us’ he would have said ‘he dwelt in him,’ for ‘in him’ indicates a single being, but ‘among us’ (points out) many, just as ‘I will dwell in them and I will walk with them’.” Yet to return to the head of that “river,” most of all Hesychius was known for and was influential through, not least in the Latin West, long sections which deal with the theme of penance. In Lev 21:11 the question is raised: “how can the immortal soul die?” Ezek 18:20 provides an answer. It is full sin which leads to death that kills the soul. In Lev 19:13 (1025C) there are peccata maiora and peccata minora; the sins which are more serious are those which are intentional or which are materially directed against God (841C). His contemporary, Anastasius of Sinai, had certainly drawn the knowing/ ignorance distinction. As Jüssen observed, Hesychius defended a free will principle while also upholding a belief in original sin.14 It is not that humanity is evil in nature; concupiscence is not a material cause of sin, but is rather a wound that is self-inflicted, for we have freely (kata gnomen) sold ourselves into slavery.

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For Hesychius penance is related to baptism as an extension of it, symbolized by the fact that both involve water. He speaks of the aqua poenitentiae as tears of penance which in turn are “reliquiae gratiae baptismatis,” that is, an extension of the effects of baptism that works in its power.15 Penance is about coming away from the world, following the monastic lifestyle in principle if not in practice. Just how strict penance should be depends on the gravity of one’s sins. Just as there were different offerings in Leviticus, so are there several forms of penance. The idea was to humble the flesh and release the spirit from the earthly and sinful bonds. From this we can observe an analogy between natural humanity and “Jewishness.” Confession of sins was not a hidden, purely internal thing. Even capital sins could be dealt with by the church as the Syriac church tradition, with its “therapeutic” conception of penance had insisted, and there is the possibility of repeated penance in a way that would have shocked Tertullian and even Origen, though not for serious sins. There was a sense that the community owned the sin of the individual. Even in the case of grave sins a person should not despair, but rather turn to Christ as a backslidden sinner, even while out with the church. Metaphorically, the sinner is put out of the tent for an uncomfortable period; the eucharist “like a tent protects from cold and heat in which we eat with God” (Lev 14:8).16 This exclusion typically lasts seven days,17 although he also mentions the possibility of permanent exclusion. For the penitent there has to be a system of checking to see how genuinely contrite he is, as in Lev 13. Here we see quite a precise literal observance: a second seven days is to be imposed if needed, e.g. if the penitent is still inwardly clinging to sin. There is a “can do” quality to this theology of penance. Ordinary Christians can also be spiritual directors, i.e. true “sons of Aaron” (see 1120ff; 1128ff; 1165ff). The priest has to be personally holy; there must be a spiritual kinship with Christ the high priest, for him to work penance; just as Origen had insisted on their having the Holy Spirit (De oratione 28, 2). Between Hesychius and Ishodad, during the eighth century, those who were followers of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the hermeneutical approach to the texts and very often in the interpretations, made a significant contribution to the exegetical task.18 These were notably Isho bar Nun in his Questions and Answers, and Theodore bar Koni in his Scholia.19 Around that time Theodore of Mopsuestia’s exegesis began to be eclipsed by his imitators, usually through simplification. As Leonhard shows, although Ishodad of Merv, bishop of Hedatha in the middle of the ninth century,20 used Theodore, he did not feel a slave to his authority. “Ishodad’s commentaries emerged from, and were used in, a rather liberal environment where one could use one’s sources according to one’s needs—a process which permits more or less independent observations on the text but did not lead to ultimate answers.”21 He turned

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question and answer into indirect question: “and it is being asked why, etc.”22 Leonhard makes the good point that the Peshitta was easier to understand than the LXX was for the Greeks, and thus there would have appeared fewer “difficulties” needing to be allegorized, although Ishodad would also have had the Syro-hexapla for comparison which also would have given him access to the meanings their Greek Antiochene forebears had.23 The style is deliberately non-midrashic in the Antiochene way, pointed out by Schäublin.24 There is a great deal of similarity between these Isho bar Nun and Ishodad in large part due to their use of a common source, possibly Theodore of Mopsuestia himself.25 However it is clear that Ishodad was the one who wished to do justice to the whole of the Pentateuch and not just to its more obviously preachable parts. Turning to Ishodad himself, his exegesis of Leviticus gives to our ears perhaps a comical impression of his casuistry when, on Lev 19:19 first he argues that the ban on mixed clothing cannot be meant and therefore is not to be taken literally. Yet, as for the ban in the next half-verse on animal crossbreeding, well that must be taken literally. One must never cross an Arabian and a Bactrian camel; such crosses are human inventions and thus they lose the benediction of Gen 1:28. This seems an obvious case where local coloring on the Silk Road comes to the fore in biblical exegesis (108).26 As for the Levitical cult, God prescribed offerings not because he needed them but: 1. Because he would use material aids to draw people to him in love so as to bless them. 2. To demonstrate that animals do not have souls. 3. To take people away from the cult of Satan. 4. To counter gluttony by giving up some types of food. 5. As a type of the universal sacrifice to come. 6. He permitted them to eat the animals adored by the nations and to hold as impure the ones which the nations offered up (79).27 The first two of these are slightly unusual. The first reflects the view that God is immaterial and the material can only have a symbolic value. Likewise, in Lev 4:12 the command is to throw out the ashes of the sacrifice, so nobody believes it is the sacrifice which procures the pardon but God. Thus, when commenting on Lev 6:10–11, Ishodad makes it clear that the ashes are not put under the altar, pace some interpreters like Rabban Qatar. The second point, the proof that animals have no souls, might seem to contradict the view that the life is in the blood, but clearly “soul” means something more. The distinction matters, just as it did for Moshe bar Kepha. Lev 11:14 tells us that

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the life of an animal is in the blood, but it is not so with a human.28 What animals have is life, but not soul. The second theme that shines through in Ishodad’s commentary is the concern to ward off overdue emphasis on the fire in the burnt offerings. In Lev 6:12–13 he makes it clear that it is not for the sake of the dignity of the fire but for that of the sacrifices to be consumed by it that something called “elevation” (6, 9) goes on. The stupid disciples (87) of Zoroaster have taken their doctrine and think that fire is the child of Hormizd. But they don’t understand there are not two natures of fire in the world, i.e. fire does not have a hidden metaphysical nature. It is just fire! Likewise when Lev 9:24 reports that fire leaped out, this did not happen by the nature of the fire but by dint of its being a gift of God (88). The Syriac tradition he inherits assumed that Nadab and Abihu were drunk; but that is not certain. He muses: if they have been fasting how could they have been drunk? He then gives five possible explanations from Christian and Jewish sources: 1. Michael (of Badoqa, student of Henana of Adiabene, head of the Nisibis School 572–610 AD) and others think: They got their own fire; they went at the wrong time; or they had no permission from Moses and Aaron. 2. Rabban of Qatar did think that they got drunk and let the fire go out, and then tried to cover up their negligence. 3. Aphrahat judged that they brought their own fire after divine fire disdained touching their unworthy sacrifice (see Dem IV, 3) 4. Others hold that they were new and didn’t know the rules of approach—and were drunk too. 5. For Qatraya, they were punished for their ostentation and presumption (90). What is interesting is that Ishodad is not really too concerned about ruling on the right interpretation. Likewise, when he reports Yohanan of Bet Rabban who had led the School of Nisibis in the mid-sixth century relating the Jewish interpretation that thinks their bodies not burned, just that their soul taken out of body, since (Lev 10:5) “they carried them by their tunics,” here too Ishodad is not terribly bothered to say which explanation he prefers. It is one of those places where the pre-modern exegetes allows the reader to choose. Third, in Lev 12 any connection between the impurity of menstrual blood and original sin does not seem self-evident, as Antiochene fathers would have concurred. Surely, he writes, this blood is not impure by itself since humans are born from it. Why indeed should menstrual blood be any more impure

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than ordinary blood? Ishodad feels compelled to find a reason and it is because certain people like Indians use it to drink in rites for mental sharpness and fecundity. Also, it is clear from Gen 3:16 that menstruation resulted from Eve’s act of disobedience. The blood issues only when she is fertile as it becomes the milk for nursing. So he seems to have mixed feelings about it: biologically this blood is necessary, yet theologically there is some stain, but perhaps it is a punishment rather than something impure as such. As though still not very happy with the subject, he concludes by adding that it is in diabolical mysteries that one gets men coupling with menstruating women. In Lev 16, Michael of Badoqa is quoted, to the effect that Azazel means “God is strong,” and this is not to distinguish him from another God but to be set in contrast to “the God of mercy.” Azazel could certainly not mean Christ, since God had not yet taken a body—even though that is the opinion of John and Abraham of Beth-Rabban (103). Mar Nasai thought it was Michael the archangel who had performed the signs (and wonders) in the desert and who would intercede for the people, as per Ps 78:48. No, says Ishodad, it is a lot simpler that that. The goat was sent into the desert to show that the sins do not come back on them or us (cf. Mic 7:19). Goats were gifts from God: one goat was given for sins and justice, the other for “actions of the graces of God” ()tYhl) )twBY+LBwQl) for the sake of mercy ()twNMXrMl). Now Daniel bar Toubanita would not admit this justice in opposition to God’s mercy. How can it be that mercy is within God but his justice (the scapegoat) is so far from him? And if the scapegoat really was sent for the work of reconciliation then a priest would have had to go with it (104). Also, Ishodad continues with Daniel’s interpretation, it is not for justice to forgive sin but mercy; yet he can see that the two sides of God work together like carrot and stick. Even in the Garden, there was a tree of life and tree (that of the knowledge of good and evil) that breathed death. Ishodad reminds us that in Leviticus we are at stage two in salvation history: with Moses, God punished and also rewarded (Exod 20:5–6). At the third stage, Jesus placed the kingdom and gehenna in opposition. But here in stage two— and it is not quite clear to which stage Christian believers belong—the sacrificed goat represents divine reconciliation and the scapegoat represents the repudiation of their iniquity through confession so as to be stimulated to know the divine reconciliation. The name Azazel is not the name of a person but of an action; for the avoiding of divine jealousy—and the dry, desert land means a land unable to produce iniquity and so punishment no longer. Here at last I think we find our way back to where we left Hesychius. There is an optimistic theology of penance, where confession is the way of knowing that God has forgiven his people. Ishodad in some sense stood

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against the East Syrian disdain of Leviticus. His interests concern more the doctrine of God than Christology, possibly due to his location in an interfaith context. There are these apologetic and local apologetic flavors. The style is terse and allusive, but in contrast to Hesychius’s prolixity it is preferable.

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The Holy Spirit in Cyril of Alexandria’s Commentary on Isaiah

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yril of Alexandria composed a verse-by-verse commentary on Isaiah sometime in the early period of his pontificate. While the dating is uncertain, the commentary almost certainly derives from the period before the Nestorian controversy. Indeed, unlike Cyril’s commentary on Luke, in which he mentions Nestorian positions, and unlike his commentary on John, in which he engages Arian doctrine (whether in current controversy or as a purely literary conflict), Cyril’s commentary on Isaiah does not seem to array itself against any group in particular.1 Rather, the commentary seems to be intended for the Christian faithful or some subset thereof, with its goal a better understanding of this large biblical book, especially in the ways in which it points to Christ, the Apostles, and the Church. J. David Cassel has proposed that the commentary was likely written for the clergy of the diocese of Alexandria as part of their Scriptural education;2 while I am not in a position to adjudicate this claim here, I certainly agree that Cyril’s audience seems to be “the faithful” in some way.

Introduction and Background Unfortunately, despite the prominence of its author and the length of the text (it comprises an entire volume of Migne’s Patrologia Graeca (PG), numbering over 750 columns in the Greek alone), Cyril’s commentary on Isaiah has enjoyed very little scholarly attention. I believe that this situation arises largely from the lack of anything approaching a critical edition of the text. Indeed, Migne’s volume reprints the text of Aubert from the 17th century,3 and due to his untimely death, Pusey was not able to finalize the Isaiah commentary in his late-19th-century set of editions of Cyril.4 Furthermore, and consequently, while we have modern translations of full Isaiah commentaries from both Jerome and Theodoret of Cyrus from roughly the same time period, as well as portions of one from Chrysostom and of the commentary that has come down

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under the name of Basil of Caesarea, there has until recently existed no translation of Cyril’s commentary into any modern language whatsoever.5 Again, as a result, there has been a resulting dearth of secondary material on the commentary as well. The situation has begun to improve in recent years, however, especially in English-language materials. Metropolitan Demetrios Trakatellis published an important article in 1996 comparing the exegesis of Theodoret with that of Cyril, Eusebius, and Chrysostom. In it the Metropolitan was able to more fully explore some of the traditional distinctions between the so-called “Antiochene” and “Alexandrian” schools of exegesis. I found his comments on Cyril’s work quite accurate, especially the note that Cyril’s exegesis tends to be quite Christocentric.6 Also, Brevard Childs’s book The Struggle to Understand Isaiah as Christian Scripture includes a chapter on Cyril. In this chapter Childs rightly engages Alexander Kerrigan’s seminal work from 1952 on Cyril’s exegesis of the Hebrew Scriptures. Childs finds this work, perhaps not surprisingly for its time, rather unappreciative of what he sees as the important work Cyril does in interpreting the Hebrew Scriptures in a “spiritual” way. This is a method that is not arbitrary but is rather grounded in the conviction that Christ is at the center of Christian interpretation of this book, despite its being written before his advent.7 Most exciting, however, are two translation projects that address the translational desideratum. First, the 2007 volume on Isaiah edited by Robert Wilken and others in Eerdmans’ “The Church’s Bible” series includes many passages from Cyril’s commentary on Isaiah, among them several that stretch multiple pages. These long selections allow the reader to gain a better sense of Cyril’s characteristic emphases and methods.8 Secondly, Holy Cross Orthodox Press is in the process of publishing a full translation of the commentary, the majority of which was completed by the late Robert Hill before his death. The first volume, comprising the comments on chapters 1–14, is currently available, and the next two volumes, covering the comments on chapters 15–50, are to be published early in 2009.9 It is my own hope that these works will attract both amateur and professional readers to Cyril’s commentary and enable advances in the scholarship on Cyrilline exegesis.

Cyril’s Comments on Important Isaianic Passages on the Holy Spirit A consideration of the topic of pneumatology within the confines of the book of Isaiah likely calls to the reader’s mind two important Isaianic passages that have been influential in later Christian reflection on the Holy Spirit. The first comprises the first verses of Isa 11. This passages describes the Spirit of God

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resting upon the shoot that comes from the root of Jesse, and it is the source of the traditional teaching of the “seven gifts of the Spirit,” to be distinguished from the nine “fruits of the Spirit” in Galatians. The second is the beginning of Isa 61, which describes the ministry of the one upon whom “the Spirit of the Lord” has come. This is the familiar text that the Gospel of Luke records as one of Jesus’ sermon-texts in the synagogue. Before proceeding to more synthetic analyses of the commentary as a whole, I will explain what Cyril says on these two “purple passages” from Isaiah on the Holy Spirit. Concerning Isa 11:1–2, Cyril locates the proper referent in the passage in the future, namely, as Christ, because of the text’s place within the book; since the destructions that are described in Isa 10 did not happen for a long time subsequent to the prophecy, then a person described “after” these (in the order of the book) must come after these events in time. He then describes how the words for “shoot” and “flower” (in Greek, rhabdos and anthos) can testify to Christ, because rhabdos can mean “scepter.” It refers to Christ as king; in that it can mean “staff.” It refers to him as the good shepherd who protects his sheep with his staff, because Aaron and Moses employed a staff at the time of the delivery from Egypt. It refers to Christ as our deliverer. Furthermore, anthos or “flower” refers to the blossoming that a person in Christ enjoys—a growth into eternal life and incorruption—as well as to the “aroma” which was Christ in the world and of which Paul makes mention in 2 Co 2:15. Concerning the Spirit, Cyril describes the difficulty in understanding why Christ, who is the one who pours the Spirit out on us, would be said to “receive” the Spirit. According to Cyril, Christ submitted to receiving the Spirit as a demonstration of the extremity of his self-emptying (Phil 2:7). Then, however, Cyril mentions a theme prominent in some of his other works, but not as much so in this commentary, namely, that Adam had the Spirit at the beginning of the human race, which he then utterly lost. The Spirit did not return until the coming of Christ and whom we now enjoy as we are in Christ. Finally, Cyril relates the manifold nature of the gifts listed in Isa 11 to the many gifts described by Paul in 1 Cor 12.10 In the comment on Isa 61:1–3, Cyril begins again with the question of how Jesus, the Holy One, could be “made holy” by receiving a Spirit whom he himself pours out. His answer is that both sides of the seeming paradox are true, for as God he gives the Spirit and as human he receives the Spirit. Cyril then discusses referents for some of the groups mentioned in the lemma—the poor, the captives, etc.—and what the blessing promised to them would mean in their respective states. In all cases, Christ himself and his ministry are the blessing. For example, he says that the ones “beaten down in heart” are those who worship false gods and do not know the truth, and so Christ, the “sun of righteousness” (Mal 4:2), comes as the heavenly light that leads these individuals to an acknowledgement of divine truth. Further, the “poor” could be those

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lacking in good things, namely, the “atheists” (atheoi) of the world, that is, the Gentiles. These people have subsequently grown rich through faith in Christ, having gained the heavenly treasure of salvation. Cyril then spends a considerable amount of ink concerning the “acceptable year of the Lord” and “the day of requital,” which he understands as the time of Christ’s appearance when he begins to turn everything around, meaning repentance for those who will turn to him, and judgment for Satan who kept humanity bound. Finally, he sees this “upside-down” world also in the last verse, namely, the exchanging of ashes for happiness and of weariness for glory, as benefits that come through Christ. Unfortunately, Cyril does not say much about the Holy Spirit here, despite the importance of this passage for later reflection on the work of the Spirit.11

Cyril on the Spirit’s Place within the Trinity Cyril does talk about the Spirit a great deal in this commentary, and in many other places. One of the more common themes concerns the Spirit’s place within the Trinity, especially concerning the sanctification of humanity. These two aspects have been explored at length in the scholarly literature, the former most fully by Marie-Odile Boulnois in her book entitled Le paradoxe trinitaire chez Cyrille d’Alexandrie, and the latter 60 years ago by Paul Galtier in his Le Saint Esprit en nous d’après les Pères grecs and recently by Daniel Keating in his The Appropriation of Divine Life in Cyril of Alexandria.12 In this commentary Cyril does not enter into long discussions of the more abstract elements of the Spirit’s place within the Trinity, as he does in his dogmatic works. For example, there are no discussions that I can find in this text, even when the Spirit is mentioned in the lemma, concerning the divinity of the Spirit, the Spirit’s sharing in the essence of God the Father, or that the Spirit is not a creature, important themes in both his Thesaurus and his Dialogues on the Trinity. He does occasionally refer to those conversations, as for example in his comment on Isa 63:11–14, where he mentions that the Spirit is homoousios with God the Father, or in the comment on Isa 25:6–7, where he speaks of “God” as “the homoousios Triad.”13 The most common Trinitarian reflections concerning the Spirit are soteriological. The frequency with which this theme recurs reveals that Cyril sees our salvation as a work accomplished by all three persons of the Trinity, a doctrine that Boulnois mentions and that certainly appears in this commentary. Countless times in this work alone, Cyril discusses various aspects or images of our salvation, and very often all three divine persons are mentioned. A few examples of this emphasis must suffice.

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First, in Cyril’s comments on Isa 8:15–16, he picks up on the word “sealed” in the lemma, and connects it with a word “marked” from Ps 4. He then proceeds to reflect on our sanctification and how the three persons of the Trinity share in the work. “The Son is the image and the likeness, as though the face, of God. And the Holy Spirit is the light that is sent from him (presumably, the Father) to us; through this Spirit we have been sealed, being reshaped through holiness into the first image.” As he says, the Spirit is for us a light and a seal, but the Spirit does not work alone.14 This is also true in his comment on Isa 12:3, where Cyril describes the Church as founded upon the Apostles, the springs of water mentioned in this particular lemma. The Spirit is the one through whom the words of the Apostles come to all those in the world. He says that it is also through the Spirit that we are being “built through faith as a spiritual house into a holy temple.” Again, though, the house is not entirely of the Spirit, for Christ has been placed as the foundation of the house, he says, and the Father is the one who did the placing.15 Finally, in his comment on Isa 44:21–22, Cyril invokes the idea of “participation in the Spirit,” a key phrase for him in terms of our salvation, both in its means and its benefits. Again, the picture is Trinitarian, even if the Spirit plays a significant role in bringing us to holiness. In this text the overall rubric is our “being formed in Christ”; this happens by the Holy Spirit’s sending into us a divine “re-shaping,” by holiness and righteousness. Thus, he says, “does the hypostasis of God the Father fit into our own souls, when the Holy Spirit shapes us to his likeness…through holiness.” The process is Christ being formed in us, the primary actor is the Spirit, and the result is the presence of God the Father in our lives.16 There are many other similar examples, but I believe the point is clear. But why does Cyril emphasize this so strongly? I am not entirely certain, for I cannot find any place where he answers the question clearly, but I believe that this Trinitarian theme in Cyril’s pneumatological and soteriological matrix may relate to his Christological ideas. Cyril repeatedly uses the term “re-birth” (anagennēsis) in speaking of our salvation, and when one examines an account of the birth of Christ from this commentary, one finds the same Trinitarian picture. In his comment on Isa 8:3, which describes a “prophetess” conceiving and bearing a son, Cyril speaks of the conjunction (synodos) that resulted in Jesus. As he says, “For Christ became a first-fruit of those sanctified in spirit [the Spirit?], who have been birthed not from blood, nor from the will of flesh, nor from the will of a husband, but from God. Therefore, he himself was begotten of the Spirit, according to the flesh and before the others, in order that we also might share in these things on account of him.”17 Here we see both God and the Spirit involved in the birth of Jesus in the flesh—and we also see

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that Christ's becoming human is an explicitly soteriological event—“that we also might share in these things on account of him.”

Cyril on the Holy Spirit’s Role Concerning Baptism and Scripture There are also other aspects of Cyril’s pneumatology, aspects that have received less scholarly attention but which nonetheless appear in Cyril’s writings. There are two themes that are more prominent in other works, but not so here. First, elsewhere Cyril discusses the role of the Spirit in the Eucharist; this theme, however, does not appear anywhere in the commentary on Isaiah to my knowledge, and so I will leave it aside. Secondly, Cyril occasionally discusses the role of the Holy Spirit in establishing and preserving unity in the church. Indeed, in his commentary on John 17, he elaborates on this topic, treating both the unity that Christians enjoy with one another and that which they have with God. I have not yet found any extensive passages in which he takes up this theme in the Isaiah commentary, but he does mention it briefly in his comment on Isa 11:12. Here, discussing the beautiful passage in Eph 2 concerning Christ’s breaking down barriers that divide humanity, he says that Christ did this “in order that we all might be one in spirit and one in body, sharing together in soul and body.” Of course, the “in spirit” could require a capital “S,” that is, that we are one “in the Spirit.” Cyril’s discussion of this topic in the commentary on John leads me to believe that he would prefer to read it both ways together.18 A much more common theme in the Isa commentary is the role of the Spirit in baptism. For example, in the comment upon Isa 4:4, he says of the “spirit of burning” there that it is the gift given at baptism which comes to be in us “not apart from the Spirit.” Apparently “burning” here reminds him of “fire,” with which John the Baptist says Christ will baptize. Also, in the aforementioned comment on Isa 25:6–7, Cyril says that the myron in this passage refers very well to the Holy Spirit, since it is at baptism that we are anointed with myron, thus making it a symbol of the Holy Spirit. Then, in his commentary on Isa 61:1–3, one of the ways Cyril defines the “acceptable year of the Lord” is the one in which “we were admitted, having obtained the likeness that is to him and having been washed clean from sin through holy baptism, and having become sharers in his divine nature through participation in the Holy Spirit.” The reader will notice that these three things seem to happen all together: obtaining the likeness of God, being baptized, and participating in the Holy Spirit.19 This association of baptism with the Spirit—indeed, for Cyril, the gift given at baptism does not happen apart from the Spirit—is reinforced through the

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association of water with the Spirit. Here Cyril seems to be following both Scriptural testimony and liturgical practice. The two are easy to demonstrate, and they are interconnected. From the early days of the church, Christians associated water baptism with the gift of the Spirit, as exemplified in the story recorded in John 3, where in verse 5 Christ himself is depicted as speaking of rebirth “in water and spirit.” Further, the Scriptural foundation for this idea is visible even in the commentary. For example, in his comment on Isa 44:3–5, Cyril associates the water God gives to those in “arid places” as symbolic of the consolations of the Spirit given to those working in the kingdom. But this is not an arbitrary association, for the lemma itself may suggest the connection to Cyril. The text of verse 3 reads, “I will provide water in their thirst to those who walk in a dry land; I will put my Spirit on your offspring and my blessings on your children.” Here Cyril may simply be following the logic of the text— water is parallel to Spirit, in terms of blessings coming from God. The other likely Scriptural source of Cyril’s association is the passage in John 7 that records Jesus’ saying that for anyone who comes to Christ thirsty, “Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water,” and the author’s comment that “he said this about the Spirit.” Indeed, in Cyril’s comment on Isa 44:3–5, he mentions these texts explicitly; I would argue that they are formative for him in his connection of the Holy Spirit with water. It is clear that, as important as baptism is in the process of the regeneration of humanity, it is impossible for Cyril to think of baptism without also thinking of the Spirit.20 Finally, Cyril also discusses the role of the Spirit in the production and interpretation of the Bible. This theme is extremely prominent in Cyril, and yet in some ways it is the most difficult to approach because it is deeply imbedded in his consciousness. In fact, given the doctrinal considerations of this paper and their source in a Scriptural commentary, one could read this entire essay as a demonstration of a fundamental truth for Cyril, namely, that the primary source of doctrine is Scripture. Whether one wants to speak of our salvation in Christ, of the inner connections of the members of the Trinity, or the role of the Spirit in baptism, one should primarily have recourse to Scripture. Indeed, like so many patristic texts, Cyril’s Isaiah commentary is shot through with Scriptural quotations and allusions, including those places where he speaks of the Spirit. As just one example, Cyril’s comment on Isa 42:1–4 (one of the so-called “Servant Songs,” which includes the phrase “I have put my Spirit upon him”) leads him to affirm Christ’s possession of the Spirit, but he confirms this teaching by appealing to the narratives of Christ’s baptism, in which the Spirit is said to descend like a dove upon him.21 For Cyril, though, the very reason that the Bible is so useful for doctrinal proclamations is that its primary author is God through his Spirit, even if God uses the voice of various authors. Cyril’s most pointed comment on the subject comes concerning Isa 29:11–12. Following the lemma, which speaks of a

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book that is sealed, he says in his comments, “…the God-inspired Scripture was sealed up in a certain way by God, as a single book. For the whole thing is one unit and has been spoken by the one Holy Spirit.”22 He expresses this in his writings in two different ways. First, he will often say that God spoke “through the voice of” a particular writer from the Hebrew Scriptures. In the Isaiah commentary these include David (in the Psalms), Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Joel, and Zechariah, among others. He will also speak of various biblical authors speaking “in the Spirit” or “by the Spirit.” These latter include David (again) and “the prophets.”23 I have not found a place where Cyril describes a New Testament author speaking “in the Spirit,” but that does not mean such places do not exist. If they do not, perhaps he assumes that, as bearers of the Spirit (pneumatophoros—a term he uses frequently in both the Isaiah and John commentaries, for instance), it simply goes without saying. Or, he could be following 2 Pet 1:20–21, a text that specifically describes prophecy as coming through human beings, from God, by the Holy Spirit.

Conclusion I have attempted several small tasks in this paper. First, I hope that I have suggested the presence of a wide field for patristic scholarship in the future, namely, the relatively untouched commentary of Cyril of Alexandria on Isaiah. Second, I hope to have given my audience a small taste of Cyril’s work in the commentary by discussing at some length his comments on various Isaianic passages, including two that have been important for later reflection on the Holy Spirit. Third, I have attempted to argue that for Cyril, at least in this commentary, the Spirit has a significant, indeed indispensable, role in the salvation of humanity, but a role that is never apart from the other two persons of the Trinity. Finally, I have attempted to illuminate Cyril’s thought on the Spirit’s role in baptism and concerning the Bible. The last of these illustrates well two truths that may seem circular but must be held in tension. For Cyril, definitive doctrine concerning the Holy Spirit derives most prominently from the Bible, but the very Bible that leads to definitive doctrine has primarily been authored through the activity and voice of the Holy Spirit. In other words, for Cyril, the Bible is authoritative concerning the Spirit, and its authority comes from that same Spirit.

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Winking at Jonah Narsai’s Interpretation of Jonah for the Church of the East

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here can be little argument that the Book of Jonah is one of the most popular tales in the Old Testament across time and culture.1 The Syriac tradition of poetic Biblical exegesis and commentary exemplified this enthusiasm. Ephrem has composed a number of madrāshē2 and mēmrē,3 interpreting the narrative of Jonah and Nineveh from various perspectives. Jacob of Serug’s (d. 521 AD) epic Mēmrā 122, included in Paul Bedjan’s Homiliae Selectae,4 endures for 123 pages, 72 sections, four divisions, ca. 2540 lines, with which I have dealt on several previous occasions.5 I now turn to Narsai’s lengthy mēmrā on the wayward prophet to complete the trinity of authors,6 though in this initial treatment I will offer a brief survey and focus on one of the bestknown symbols of Jonah. Not the fish. Narsai (399–ca. 502 AD) is perhaps the least known, but certainly not the least important of the major Syriac exegetical poets. He was most notably head of the School of Nisibis in the latter fifth century, after being forced from a similar position in the Persian School of Edessa. Considered the most important poet of the Church of the East and a Biblical commentator in the spirit and tradition of Theodore of Mopsuestia,7 what survives of Narsai are mēmrē or homilies principally on Biblical themes, along with a number on baptismal and eucharistic themes. The paucity of modern language translations is being slowly amended along with studies of Narsai’s theology and exegesis. Frederick MacLeod,8 Judith Frishman,9 Phillipe Gignoux,10 and recently Kristian Heal11 have contributed both studies and translations of Narsai’s work. The mēmrā on Jonah is the eighth in volume one of the collection compiled by Alphonse Mingana, published in 1905 in Mosul—the present-day city of Nineveh. A poem of medium length, 508 lines in 12:12 syllable meter, its structure is that of a verse-by-verse retelling of and commentary on the Biblical book of Jonah, precisely one-fifth the length of Jacob of Serug’s mēmrā (2540 lines). Jacob indulges in numerous dramatic dialogues and Christian typolo-

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gies throughout his retelling. Jacob includes Justice (kēnūtā - '.",) condemning Jonah after the lots fell on him; the Sea (yamā - ) telling the sailors they will survive only if they throw Jonah overboard; the Symbol (rā’zā '%0) calling upon Jonah to descend to the depths as a sign of his prefiguring Christ; and Grace (taybūtā - '.4) receiving the prayers of the Ninevites and presenting their case before the judge in heaven. Narsai is more concise and does not spend much time filling out the narrative with abstract conversations as does Jacob,12 with one important exception to be noted later. Narsai uses two conventions to say more about Jonah than the Biblical book tells. From the Biblical narrative he amplifies and expands the speeches and comments of the human and divine characters. God’s first and second revelation to Jonah are filled out, along with Jonah’s reaction to the first revelation and his sermon to the Ninevites following the second are detailed. All the conversations between the captain of the ship, the sailors and Jonah are rehearsed, as well as the sailors’ crying out to the God of the Universe. Jonah’s prayer from the belly of the fish could not be omitted, nor the King of Nineveh’s sermon to his people to repent. Finally, Jonah complains to God after the withering of the plant and Jonah is rebuked at some length by the Sign (rēmzā - '50). The second convention is to embark on several excurses which allow Narsai to draw together his Christian perspectives on the events. As with other Christian writers, Jonah becomes the type of Jesus. Midway through, Narsai offers two longer reflections back to back: the first on the mystery of Christ’s advent being first depicted in Jonah’s situation, and continuing to compare the distinctions between Jonah and Jesus (lines 233–254); and the second describes how the Gentile nations become parables and Jonah’s mission to the nations enables the reader to see God’s authentic message (lines 255–284). Two shorter reflections summarize the Christian conclusions. The major one is a meditation on the appropriateness of Jonah’s confinement in the fish as a prefiguring of Christ’s time in the tomb and resurrection (lines 307–318). The mēmrā concludes (lines 497–508) with a look back at how God used Jonah to extend salvation to the Gentiles. Two threads weave through the mēmrā, one thematic and the other spiritual. The predominant theme of Narsai’s interpretation of Jonah is the New Gospel of salvation being extended to the Peoples/Nations, in this case, Nineveh. The animosity of the People/Nation/Israel against the Peoples/Gentiles noted before the story of Jonah begins (lines 25–32) remains a tension throughout the mēmrā, although Jonah realizes that God obviously is the origin of this new direction and finally cannot be resisted. “Christian” Nineveh is saying too much. Nineveh does not directly accept Christ—indeed, Christ is not named at all in the mēmrā. Narsai, as with other poets and exegetes, is purveying the story of Jonah with hindsight. Jonah’s

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preaching and the response of Nineveh is brought about as a prefiguring of the coming Christ event. To borrow loosely Karl Rahner’s characterization, the Ninevites here are understood by Narsai to be “anonymous Christians.” A small detail is worth noting. The name “Nineveh” is mentioned only a few times, for he usually refers to the city and region as “Assyria” (’ātur - 0.) or even the city of Assyria. The Assyrian Church of the East takes great pride in asserting its Assyrian heritage, and while I do not possess enough of a literary and historical perspective on this issue, here is a proof-text for such usage from one of their earliest and greatest writers. This “bringing about” of the prefiguring of Christ in Jonah is affected and enabled by Narsai’s employment of Jesus’ allusion to “the sign of Jonah” (Matt 12:38–42,16:1–4; Luke 11:29–32). In the Peshitta, the word for “sign” is ’ātā ('.). Jacob of Serug utilizes rā’zā ('%0) as the principle, “the mystery,” which gives meaning to everything, and personifies this sign/mystery to explain to Jonah as he is descending to the bottom of the sea, what marvelous event he is now beginning. Narsai, however, selects another word, rēmzā ('50)  —having the connotation of a human “gesture” (rēmzā d‘aynē - '50) “gesture of the eyes” or perhaps “wink” carries this human physical sense to aid personification—to indicate the personified “Sign of Jonah” working to bring this marvelous event to fruition. The Sign appears periodically throughout the mēmrā in the role of the guiding Spirit. A short excursus is required here, for the term “Sign” (rēmzā) is used extensively in Syriac literature, but in particular by Narsai. A fuller study would be most helpful, but a few notes will have to suffice to amplify the use of the term for this text. Philippe Gignoux describes the term: “More precisely, God operates by his Sign (rēmzā), a term that Narsai uses usually to designate the divine act of creating, and which signifies properly ‘a sign of the head.’ This word wishes in this way to express the rapidity of the divine act, and to underline also that it is situated outside of time. The realization of the act occurs in effect at the same time as the sign, without there being the slightest difference in time whatsoever.”13 This instantaneous characteristic is perhaps best captured in English by “wink” which is not simply involuntary blinking, but a conscious and intentional movement, not without humor as well. Other suggestions fill out the range of this enigmatic term, which is often expressed more fully as rēmzā kasyā (2 '50), “the hidden Sign.” Judith Frishman translates the expression as “the hidden Hint” in a mēmrā on Enoch and Elijah,14 adapting the suggestion of T. Jansma that rēmzā as used by Narsai and Jacob of Serug “means the nod or gesture by which God indicates His will.”15 Kristian Heal presents two other fruitful translations in the first mēmrā of Pseudo-Narsai on Joseph. As the merchants to whom the brothers have sold Joseph are leading him away, he begs to stop and weep at his mother Rachel’s

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tomb and hears a voice like his mother’s: “In the likeness of his mother Rachel’s speech he heard from the tomb/ The hidden (Divine) Will (rēmzā kasyā) speak with him, saying...”16 This Will fits well with the divine intention in directing and guiding the action. Earlier, the merchants approach Joseph’s brothers: “And behold Merchants came traveling at the beckon of the Lord ....”17 The expression “at the beckon of the Lord” (rēmzā dmāryā -  '50) points to the larger dramatic dynamic behind the term. Heal suggests, “It is as though the Lord is presented as watching over these events taking place like a director of a play; and when the time is right he beckons another group of actors onto the stage to move the story along.”18 This insight will help us as we return to Jonah. The Sign first appears in response to Jonah’s flight and disturbs the sea and creates the storm (lines 103–136). When the lot falls upon Jonah and he is asked to identify himself and his sin, Jonah himself knows that it is God’s Sign that has trapped him in the storm. “His [God’s] Sign has caught me in a rough net of unstable waters” (line 170). After being swallowed by the great fish, the Sign is described as recreating Jonah as a new fetus in the belly of the fish. “The Sign kept him in the category of fetuses in wombs” (line 230). Narsai does not pursue this imagery in quite the vivid manner of Jacob who describes Jonah reentering the womb of the fish as an immaculate conception, prefiguring the birth of Christ by the Virgin Mary.19 In the belly of the fish, the Sign shifts to become the protector and sustainer of Jonah, in a rather visceral manner. “The son of Mattai descended 6 ) of our Savior/ and the Sign and dwelt in Sheol with the mystery (’rāz - %0 kept for him the food of insects in the bowels of the fish” (lines 283–284). The Sign then commands the fish to bring Jonah back to dry land, to the very location where Jonah had first heard God’s revelation (lines 319–328). Jonah hears this time and obeys, preaches to the Ninevites, the city of Assyria, and at the urging of their king, the Ninevites repent. The Good One notices and repents of the evil actions threatened. But God is glad and Narsai notes that part of his arsenal had been that hidden Sign (rēmzā kasyā - '50 2). “He drew them in by the hidden Sign to his knowledge/and he gave the wage of his gentleness for repentance” (lines 403–404). Jonah is deeply disappointed and sulks in the hot sun, inviting death. But it is the Sign which rescues him again, making grow the young gourd plant to shade him (lines 431–432). Moreover, it is the Sign’s design to enable Jonah to understand what should be his response to God’s redemption of the Ninevites. “The Sign bound him by the love of the gourd so that he might again become wise/so that when he took it he might repent greatly and learn its reason” (lines 437–438).

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This respite did not last, for the Sign was the deliverer of the searing heat that would wither the plant and take away Jonah’s comfort and assurance. “It was not the usual sultry heat which came upon the preacher/the Sign heated him up beyond the norm with heat” (lines 445–446). The Sign itself then directly addresses Jonah in a long expanded speech, rebuking him for his lack of pity towards his neighbors. “The Sign whispered to him through a word according to his tongue, ‘Why are you sad about the silent one which flourished suddenly?’” (lines 459–460) In the first place, the use of the Sign of Jonah in interpreting and directing the story of Jonah is a clear example of Narsai’s (and Theodore’s) identification of the true type and archetype in the Biblical narrative.20 Usually one would say that Jonah is the type for the fulfilling archetype, Jesus Christ, but that is not exactly the case here. The Sign refers to the events in which Jonah is forced to participate, and in particular, the descent into the tomb of the fish and eventually being vomited out back on to dry land, which is the type of Christ’s descent into hell and his resurrection. Christ is identified authentically by his actions, but not Jonah. Although Jonah finally does preach to Nineveh according to God’s commandment, the results of his preaching are not due to his righteousness or desire, but to God’s graciousness—which Jonah resists and resents. The Sign as type/archetype indicates how the Old and New Testaments function as one Scripture. The Sign is mentioned only by Jesus in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, but Jesus’ words imply a presence of the Sign in the Old Testament narrative, to which the Old Testament book does not testify. Narsai inserts the living Sign, in the role of the Spirit initiating and guiding the action without a sense of ambiguity. There is no sense, moreover, that Narsai is introducing an anachronistic element into the story, for Scripture appears to be seamless. The artificial seam separating the Old and New Testaments is not acknowledged. Jesus pointed to the Sign of Jonah to refute his opponents, so Narsai inserts the Sign into its appropriate and logical places and roles, a sort of “forward to the past” for his readers so that they might then return “back to the future.” One more observation about an important aspect of the story of Jonah and how Narsai deals with it: Kristian Heal has pointed to Narsai’s construction of “the scriptural self,” that is, the author inducing the reader to adopt the ideals, behavior, and sanctity of the Biblical characters being examined.21 This works admirably for many of the Old Testament exemplars, Joseph, Abraham, Job, but certainly not in the same way for Jonah. Jonah has always been an enigma, a prophet who is an anti-saint. Indeed, Jonah’s strength is as an anti-model, a prophet without honor, presenting effectively a different road for the construction of the scriptural self of the reader. Against his best behavior and will, Jonah demonstrates the possibility and impossibility of Christ—

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can a human being remain alive three days in the tomb?—thus preparing the way for a Savior whose archetypal behavior is equally incomprehensible. The Sign rebukes Jonah in a long final speech (lines 460–496), the somehow prophet whose greatest fear was that he would be perceived as a prophet of falsehood in human terms. Jonah’s false perception of the nature of God’s mercy and grace—that it only extends to Israel—inhibits him from seeing the reality of God’s salvation among the Ninevites. The Sign exhorts Jonah and the readers, “Imitate me through pity towards your neighbors” (line 478). That is, form your scriptural self by imitating the Spirit which usually inspires the saints to sanctity. But with Jonah, nothing is usual.

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A Syriac Tract for the “Explanation” of Hebrew and Foreign Words

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yriac biblical interpretation between the ninth and thirteenth centuries can be characterized by an attentiveness to readings found in differing Syriac biblical versions as well as an abiding interest in the interpretation of Greek and Hebrew words.1 Syriac speakers had long understood that their Peshitta text had been translated from Hebrew, and residual elements of this Hebrew translation were obvious.2 At the same time, the theological controversies of the fifth and sixth centuries lent momentum to a growing “mirror-like” translation movement which increased awareness of the importance of the Greek versions in Syriac-speaking circles.3 By the mideighth century, therefore, West Syrian Christians had inherited a number of Syriac translations of the Old Testament, ranging from the Peshitta, whose origin lay in the second and third centuries, to the Syro-Hexapla and the version of Jacob of Edessa, dated, respectively, to the seventh and eighth centuries.4 It was, perhaps, because of their awareness of this complex assortment of biblical witnesses that Syriac commentators and exegetes proved quite versatile in finding ways to correlate and explain the various versions which they had inherited.5 Recent scholarly work has focused on homilies, exegetical catenae, theological treatises, and biblical commentaries to help shed light on biblical interpretation in this period.6 New work on biblical versions such as the SyroHexapla and the version of Jacob of Edessa has established the needed foundations to make further study possible.7 Yet, despite such progress, one important part of this literature has remained relatively untouched. I have in mind pedagogical tracts used to teach elements of Syriac language and biblical interpretation in the Syriac-speaking schools and churches. A number of such tracts appear in large pedagogical compilations commonly known as the “Syriac Masora.” These tracts have been rarely explored and remain largely unknown.8 The following study will provide a brief overview of one such tract found in these “masoretic” handbooks. The title of this work is, “An explanation of

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Hebrew and foreign words which are in the books of the holy prophets, and have been explained with much care from the version of the seventy translators [the Syro-Hexapla] and from the correction of Jacob of Edessa.”9 This tract has never been examined in depth, although it has been puzzled over by scholars who have not had the leisure to probe its contents.10 The purpose of the following brief study is to highlight some features of this tract. By examining this tract, it is hoped that we can understand more about these “Syriac Masora” manuscripts and the place of these “masoretic” compilations in the history of later Syriac biblical interpretation. These “Syriac Masora” pedagogical handbooks were the work of Christians of Syriac-speaking heritage living in a largely Arabic-speaking world. These Syriac speakers were faced with the question of how to preserve and read Syriac translations of the Bible and the Fathers, which had been so skillfully adapted to Greek syntax and vocabulary at the height of the “mirrorlike” translation movement in the sixth and seventh centuries.11 This genre of “masoretic reader” facilitated the study of the biblical versions and select Greek Fathers in Syriac translation by helping students and exegetes in the Syriac-speaking schools and churches. Well over a dozen large manuscripts of these “readers” survive, located in libraries and monasteries around the world.12 Dated to between the tenth through thirteenth centuries, these manuscripts were labeled by 19th-century Syriacists as the “Syriac Masora” because of their supposed affinity to the Hebrew Masora.13 The most distinct feature of these “masoretic” readers is that they only include select, difficult words and phrases from the Peshitta and Harklean bibles, as well as from the writings of the Fathers.14 These difficult words are fully vocalized and provided with diacritical markings, aiding the reader in the correct pronunciation (orthoepy) of these Syriac writings. Following these collections of words from the Syriac biblical versions and the writings of the Fathers is a type of appendix containing smaller tracts on a range of subjects related to the Bible and Syriac lexicography. One of these tracts is the aforementioned “Explanation of Hebrew and foreign words.” In fact, this tract appears in at least eight of these “masoretic” manuscripts.15 The inclusion of this tract in these larger pedagogical compilations reflects its use as a pedagogical and/or exegetical help for Syriac-speaking students. As is true in the collections of difficult words from the Bible and the Fathers which immediately precede it, this small tract only includes individual words and phrases; although, unlike in the previous collections, the words in this tract are not regularly vocalized. Obscure words or short phrases are given first, followed by a short explanation or definition. As the title of this tract indicates, these words are taken from both the Old and New Testament Scriptures. The order of biblical books usually proceeds as follows: Job, Pentateuch, Joshua, Judges, 1–4 Kings, Proverbs, Song of Songs, Wisdom, the

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Minor Prophets, Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Daniel, Ecclesiastes, Psalms, Isaiah, Acts, the Epistles, and the Gospels.16 This tract opens, in most manuscripts, with a brief prologue, listing explanations for the “Hebrew” divine names: “God” (ƆAlāhā), Adonai, El-Shaddai, Sabaoth, and “I am who I am” from Exod 3:14.17 . )30.! ' . )30.! 8"   3 ' )30.! + & . ."!: )30.! .,(9 ;)30.!  /  .+! ' +! 

(God which is interpreted Judge) (Adonai which is interpreted Lord) (El-Shaddai which is interpreted God Mighty Forevermore) (Sabaoth which is interpreted powerful) (I am who I am, which is interpreted He is who he is)

The first explanation, “God, which is interpreted Judge” is notable because it brings to mind the well-known textual variant in Exod 21:5–6 in  (“judges”) for the Hebrew ~yhla. The which the Syriac Peshitta reads  translators of the English Standard Bible reflect the usual translation of the Masoretic Text: “But if the slave says, ‘I love my master and my wife and children; I do not wish to be freed,’ then his master will bring him before God [italics added]...”18 Whether or not the compiler of this tract had this passage from Exodus in mind, it is clear that he knew of an interpretative tradition which viewed “judge” as an adequate explanation for this name of God; quite possibly, this association came from a familiarity with the Septuagint reading.19 Based on the title of this tract and the contents of this prologue, one might be tempted to conclude that the entire tract consists only of these concise explanations of Hebrew proper or place names. In actuality, only about one-quarter of the words in this tract are explanations or etymologies of actual Hebrew names. One finds, for example, that “Samuel” means “name of God” (' / /),20 “Melchizadek” means “king of righteousness” ('. 5=),21 “Zeporah,” the name of the midwife in Exod 1:15, means “beauty” ( / 0 9),22 “Moses” means “taken from the water” (  / /),23 etc. Several etymologies also occur in the New Testament portions of this tract; so, “Thomas” means “abyss” (. .),24 “Capernaum” means “village of comfort” ('! ?"$ ',( ),25 etc. One doubts whether these personal or place names created lexical difficulties for the readers of this tract. It is most likely that these (sometimes fanciful) etymologies were valued mostly for their interpretive and exegetical interest. Whereas some words in this tract share the same root letters with Hebrew, other words have no Hebrew or Targumic Aramaic cognates. This combination of Hebrew and non-Hebrew words might be expected because the title of this tract claims to include both “Hebrew and foreign words.” But it should be noted that the inclusion of this term “Hebrew” (cEbrāyā) does not necessarily infer that the compiler of this tract knew Hebrew. Weitzman had earlier po-

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sited that the “Hebrew” (cEbrāyā) was often cited by Syriac commentators not from the Hebrew Bible, but from oral or written knowledge taken from the Jewish tradition.26 More recent work has suggested that words classified by Syriac commentators as “Hebrew” (cEbrāyā) include many archaisms or antiquated expressions that may not bear any true relation to the Hebrew language.27 The above observations are certainly true for many of the words in this tract. In short, some words included in this tract are, indeed, Hebrew or Hebrew cognates. But the majority of words in this tract seem to have been included because they either reflect difficulties in exegesis and interpretation or contain variants found in other, non-Peshitta, Syriac biblical versions. In the explanations from the Book of Job, which immediately follow the prologue, one can glimpse the more regular patterns found in the remainder of this tract.28 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Job 1:1: . : &"( : 3 (A man/A man) Job 1:6: ., ) 8( (Sons of God/Angels) Job 2:11: .= 5$ (Eliphaz/King) Job 2:11: ."4 ( (Bildad/Tyrant) Job 2:11: .=  9 (Zophar/King)

Unlike in the previous examples from the prologue where the initial “Hebrew” name is not always a reading in the Peshitta, here the initial word or phrase is always from the Peshitta translation. In the first two readings (Job 1:1 and 1:6) this Peshitta text is immediately followed by the equivalent translation in the Syro-Hexapla. The following three readings (from Job 2:11) list the names of Job’s three advisors. In each of these instances, the second word in the sequence, “King” or “Tyrant,” is an insertion taken from the Syro-Hexapla; a word not found in the Peshitta text.29 This brief glimpse at the explanations from this tract from the beginning of Job hints at ways the Syro-Hexapla was used by the compiler to provide explanations for words from the Peshitta text. The inclusion of explanations from the Syro-Hexapla certainly confirms the reference to the “version of the seventy translators” found in the title of this tract. But recall that this same title also mentions that some explanations are drawn from the version (or “correction”) of Jacob of Edessa.30 Is there any evidence for how the compiler of this tract may have incorporated Jacob’s version into these word selections? After all, it is not thought that Jacob’s version extended to the entire Old Testament.31 Unfortunately, the scarcity of manuscripts of Jacob’s version and the lack of a critical edition of the Syro-Hexapla complicate a comparison of these two versions and make it difficult to establish a definite pattern to the compiler’s use of both later biblical versions. The problem is exaggerated because

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this tract only includes individual words, many of which are identical and do not change between Jacob’s version and the version of the Syro-Hexapla. A brief sample of possible ways Jacob’s biblical version was used in this tract may be seen from the description of Goliath’s armor in 1 Samuel 17:5– 7.32 The highly technical vocabulary in these three verses apparently interested the compiler here, because he lists explanations for six words in these three verses; an exceptionally generous number of definitions for such a limited number of verses.33 The following examples give the word and explanation found in the tract, followed by the full text of this passage in both the Peshitta and in Jacob of Edessa’s version. The text of the Syro-Hexapla is, unfortunately, not extant for this passage. 1. 1 Sam 17:5 . 2 '.0# (Helmet/Helmet [lat. cassis]) 2. 1 Sam 17:5 . 0% 24 / (Cuirass of scale armor/Mail) 3. 1 Sam 17:7 . 0 ! / ! (Weight of his cuirass/Weight of his mail)  (Greaves/A stocking 4. 1 Sam 17:7  &! (@3